The City Series (Book 2): Peripeteia

  “You’ll need a change of clothes, and socks, preferably two pairs,” Eric says. “Never underestimate the value of a clean pair of socks. If someone in your family can’t carry as much, and you can carry more, bring extra water for them. Extra food, too.”

  He paces before us. “And extra weapons. This will be like before you came here. No water and no stores of food. Those mobs can trap you for a long time. You don’t want to be wishing you’d thrown in that extra bottle but didn’t because you packed your bag on a day when it seemed impossible.”

  Eric examines us skeptically, as though our nods aren’t forceful enough. “I’m serious. You can die in three days without water. If you don’t have the proper clothes, you can die. No spare weapon, dead. No flashlight, a Lexer gets you in the dark. Small things can mean the difference between life and death. Life and death.”

  “We get it,” Paul whispers, and I choke back a laugh.

  Eric gives us a stern teacher look. “Then there are the luxuries. Toothbrush and toothpaste. Deodorant. You can usually find something to use, but toilet paper is a good idea. Wet wipes are great. Find the list at the first table and fill your BOB with everything it says and anything you can’t live without.”

  “Bob?” Brother David asks, clearly wondering who Bob is.

  “Short for Bug Out Bag,” Eric says.

  “Do they have a last name?” I whisper to Grace and Paul.

  “Sylvie, do you have a question?” Eric asks.

  He’s trying to get me in trouble, which is hilarious and sort of cute. Though I appreciate the gravity of the situation, I can’t help wanting to lighten it a little. “Actually, I do have one. Can I name my bag Clarence?”

  “What?”

  “It’s just that if they’re all named Bob, it’ll get confusing.” Eric crosses his arms, his chest rising with a long-suffering sigh, and I continue, “It’ll be like, ‘Do you have Bob? No, I have Bob. Which Bob do you have? Where’s my Bob?’ Honestly, I don’t think that’ll be an effective use of our time in an emergency.”

  Grace pats her pink backpack with a giggle. “I’m naming mine Lily.”

  “I think yours looks more like a Gloria,” I say. “But as long as it’s not Bob, or Robert, you’re probably okay.”

  She flops face down onto the Astroturf with a squeal of laughter. Paul coughs into his hand, and Brother David’s shoulders shake beneath his habit. I hold Eric’s stare, ignoring the growing titters of my fellow BOB-packers, until he cracks a smile. “You can name it whatever you want.”

  I hug Clarence to my chest. “Thank you.”

  Eric eyes the grinning people before him. “All right, you can get started. If you have any questions, let me know.”

  I jump to my feet, Clarence in hand, and line up for the tables. I feel Eric behind me before he speaks. “Clarence?”

  I turn, smiling. “Yup.”

  “It’s a good thing I love you.”

  “It most surely is,” I say, and kiss his cheek.

  “But I’m going to get you back.”

  “It was worth it.”

  Indy and Eli appear. Indy holds her bag in the air. “Karen is ready to be filled.”

  “Kevin,” Eli says with a nod at his pack.

  I laugh until Eric gooses me, and then I kick his behind as he leaves to answer a question. People talk as they fill their bags, and I hear all sorts of names bandied about—Terence, Julio, Kieran, and Brenda, to name a few. Sometimes I love this place.

  ***

  I now understand why Eric said gardening is a lot of puttering around followed by weeks of insanity. We’ve been in the garden from dawn until dusk since the beginning of September, picking things, preserving them, planting fall crops, and generally trying not to let a molecule of food go to waste. After three weeks, the work shows no signs of abating.

  Grace crunches on a bean next to me. “How can you eat that when we have real food?”

  “This is real,” I say about my bag of popcorn. “Real delicious. Calorie-wise, it’s not much, but that’s why I also have pork rinds.”

  “You are not eating pork rinds.”

  “I am. They’re salty, oily protein.” I open the bag and hold one out to Bird, who takes it in his teeth and slinks under our bench. “And Bird likes them, so I get them for him.”

  “You’re deranged.”

  We sit at the top of the park during our lunch break. Behind us, people hammer on the greenhouse being constructed near the rec center. The goats prance around a permanent, penned area, and their number now includes two baby goats, both of whom are incredibly cute and fiercely guarded by Betty. Bird learned that the hard way—with a hoof.

  Grace spears a forkful of beans in her bowl, which, truthfully, aren’t terrible when stir-fried with garlic and soy sauce the way May, Chen’s mother, makes them. Chen, Leo, and Emily have become best friends, and, with Dominic gone, they rule the playground with an iron fist in a velvet glove. Bullies beware.

  The first fallen leaves of autumn swirl in a mini-tornado of wind. Grace shivers. “It’s cold in the shade. The only reason I want winter is so that they freeze.”

  “Me, too.”

  They’ve worked out heat for most of the buildings, but people are still merging households for the colder months. Indy, Eli, and Lucky will move into the downstairs apartment of our house, since Maria and Jorge—now formally an item—share a room. Lucky and Eli will take Maria’s old room, and the downstairs office will become Indy’s bedroom. Grace was pleased at the news, but I don’t tease her about Eli the way I normally would. It’s all very respectful and hands-off, as if they’re courting in 1832, and I can’t bring myself to sully it.

  The crunching sounds from under the bench cease, Bird sticks his head out, and I toss another pork rind down. He grabs it in his mouth and disappears.

  “Next we start on the—” Grace is interrupted by static from the marine radio I carry all morning. Ren’s voice says, “Sylvie, this is Wadsworth, are you there? Over.”

  I’m glad I didn’t turn it off yet, since it’s just after noon, though I’m not too hopeful of a coming trip. They like to call to check in. The first few times they did I almost had a heart attack. “Hi, Ren. I’m here. How are you?” Silence answers before I remember the radio etiquette they’ve taught me, even if I feel like a dork when I do it. “Over.”

  “I’m good. We’re going north, into the Long Island Sound. Can you be at the spot, Two October, 0600 hours? Over.”

  Grace sets down her beans and watches me lift the radio to my mouth with a shaking hand. This is happening. “Yes. That’s affirmative.” I silently thank Gary for the lingo. “If what you mean is six in the morning on October 2nd. Over.”

  “That’s what I mean,” he says with a chuckle. “See you then. Bring bikes if you can, okay? It’s pretty bad out there on foot, we hear. Over.”

  I nod like an idiot, then press the button when I remember he can’t see me. “Okay. Roger that. Or copy. Or whatever. We’ll be there. And thank you! Over.”

  A deep laugh sounds in the background before Ren says, “No problem. See you then. Out.”

  At some point during the conversation I got to my feet. I set the radio on the bench and drop beside it. I can’t wait to see Eric’s face when I tell him, but now I’m terrified. I have to travel through two hundred miles of zombies with Clarence on my back, and I’m going to die. If not from zombies, then maybe from bears. I hate bears.

  “I’m going to die,” I say to Grace.

  Her head moves up and down. “No, you’re not.”

  “Then why are you nodding?” I screech.

  “I don’t know!” She mashes me into her side. “You’re not going to die. You would if it were just you, but Eric won’t let you die.”

  At the joking tone of her voice, I say, “I thought you were making that not-a-jerk vision board.”

  “It’s not done yet.”

  I take a deep breath. Then another. I can just make out Jersey across the wa
ter. I can’t see the mobs of zombies, but they’re there. I must have been insane when I offered to go. But my fear of the trip is outweighed by my fear of Eric going alone, and I want to do this for Maria. I will do everything in my power not to be a hindrance. I will not whine or whimper or do anything stupid. This will be my mantra. If I had time, it’s possible I would vision-board the outcome. A highly unlikely possibility, but still.

  “Okay,” I say. “When I get back I expect to see your vision board completed and your non-jerky self in evidence.”

  “We’ll see,” Grace says.

  Chapter 57

  Eric

  We’re leaving. I’ve spent the past two days writing out instructions for the garden. I packed my bag, then packed it again. Then checked Sylvie’s bag again. Everything seems to be in order, but I want to double-check one last time.

  Sylvie snatches her pack from my hands, throws it on her shoulders, and clicks the waist strap. She’s ready to roll in her jeans and boots, layered shirts, leather jacket, gloves, and a khaki army-type hat to keep the sun out of her eyes. “Clarence is tired of you fondling him. We have everything. You looked forty times.”

  I pick up my pack, which Sylvie has named Clara. It’s heavier than hers, though I split the food and gave her the small stove and UV filter to help ensure her survival if we’re separated. Her bag isn’t very big, but at least she didn’t ask to bring her messenger bag.

  Sylvie turns back at the bedroom door. “Oh, by the way, I took out some food. It was heavy! I don’t think we’ll need to eat that much.” I open my mouth, and she laughs. “Gotcha!”

  “You’re starting already?” I ask, though it’s secretly a relief to have confirmation she didn’t remove food.

  I’ve tried to impress upon her the importance of being prepared. I fully admit I took it to an irritating level, and I had to tone it down lest she chuck the water filter at my head during my third lecture on the subject of filtration.

  “This is going to be fun,” she says on our way downstairs and out the door. “Hiking, zombies, bears. It’s like my birthday in October.”

  “As opposed to February the…”

  “That’s right. February.”

  “You really aren’t going to tell me your birthday?”

  She won’t, no matter how I plead. I don’t like my birthday, she says. Grace says she’s always hated it and also refuses to tell me under penalty of death by Sylvie.

  On our way to the gate, where everyone waits, I say, “You don’t have to come. I know you’re scared, and I appreciate you’re willing to. I’d almost feel better if you stayed.”

  “I wouldn’t feel better. I’m more scared of bears than zombies, anyway. I can fight a zombie. As long as we don’t run into any bears, we’ll be fine.”

  I squeeze her hand at the outright lie. Grace stands at the gate with Sylvie’s bike, Jorge with mine, and they’re flanked by Paul, Eli, Indy, Guillermo, and a slew of people, teenagers, and assorted children.

  Maria hugs me. “Come back if it’s too dangerous. Okay?” I say I will, and she puts her arms around Sylvie. “Did you hear what I said to Eric?”

  “I did,” Sylvie says.

  “Well, he won’t listen to me, so I’m leaving it up to you. Come back if it’s too dangerous.” Maria hands her a Ziploc bag that contains two envelopes. “These are for Penny and Ana.”

  Sylvie sets her pack on the ground and tucks them inside. “I’ll make sure they get there.”

  There’s a flurry of hugging and well-wishing. Sylvie kneels before Leo, hand stroking Bird beside him. “I’ll miss you, squirt. Promise you’ll take care of Bird? You’re in charge.”

  “I already told my dad we need pork rinds.”

  “See? You’ll be fine.”

  He steps into her outstretched arms. “Will you be fine?”

  Sylvie holds him tight. “I’ll do my best. If I’m not, Bird will need you to be strong. He’ll need his pork rinds and his ears scratched and lots of love.”

  She lets go of Leo, gives Bird one last scratch, and takes her bike from Grace. I wave as the gate rolls open. I can’t believe the day has come. We’re going upstate.

  ***

  A night passed on the floor in the marina’s office gave us a real-world test of our sleeping system. I wouldn’t mind a stop at REI for an ultralight down sleeping bag and compression sack, having left my soaked one behind on the way to Brooklyn, but our shared extra-wide fleece liner and homemade wool sleeping sack contained our body heat well. They roll up to almost nothing and keep their insulating properties when wet, unlike down and the bulky yet ineffective sleeping bags we’ve found in basements. The temperature will be colder the farther north we go, but it likely won’t reach below freezing. There should be plenty of houses at which to stop, out of the elements and with spare blankets. Plus, the idea is to find a motorcycle, and a day on a motorcycle is all we need to go the distance.

  We sit on the dock as the sun rises. Sylvie hands me a bag of nuts. It’s a good thing I’ve gotten over my peanut aversion, since we have salted peanuts, honey roasted peanuts, and spicy peanuts by the hundreds.

  After a while, the dull gleam of the silver boat comes into view, followed by the sound of an engine. We stand as it pulls to the dock. Ren leans off the side. “Morning!”

  He helps Sylvie aboard, and I follow. A man exits the pilothouse door, smiling under his white mustache and the new addition of a white beard. Jerry, the Chief of Police of Wadsworth.

  “Well, goddamn if you didn’t make it into Brooklyn,” he says, shaking my hand.

  “Good to see you, Jerry,” I say. I was only around him for a day, but that was enough time to get to like him. He’s tough but fair, and kind as well.

  He beams and turns to Sylvie, eyes crinkling. “And you must be Sylvie of the Radio. Sometimes I have Ren check in just to hear what you’ll say.”

  Sylvie’s blush is visible in the weak morning light. “Is that your laugh I hear in the background? I know, I need to go to Coast Guard radio school.”

  “You get your point across fine,” he says. “Come on in, we have breakfast.”

  We follow him into the warm pilothouse, where he sets us in chairs and hands us each a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit sandwich. Sylvie looks up, eyes round with wonder. “Have I died and gone to Heaven?”

  Jerry laughs. “We’ve had a freezer since the beginning. Thought you might like that.”

  We do. I pick every crumb from the wrapper. Healthy food is great, but there’s nothing like a greasy breakfast sandwich with hot coffee, which Jerry also supplies as we zip into open water and parallel Brooklyn and Long Island. The few guys on board work quietly, keeping track of various screens and talking in low voices.

  “We’re going to drop you around New Haven,” Jerry says. “We got wind of a few places on the water to check for food and fuel. No one could access them from land, so we think we might get some supplies. You have a good map?”

  I retrieve the New York-New Jersey atlas from my bag. Jerry points out a likely spot. “But that’s farther in than New Haven,” I say. There’s no reason for them to go there except to make our lives easier.

  “You complaining?” he asks.

  Sylvie salutes him. “No, sir!”

  Jerry raises his bushy brows. “Listen to Sylvie of the Radio.”

  “Listen to Jerry of Wadsworth,” Sylvie says.

  Jerry chuckles, and I realize how glad I am to have Sylvie here. This would be a very different, and lonely, morning if I were on my own. Although it’s clear she’s nervous when she thinks I’m not watching, she’s been nothing but gung ho about this trip. She’s not the only one who’s anxious—my brain runs in an endless loop of worry about her safety, about what we’ll run into, about what we’ll find.

  Eventually, we curve around the tip of Long Island, where the woods look uninhabited and safe. “Don’t let that fool you,” Jerry says. “Some of those pods moved out from Queens.”

  “Pods?” Sylvi
e asks.

  “Those big groups of Lexers.”

  “We call them mobs.”

  “Either way, you don’t want to meet up with one,” he says. “There’s a Safe Zone in New Hampshire. That’s who told us about these places, since they can’t get there. Good men, fighting the good fight.” He doffs an imaginary cap at Sylvie. “And women, of course.”

  “Damn skippy,” she says. I don’t think she’d be offended anyway, but now that Jerry’s the man who gave her bacon, he can do no wrong.

  “That’s the Safe Zone Ren told us about,” I say. “And one in Vermont, plus a couple in Pennsylvania, right?”

  Jerry nods. “Maine, too. They’re all over the country, but still fewer than we’d like. We can’t always get in touch with them, but New Hampshire broadcasts every day, sending out messages to come for safety. Have you heard them?” We shake our heads, and he says, “It might not travel far enough where you could catch it on a regular radio in Brooklyn. Get a shortwave if you can. It’s good to hear people out there.”

  I would love to find a shortwave. So far, we’ve had no luck, but I’m keeping my eyes peeled. Maybe we could rig up some way to broadcast our location, or talk to others locally. I know next to nothing about radio communications, and neither does anyone at SPSZ, including Gary. But if we can find a ham radio and some instructions, we could figure it out.

  “Would you do me a favor the next time you talk to New Hampshire?” I ask. “Will you see if they’ve heard of anyone named Cassie Forrest? I have a few other names you could ask for, too.”

  Jerry turns to a drawer for a pad and pen and then hands them to me. “Write ‘em all down, and I’ll ask myself.” I thank him and make a list of anyone who might be with Cassie.

  It’s afternoon by the time we’re in the Long Island Sound, and we stand on the deck after eating another breakfast sandwich for lunch. Sylvie holds her hat to her head while she watches the coast. Her eyes close and her chest rises, long and slow.