The City Series (Book 2): Peripeteia

  If we can take out the two in the truck, I think we can make it past the zombies. Jorge and Paul survey the scene. “If we had rifles, we’d get out of here a lot easier,” Paul says.

  “Ask and ye shall receive,” Brother David says. We turn to find him pointing at two rifles that lean near the tomato starts. “I thought they might come in handy.”

  Chapter 90

  Sylvie

  The snow has turned to slush and chunks of ice. We travel through the cemetery, past Lexers who groan and shift, though they’re not on their feet. The safe house is a newer building—five stories with an underground garage—and we wearily climb to the top floor in order to have the best view of the streets.

  When we stocked the building, we spread out the food and water so anyone looking might not find it all. Much of it seems to have been discovered and enjoyed by someone who left the packaging behind, but that someone missed a cache in a van. Indy, Micah, and I bring it up to the apartment.

  The windows have panoramic views of the cemetery and bits of Manhattan, but not of the one place I want to see a half-mile away. The apartment is bright and luxurious and completely at odds with my mental state. Harold lies in a bedroom with Maria tending to his leg, and I pace the living room and kitchen while Leo sits on the modern sofa, following my progress with eyes that take up half his face.

  I stop and place my hands on his silken cheeks. “I’m going to find your dad, okay?” He nods, and I kiss his forehead before I resume walking.

  We chose this building because it was tall enough for a vantage point and to hold everyone from SPSZ. The fact that it now holds only eight of us, with no others in sight, is beyond intolerable. My insides roil, my head pounds, and if I have to spend much longer in this annoyingly trendy apartment, I’ll flip the fuck out. I found Cassie’s emergency cigarettes in Eric’s BOB and smoked one in the staircase. I already want another.

  Maria comes into the living room, stripping off her gloves. “Harold’s all right. It passed through his outer thigh. I gave him antibiotics. You’ll need to make sure he finishes them, and change his bandage, but I think it’ll heal to normal.”

  Walt’s men—Kearney’s men—climbed a fire escape mid-block while Harold and Tommy watched the vehicles enter at the gate. Harold was lucky to escape with his life. Tommy didn’t. Dennis is missing, likely dead.

  I pick up my messenger bag. “I’m going back. Watch Leo while I’m gone?”

  “You can’t,” Maria says. “They’ll come.” She looks exhausted even as she argues, her eyes reddened and the lines on her face a millimeter deeper. “I can’t take care of Leo for you.”

  “What?” I ask. “Maria, please. I promise I won’t do anything dumb. I swear I won’t. Please.”

  I don’t care that I’m begging, or that tears have formed. Maria’s own eyes fill, but she shakes her head, lips compressed in apology. Indy walks to Maria’s side. “Where?” she asks softly.

  I watch in confusion as Maria lifts her pants leg and pulls down a torn sock stained with blood. On her ankle, in the space where pant leg and shoe meet, is a bite mark. Half-circle. Small and deep. Already coagulated but surrounded by puffy purple skin. She wears boots when we leave SPSZ, but not today. Today was supposed to be safe, behind walls and with the Lexers frozen.

  My bag hits the wood floor with a thud. Maria sniffs, the tip of her nose pink from tears that have yet to fall. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you until we were safe.”

  I’m too numb to speak. Too numb to think. My first sob comes without warning, as though my body knows before my brain has come to terms with the news. I suck air to keep my tears in, then drop my face in my hands when it doesn’t work. A strangled wail rips through my throat, with another on its heels, and the next come like waves, battering my lungs with their relentless rhythm.

  This wild sobbing and emptiness is the same as after Bubbe died, and I don’t think I can stand to be that bereft of hope ever again. Maria’s leaving me, even if she doesn’t want to, and I’m not ready. I can’t imagine when I would be, but this is too soon. I was sure I’d get more time.

  “Sylvie, Sylvie.” Maria talks in a soft singsong, like she’s soothing a child, and her arms encircle me in their warmth. “Sylvie, it’s okay.”

  It’s selfish to make her comfort me, but I never had a mother who would chase this feeling away, and now I never will again. I bury my face in her shoulder while she murmurs, until it’s eased just enough to bear, and then guilt overtakes grief.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  Maria shushes me, her face swollen and so kind I’m afraid I’ll start up again. “I’m okay for now. I know they’ll come, sweetie. Will you wait with me while they do?”

  She leads me to the couch. My nose is stuffed and mouth dry, but I don’t want to leave her for tissues or water. What I want is to rewind time and put boots on her feet. To kill the one that bit her before its teeth made contact. To have the story end any way but this.

  Maria’s hand is cool, as it’s cold in here, and it reminds me of how it will soon be warm with fever. Leo sits on my other side, head against my shoulder and hand patting my forearm. I wrap my arm around him and kiss his golden hair. I have Leo, if nothing else. But maybe not for long. After today, I’m not sure I can protect anyone.

  Indy crouches in front of us. “What can I do?” Her lashes are wet, but her face is resolute, and I decide to follow her example. Maria needs us to care for her, not the other way around.

  “Everyone should eat and drink something,” Maria says.

  Indy pats her leg and moves to our supplies. Easy to prepare foods, with a few MREs. I squeeze Maria’s hand and get to my feet. “I need to do something. Will you be okay?”

  “You’ll know when I’m not okay. I have hours to go.”

  It’s not what I meant. My chest hitches, but I hold back new tears on the way to my bag. Inside, in a Ziploc, are packets of instant coffee. I light the tiny backpacking stove by the kitchen window, open cabinets until I find a mug, and then dump in coffee while the water heats.

  Indy brings an MRE to the counter and opens one of the inner pouches. “You okay?”

  I shake my head because there is not one single part of me that is okay. Silent tears roll to my chin in a constant stream. Indy puts an arm around my shoulders. “This is when it counts. You can do this.”

  I wipe my eyes. I won’t get this wrong the first time, the way I always do. There’s only one chance to say goodbye, and I will hold Maria’s hand and love her until she’s gone.

  I bring Maria the mug. “It’s crappy instant,” I say, “but I made it strong.”

  She cups it and takes a deep whiff. “No one should die on a day without coffee,” she says, eyebrow arched, and I laugh. It’s edged with hysteria, but I laugh. “Thank you, sweetie.”

  I sit and take her hand. Leo nestles into me. I can’t think about Eric or Grace or Jorge or Paul or Eli or anyone else. Only Maria and Leo and Indy, who serves food to Rissa, Lucky, and Micah at the contemporary molded plastic dining table. She brings a bowl to Harold and her voice carries from the other room.

  “Indy likes to feed people,” I say.

  “It’s the way she shows love,” Maria says. “She researched that Twinkie cake recipe until it was perfect.”

  The crushing pressure in my chest loosens some with a rush of gratitude for Indy, for Maria, for everyone who shows their affection in any way. I think I’ve become more like them. I hope I have. “My grandma did that. She’d make all my favorites and watch me eat with glee. You do it, too.”

  “But mostly I boss people around.”

  I sniff. “Maybe. But some of us like it.”

  Her laugh is soft, but her hand tightens in mine with a sudden shudder. “What’s wrong?” I ask, praying my voice doesn’t betray my fear.

  “The fever is starting. I’m okay for now. It’ll get worse, and I’ll become delirious, then lose consciousness. That’s when you’ll need to do it.”
r />   I keep my eyes on the window, at the gray clouds in the sky, and ask the question to which I already know the answer. “Do what?”

  “The injection. I have the vials in my bag. Don’t wait until I’m gone. Don’t take any chances. Promise me.”

  I breathe in. Out. In. Out. My nod is so slight I’m not sure she sees it until her hand tightens, on purpose this time. “I know, mamita. But I also know you can.”

  ***

  Hours later, no one has arrived. I leave Maria sleeping, Leo passed out beside her on the couch, and join Indy by the windows that overlook the cemetery. A mostly-thawed Lexer crawls between tombstones.

  “I—” she begins, and flattens a hand to her chest. “Where could they be?”

  She means besides dead, so I say, “Hiding until it’s safe to come out. Or maybe they ditched us to start a new life in sunny Florida.”

  “Can you blame them?”

  “Not really.”

  Her smile, already forced to begin with, withers away. “There’s nothing at the end of the tentacle,” she says quietly. “It’s scaring me.”

  Grace is with Eli, and if Indy can’t feel him, then what does that mean for Grace? They should be here—they all should—and they’re not. I’m clinging to the belief that Eric always comes back. But I guess everyone does, until the time they don’t.

  I pull her to me, though sometimes Indy seems as huggable as I do. She’s a couple of inches taller, and she hangs her head over my shoulder while I rub her back. Lucky rises from the table, his tough guy walk all the more poignant with the puffy eyes and trembling lips of a boy. “Auntie, let me go look for him.”

  “You know you’re not doing that,” Indy says, and raises a hand when he objects. “I trust you, but your leg is still sore. I won’t take that chance, anyway. And your uncle would kill me if I left you here. He’ll come.”

  Lucky’s nod is reluctant. “Rissa and Micah are playing cards with Harold. You want to play?”

  “No, but you go.”

  “He needs you,” I say once he’s left the room.

  She sucks in her lower lip, head bobbing. “And Harold.”

  “And Harold,” I agree. “And Rissa and Micah. And Leo. And I need more cake.” Indy pushes me with a laugh that’s more gratitude I made a joke than amusement at that joke.

  “Sylvie?” Maria groans from the couch. I rush to her side. She shifts her body carefully, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy with fever, and gulps from the water bottle I hand her.

  “Why don’t we get you into bed?” I ask.

  I expect refusal, but Maria allows me to help her up. She bends to kiss Leo, then stops and strokes his cheek instead. She won’t risk transmitting the virus, not for one last kiss, no matter how slim the odds. That alone makes me want to cry, and rage, and hold her tight. She deserves so much better.

  “I love you,” she whispers in his ear, and then crosses the room to hug Indy.

  They part, cheeks streaked with tears. Indy rests a hand on Leo’s side. “Don’t worry, I have him.”

  I nod and lead Maria to the second bedroom. She sinks to the edge of the queen bed, pulls a small plastic storage container from her pack, and drops it on the nightstand. What little energy she gained from her nap is draining away. “I’ll make up the syringe.”

  I shake my head. The idea of her drawing up her own death shot is worse than my having to do it. “I will.”

  “Sylvie, it would be easier if—”

  “I promise I will. I remember how.”

  She crawls under the blankets I’ve turned back and pats the bed for me to sit. “When they get here, will you tell Eric that I love him? And tell him I meant what I said about him, about his dad. Tell Paul he’s a wonderful man and father, and Grace that I’ll miss her sweet spirit. And tell Jorge thank you—I know I’m not easy to put up with.”

  Her laugh is subdued, and mine is more of a struggle for oxygen. I don’t want to do this—last wishes and last rites and goodbyes. But I have to, and I’m going to say what I want to say while I have the chance.

  She touches my cheek with a hand far too warm for the room’s temperature. “And I love you. Thank you for being here, now and before. It means more to me than you know.”

  “I learned that from you,” I say, just above a whisper. Any louder and I’ll break down, I know I will. I take a breath to steady my voice. “I love you, Maria, and I’m going to miss you so much. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

  My voice cracks and tears escape despite my vow to keep them in. I mash my lips together. I want to beg her not to go, but it wouldn’t be fair.

  Maria takes my hand, her over-bright gaze unwavering. “I don’t want to leave you, but I’m not worried. You’re strong and fierce and you don’t take shit from anyone. You must’ve learned that from me, too.” I let out a blubbery laugh, and she grips my hand tighter. “Don’t be afraid.”

  I nod. She taught me not to be afraid to let people in, and I’ve tried to take her words to heart. But I can’t help but be afraid of the world without Maria, the others never arriving, the millions of Lexers thawing, and the people who kill like it’s nothing. The latter are taking this beautiful person from me, and I would gladly blow them all to hell. Boiling fury rises, but I tamp it down—I refuse to spend my last moments with Maria while angry or afraid.

  “Talk to me,” she says. Her body rattles with another chill. They’re coming faster now, in teeth-chattering tremors that vibrate the bed.

  I tell her about the Vale of Cashmere. The icicles and snow, and the striking blood-red cardinal. How it fills out in the spring and summer to create magical secret spaces. How it was always Eric’s favorite place and now it’s mine, too. I finish because she fights to stay awake, though if it would work as it did with Eric, I’d talk all night, all year, to keep her here.

  “It sounds beautiful,” she whispers. “I’m glad you and Eric have each other.”

  I try to smile through my worry about him, and Maria’s lips purse into her you know better than that expression under the exhaustion. I’m going to miss that expression.

  “It’s Eric,” she says. “He’ll get here.”

  “It’s not only me who thinks he might be invincible?”

  “He’s as close as a person can get in some ways. But not in every way, mamita. He still needs you to take care of him, more than you think. Especially now.”

  I want to ask what she means by that, but her voice has dimmed along with her eyes. She blinks slowly, and I clasp her heavy hand in both of mine. “I will. And I’ll take care of Jorge and everyone else, too. You don’t have to worry about them.”

  Her eyelids drop as though she waited to hear those words. Eventually, her breaths grow rough and she mumbles in Spanish, having conversations I don’t understand but for the occasional word and the names Penny and Ana.

  I force myself to uncap the syringe, then lay out the vials. Equal parts of each. I push the needle through the rubber cap of the first and draw up clear liquid. This should be the easy part, but it’s still close to impossible. After I’ve done the same with the next two vials, I set the syringe on the table. I want to retreat into a compartment, another world, the way Maria has, but I hold her hand and let my tears come while she can’t see.

  Maria gasps, eyes closed tight. New beads of sweat crop up on her rosy face, and I mop her brow with a cloth. “So hard,” she mumbles.

  “What’s hard?” I ask.

  “Dying,” she wheezes.

  I sweep damp hair off her fiery forehead. She’s burning up, being consumed by fever, and it frightens me. “That’s because you’re stubborn,” I say with a sob-laugh.

  A smile flits across her face before she sinks away again. Her breaths become like my mother’s were toward the end, deep and lengthening by the minute. This is so different from that day, where I wanted my mother to leave me for good—to leave me alone. I would give anything for Maria to stay, but I’m here. Not merely in the room, but here.

&n
bsp; I glance at the syringe. Once she’s unconscious, I’ll do it like I promised, but I won’t think about it until then. Maria twists and moans, her eyes half open. Still fighting. Still stubborn. And I love her all the more for it.

  “You can stay, but it’s okay to go,” I whisper. Every word is a strike to my heart, but I know they’re the right ones. “You can let go. We love you. I love you.”

  “I love you, mija,” Maria mumbles from inside that world with her girls. She drags her eyelids up as though surfacing from somewhere deep and focuses lucid gold-flecked eyes on me. “I love you, Sylvie. Mija.”

  Daughter. I lace my fingers through her scorching ones, trying to keep her with me through sheer force of will. Maybe hearts can’t actually break, but with the way my chest cracks, I think that’s just semantics.

  Maria’s eyes close. Her grip weakens. I want to scream that it isn’t fair. It’s not fucking fair that I have to lose her when I only just found her. But the injustice of it all doesn’t change the fact that she is leaving, that I am losing her.

  I raise her hand to my cheek and surrender—to her love, to this loss. I can’t keep her here, but I swear I will keep her with me. “I love you,” I whisper. “It’s okay. I love you.”

  I whisper it over and over, until her hand goes slack. Thirty seconds between breaths. Forty-five seconds. A minute. I turn her head to the side, take up the syringe, and smooth her hair, gliding my fingers to the nape of her neck. She doesn’t move when the needle slides in beside bone. My thumb trembles, my whole hand shakes, and I use my left to steady it.

  Maybe it’s more serene to do it this way, but I’m not sure it’s easier. I picture Maria waking with a grunt, teeth bared and eyes vacant, and that gives me the fortitude I need to push the plunger. She draws a single breath and releases it in a long, almost satisfied, sigh. I wait for another, but she’s gone. Truly gone.