I understand his reticence. I may not shrink from a fight, but that kind of confrontation—one that involves a tempest of emotions—is generally something I try to avoid. I climb the first step so we’re at eye level. The whites of his eyes are pink, the iris solid brown.
“I have no idea what to say. Surprising, I know,” I say. “But I know you need to try. And I’ll be there with you. You’re not alone, no matter what we find, if that helps.”
“It helps.”
It might help more if I said those three words, but I can’t brave that tempest just yet. I hold him tight, hoping he can feel it through some sort of osmotic exchange. And maybe he can, because his breath is warm on my neck when he whispers, “I love you, too.”
***
Zombies One and Two froze in two days. And they thawed out as alive—or undead—as when they went in. We returned them to their icy lair for a week, and now we watch as Zombie Two, also known as One Leg, slithers on the floor in response to our voices. Zombie One is silent and still.
“Well, we know they freeze,” Eli says. “And some of them die for good if they freeze long enough. Once the temperature drops, we go out.”
“If the temperature drops,” Gary says, arms crossed over his girth.
“Let’s hope for a cold winter,” Eric says. “But there should be a couple of periods where they’ll freeze.”
New York City has its arctic-like winters and its mild winters, but there’s always a cold spell. As long as we get one before spring, we can get into Fort Hamilton. We could do anything, really. The thought of being free to go anywhere is mind-boggling.
“And we can kill them,” Guillermo says. “As many as we can.”
We’re an island, which means our number of zombies is finite, even if it’s challenging to think of millions of zombies as finite. Theoretically, we could rid ourselves of Lexers at some point. Through a telescope, we’ve seen mobs walking Jersey. They have thousands of miles at their disposal. You could spend all winter killing the ones around you and then be deluged with zombies from Connecticut in the spring. What doesn’t work in our favor now could work in our favor eventually. If we make it that long.
Chapter 54
It is so freaking hot at the end of August that I’m half-tempted to get in the chest freezer myself. Our immense swimming pool holds approximately a half-million gallons of deliciously cool water in which we are not allowed to swim. Over a year’s worth for bathing, drinking and watering the garden, and while I appreciate the prospect of not dying of thirst, I very much want to dunk myself in that emergency water.
Maria and Jorge’s floor is the coolest and quietest, as it’s partially below ground. I bring my morning coffee down the stairs and wonder why I haven’t done it the past few mornings, when it’s been a muggy eighty degrees at dawn. I pass Jorge’s closed bedroom door in the hall and creep into the living room. The woodwork isn’t as fancy as upstairs, though it has a fireplace and comfortable furniture.
Maria’s bedroom is empty, and she’s not in the kitchen or living room. I settle on the couch with my book. A while later, I hear Jorge’s bedroom door open. He says something and a woman’s voice answers. Maria’s voice. In Jorge’s bedroom. In the morning. She laughs before their footsteps start down the hall. There isn’t time to run out the back door to avoid this encounter, and I cover my mouth to silence my hoot of delight.
They stop short in the doorway. Jorge’s hair hangs in loose waves and his jaw drops for a split second before his big grin materializes. “Morning, Sylvie.”
“Good morning, Jorge.” I tamp down the laugh that bubbles up, but there’s no way to hide my glee.
Maria did look at Jorge affectionately a moment ago. Now, her upturned lips have settled into a disapproving line and her hands have come to rest on her hips. “Sylvie, stop smiling like that.”
“I can’t. I’m really happy for you guys.”
Maria does not appear to share in my joy. I gather my stuff and get to my feet. As I pass for the stairs, I can’t help a wink at Jorge, who hasn’t stopped beaming.
I’m in the hall when Maria says, “Sylvie.” I return to the doorway. She raises her eyebrows. “You promised Leo he could help you dehydrate today. Will you be in the garden?”
I have no clue why she has to know—either she’s trying to exert some parental control in this moment or she’s hatching a plan to avoid me—but I can’t resist saying my next thought aloud. “I thought maybe I’d take you to the pharmacy to get some birth control pills, like you did for me. We don’t need any babies around here.”
Jorge’s laugh booms. Maria starts after me, but I’m younger and faster and I leave her in the dust.
***
Even Maria’s glares in the upstairs kitchen didn’t thwart my happiness, and she finally elected to deny my existence. It’s not as if I have plans to broadcast her sex life all over SPSZ, although I told Grace and Eric. And Indy. And Paul, who’d already suspected as much. But that’s it.
As promised, I’ve taken Leo to the gardens, where we picked ripe tomatoes that have multiplied in the past few days. Leo is helpful, though I’ve found allowing a little kid to help usually results in more work for the adult—like reminding him forty-seven times that tomatoes are not to be torpedoed into the collecting box with his imaginary missile launcher.
Bird delicately picks his way up the black-painted plank of wood that slopes down from the rectangular drying box. Leo puts a foot on the base. “Can I slide down it?”
“No.”
“But Bird is!”
“Bird weighs eight pounds. You do not.” He glances at me sideways, leaning as if to climb, and I say, “Leo whatever-your-middle-name-is, don’t you dare.”
He breaks into giggles. “It’s Thomas. My grandpa’s name is Thomas.”
“Well, Leo Thomas, are you trying to fill the annoying kid slot now that Dominic’s gone? Do you plan to start throwing sand at everyone?”
“No!”
“Good,” I say. “Get your tuchas over here and help me.”
I lift a box of tomatoes to the folding table and open Cassie’s food preservation book to the right page. “I’m going to cut them in half, and you’re going to gently, gently, squeeze the seeds into that bowl,” I say. “Then put them on that metal tray so we can salt them. We’ll move them to the screens after that.”
I begin slicing and hand Leo the first two halves. We get a good rhythm going and three of the screened trays are ready when, to my surprise, Maria drops by. She lifts two of the trays. I grab the third and follow her to the dehydrator.
She slides hers into the slats inside the box, loads my tray, and then glares at me. “Stop smiling.”
“No.”
“Sylvie…”
“You can’t make me stop smiling. Why would you want me to stop smiling?”
Maria’s arms are crossed and her eyes are steely. “I want you to stop making this into something it’s not.”
I can imagine her using this same voice on Ana. Maybe it wouldn’t bother Ana, but I don’t want Maria mad at me. I can’t be sure, like her daughters are, that she’ll always want me around.
“Sorry I’m happy,” I say in a tone reminiscent of Rissa.
I walk for the table, thinking of how joyful Jorge seemed, and how disappointed he’ll be to find out it’s not something. I’m mad at Maria for saying it’s not—or, based on her expression before she saw me this morning—pretending it’s not. Since when does Maria mince words with me?
I whirl around. “No, I’m not sorry. Either you don’t see it or you’re so used to it you don’t notice, but Jorge watches out for you all the time. He makes you laugh when you’d rather cry, and he sets your cup of coffee in the solar oven to warm up because,” I throw my hands in the air, “God forbid Maria has to drink cold coffee. You smile when you’re around him, and he’s even happier than usual, which makes him, like, criminally happy.”
I point into her stunned face and go for the low blow.
“And, sometimes, he lets you win at dominoes.”
I stalk off and resume cutting tomatoes while Maria stands in silence. Once Leo and I finish the next batch, I load them into the dehydrator. Maria moves close, her hand twisting one of her small diamond studs. “You caught me off guard this morning. I—” she averts her face, “I felt funny. I do know how special he is.”
Maybe I’m not the only one who’s scared; Maria’s had her share of disappointment. I’m choked up by my next words before they leave my mouth, but I push them out. “You’re the one who said being loved along the way makes it worth it, and it’s kind of become my life’s philosophy. So please don’t mess that up for me.”
Maria’s hair blows in the breeze while she gazes at the bay. After a minute, she turns, tucking the dark strands behind her ear and wearing a smile that’s both contrite and pleased. “Who knew Sylvie would be giving me a lecture one day?”
“Not me. It’s weird, so can we go back to you bossing me around?”
Maria pulls me to her side with a soft laugh, and once again I wish she were something I could claim as mine. Why I want that is a mystery—being my blood relative has never made people stay or love me in return.
“You’re special, too.”
“Meh,” I say, “I’m all right.”
Before she can scold me, which her narrowed eyes suggest is forthcoming—and which means all is right with the world—Eric strolls up. “We’re thinking of going to Sacred Heart to tell them about the zombies freezing.”
“Why?” I ask. It’s a bitchy reaction, although Maria nods in accord.
A family arrived at SPSZ last week, with the father in a wheelchair. He was injured months ago, but when they finally, miraculously, found Sacred Heart, they were told they weren’t welcome. The mother told the story with tears in her eyes, and every bad thought I’ve ever had about Kearney magnified.
“I know,” Eric says. “But we want to see what they’re up to. It’s nothing they won’t find out when it freezes. They do have zombies right out front. We’re using it as a goodwill gesture to get information.”
“Am I still grounded from Kearney?” I ask.
“Yes,” Eric and Maria say.
“Fine. Be careful.”
Chapter 55
Eric
Sacred Heart has grown to over a hundred people. Their plants look good, although they won’t have leftovers to dehydrate. If the places we suspected had food did, and they were the ones who arrived before us, then they may have a good bit stored for winter nonetheless.
“Do you have enough supplies?” I ask.
“We’re fine,” Walt says. He met us in the church again, though this time we weren’t invited into their living quarters. We stand as he sits on a pew with Emilio behind him. “But thank you for being concerned. Is that what we have to thank for this visit?”
Guillermo tells him about our science experiment. Walt listens closely, and at the end he offers a weak smile. “Aside from what you had to do to get it, that’s great news.”
“Another thing,” Guillermo says. “We had some places we planned to check out, but by the time that mob of Lexers moved, they were empty. Was that you?” Emilio shifts on his feet, and Guillermo says, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t have. We only want to know if there’s someone else around here.”
“As I told you, I don’t go out if I can help it.” Walt nods at Emilio. “Tell him. The last thing we need is more problems.” I wonder what he means by more problems.
“Yeah,” Emilio says. “We got into a school and that big bakery down on Fourth. Those?”
“How’d you know about them?” Eli asks.
“From living in the neighborhood, man,” Emilio says, brow dark. “From a phone book, I don’t fucking know. How’d you know about them?”
Walt lifts his hands with a laugh that’s on the panicky side. “I think we can agree that tensions run high when it comes to food. We could compare notes of places we have on our lists.”
“What about the guy in the wheelchair?” Guillermo asks, not bothering to acknowledge that suggestion.
Walt spins his head, as though looking for said guy. “Who?”
“A man and his family who were sent away from Sacred Heart to die because he couldn’t work,” Eli says curtly. “Ring any bells?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Walt’s gaze darts into the dim recesses of the church, at the confessional boxes behind pillars and the dark hole of the door by the altar. He’s lying, that much I know. When his light brown eyes meet mine, he recoils slightly. He knows I know.
Walt rises to his feet. “Well, thank you for sharing the news about the zombies freezing. I’m sure you want to get back. I hear Sunset Park is a nice place.”
Walt leads us to the second story walkway. With a quick nod at Emilio, he joins us outside, shutting the thick wooden door behind him, and then searches the street before he steps close. He’s not as short as his personality makes him seem, and whether it’s the bright sunlight or his obvious anxiety, his skin has paled under a sheen of sweat.
“I know about him, the man in the wheelchair,” he says quickly. “But I didn’t want to say in there. It was Joe. He’s…not right.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. I’m relieved he’s coming clean, though Kearney being not right isn’t a newsflash. Judging by his unease around Kearney on our previous visit, Walt must have sensed it even if he didn’t want to believe it.
“He had Emilio send that man and his family away. I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s at the monastery a lot of the time, so it’s not so bad. Most people here think he’s their only chance to survive. He was, once, but now…” He twists his hands while he shakes his head.
“Why not leave, then?” Eli asks.
“I can’t leave these people, they’re like family. It’s been a slow change, and they’re not with him as much as I am. I don’t know, maybe it’s not as bad as I think. Where would we go, anyway?”
For the first time, I feel sorry for this ordinary man who’s only trying to do his best. He’s too meek and timid for my taste, but maybe it’s a different kind of brave to risk coming out here to tell us this. It still doesn’t mean I’d want to be out on the streets with him—he’s a zombie meal waiting to happen.
“Everyone is welcome by us,” Guillermo says.
Walt’s chin quivers. He wipes at where a tear has formed and hangs his head. Guillermo shoots me and Eli a baffled, what-should-I-do look, and we shrug.
“Sorry,” Walt says, raising reddened eyes. “What you must think of me, crying like this. But you have no idea how reassuring it is to hear that. Emilio is watching Joe as much as possible. I don’t fear for our safety yet, but if it gets worse, we might need to.”
Guillermo nods. “All right.”
“I know we need to work together, and I thought Joe would come around, but—” His eyes show white all around the iris. “Do you know he killed his partner? And he’s shot other people. I think a bunch of teenagers.”
Eli grinds his teeth. “Killed them, or tried to?”
“I honestly don’t know. It happened before I was here. Kirk alluded to it once.”
It could be the teenagers we found with other bodies in the spring—the ones we spoke to Kearney about at our first meeting—and it could’ve been Kearney who shot at Lucky and the other boys before that.
Walt flinches at three knocks from inside the door. His eyes skip to the bell towers. “I have to go back in. They might want to know what we were talking about.”
He opens the door enough to slip in sideways. The locks clunk into place a moment later, and we grab our bikes and ride home. Back inside SPSZ, Guillermo leans his bike against the front gate of a limestone house. “If that dude Joe is so crazy, why don’t they just take him out?”
“If people like him, they probably can’t,” I say. “What do you want to do?”
“Nothing. We have enough going on, and we don’t need to
start a war. We told Walt he can come here—it’s his choice to stay and cry about it.”
We don’t have a dog in that fight, and the last thing we need is to involve our innocent people in their drama.
“If it was Joe who shot at Lucky…” Eli says, and his lips tighten. “Say the word, and I’m there with you.”
Guillermo nods. “We need to make sure everyone on watch is watching and not dicking around.”
“We should have a plan to bug out, too,” I say. “Bags and a place to go. Not just because of Kearney—in case there’s a fire we can’t put out or a wall goes down.”
We should have one already. I’ve grown complacent, which was idiotic—I know better than that. Restlessness spreads through my limbs at the thought of being taken by surprise. “I’ll start on that tomorrow. We can do it in small groups. Let’s think of a place to meet up if something happens.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Eli says.
“It already came to zombies,” Guillermo says. He runs a hand through his dark hair. “Man, this world is fucked.”
Neither of us disagrees.
Chapter 56
Sylvie
I’ve read about Bug Out Bags in our various survival books, and while I’m fairly certain there won’t be much to learn in today’s lesson, I’m excited to have one of my very own. I helped set up the tables with the gear we need, and now twenty of us sit with empty backpacks on the soccer field’s Astroturf. There are hiking backpacks and school backpacks, and Gary’s might be left over from his Marine Corps days.
Grace sits beside me, hand on her bag, and watches Eric gesture to the tables. “You want to have enough water for three days,” he says. “You all know how to get water from water heaters by now, but you can’t be sure they won’t be empty. It’s just enough to get by, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look for more right away, and carry more if you can.”
It’s a good thing we saved bottles. The MREs from the armory, along with packaged foods like nuts, will go in our bags. I plan to have a bag of cat food in mine, although living on the streets has made Bird less discerning than most felines. An assortment of meals lays on the tables, as does a sheaf of papers with the address of our bug out location, small flashlights, and assorted knives that have passed the Eric Knife Test.