“You’re an ass.”
“I know, but I’m still one of your favorite people.”
I don’t argue. He’s right.
***
All of SPSZ is awake by dawn. Many families moved into the co-op building for the winter, as it’s easier to heat one building than several, and they spent yesterday readying apartments for the arrival of the new families.
We’ll spread out again soon. The temperature rose to just above freezing this morning, and this was almost certainly our final freeze of the year. I head for my roof after breakfast, where Indy waits, and I peer across the park through leafless tree branches. I’m supposed to be looking in the other direction, but the other direction doesn’t hold Sacred Heart.
Indy clears her throat from the correct side of the roof, and I haul myself to her. “Calm down,” she says.
“How am I not calm?”
She looks me over. “You’re so white you should be holding a Starbucks cup.”
I laugh and rest on the ledge. “I can’t shake the impending sense of doom. Talk me out of it.”
I wear my .22, but I have another gun—a your finger is the safety one—on a nearby chair in case my impending sense of doom is accurate. And though externally Eric was all calmness and positivity this morning, his worry creases were on show and he didn’t sit down once.
Indy taps her lips while she thinks. “Kearney’s dead. We have a lot of food. We have water. And you have me to talk you out of the impending sense of doom.”
“That was terrible.”
“I’m not feeling this whole thing, either,” Indy says. She waves at the other end of the roof. “Okay, fine. You watch first, then we’ll switch.”
Chapter 87
Eric
They brought home Rob, Claudia, and Angel yesterday evening. The plan is to bury them in the cemetery that’s gotten far too much use of late. Guillermo had Brother David say a prayer at the van, and it sits where it burned for now. The Sacred Heart bodies were left to rot. A thorough search found a phone on Desmond, and Guillermo has switched it on to show me its contents while we wait for Sacred Heart to arrive. We know they’re on their way—Micah watched the three vans and two trucks depart the underground garages of Sacred Heart five minutes ago, and then hauled ass here to alert us. He also saw a few partially thawed zombies on the way. Winter is over.
Guillermo taps on the last picture in the camera roll. It’s our office. More specifically, the map on the wall in the office, marked with the locations we planned to search for food. He flips to the next picture: a written list of addresses and suspected items to be found at each. The next are selfies of Rissa, April, and Jordan.
“It’s Rissa’s phone,” he says, scrolling through shots of teenagers in the laundry room and park. “She thought she lost it, went crazy looking all over the house the same day Denise left. Remember I found Denise in the office? I thought she was there to tell me off, but she was taking pictures.” His hand tightens around the phone. “This is why everything was gone when we went out looking.”
As if we needed further indication of Sacred Heart’s shadiness. Maybe the people coming had nothing to do with it, but I suspect there might be hard feelings for some time. I’m a little less keen on the idea of new people than I was a minute ago, and I wasn’t all that keen to begin with. I could blame my headache and rolling stomach on my concussion of two days ago, but it wouldn’t account for my sleepless night or the drought in my mouth. I don’t like this, and I have no good reason why. We’ve done everything we can to ensure our safety, aside from refusing entry to starving people.
“It was bad in the school?” I ask, though he’s already told me, in detail, that it was.
Guillermo sighs. “We can’t leave them out there. We’re gonna check everything as it comes in, right? Nothing gets through the inner gate without an okay.”
I nod and scan the roof, where Harold and Tommy keep watch on one side, Dennis on the other. The other roofs have people, too, but we’re spread pretty thin. Guillermo put Sylvie on a roof far from the action without my asking, and I’m glad for that, at least.
Harold whistles down and signals five vehicles are coming. Maria and Jorge slide open the inner gate, and we walk to the outer. Three large vans come through. Walt rolls down the passenger side window of the first vehicle.
“Here we are,” he says. “Thank you again. Last night was brutally cold.”
I peer into the back. In the front row, a woman clutches an infant in her arms, likely our goat’s milk baby. Beside and behind her are tired-looking people. Dads and moms and kids who range from teen to toddler. A man raises a hand in greeting, trying for a smile under his unkempt beard.
“Welcome,” I say. “We’re going to have you get out here and search you.” I consider apologizing for frisking these pathetic-looking folks, but I honestly don’t care if they’re offended.
The bearded man takes the lead. He steps to the asphalt and raises his arms for a pat-down. After a thorough one, I come up with not so much as a pocket knife. The people who follow are similarly unarmed, and my tension begins to ebb. By coming defenseless, they’re showing us good faith. No ulterior motive, no evil plot. They’re desperate people looking for a new home.
Guillermo and Jorge signal the okay from the other vehicles. All families, all unarmed, and all as dirty and tired as these. The inner gate reopens, and we herd the people into the intersection outside Sixth Avenue’s street-level entrance to the park. The van that holds their scant belongings pulls to the curb to unload while the other two vehicles leave.
“Trucks are turning around for unloading,” Guillermo calls from the outer gate. Our two trucks have pulled up a side street to make the turn in backwards. “I’ll check them.”
“I’ll be back in a few to help,” I say.
Maria follows the group with me. “They don’t look so good.”
“Some food, hot water, and your renowned nursing skills will fix them up quick.”
“I don’t know about that,” she says, and clasps her hands eagerly. “I am looking forward to getting my hands on that baby, though.”
The Sacred Heart residents scan the park, awestruck, as I run the inner gate closed. I suppose it is pretty awesome if you’re not used to it. Maria heads straight for the infant, arms out, and his mother hesitates before she sets her bundle in them. Within a few seconds, Mom is smiling at Maria’s delight.
Walt makes his way toward me and leans close. “Some of them believed the things Joe said about SPSZ. They thought this was a trick of some kind, but it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes and some friendly faces to rid them of that idea.” He laughs—a cheery, hearty laugh I’ve never heard—and sizes up the park with avid eyes. “Emilio says you have the best views in Brooklyn.”
“We do,” I say. My smile is hard to keep in place. Walt’s practically kicking up his heels, and instead of being pleased about that, it’s putting me on edge. I had to work to respect his meekness, but I’m not sure I like him this way, either. Maybe I just don’t like him, which, considering that he might live here soon, is not cheering. “I’ll show you around after we get everyone settled.”
“Let us know how we can help,” he says, and joins Emilio by the van.
Micah and Jorge check the belongings in the back. Forty people who’ve come with nothing is a lot to take on. Rather than think about how much food they’ll eat, I think about how much help they’ll bring in extra hands. I’ve already planned what yards we’ll dig up for more gardens.
Grace appears with Eli. “Hey, what can we do?”
“She let you out of the house?” I ask Eli.
“I’ve been paroled,” he says while he takes in the crowd. “Why does everyone look so damn happy?”
The awed expressions have turned to shuffling people who hold their kids close. A few cast nervous glances at us, then Walt and Emilio, and Walt smiles encouragingly in response.
“Maybe talk to them,” I say. “I thi
nk they’re scared of us.”
“We’re on it,” Grace says, and leads Eli to a clump of people by the gate.
I wander over to one group, and, after a welcome, they buck up a little. Maria introduces me to the woman with the baby. She’s small, with dark eyes and a shy smile.
“Thank you for the milk,” she says in a quiet Chinese-accented voice. “I had an infection and it dried up. But he’s okay.” I smile at the baby wrapped in blankets. “You can hold him. His name’s Jin.”
I accept the hefty bundle. He has his mother’s eyes, and I laugh at his crooked, toothless baby smile. “I know there’s milk waiting in the kitchen. We’ll go to the rec center in a few, where Maria will check you all out.”
She nods her thanks, and I set Jin back in her arms. Paul waves me over to where he stands with the bearded man from the van. “This is Vic,” Paul says.
I shake Vic’s hand. “Heard you’ve had a rough time of it recently.”
Vic wipes his face with his coat sleeve. “You could say that. Is it true we’ll all live in apartments?”
“That’s what we were thinking,” I say. “They have heat and hot water. Why, would you rather a house?”
“No!” Vic says, like the thought is preposterous. “Our own apartment is great. What do we have to do? What will we owe?”
Paul scratches his head and lifts an eyebrow. Kearney or Denise must’ve cooked up some real doozies about us. “Well,” I say, “you put in time at various jobs, like everyone else. Garden, guard, kitchen, general upkeep. Or you can give us your firstborn child and call it even.”
I swear there’s a moment where Vic might believe me before he laughs along with Paul. Leo bounds up to his dad. “Hey, what are you doing out here?” Paul asks.
“They said we could come say hi to the new kids. I’m trying to find Emily and Chen.”
Paul points to Jean, who stands with May and the kids. “Stay with Jean and May.” Leo nods and runs off. Paul watches after him, then turns to me, eyes wary. “Lot of people. How about we get them inside?”
Paul likes this situation about as much as I do. The older residents not on watch are coming out, drawn by curiosity, and I wish they’d stayed in until we got Sacred Heart organized. “Vic, can you help us round up your people for a health check? We’ll take you all to the rec center for a hot meal and exams.”
“Sure. Thanks. This is a lot different than they said.”
I hear the beeping of a truck backing in, so I don’t ask what he expected. “I’m going to help Guillermo,” I say to Paul.
I slide open the inner gate. The back of the tractor-trailer is fifteen feet away, engine rumbling. Guillermo appears around the side. “Hey.”
Walt and Emilio slip through the gate just before I close it. “You want help unloading?” Emilio asks.
“Just checking it out for now,” Guillermo says. “We’ve got enough people.”
Guillermo unlatches the door and cautiously pulls it up a few feet to reveal cardboard boxes from the airport.
“It’s all in there,” Walt says from behind.
I glance at his bland features, his almost colorless brown eyes, and his simpering smile. Nope, I don’t like him at all. My tension ratchets up again, and this time it brings with it the pulse that screams danger. I look to the roofs—no Harold, no Dennis—and put a hand on my holster. Their instructions were clear: eyes on us. And there are no eyes anywhere.
I move for the door handle. “Guillermo, wai—”
He throws the door open the rest of the way. Cartons are stacked to the top of the cargo area, same as the two trucks yesterday. Guillermo turns to me, grinning, and I barely have time to think I was mistaken before the wall of boxes bursts outward. I duck instinctively to protect my head, but the cartons that bounce off my neck and shoulders are light as a feather. Empty. The body that hits next slams me to the asphalt under two hundred pounds of writhing, rotted flesh. Another lands, then another and another, jostling the one who took me down.
I can’t breathe. A torso crushes my face and pins my arms to the ground. Something scratches at my pants. More Lexers drop on the first and shift their placement, which may be the only reason I haven’t felt teeth. But that won’t last forever.
Muffled gunshots make it through the pile of flesh. I pray someone locked the gate from inside once they heard the commotion—I might die, but they won’t. My lungs beg for air. Panic makes me want to buck and thrash, to take in oxygen rather than drown in this sea of putrid bodies, but that will alert them to my presence. I twist my head to the side and gasp in a rancid mouthful, then slowly wriggle upward until my torso is free of the heavyset man pinning me down. He rises on his hands, lunging forward with bared brown teeth, and I punch his elbow. He faceplants on the asphalt but lifts his head a second later, teeth chipped and sharper than ever.
I kick my legs free and scramble backward, firing at him and two more who close in, then crouch around the side of the truck to get my bearings. As I take in the scene, my sweltering panic becomes ice-cold horror that roots me to the spot. Emilio and Walt are gone, the inner gate is open, and the intersection is a mass of zombies and shrieking people. Lexers continue to tumble from the trailer, heading that way. Brother David wrests a girl from one’s arms and sends her running up the street, then plunges back into the crowd. I catch sight of Eli, curved knife swinging in an arc, before he disappears from view.
Maybe twenty Lexers inside, with more coming. We can handle the first if I can keep out the rest. I push bodies from my path as I run for the gate. A gunshot from behind hits the metal before I do, hurling blistering lead into my face, and another comes so near my head I feel the wind from its passing. I duck lower than the oncoming zombies and spot four men on top of the truck, dressed in the same black clothing as two days ago, rifle barrels aimed at the intersection. At me.
I think I can close the gate from inside, out of their line of fire, but the brawl forces me in an arc, leading me farther from my goal and toward the park entrance. Vic fights to rescue a teenage boy from the arms of a decayed woman and is taken down from behind. Sister Constance lies on the ground with three heads buried in her abdomen. Many are parents and children I don’t know. Walt brought them here unarmed. He set up his own people. His own kids.
A man in a tattered t-shirt latches onto my arm and sinks his teeth into my coat shoulder. I jam my gun to his head and pull the trigger as fifteen more Lexers trip through the gate. The rifles, which were firing intermittently, begin in earnest. A man running past falls at my feet. His throat gushes blood, and the little girl whose hand he held stands statue-still in the line of fire. I pull her behind the van, heart booming as loud as the rifles, while people pound past on either side.
Zombies have cut off access to Fifth Avenue. People running to Seventh are picked off from the trailer. I hold the flailing little girl with one hand and fire at the four men with my other. They drop flat to the trailer’s roof, though bullets continue to fly from out of sight. I don’t see Paul and Leo, Eli and Grace, Jorge and Maria. I want to believe that Sylvie and Indy took advantage of their location to leave for the safe house, but I know they wouldn’t.
I drag the girl farther behind the van. She’s maybe eight, moaning in fright, and her brown hair is stuck in tears and snot on her face. “It’s okay,” I say, though it isn’t.
Three pickups make their way through 6A. Two head up to Seventh, where they’ll be on the other side of the park in less than a minute. One truck stays at the entrance, rifle out a window. There’s no getting to the gate now. It’s too late, anyway. This is survival. Damage control.
Outside the inner gate, Guillermo stumbles alongside the tractor-trailer, following the last of the mob. One arm clutches his hip, the other a pistol. He made it out from under the Lexers, but he’s hurt, maybe bitten. He trips up the curb to the sidewalk, unwittingly giving the riflemen a view of himself.
I rise from behind the van and point at the truck’s roof. “Guillermo! Down!”
Guillermo raises his head. He jerks with the impact of a bullet, staggers back toward the corner apartment building, and falls against the recessed entry doors, where he’s lost to view. Two Lexers spin around and limp in that direction. Although the distance with this handgun means I’ll never make a headshot, I try anyway. I can’t do a fucking thing for him. If he’s not already dead, he will be, and I need to move myself and this kid before we are, too.
I turn at a crash from Gate 5B and watch a truck roar down Fifth Avenue. They’re trapping us in here like fish in a barrel. A few hundred feet into the park, Paul stands at the entrance to the gated courts, a throng of people behind him. The rec center would be a better refuge, but I have a sinking feeling Sacred Heart has already considered that destination.
The feeding Lexers at the gate are rising to hunt for new victims. It’s only a matter of time before they join the first wave heading that way. I bend to the girl. “We have to run. Can you run?”
She nods with the white-eyed terror of small prey, which is exactly what she is. I yank her through the trailing Lexers while she sobs at her fright or my grip on her wrist. There’s no time for niceties. I’ll apologize later, if we live.
We reach the courts ahead of the zombies. Paul stands just inside, urging people to cross to 41st Street. “No!” I shout, and push the girl into a frantic woman’s waiting arms. “They have pickups and they went around. 5B is open.”
“Jesus,” Paul says, but he wasn’t talking about that. His eyes are on the Lexers coming this way.
Chapter 88
Sylvie
I wish I had Eric’s monocular, but I didn’t think to grab it. An avenue down and across the park, a large group of people stand inside 6A. I spot Grace’s and Leo’s blond heads, which means all must be well. Our tractor-trailer truck backs up to the closed inner gate, though the roof of the trailer looks different from the translucent roof of most of the larger trucks. I grip the ledge and lean for a better view through the tree branches.