The City Series (Book 2): Peripeteia

  “Everything’s fine,” Eric says.

  “Again with the mind reading,” I say. “Row the boat, you. Every stroke of those oars gets us closer.” Eric shifts on the bench, squaring his shoulders. Every stroke brings us closer to Maria, too. I don’t want to bring it up, but I say, “I can tell Maria.”

  He gazes out over open water. “No, I have to. I’ll tell her what we saw, and if she wants to hope, then…”

  “But you don’t?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, and we continue on in silence. I’ve thought about it in the past week, and I’ve come to the conclusion that if Cassie’s half as resourceful as Eric, there’s a good chance she escaped. But maybe he’s reluctant to hope again, to be disappointed, and that I understand.

  The shore of Governors Island comes into view. I’m optimistic people might have survived there until I spot Lexers outside a brick building. Even with the monocular, we’re too far to see anything on Liberty Island except the giant copper statue. She’s mired in zombies and muck and debris, like us.

  We pass IKEA on Red Hook’s waterfront and the old factories of Brooklyn’s shoreline, cutting diagonal toward Sunset Park. Eric refuses my offer to take over, and, though he rows quickly, there’s less zeal in it. Garbage clunks against the sides of the boat, and at one point a scraping noise sounds eerily like fingers clawing through the bottom. I’m glad this boat is solid; anything less would likely be at the bottom of the bay with us in it.

  We pull between two crumbling concrete piers and heave the boat onto rocks that lead to a derelict parking lot and warehouse, then we camouflage it as best we can and tie it down.

  We have to go out of our way to avoid a mob, but once past Fourth Avenue, we use our old route through houses to navigate to the park. On the final block to Gate 5A, Rob spots us from the roof, and he whistles and waves before signaling to someone behind the sheet metal gate.

  After a moment of relief that it’s still here, I battle the compulsion to run from the coming moment with Maria. But that’s what I’ve always done—if it’s not outright fighting, I disappear. I compartmentalize things into places where they can’t bother me. I pretend all is well. And I’m not doing that anymore.

  The gate opens on its rollers, and Felipe motions us in with a wide grin. “Good to see you guys. You made it?”

  “We even brought back a boat,” I say. “But I don’t suggest going for a joyride in that water.”

  Felipe notices Eric’s preoccupied stare and shoots me an inquiring look. At my head shake, he briefly lays a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Sorry, man.”

  Eric’s nod is heavy. The next gate, of chain link, swings open to the park. Parts of the garden are still green with the hardiest plants, and the trees have begun to drop their colored leaves to brown sections they mulched for winter.

  “Ready?” I ask Eric. He nods again, though his ashen face pronounces him as un-ready as one can be.

  Felipe isn’t sure where Maria is. We enter the stone walls of the park and climb the winding paths. Grace and Paul stand by the greenhouse, and they jog our way as we drop our packs at the top of the rise. Grace’s smile falls as she nears and takes in our disquiet, though she wraps me in a jubilant hug I return in kind. I missed her and this place that’s become home.

  “What happened?” Paul asks. Eric opens his mouth and closes it without speaking, though his eyes redden. Paul pulls him into a hug. “Shit, bro. I’m sorry.”

  Indy and Eli speed toward us. The people at the greenhouse have stopped working to watch. News travels quickly on twenty-four acres. I’m about to ask where Maria is when I see her and Jorge coming. She stops under a tree fifty feet away, hand to her throat, and Jorge takes her elbow.

  Eric and I walk to her, though it’s a struggle to work my legs. I wonder what he’ll say, if he’ll be able to say anything, since he couldn’t to Paul. Mercifully, people have enough sense to stay back, though by the time we reach Maria a hush has fallen over the park. Her eyes are huge, afraid and yet eager, and the hand on her throat has tightened.

  “There was a fire,” Eric says. Maria nods, and he takes a breath. “The house burned—”

  He chokes. Maria has to know by the way she waits. Not patiently, but as though she’s putting off the execution as long as possible. Teetering on the edge of the place where she doesn’t know to the dark hole of where she does.

  “They made it there. The garden was planted. We checked the Message Tree, but the coffee can burned and everything in there was destroyed.” Eric never breaks eye contact with Maria, and his voice wavers only slightly. “A mob came and we had to leave. We couldn’t see if they were…” He lifts his hands helplessly. “I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think they made it out. I’m sorry, Maria. I’m so sorry.”

  Maria blinks, still teetering, and then folds at the waist and staggers back. Her howl of pain is punctuated by rhythmic gasps for air, a desperate unh unh unh that sinks into my chest and steals my breath. This breaking of her spirit, her heart, is the most wretched sound I’ve ever heard. Eric and I rush forward, but Jorge catches her before she sinks to the ground.

  The sight of Maria given over to grief, legs buckled and torso limp, is worse than I imagined, but I won’t run away. She staggers into my arms when I near, and I strain to hold her up while she spasms with sobs.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say through my tears. “I’m sorry.”

  I say it over and over, and though I try to stop, I can’t any more than she can stop her mourning. She’s tearing apart, and I want so desperately to keep her together.

  Chapter 67

  We got Maria to the house and into bed, where she grips my hand. “Maria, take a pill,” I plead. “It’ll help you sleep.”

  She shakes her head. The evening light is weakening, but it’s enough to see her swollen eyes and how her lips are dry and cracked.

  “Please, Mimi.” Jorge stands at the door, feet shuffling and prescription bottle in hand. She shakes her head again. He sets it on the bedside table and touches her cheek. “Okay. Can I get you something?”

  “No. Go eat. I want Sylvie to stay with me.”

  I hide my surprise. Maria must know I’m the worst person to have in a situation like this. Or I used to be. Maybe I’m not anymore.

  “Whatever you need,” Jorge says. “I’ll bring back something in case you get hungry.” She nods, and he kisses her forehead. “Love you, Mimi.”

  Once he’s gone, I sit at the edge of the bed while the room darkens with the setting sun. Maria has rolled on her side, eyes closed, with a tear coasting down her cheek every so often. “Turn on a light,” she says. “You don’t have to sit in the dark.”

  I switch on the lamp, then study her hand in mine, the chair in the corner of the room, and the small bookshelf, where I can make out the titles on the spines. We’ve had solar power for a while, but the ability to see into what used to be dark corners of rooms remains a novelty.

  “Read a book,” she says.

  “That’s okay.”

  “Sylvie, I don’t expect you to stare at me. Go get a book.”

  I obediently grab two books off the shelf without looking and sit down again. She spins onto her other side, and I peek at the titles. One is James Herriot. All Creatures Great and Small. I loved this book when I was a kid, loved to escape into the simple world of a country vet and his animal patients, where even the sad stories left you hopeful in some small way.

  After a while, the door creaks open. Bird peers around the corner, and his eyes grow darker when he sees me. He enters the room, then lets out a long, accusatory meow. You left me here, Woman.

  I put my finger to my lips and bend to pet him, but he backs out of reach. He sits on his haunches and meows again. I shush him. He produces a longer, louder meow.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, patting my lap. “Just come here.”

  Bird’s dark, recriminating gaze doesn’t alter. I extend my arm as far as I can, and he pulls back to keep five centimeters o
f space between his nose and the tips of my fingers. Who knew cats could give you a guilt trip?

  I try several more times, then open my book as if he doesn’t exist. Bird edges to my feet over the course of ten minutes. When I try for a pet, he reverses to his starting point. After another minute of reproachful staring, he begins the process again, and this time I ignore him until he jumps to my lap.

  I kiss his head and pet him long and slow. I missed this ratty old cat, and I’m pretty certain he missed me by the way he kneads my thighs and rubs his head on my chin, purring all the while.

  “Sorry,” I whisper in his ear. “I won’t disappear again.”

  He settles on my lap and tucks his paws beneath his chest. I stroke him with one hand and hold my book in the other until Eric enters.

  “Is she sleeping?” he whispers. I nod and stretch my back. Eric crouches in front of me. “Can I get you anything?”

  “I have to go to the bathroom. Will you stay?”

  “Of course.”

  When I return, he’s scratching behind Bird’s ears and watching Maria. I grabbed some water while I was out there and looked longingly at a bag of potato chips, but the crunching would not be conducive to Maria’s sleep.

  “Are you coming to bed later?” Eric asks. His eyes are creased, his mouth folds deep. This is what he’d look like if we live another thirty years, minus any glimmer of happiness. I must look the same. I can’t articulate how much I was looking forward to sleeping soundly in our safe, soft bed.

  “I’ll stay for now,” I say, and though he’s disappointed, he smiles before he leaves.

  Maria sniffs. She’s awake, avoiding people—or Eric. Her sniffles turn to sobs. I rest my hand on her side and recall how she comforted me when she found me in a similar state, and then I sit against the headboard to gently stroke her hair.

  I don’t have anything significant to say to her the way she did to me, and, in my opinion, people who say the dead are in a better place to someone stunned by grief should be shot on sight. I close my eyes and hope that what she said that day was true: that she’ll continue to go on because she has all of us, and that my love and Jorge’s love and everyone else’s love is enough.

  ***

  I wake at dawn with Bird on my legs, his head resting on his outstretched paw. The light is still lit, and Jorge sleeps in the chair with his head dropped back at an uncomfortable-looking angle. Maria blinks at the ceiling.

  “Do you need anything?” I whisper.

  She shakes her head and throws back the covers, then departs the room hunched like an old lady. I relax when I hear the bathroom door close down the hall. I don’t know what I fear, exactly, but the woman at Brother David’s church, who killed herself after her child died, isn’t far from my thoughts.

  The bedside table holds a plate of last night’s dinner. I cram half the piece of bread in my mouth. We hardly ever have bread, and I love bread products. Just when I’m about to go after Maria because I can’t chase the image of a blood-streaked bathroom from my mind, she appears and lowers herself into bed, where she stares at the ceiling once more.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

  “Come back,” she says, her voice hoarse. I find a thermos of hot coffee upstairs, fill two mugs, and return. Maria sips at hers, propped on pillows, and says, “Tell me what you saw. At the cabin. I’ve been there. I’ll know what you’re talking about.”

  Her eyes are penetrating within swollen, tear-stained skin. Maria is funny, loving, and slightly zany, but she’s also practical. She deserves a matter-of-fact account. I organize my thoughts so I can speak without crying, and then I tell her about the cabin and the chicken coop, the burned bodies and forest. John’s truck and the SUV that must have come from down here. The garden of overripe vegetables, the Message Tree, and the many Lexers who sent us running.

  I recite it steadily. I want to give her a clue that says she shouldn’t mourn, but I won’t lie or sugarcoat it. She has to make her decision based on the evidence.

  “What do you think?” she asks once I’ve finished.

  Jorge has woken and watches me, though he doesn’t supply any guidance on this answer. “I don’t know,” I say. “There’s no proof they didn’t get out. At least some of them. Maybe they ran or had bikes or another car.”

  Maria’s eyes have closed. She wipes tears off her cheeks as fast as they come. “Thank you, Sylvie. Go do what you need to do. I know you want to shower and see everyone.”

  “I don’t mind—”

  “Go.” She pats my leg. “Come back later if you want.”

  “I will.” I kiss the top of her head before I leave the room. I don’t think I helped back there, and I hope I didn’t make it worse.

  Upstairs, I find the rest of our housemates at the table with their breakfast and pick up Leo, though I’m the one who always says he’s too big to carry. “I missed you, squirt.” He pushes his forehead against mine, and I wince. “Careful.”

  “How’d you get that?” he asks, examining my bruise.

  “Escaping from zombies on a boat.” I look around. “Where’s Eric?”

  “He went to the office to talk to Guillermo,” Paul says.

  They follow me into the living room, where I sit on the couch. Leo curls into me, head snuggled into my neck. I do need a shower, but I need people more. I need people. I would be surprised at that admission except I feel too world-weary to be shocked at anything.

  “We went down and hid the boat,” Eli says. “Bringing it back was a good move.”

  I smile. It feels wrong with Maria downstairs. “It was our only choice. What happened while we were gone?”

  “A whole lot of nothing,” Paul says.

  “The greenhouse is pretty much done,” Grace says from next to me. Eli sits on her other side, overlapping her personal bubble, and she doesn’t seem to mind. “Tell us what else happened. Eric hasn’t said much.”

  “We rode bikes and a motorcycle. I got hypothermia and almost died. We stole a boat from a marina and—”

  “Back up!” Indy moves her hands in a circular motion. “You almost died?”

  “The moral of that story is don’t ride a motorcycle when you’re wet.” I recount the tale, and they laugh at the parts where I call Eric Golden Boy and wave goodbye to my water bottle. Grace rubs my arm as though she can warm hypothermic me after the fact.

  When I’m done, Paul says. “He didn’t notice because he thought you were being your regular self.” I cover Leo’s eyes and flip Paul off, to which he says, “Thusly proving my point.”

  “Thusly?” I ask. “Did you learn to read while I was gone?”

  Paul’s blue eyes crinkle. “I missed you, Rossi.”

  “I missed you guys.” The words leave my mouth before I can make them awkward, and I receive pleased smiles in reply. I kiss the top of Leo’s head to hide my embarrassment after the fact. “I need to shower before I give Leo New York Bay cooties.”

  Leo clings to me like a spider monkey. Grace leans her head on my shoulder. “We want to hear the rest of it.”

  I field question after question before they let me go, and somewhere along the way I realize I’m the only person still reeling from my declaration of friendship. They’re as happy to see me as I am to see them.

  Chapter 68

  Eric

  Laughter comes from the garden apartment, which I haven’t heard in that region of the house since we returned. It sounds like Sylvie and Maria, and I stand at the top of the staircase, straining my ears.

  “Bro,” Paul says, and I jump. “What’re you doing?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Paul,” I say. “Why are you creeping up on me?”

  He folds his arms. “Go down there.”

  I pretend not to hear. Maria’s been avoiding me. It’s possible she’s been avoiding everyone, but she won’t so much as look at me. If I’d left sooner, she would’ve been with Ana and Penny. Even if she’d died in that fire, I think she
would prefer having seen them one last time. I don’t blame her for being angry with me—I’m angry with me. I just wish she’d come out and say it.

  More laughter filters up. Paul gives me the once-over with shrewd blue eyes. “You’re scared to go down there, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not scared. She doesn’t want me around.”

  “Christ, really?” He pushes out his lower lip. “Waaaah. She doesn’t want me awound.”

  I hold back a serious urge to smash Paul in the mouth and turn away. “Fuck off, Paul.”

  “Ah, there you are, Eric. I thought maybe you lost your balls out on the bay.”

  I spin around. He throws out a wide grin and trots downstairs before I can respond. When he reaches the bottom, he says, “Hello, my friends. What’s so funny?”

  I hear Sylvie’s muffled reply, and then Paul calls, “Hey, Eric! They’re reading a book. All Creatures Great and Small. Sounds pretty interesting. I’m gonna stay down here and listen.”

  I wish I had punched him.

  “Eric?” Sylvie calls. “Come here.”

  Sylvie spends a good part of each day with Maria. She said they read or talk or sit, in response to the question I didn’t ask but wanted to. And when she told me to visit yesterday, I said I would and then didn’t. I sigh. Paul’s right. I seem to have misplaced my backbone, if not my balls.

  I push myself to take the stairs and stand outside the door. “James Herriot? My mom read me and Cassie those books when we were kids.”

  Sylvie and Maria sit up in bed, legs outstretched and Bird between them. Leo is at their feet, lying on his stomach with his chin in his hands. Paul sits in the chair, smug as hell. He may be right, but I want to punch him anyway.

  Maria pats the bed. Her cheeks are wet, though that could be from the manic laughter I heard before. I settle by her feet.

  “Okay,” Sylvie says. “You may remember this part in the book. There’s an old lady who pampers her dog, and whenever the dog is sick from eating too much cake, she says he’s gone flop-butt. That’s where we are now.”