“None of it.”
“It’s kind of funny.”
“Don’t go,” she says quickly, quietly. My stomach drops. I want nothing more than to give in to her request, but I can’t not go, being an able-bodied member of SPSZ. It’s silent for a few seconds, then she lifts her head and plasters on a smile. “Pretend I didn’t say that. Go find me an iPad and bring me back cookies, please.”
“You got it.” I look into her dark eyes, which aren’t smiling at all. “I will never leave you on purpose.”
“It’s the by accident that scares me.”
“I know,” I say. It scares me, too.
Chapter 82
Sylvie
Maria has left me and Leo with an iPad, snacks, and an order to sit my ass on a couch. Sunset Park is hardly a hotbed of activity, but I never knew how barren it feels with so many people gone, for the reason that I’m usually one of those people.
Leo plays games on the iPad while I lie on the couch and imagine the streets they have to travel. Two minutes to move a car, maybe three. If there are two hundred cars to push aside, and there are five teams for cars, it will take such and such minutes to get there. It’s a fun game, since I have no idea how many cars there are and the minutes tick by with agonizing sluggishness. We were up at dawn and, after what feels like a hundred years, it’s only two o’clock.
“Syls,” Leo says, “are they coming back?”
“I think so,” I say brightly, in lieu of bawling in uncertainty. “And, out of everyone, I think your daddy will because he’s so strong. And he has you, which makes him want to come back more.”
He nods and returns to his game. That was easy. I begin my own game again, this time contemplating how many places they’ll have to visit in the airport before they’re satisfied. It would help if I knew where anything is.
“Syls?”
“Yeah?”
“I know he wants to come back, but what if he never does?”
This time, his eyes pool with tears. I pull him up to the couch, and he stretches out against my side, placing his feet carefully around Bird at the base of my legs.
“Well, then you’re stuck with me. I promised your dad I’d take care of you.”
“You did?”
“Yup. You know why?” He shakes his head, and I chomp my teeth. “Because you’d be good to eat if I get really hungry.”
He bursts out laughing. “I know that’s a lie.”
“The eating part, not the taking care part. It’s not a lie if you know I’m being silly. That’s teasing.”
“Yeah.” Leo nestles into me and drapes his arm over my chest. His little hand rubs my forearm on that side, glides lightly up to my shoulder, and pats its way back down. I don’t think he’s aware of doing it, but it’s obviously some sort of comfort thing. Maybe it’s comfort for him, but it’s working on me as well.
“You want to know why for real?” I ask. He nods, squeezing my arm gently. “Because you’re the best kid. You’re sweet and funny and smart, and I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He rests his chin on my chest. “I’m glad you hurt your knee.”
“Thanks, squirt. Do you wish I had a broken arm to go with it?”
“No! It’s because I’m not scared when you’re here.”
I smooth his silky hair. This is why I promised Paul—to protect Leo from that feeling where you don’t know who loves you, or if anyone will catch you when you fall. Or, better yet, keep you from falling in the first place.
“You know what? I’m kind of glad, too.” And while I also wish I were at JFK, it’s not a lie. I reach to the coffee table for the box of Whoppers and dump malted milk balls into my hand. “You want?”
Leo eats them out of my hand like a dog, which doesn’t bother me. The other day I cleaned his face with a spit-covered finger, wiped it on my pants, and didn’t think twice about it until ten minutes later.
“I pretend they’re deer poop,” he says.
“You are also extremely weird. Why would you pretend they’re deer poop when you could pretend they’re the poop of a giant alien rabbit?”
“Like the Easter Bunny?” he asks through a mouth full of chocolate.
“Exactly. He has laser eyes and a spaceship, right?”
Leo launches into a description of the Easter Bunny’s space gear while I try to remember when Easter is and if there’s enough junk food to give him an Easter basket that will rival Christmas, candy-wise. We celebrated his birthday a couple of weeks ago, and I managed to keep the number of presents under control, though Paul said that was only because there was nothing left for a hundred miles in every direction.
There’s a knock on the front door before it opens, and then Brother David pops his head into the living room. “Hi. I came by to see if you need anything.”
“Thanks, but I think we’re good.”
“We’re eating Easter Bunny poop,” Leo says.
Brother David absorbs that information with surprising poise. “Sounds delicious.”
I hold up the Whoppers. “Have some. Sit down. Why didn’t you go with the others?”
He shakes candy into his hand, lowers himself into a chair and plucks at his brown habit with a chuckle. “I think it’s this.”
“What do you mean?”
“The constant reminder I’m a priest. It makes Guillermo nervous. He thinks he’ll go to Hell if he lets me die, so he takes my name off volunteer lists and finds me other things to do.”
“Maybe you need to wear flip flops and a Hawaiian shirt?”
“I’ll have to try that. I don’t need to be on watch for an hour, so why don’t you give me something to do? I’m sorry about your knee.”
“It is your fault, in a way,” I say.
His eyebrows rise as he crunches on Whoppers. “How so?”
“It’s the same knee from the first time we met. I might now have a bum knee.” I smile to show I’m not serious.
“Now I definitely owe you. It’s Thursday, which is also the day they bake bread. How about I—”
“Thursday?” I slip out from under Leo and Bird to stand on the rug. “Sacred Heart comes for the milk soon. They need it at the middle gate, and no one’s in the kitchen.”
“I’ll do it when I get the bread,” he says.
“I’ll come.”
“Me, too!” Leo says.
I won’t take him to the gate, in case Sacred Heart shows up when I’m there. Not doing whatever you want, whenever you want: Reason Number Four Not to Have Kids. I grab my coat in the hall. My knee is sore enough that moving cars is a no-no, but walking to the kitchen and then a gate is no big deal.
“Brother David, there is something you can do for me,” I say. “Watch Leo until I get back.”
“Sylvie, I feel as if we’ve had this argument about your knee once before. I’m perfectly happy to—”
“Thanks! See you in ten minutes.”
I flee to the stoop. The rec center kitchen is empty, and I grab the glass jars of goat’s milk from the freezer-fridge, put them in a brown grocery sack, and head out with scarcely a limp. The inner gate rolls open to reveal Jorge and Maria, the former of whom smiles and the latter of whom scowls.
“What don’t you understand about sit your ass on the couch?” Maria asks.
I wave the paper bag at the outer gate. “Milk. They’re going to want it soon.”
Maria takes the bag. I stand in the path of the open gate until she says, “Oh, for God’s sake, sit down.”
I walk through and sit in one of the chairs on the street. Which is kind of odd—sitting in a folding chair in the empty street, surrounded by empty buildings in what was one of the greatest cities in the world.
“Where’s Leo?” she asks.
“Brother David is babysitting. I promise I’m not secretly doing jumping jacks.”
Maria shakes her head and moves behind me to set the bag on the table. “Do you ever listen?”
“I do when it’s important, remember?”
br />
She ignores me, or so I think, until I feel her lips on my head. “I’m glad you stayed here, even if you aren’t.”
A whistle comes from the roof above the outer gate, followed by the sound of a car on the street. It pulls up, stops, and a door opens. Susan leans over the roof ledge, raises one finger, and makes an OK sign with her thumb and forefinger in a circle. One person, and all is clear. If she didn’t have kids, I’m sure she’d routinely kick ass outside the gates. She’s here, waiting for her husband to return, and she’s not freaking out like I am, even if I’m only doing it in my head. Or maybe she’s also doing it in her head. Maybe everyone is.
“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” she calls down to me.
I must encourage being yelled at by mother-type people. “Going back soon,” I call. She nods and moves away.
Jorge hands the bag to Maria, and they walk to the gate while he draws a gun from his side, just in case. I follow behind and to the side. I can’t see through the metal, but I’ll hear everything. “How’s it going?” Jorge asks.
“All right.” It’s Emilio’s voice. Maria hands the bag through, and he says, “Thanks. See your trucks are gone. We saw tire tracks in the snow this morning by us. You guys go somewhere?”
“Yeah,” Jorge says. “Figured we’d go out and see what we could find.” He looks up at the sky. “This is the last of the cold.”
“Don’t know about that,” Emilio says. “We have one of those weather things, with the dials? Pressure’s down, or up, or something. Means the cold might stay another day or two.”
“Good to know.”
“How are the babies doing?” Maria asks. “I can come to you and examine them.”
“That’s not a good idea right now, with the way things are going,” Emilio says. They’ve turned us down every time we’ve offered. I hear a zipper and then a rustle as he packs the milk away. “Thanks for this.”
Jorge nods. “Things aren’t good over there?”
“Yeah, it’s—” Emilio whispers, then he puffs out a laugh with his next breath. “I forgot I can talk,” he says, his voice at normal volume. “I always have a shadow. Either Kirk or someone else Joe trusts.”
“No shadow today?” Jorge asks.
“Joe went out with a big group. He knows some of us don’t like him, and he’s got everyone who doesn’t know better hating you guys.”
That is just too much. I step from behind the gate with my hands in fists. “Why? What does he say?”
Emilio looks startled I’ve materialized. He gets over it quickly, and his brow furrows as though I should already know the answer. “Why? Because you have more than us. You got that supermarket and who knows what else. You have solar and a whole park.”
“How many times have we offered to share?” I spit through clenched teeth. Maria tugs on my coat, but I keep my eyes on Emilio.
“Not everyone likes to share. Didn’t you learn that in Kindergarten? He’s got people who believe him, and that lady who used to live here—what’s her name? Denise. She says the same shit.”
Denise is at Sacred Heart. I will kill her. I will rip her fucking head off. “Denise is a puta who didn’t get to sit on her ass and do nothing here, so she left, and now she talks shit about us?”
Emilio laughs, likely at my choice of words. “You’re right.” He looks over his shoulder. “Joe’s acting weirder. Like he’s got something planned.”
“Any idea what he’s planning?” Jorge asks.
“No, but Walt says it’s our own problem.”
Jorge grunts. “Sounds like he’s everyone’s problem. You let us know if you need anything.”
“Thanks. And thanks for the milk. I want to get back before they do, so I’m gonna go.”
We watch him get into his car. Maria rolls the gate shut, and Jorge threads rebar through the metal loops that latch to the brick wall. After a minute, Susan gives us the all-clear.
Jorge exhales a foggy breath. “I’m glad I don’t live there. When everyone gets back, we’ll send a few people over. If he’s got something planned for us, we need to be ready for it.”
My knee aches from all this shivering in the cold—pajama pants are terrible for winter weather—but I can’t move. Kearney is out there somewhere, as are our people, and though everything about that bothers me, something alarming niggles at the back of my mind. I concentrate on it for a moment, and alarm turns to a blaring siren. “Emilio said they saw our tire tracks this morning. Kearney could’ve followed them to the airport.”
Concern crosses Maria and Jorge’s faces, then Maria shakes her head. “Why today out of all the days we’ve been out? You’re worrying because of what Emilio said.” She points at me. “Back to the couch.”
I stay put. “Someone should check on them.”
“How?” she asks. “You know radios won’t reach that far.”
“I’ll go in a truck.”
Maria laughs, then stops when she sees I’m serious. “You are not going out there by yourself.”
“Oh, yes I am,” I say.
“I’ll go with her, Mimi,” Jorge says. “I’m worried, too.”
Maria twirls an earring. Jorge pulls her close, and she rests her head on his broad chest. “Fine. But be quick, and wear that coat with the lining.”
“Yes, Mimi,” he says with a smile, then turns to me with no trace of humor. “Ten minutes?”
I leave for the house to change. They left hours and hours ago. They could’ve died while I sat on the couch eating Whoppers and imagined them moving cars. Or they could be headed home just fine. But I can’t sit and wonder.
Chapter 83
Eric
So far, the hardest thing about today was leaving Sylvie this morning. She put on a brave face, but she was pale as everyone filed out the front door. I wouldn’t have liked it either, though it didn’t make me any happier to be on the other side.
It was a piece of cake, after we moved the many cars that blocked the last half mile of road. Aqueduct Racetrack was a Safe Zone, as were parts of JFK, and we anticipated a lot of obstacles inside the airport. But Commissary Road, on the outskirts of JFK, was our first stop, and the payoff was so huge it’s the only stop we had to make.
Four giant buildings, each filled with plenty of rotting food, but also more cartons of airline snack boxes than you can shake a stick at. There are the usual cookies and chips, along with hummus and salami and olives and cheese that need no refrigeration. Dried fruit and applesauce, including those squeeze pouches I ate when I was stuck in Manhattan. Most of it is pure crap, which will delight Sylvie, but the caloric value makes this trip more than worth it.
We brought the passenger van and four trucks, including the tractor-trailer Dennis drives, and it’s a good thing we brought enough people to load it all before dark. Rob is currently out in the lot getting another truck, full of a never-unloaded shipment of snack boxes, ready to go.
I keep watch. The zombies are only capable of growls and twitches, and I was able to get an up-close look at that black stuff. It’s fuzzy like mold, black like mildew, and the skin around the edges of each patch is oozy and porous, as though the flesh is dissolving as the patch increases in size. It gives me hope something may finally decompose these bodies, though I only saw it on a small fraction of the thousands here. All these thousands, and the millions around them, will get moving in the coming thaw, and I want to be home when they do.
Guillermo bounces around the loading dock and comes to a stop beside me. “What’d I tell you about this place?”
“You were right,” I say.
“This is months right here. Even without the garden, we won’t have to leave until next winter.” He stares into the distance, jaw set. “No one’s going out.”
That’s why he was pushing this: he doesn’t want to risk lives when the danger will be greater. “No one’s going out,” I agree. “Let’s get started on the rain collection backup, too. The water pressure’s dropped some. Pipes might be leaking.
Next year will be worse, if we don’t lose water entirely.”
“Did you know there was a pond in Sunset Park a long time ago?” he asks. “Gary once told me that, but he didn’t know if it was manmade. You think we can dig it out if it wasn’t?”
It’s an interesting idea. New York was once full of creeks and streams and small glacial ponds, and maybe they can be brought back. “I don’t know. I guess we can try if we need to.”
He claps his hands when Rob and Dennis fire up the second truck. “Let’s go home.”
***
It’s afternoon by the time we hit the road. Paul, Micah, and I drive a box truck behind Indy, Eli, and Grace. Sylvie requested I look out for Micah, and I’m impressed with how on the ball he’s become. He loaded food and moved cars quickly and efficiently, and now he keeps sharp eyes on the street.
It’s easy enough to get home without consulting the map—our tracks are still pronounced. With fifteen miles to travel, and all the turns down random streets, it should take an hour at most. We’ll be home well before dark.
Paul drops his head back when we slow for the twentieth time, his hand resting lightly on the wheel. “Jesus Ch—”
“Paul, don’t start. I’m not in the mood.”
“Excuse me. Someone’s got his panties in a bunch.” We start to move again, and he says, “I think Leo and I might get our own place in the spring.”
“Why?”
“Getting kind of tired of sharing a room with my six-year-old son.”
“Understandable,” I say. “Sylvie and Leo won’t like that, though. Maybe we can move things around.”
“All right,” he says. “I don’t really want to, but it’s…crowded. I figure in the summer we’ll all spread out and then live together in the winter.” He taps the steering wheel. “I might actually want to get laid one of these days.”
A choking sound comes from where Micah sits between us. Paul elbows him. “Am I right, Micah? How long’s it been?”
Micah’s cheeks color. I take pity on him and distract Paul with, “Any candidates in mind?”
“Nope,” he says. “But it’s never gonna happen in my kid’s bedroom.”