I turn. There’s no trace of a lie on their faces. Hunger and fatigue, but no deceit. “Really?”
They nod. I look toward the bridges I can’t see. The bridges that don’t exist. After the Verrazano, I assumed I could make it across the remains of another bridge. Assumed there were remains. Disappointment makes me too tired to start on plans C, D, or E straight away.
“How about the Triborough?” I ask.
“Couldn’t get close,” the blond one says. “Verrazano is up, if you can get there.”
“That’s how I got in, but it’s in the water now.”
“You came into the city?”
“I thought my sister was here.”
“She’s not?”
“No, she got out the night before. Went upstate, we think.” They search the tracks, guns held tight. I’ve just slipped up—I said we. “That’s me and the mother of the friends she left with. She’s still in Sunset Park, and I’m trying to find them.”
They don’t look convinced. I shrug and hope it comes off as glibly as I don’t feel. “I’m telling the truth. I get that you have no reason to trust me, but I am.”
Finally, they lower their guns. I guess I pulled it off. “I’m Dennis,” the bearded man says. “And this is Rob.”
“Eric. Are we done with considering killing me?”
Dennis rocks his head from side to side as if weighing his options, though he smiles. “Maybe. You might want to watch your back, though.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” They both chuckle. I can tell they’re the kind of guys who respect a little ballsiness. “So there’s no point going for the bridges?”
“You could try for the Triborough.” Rob puts a foot up on the third rail and settles in for a good bout of direction-giving. “You’re gonna wanna loop around, but if you can get to LaGuardia and maybe stay at the shore—”
“You want to sit in the shade?” Dennis asks. “Have a drink and talk?”
I follow them to the station, where two women and five children sit huddled against the metal wall that backs the covered platform. The rest of the platform is empty but for a large pile of bedding and belongings that don’t look like much for nine people.
“It’s all right,” Dennis says to one, a woman in her late thirties or early forties. She has long braided hair, sharp cheekbones that speak of hunger, and a wary expression, but she nods at his words.
The other woman, with frizzy brown hair and pasty skin, says to Rob, “What are you thinking, bringing him here with the kids?”
“He’s all right, babe,” Rob says. “Told us somewhere we could go.” She almost hisses, and he rests a hand on her shoulder. “Over in Sunset Park. They have food and a place to live.”
He glances at me after he says it, and I nod. “They do. They’ll take you all in.”
I smile at the little blond girl. She tries to crawl under her mother’s shirt. After a few seconds of grappling, the woman gives up and lets her. Two other sandy-haired kids, both boys, one around ten and the other a year or two older, sit on either side.
“This is my wife, Susan,” he says. “Sorry about the welcome, we don’t trust anyone since the last people we met.”
Dennis waves at the other woman. “My wife is Jean, and my two boys are Dennis Jr. and Kenneth.”
The two boys, who look enough alike to be twins, give me cautious smiles. Their mother, Jean, asks wearily, “Where is this place again?”
“Sunset Park. There’s another in Staten Island, at Fort Wadsworth.”
“You look like you’re doing well for yourself,” Susan says, bitterness plain in her voice and on her face.
“You could, too,” I say. I’m trying hard to be gentlemanly, but I want to give Rob a medal for putting up with someone who seems so caustic for three children’s worth of years.
“We can’t get there,” she says. “How are we supposed to bring five kids all that way?”
I want to tell her it’s not my problem, just to give her a taste of her own medicine, but her arms are tight around the shoulders of her boys. She looks fit to drop, yet I can tell she’d rip my head off to protect her kids, and I respect her for it. Not everyone had pancakes this morning and left a little boy playing happily in a yard.
“I’ll take you,” I say, and then, when I think of what it entails, wish like hell I hadn’t.
Chapter 7
Rob and Dennis have just finished telling me how they had enough food and supplies for two months when they were stolen. “Just came in and took it,” Dennis says.
“We thought, after the gangbangers shot each other up, that we’d be all right,” Rob adds. “That’s how we got the guns.”
“Took ‘em off the dead ones in the streets,” Dennis says.
They finish each other’s thoughts. They’ve been friends since high school, like me and Paul, only they’re in their late thirties. They worked at the same trucking company that delivered non-edible goods to stores, a detail they both lament. Food would have meant a better existence thus far, although they would’ve ended up losing it to the people who took what little they did have.
“Couple guys showed up begging for food one day,” Rob says. “The kids were in another apartment with the wives. We didn’t want to tell them to get out—we thought that’d be worse than giving up a couple meals. Once we opened the door, their buddies busted in, and that was that.”
“How’d they know you had anything?” I ask.
“It must’ve been the candles,” Dennis says. “One of the kids lit one without covering the window. We were going to feed the guys and move so they couldn’t find us again. Didn’t work out that way.”
I think of our blackout shades and garbage bags. We’ve made our neighboring houses seem looted and we keep watch, but with the two sides of the blocks that surround our yards, we could easily be taken by surprise. The more I think about it, the more Guillermo’s guarded Safe Zone becomes an appealing idea.
“They didn’t kill you,” I say. They nod without enthusiasm. The men did kill the part of Dennis and Rob that believed they could provide for their families. Both are big guys—not in prime shape, but no one I’d pick a fight with for fun—and to lose must be a blow to their pride. “They have guards at Sunset Park. Guillermo isn’t fucking around. He wants to help people.”
“Just don’t want to be beholden,” Dennis says. Rob nods.
“It’s not like that there. And none of us wants to be beholden. I spent days shitting myself after I crossed the bridges and almost died. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t found help. The worst part? You should see the girl who had to clean up my shit.”
“She hot?” Rob asks.
I think of Sylvie’s body against mine. Her smile and chocolatey eyes. It’s a wonder she’d even consider kissing me after the way we met. I let my head fall back. It’s a bit melodramatic, but it is an incident I’d like to erase from my memory. “Very.”
Both men guffaw. “Sucks,” Dennis says.
“This is a different world.” The next part will sound like my dad, but that’s fine by me. “We have to help each other out, and we don’t have time to waste licking our wounds. Only you can decide if you want your kids to have food to eat and a yard to play in.” I wait a beat and ask, “So, you guys wanna go to Sunset Park or not?”
“Hell yeah, we do,” they say in harmony.
***
They have a small box truck. I don’t know how far it will get us, but once my bike is in the back with their belongings and gaggle of kids, we set off. We leave the cargo door cracked and Dennis at the ready with his gun and large knife.
I try to recall the streets that were clear, but it’s turned to a mishmash in my mind. We’re stuck with trial and error. Rob climbs over curbs and squeezes between vehicles, once scraping the truck’s sides to a round of shrieks from the back.
In this part of Brooklyn, the curved streets aren’t set in a grid like much of New York, but having driven a truck around the city, Rob knows them l
ike the back of his hand. When we reach an impasse, he takes a split second to consider a new route before he makes the call. A large contingent of zombies trails us. We’ve left behind all but five by the time we arrive at Fort Hamilton Parkway, where our luck peters out in a sea of stopped vehicles. Although I’d say we’re lucky to have made it this close to Guillermo’s.
“We’ll have to walk the rest,” I say.
Rob glances in the rearview and then out the windows. “There a lot of ‘em down there?”
“Sometimes yes and sometimes no.”
He nods. I know he was hoping for a more conclusive answer. If we come upon a group of zombies with five kids, something is bound to go wrong.
A woman hits my window, mouth and cheek smearing thick slime across the glass. A man appears over her shoulder and rams both hands into the window. “Christ,” Rob mutters.
I sigh inaudibly. I’m back where I started hours ago, and now I have to kill a zombie or five. I did it to myself, but I couldn’t leave kids out there to die. And, really, it’s only five Lexers, three of whom are at Rob’s window.
“We go out my way,” I say. “Get these two and then the ones on your side. Don’t use your gun.”
“Got it.” Rob flexes an arm that was likely once muscular and is now fleshy. He pulls an axe from the floor between the seats.
I throw my weight against my door and knock the zombies to the street, then bend for the woman’s eye and finish off the man before Rob’s left the cab. He’s ready for the next three, though, and hacks the first in the ear. The axe twists on its return swing and lodges in the second’s head. That arm is still plenty strong.
I get the last, and we raise the truck door. Dennis lowers the knife he holds at the ready. I jump in and roll my bike past wide-eyed kids and wives. It’s only a matter of time before more come by.
“I’ll get backup,” I say. “Everyone stay inside and keep the door down. If I’m not here in an hour, something happened and you’ll have to make it there alone. You know where the park is?”
Rob and Dennis nod, though they look ready to argue. I raise a hand. “I don’t have kids. I know where I’m going. Be back soon.”
***
I’ve only been on the road for a day, but Sunset Park Safe Zone feels like an oasis. Sunset Park itself is more brown than green, due to earth that’s been turned over for gardens, and about twenty of the sixty people who live here walk the plots, watering the fledgling plants.
Guillermo is out bringing food to Brother David’s church, so I roped Micah and Carlos into helping me, and now Dennis, Rob, and their families are being set up in one of the limestone houses that face the park. It turned out that Micah and Carlos are halfway decent. They haven’t yet reached the point where the bravado and testosterone have combined with just enough temporal lobe function to fully moderate it, but they aren’t stupid.
I’m not that much older than Micah, who, at twenty-two, is the older of the two, but they heeded my directions like I was their drill sergeant. It’s partly Guillermo’s training, but I also get the impression they’re nervous around me. No matter how much I joke, they scuff their shoes on the sidewalk and shoot worried glances at each other.
I look at the sky. The day is more than half gone. By the time I retrace my steps, I’ll never get near the Triborough before dark. One could argue that it makes sense to stay in the neighborhood and start again early tomorrow, though, truthfully, it doesn’t make as much sense as I’d like. I eat and prepare to head out, trying to ignore a certain brownstone that calls to me from not too far away.
Chapter 8
Sylvie
After Eric walks out the door, my housemates turn to me in varying degrees of amusement or surprise. Paul and Jorge are the amusement, Grace the surprise, and Maria’s chin is on the hall floor.
“I’ll water the plants,” I say, and disappear before questions commence.
I start at the far end of the yard and wind my way along the concrete between patches of green. The thought of kissing Eric in front of everyone would make me self-conscious if I could concentrate on a single thought for more than three seconds. Except for the one where I’m in Eric’s lap and he’s about to undo my jeans. That one likes to linger and has turned me into a bundle of nerve endings that beg for release.
Grace hovers by the back door of our brownstone. I pretend not to see her. I had a plan: If something happened between me and Eric, I would ease her into the idea. It’s not even a month since we found Logan’s notes. Her husband of two years, gone and never coming back. I pride myself on not being a shitty friend, but every choice is shitty in this situation. I can say Eric doesn’t matter to me, which is a lie. I can tell her the truth, which could be hurtful. Not telling her will just piss her off in the long run.
A barrel rolls near. We have two, both of which are set onto a rolling platform and whose bottom spigots are connected to a hose and showerhead. The water comes out in a gentle shower, though Paul and Eric modified one with a hand pump to build up pressure. It’s only a matter of time before I’ll have to explain myself to Grace, but for now I’m the busiest garden-waterer you’ve ever seen.
A river of cold water slaps against my neck and rushes down the back of my shirt. I spin with a scream and get a mouthful. It stops as abruptly as it started. I wipe my eyes to see Grace with her hands on her hips, showerhead still in her grip.
“What the ever-loving fuck?” I yell.
Grace points her showerhead at me, and my breath comes a little easier at the sight of her slightly-pissed-yet-willing-to-forgive smile. “That’s for not telling me,” she says. “What the ever-loving fuck was that in the hall?”
“A kiss.”
“A kiss,” she mimics. “Thanks. I figured out that part by myself. When did this start?”
“It was only the second one.” Her eyebrows come down, her showerhead comes up, and I lift my hands. “The first was an hour before that. I didn’t have time to fill you in.”
Grace hooks the showerhead onto the barrel and walks closer. “Were you going to tell me?”
She knows when I’m lying, so I say, “Eventually? I didn’t want to upset you.”
Her lips tighten. She turns to the stretch of houses that surround our yard and swipes at a cheek.
“See?” I say. “That’s what I didn’t want.”
Grace faces me, her eyes red. “I can have more than one emotion at a time, Syls. I can be sad for me and happy for you, but not telling me will definitely make me upset. Even if I cry, it’s okay.”
“Well, you do cry at everything. You’d probably be crying at some point in the day anyway.”
“Asshole. Now tell.”
“This morning he came down to the parlor floor, and we were talking and then we kissed.” I turn on my showerhead and drizzle water on whatever seedling grows here. They all look the same to me.
“That was the worst story ever,” Grace grumbles. “Don’t make me water you again.”
“We kissed and then Paul and Leo came downstairs right when…you know, and—”
“No, I don’t know. Right when what? Stop glossing over the good part!”
“You know—”
“No, I don’t. Explain.”
I squirt her with my showerhead. It’s not the pressurized barrel, but she still screeches. Once she’s wiped herself off and cursed me out, I say, “We just kissed. But it was really good, and then Leo and Paul came downstairs and that was it.”
I’m not a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but I was like a furnace with a broken thermostat. Even worse, I told him I’d miss him. It’s true, but after the heat of the moment passed, it felt too revealing. And then I got weird.
“What did you do?” Grace asks with a moan. “I can see it on your face. What did you do after that?”
“I ignored him,” I say, cheeks aflame. “Until the hall.”
“But everything looked fine then.”
I was so close to letting him walk out the door.
One look at the hurt on his face and I couldn’t do it. I was sure I’d chased him off, but I wanted him to know I didn’t mean to. “I said sorry.”
“You said sorry? Sylvia Rossi apologized to the other person in a relationship,” Grace tells an imaginary audience and shakes her head in wonder. “I can’t believe it.”
“There is no relationship. He sort of said he wanted one, but I told him I’m not good at that stuff. He said for me to think about it. Then this morning happened.”
Grace’s eyes narrow. “When did he say that?”
“When we moved the cars,” I say, and she frowns. “It’s not because of you. You know I don’t like to talk about things.”
She makes an exasperated noise, but she can’t argue with that. “You told him you were Crazy Relationship Person in advance?”
“I told him I’d ruin it, but thanks for that diagnosis. I can’t believe people actually paid you to be their therapist.”
Grace laughs. “What’d he say?”
“That he wouldn’t let me ruin it.”
“Really? He said that?”
I nod. “So, what do you think?”
She stares into the distance while I hold my breath. I need someone to walk me through the maze of ordinary relationships, and having a therapist as a best friend can come in handy when she’s not labeling me with acronyms.
Grace turns to me, bouncing on her toes. “I think you’ve finally met your match.”
I smile. Me, too.
Chapter 9
The outhouse isn’t my favorite place in the world, but people produce a lot of waste, and it all has to go somewhere. We keep it as stink-free as possible by throwing in wood ash from our rocket stove, though it’s just not the same as the flush toilets of yore.
“Sylvie?” Leo asks through the door.
“Yes, squirt?”
He’s taken to standing outside the outhouse to tell me important tidbits of information if I’m in here longer than thirty seconds. Thankfully, this is a short visit. I try to time the longer ones to when he’s otherwise occupied.