The City Series (Book 2): Peripeteia

  He dabs on ointment with gentle fingers. “My pleasure. Just think, we get as much food as we want tonight.”

  Maria is making a big dinner to reward us for our hard work. Her food is always tasty, and to be able to eat with abandon is an indulgence. “And tomorrow we get potato chips. Maybe they have candy, too.”

  “Did you eat your other candy yet?” Eric asks. I shake my head. Once I eat the bag of candy he gave me, it’ll be gone, and I want to hold on to it for a while longer. He rips a piece of bandage tape off the roll. “The gummies will get hard.”

  “I put them in a plastic bag. I like them chewy anyway. They don’t dissolve as fast.” He tilts his head in question, and I say, “You have your different kinds of gummies. The really squishy ones that melt right away, the firmer ones, and the chewy ones. Firm and chewy are the best. But if you leave the squishy ones out, they turn chewy eventually.”

  “You do know you’re insane?” he asks, and I nod. He tapes the gauze into place. “There. Good as new. Eat your candy. I’ll find you more.”

  “I like to have it.” I won’t tell him I put the bag in Cassie’s underwear drawer so I see it every morning. Evidence of how someone gave me the last of something. I savor that part more than the candy, and I never savor anything more than candy. “I’m not ready for deglutition of the candy just yet.”

  “Hold on a minute. I don’t know if it makes sense in that sentence.” Eric crosses his arms at my use of the word from our calendar. We both hate to lose at our word-of-the-day game.

  “What?” I say. “Don’t even try it. You saw the definition: the act or process of swallowing. And you say I’m a sore loser.”

  His smile dwindles to a pensive expression. “I have something to tell everyone, but I wanted to tell you first. I’m leaving for upstate on Sunday.”

  I look down so he can’t see what is surely disappointment on my face. Two days. Two days until he’s gone on a trip that could be deadly. It’s not a surprise he’s leaving, but that doesn’t make me any less upset.

  “I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to,” he says, “but I do.”

  His reasons for going are the same reasons I like him. But I don’t like that his goodness and loyalty work against me at this moment. “You didn’t tell Maria?”

  “Not yet. She might yell at me, but she’ll let me go. I was most worried about you.”

  I force a smile despite my cheek. “That I’d yell at you, or that I wouldn’t let you go?”

  Eric doesn’t break my gaze. His chest rises with a deep inhalation, as though he requires extra oxygen for what he plans to say next. “That you’d think I want to leave. Because what I want is to be here with you.”

  My heart rattles my ribs. I can’t feel my feet. I’m deliriously pleased and so frightened that I want to stop the impending wreck before this train leaves the station. His hazel eyes are warm and clear and so totally honest that I can’t help but be, too.

  “I’m not good at this stuff,” I whisper. “I ruin everything. I don’t want to ruin it.”

  The words are bleak but true. I’ve never been willing to discuss a relationship I was in, much less a relationship that hasn’t begun. It’s oddly freeing not to pretend I’m capable, or to pretend I don’t care. My heart still thuds, but there’s a sort of peace under the sweatiness and wobbly legs. Far, far beneath the sweatiness. But it’s there.

  “You won’t ruin it,” he says.

  “You seriously underestimate my powers of fuckupitude.”

  “Then I won’t let you. Think about it?”

  I nod, though I have thought about it. How I’ll pull away and make things awkward, and then get remote and defensive when I can’t figure out how to fix it. How I’ll lock away the good and focus on the bad. How I’ll get annoyed at inconsequential, everyday things he does until I want to strangle him for having the audacity to breathe. I’ve done it all before, and Eric, of all people, does not deserve the terror that is Relationship Sylvie.

  “I want to ask you something, and you can think about this, too,” he says. “Will you come upstate with the others, if we end up going? Not for…I just like having you around.”

  The things that come out of his mouth are dazzling in their directness. No matter what, I don’t want to lose Eric as a friend. I don’t want to lose Maria, Jorge, Paul, or Leo, either.

  I can give him this one little thing—an admission that I like having him around, too. “When you get there, tell Cassie you have a shitload of people coming, so they’d better get ready for us.”

  He tucks my hair behind my ear, fingers skimming my jaw before they drop to his side, and then he gives me a smile I’d follow anywhere at all. “I will.”

  Chapter 4

  Eric

  The cars have been cleared. Tomorrow, we go for the food. Guillermo was apologetic when he heard some idiot cleared the wrong building, and he was angry enough that I don’t envy the idiot who did. But we made it home in one piece, minus a small part of Sylvie’s cheek. Her shoulder is bruised, too, and Maria fusses over her as if she’s lost a limb. I half expect to find Sylvie on the couch with a lap tray when I come in from the yard with dinner. She doesn’t exaggerate her injury, but she drinks in Maria’s kindness like a kid home sick from school, the way Leo settles in, eyes shining, when he knows he’s about to get babied.

  As a kid, being sick meant a comforting mixture of unlimited TV, buttery toast, and parental sympathy. I’d bet Sylvie’s mother didn’t do much of that, and the thought makes me want to fetch that lap tray myself. It also pisses me off—maybe because of what Sylvie said about ruining things, as if the battle had already been fought and whatever her bullshit parents did to her had won.

  We eat in the garden apartment’s living room. Maria’s bean soup is flavorful, filling, loaded with canned vegetables, and paired with a round loaf of bread made in the solar oven. It doesn’t have the crisp crust of bread made in a real oven, but it tastes great and there’s a lot of it. Frankly, a lot of any food is good at this point.

  “You’ve outdone yourself,” Jorge says to Maria.

  “The bread is delicious,” Sylvie says through a mouthful. “And the soup is great, too.”

  “If Sylvie likes the vegetables, you know it must be good,” Grace says.

  Paul grunts but doesn’t remove his head from his bowl. Leo slurps in agreement. Maria waves our compliments away and takes a bite of her soup. “No, you’re right, it is that good.”

  We laugh. I hate to ruin a large meal, especially a jolly one, but I have to make my announcement at some point. “I’m leaving Sunday to go upstate.”

  Silence. Grace’s eyes slide Sylvie’s way. I’m glad I told her first so she wouldn’t be blindsided by the news. And maybe I’ve finally learned my lesson to say what I want to say before it’s too late. That resolve didn’t make my hands any less shaky or my stomach any calmer when I told Sylvie how I feel, but now she can do with it what she will.

  “I know it’s dangerous,” I continue, and search Maria’s face for signs of an impending lecture, “but I’ll be careful, I promise.”

  Maria sets her bowl in her lap and says, “I’m not going to argue. You’ll be okay.”

  Sylvie glances at me in surprise. I’m just as flummoxed. Wondering about Penny and Ana must be close to unbearable, though it hasn’t stopped her from cautioning against the trip in the past. “Okay,” I say. “First light on Sunday.”

  We resume eating, although my meal tastes a little flat. Saying it aloud has cemented the plan, and I’m officially nervous. I attempt to get the conversation going again, and soon Grace and Sylvie are arguing about whether potato chip casserole will make a welcome addition to our meals. It’s only when I go into the kitchen after dinner that I see Maria in the yard, head down, with Jorge’s arm around her.

  ***

  In the morning, Sylvie, Paul, and I make our way a block over to meet with the box truck. The cargo door is up and Indy, Eli, their nephew Lucky, and a few other resi
dents of Sunset Park sit inside, waiting on us to join them for the four-minute joyride. Yesterday, the stopped cars were pushed to the side to create a narrow passage, with those cars acting as a barrier. A determined zombie could sneak through, but the only truly hazardous part should be under the expressway.

  “What’s up?” Eli asks from his spot on the floor.

  Sylvie blinks at him and then turns to me with eyebrows raised. I made the mistake of asking her what’s up once, and I got an earful. “That’s a hello,” I say. “No need to tell him about your measles.” She grins.

  “What about measles?” Eli asks.

  “Don’t ask,” I say. I can’t explain Sylvie to myself, much less him.

  He stretches his long legs to put his feet in Indy’s lap. She pushes them to the floor. “Get your dirty-ass shoes off me.”

  He does it again. Indy smacks them but leaves them be. It reminds me of Cassie, and it bolsters my determination to find her. They’ll be safe here while I go, and I plan to haul ass there and back.

  Carlos and Micah chat in the corner. Before zombies, their paths never would’ve crossed, but now the Brooklyn wannabe-tough kid and the laid-back Oregonian are good friends. Sylvie kicks their shoes. “Hey, how are you guys?”

  Carlos brags about the number of zombies he killed yesterday, after which Micah goes into the full story in his unhurried way. I watch out the open rear of the truck. A body tumbles from the overpass on Third Avenue. It doesn’t rise by the time we’re out of sight, though not for lack of trying.

  Jayden’s cheeks quiver with the truck’s rumble. “You think we can eat some right when we get there?” he asks.

  “That’s why you came, isn’t it?” Indy asks, though her head shake is more doting than exasperated. She’s fond of all her boys, as she calls them, and it works both ways as far as I can tell.

  “I’m hungry,” Jayden says cheerfully. I’ve gotten to know him better since he and Vinnie held me and Sylvie hostage that day in the bakery. Now that I do, I can’t think of anything more out of character for this quiet kid with baby fat that still pads his fourteen-year-old frame.

  “You’re always hungry,” Lucky says.

  Jayden nods like that’s a given. “But do you think we can?”

  “That’s why I came,” Sylvie says. “And I’m going straight for the barbecue chips. Stick with me, kiddo.” Jayden slaps her hand.

  The truck stops on First Avenue. We pull through a gate, close it behind us, and exit the trucks to get the lay of the land. The warehouse street dead-ends at the water, and industrial buildings take up the majority of real estate. Except here at the top of the block, where two-story white tanks, many now blackened and twisted metal, sit in what was a small power station back when there was power.

  “Who wants to take care of those?” Guillermo asks about the five Lexers wandering toward the gate.

  “I want to see how Harold and Vinnie are,” Indy says. Her two charges stayed, along with two others, to guard the place.

  “We’ll do it,” I say. “See you down there in a few.”

  Guillermo points out a low, red brick building at the end of the block before the truck pulls away. Sylvie removes her chisel from a belt loop on her jeans. Her messenger bag, chisel, and screwdriver all seem like inferior choices to a backpack, knife, and gun.

  “Everyone else carries real weapons, but you carry a screwdriver and chisel,” I say as we near the fence. She turns to me, expressionless. Her eyes move to Paul’s Halligan, then to my knife. I hold it up. “This is called a knife. A good knife. Worth its weight in gold these days.”

  She steps to the fence. A woman wearing a business suit presses her face against the metal, eye framed by one of the links. Sylvie’s chisel goes in quietly, and the woman drops. I stab a man whose exploded capillaries have turned his face charcoal gray. He jumps and my knife grazes metal on the way out. I inspect the blade after I wipe it. No chip, but I’ll sharpen it before I leave just in case.

  “Oh, no,” Sylvie says in a voice laced with false sympathy. “Did you hurt your golden knife, Golden Boy? Want to borrow my screwdriver?”

  “Point made.”

  Sylvie drops her screwdriver into my outstretched hand. “All-purpose weapon, my man. But I do have a knife, anyway.”

  “How about that gun?”

  She shows me the holster on her thigh. “I have it.”

  “The question is will you use it?”

  “That is the question.”

  I shake my head. The sun is warm and inside my coat is a sauna. Once we’re done at the fence, we walk the shady side of the street and squeeze past the truck parked head-in at one of the warehouse’s rolling doors. Some daylight seeps in, but the headlights illuminate a cavernous space filled floor to ceiling with so many plastic-wrapped pallets that the three of us stop to gawk. Maybe it’s unhealthy fare, but it’s better than dying of starvation.

  Guillermo points to the back wall. “The main loading lot is full of Lexers, so we have to do it one truck at a time.”

  Inside an office on the back wall, past messy desks and computers, is a blind-covered window. I split the slats and peer into the lot that holds zombies and delivery trucks. When I return to the main area, Jayden and Sylvie are already eating.

  “You weren’t kidding,” I say.

  “I never joke about potato chips.”

  “But you said barbecue.”

  She holds up her corn chips. “These work, too.”

  “Jayden, is that your second bag already?” Indy asks. “How about you do some work? You’re going to give yourself a heart attack by the time you’re seventeen.”

  “Leave him alone,” Lucky mutters. “We’ll all be dead by then anyway.”

  Indy looks ready to give her nephew a dressing down, then she raises both hands to rub her forehead instead. Lucky smirks, but there’s a flare of real anger in there. From both their reactions, I’d say fighting is a common occurrence where he and his aunt are concerned.

  Jayden shrugs, dumps the remainder of the bag in his mouth, and follows Indy to a far corner of the warehouse. Sylvie does the same with her bag and shoves the empty package in her back pocket.

  “Was that your second bag, too?” I ask.

  “First.” She shines her flashlight on a pallet. “These are veggie chips. Grace will be happy.” She moves to the next one in line. “But I’m about to get another bag. Lucky might be right.”

  “About what?”

  “Zombies. Us. Dead.”

  “It doesn’t mean you’ll be dead,” I argue more forcefully than necessary. She’s pretending to be fatalistic, or I hope she is.

  “Well, if I am, don’t waste time burying me or whatever. Just toss me out of the way and keep yourselves alive.”

  I imagine doing that and know it would be impossible.

  “I want a 21-gun salute,” Paul says. “Honor guard and the whole nine.”

  “I’m not wasting twenty-one bullets on you,” I say.

  “Only the one he shoots you with,” Sylvie says. “And that one won’t be a waste.”

  Paul’s laugh booms, then he murmurs, “I like this one, Forrest.”

  I roll my eyes, though his approval does mean something. Rachel and Paul got off on the wrong foot and never found common ground. She thought he was loud and obnoxious. He thought she was too straight-laced and wouldn’t make me as happy as I could be. They were both partially wrong, and right. I thought Rachel and I were a perfect match because we had things in common, but I’m beginning to think my perfect match is a sarcastic girl with a big heart who couldn’t care less about outdoor activities.

  “Nuts over here,” Sylvie says from the next row of pallets. I open my mouth to offer some variation on the idea that she’s a nut, and she calls out, “Don’t even go there, Eric.”

  “Am I that predictable?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Sylvie and Paul say at the same time, then Sylvie laughs from out of sight. “Although I’m not sure if you’re that pre
dictable or just that dorky.”

  “You know what, bro?” Paul whispers. “I love this one.”

  I plant my boot in his ass as he leaves for the forklifts, whose batteries, it turns out, have held a charge. The two box trucks on this side of the warehouse need to be loaded, along with the one we brought down, and forklifts will make the job that much faster.

  Sylvie returns. I hold out a bag of chips. “Barbecue.”

  She crinkles something I can’t make out in the dim light. “I’m forgoing the barbecue for something else; videlicet, party mix. But I’ll eat those next.”

  I groan. She’s beaten me to the word of the day. Again. She steps into the headlight’s glare, lips curved. “Sylvie, winner four days in a row. Eric, loser extraordinaire.”

  I had a retort, but it’s knocked out of my head by the idea of kissing those lips. The electrifying, rapid pulse-inducing idea. This is the most nervous I’ve been since I made out with Justine Nichols in the stairwell of her apartment building in seventh grade, but I’m going to do it. I don’t want to leave—to maybe die—without having kissed her.

  Sylvie’s hand comes up between us, a nacho cheese chip in her fingers. “You want?” she asks. I shake my head. She pops it in her mouth and turns to where Paul rolls toward us in a forklift. “Let’s load up.”

  It was stupid timing, and I know I left the ball in her court, but I could kick myself for letting the moment pass.

  Chapter 5

  My bag is packed. A change of clothes, water, weapons, and all the hiking stuff I cleared out when I got here. I have plenty of food, much of it nuts. We have more nuts and chips than any one human being—or sixty—needs. Hundreds of zombies moved onto the lower avenues yesterday, on their way to nowhere, so we’ve left the remainder inside the warehouse for now. But scattered throughout the houses on our block, and a neighboring block, are pallets’ worth of snack foods. We had enough to make caches in case our main supply is compromised. Even health-conscious Grace was relieved to have an excess.

  I head to the parlor floor at dawn. Sylvie sits on the couch with a book and a very content Cat on her lap. Her chin-length dark hair frames her face, matches her eyes, and accentuates the smooth line of her neck. Working in the backyard has turned her skin golden down to the swell of her chest under her tank top. And now I need to stop thinking about what’s under that tank top before I’m forced to dump a bucket of our precious cold water over my head.