Priestly whimpered.
“Yeah. You know why,” said Marissa, holstering her pistol.
She knelt down and undid both sets of handcuffs. Priestly slumped to the ground, groaning, while Marissa stood back up.
“Case was due to go to court last year, but then the apocalypse happened. NYPD sensed that the satellites weren’t coming back, and that the virus was out of control, so they abandoned the city. They retreated into their own enclave, barricading themselves off from everyone – including the National Guard. They horded food, weapons, and water, and waited for the virus and the creatures to kill the rest of us off. But it didn’t get all of us, did it? And now we’re the ones running the city, and the cops are scared, cos they’re running out of food, and they know that when spring comes, there’ll be a race for the city’s remaining resources. So Priestly and his colleague here devised a genius plan to infiltrate our community and map the building, so they could take us down before winter ends. He cut his hair, even died it this lovely shade of brown, but our Queen recognized him immediately. She found them a couple of uniforms, and brought them here to await trial. But there’s good news, Priestly, the Queen’s decided to give you a reprieve – if you help us,” said Marissa, tapping the man with her foot.
Priestly groaned.
“Kill me,” he croaked.
“Oh, the Queen also asked me to inform you that we have your husband, Michael,” said Marissa.
The cop’s eyes widened.
“Impossible,” he croaked.
Marissa pulled a phone from her pocket and played a short video clip, in which an unarmed man delivered a message directly to the camera, addressing Priestly by name, and begging him to comply.
Priestly wailed with despair.
“He came looking for you. Sweet, I know. Relax, Priestly, we’re not gonna hurt him. He’s an unarmed civilian, we’d never do that. He wants you back alive. So either you help us, or you’re the one hurting him,” said Marissa. She played the video again for good measure. “Do we have a deal?” she added.
Priestly nodded, wincing as he rubbed his stiff legs.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen, child-killer. You’re gonna take us to your little police paradise hide out. We’re gonna raid your medicine store which, we’re reliably informed is on the top floor. You’re gonna get us in there. If we get this done by dawn, your fella – and hers – get to live, so we’d best get moving. Lucy, give the good Officer a hand, would you?” said Marissa.
Lucy helped the Officer to his feet. He yelped as his stiff joints stretched out. His breath was awful and his trousers stank of urine. He clung to Lucy like a crutch as she followed Marissa out of the courtroom.
***
Marissa gave Priestly a rehydration sachet in the van, followed by a cup of sugary, hot coffee from a thermos flask.
“Technically this wasn’t for you, but I snuck us some extra,” said Marissa, handing Lucy a mug of coffee with a wink. She poured herself a cup too, placed it in the cup holder, then hit the ignition.
Lucy held Priestly’s coffee until it had cooled enough for him to resume drinking without scolding himself – his hands were weak, and his movements clumsy.
“Kill the car lights,” said Priestly, after several minutes.
“We’re still a couple of miles from the hotel,” said Marissa.
“And they’ll see us coming. Kill the lights. Go by the moonlight,” insisted Priestly.
“They’re staying in a hotel?” said Lucy.
“I know. Cops, right?” said Marissa, killing the lights as she took them deeper into Brooklyn.
“OK, nearly here. Take the next right,” said Priestly, a while later.
“But it’s straight on?” said Marissa.
“They’ll hear us, they’ve got people watching the front. Take the back street, then we can cut through on foot,” he insisted.
Marissa took them around to the parallel street and parked up outside an auto repair. It had a flat roof, behind which was a tall wire fence, and a little further back from that, a five-story hotel – the tallest building in the neighborhood.
“I’m not seeing any cut through,” said Marissa.
“It’s over the mechanic’s roof. Then we climb the fence – it’ll take us into the hotel parking lot. From there we can access the fire escape. That’s the best way to the roof. From there we can go inside to the top floor and get to the medicines. Any other route and we’re guaranteed to get caught,” said Priestly.
“Take one of these,” said Marissa, giving Lucy and Priestly a soaking-wet backpack each.
“What’s in it?” said Priestly.
“Our get-out-of-jail card, to stop them shooting us,” said Marissa, swinging on two additional backpacks herself.
“You should back the van up against the store – it’ll give us a way to the roof,” said Lucy, eyeing up the flat store front.
Marissa obliged, and the three clambered over the trunk, across the van’s roof and onto the flat roof of the garage.
“Watch the skylight!” hissed Lucy, as Priestly swayed across the roof, his balance still weak.
They stumbled across the roof towards the metal fence. Lucy felt the scratchy felt gripping her boots as she disturbed the layer of snow above it.
“Who wants to try this first?” said Marissa.
“Check the end, there should be a supporting beam we can use as a foothold,” said Lucy, edging along to the tip of the fence.
She swung around the side-pole and gripped the wire mesh with her hands, squeezing a boot tip into the mesh below. Her second foot slipped, causing her to rattle against the wire.
“Keep it down!” hissed Priestly.
Lucy moved each limb down individually, taking great care until she reached the diagonal support beam propping up the metal pole. From there, she tip-toed down the beam then jumped the last meter.
“Get ready to catch him,” said Marissa, who was helping Priestly around the side of the fence above.
He placed a shaky hand onto the mesh, followed by a shaky foot. Gingerly, he lowered himself towards the diagonal beam, only to slip as he tried to transfer his weight. The cop fell two meters and landed hard on his back, his fall barely cushioned by the thin layer of snow.
Lucy fell upon him and stifled his yell with her hands. His pained eyes opened in confusion as he looked up at her imploringly. Marissa quickly caught up, landing quietly beside them. She opened a pocket on her vest and pulled out a syringe.
“What’s that?” whispered Lucy.
“Something to help the pain,” said Marissa, pulling back the cop’s sleeve and threading the needle into his vein.
The cop gasped and sat up, panting.
“Gaaah, what’s happening?” he spluttered.
“Sssh, keep it down. It’s a family recipe - morphine and adrenaline. I thought you’d be needing it back at the courthouse but you limped on for quite a while, like the psychopath you are. It’ll keep you going so you can help us do this, and we can get you back to your husband. That’s the deal, child-killer,” said Marissa, pulling him to his feet.
The cop gathered his thoughts then led them across the parking lot to the back of the darkened hotel. As quietly as possible, they stacked some empty beer crates beneath the fire escape so they could reach the ladder. They climbed the metal rungs to the first level of the escape, then tip-toed up the remaining flights of steps until they reached the fifth and final floor.
The view from the roof reminded Lucy of San Francisco during the curfews. Row upon row of darkened houses, with moonlight bouncing off black windows and idle cars – albeit these ones were snow-covered. The eastward night sky was starting to lighten, as the first tones of day crept onto the horizon. Sunrise was fast approaching.
“The medicine’s this way,” said Priestly, heading towards the roof door.
“Change of plans,” said Marissa, barring his way.
“What do you mean?” said Priestly.
“We’r
e staging an intervention. Your husband told us of your planned ‘spring offensive’ against the Queen, and we can’t allow it to happen,” said Marissa.
“What are you saying?” said Priestly.
“Open your backpack,” said Marissa.
Priestly fumbled the zip open and lifted out a blood bag.
“What the hell?” he said, horrified.
“You know what that means, Priestly,” said Marissa.
“This is madness. You call me a psychopath but you work for a monster!”
“A monster? She’s our savior! She’s brought order, shelter, and food to hundreds of starving people when your lot turned their backs on us all. She’s a hero,” said Marissa.
“In this hotel there are dozens of people who escaped your ‘Queen’. The stories they’ve told are of abuse, violence, and humiliation. What your ‘Queen’ is running is a prison, filled with vulnerable people held hostage by fate,” said Priestly.
“I won’t deny we’ve got hostages. We’ve got two, in fact: your husband, and Lucy’s sugar daddy. But the other occupants are citizens, who can come and go as they please. We protect innocent people, Priestly. I know that’s something you struggle to relate to,” said Marissa, thrusting a blood pack into Priestly’s hands.
“Listen to me. This hotel is full of innocent people. If we do what I think you’re asking, we’re putting all of their lives in danger,” implored Priestly.
“How many people?” said Lucy.
“Around three hundred,” said Priestly.
“Three hundred cops,” spat Marissa.
“Only a quarter of them are cops, the rest are their families and other civilians,” said Priestly.
“Friends of cops, families of cops, same difference,” said Marissa.
“I won’t do it,” said Priestly, shaking his head.
“Sure you will, if you want to save your husband,” said Marissa.
Priestly’s eyes began to water with despair.
“Same goes for you, immune-girl. Get pouring or the Major dies at dawn,” said Marissa.
Lucy stared from Marissa, to the backpack, to the cop. Marissa drew her pistol, then drew a knife, which she handed to Lucy. She pointed to the AC vents.
“Cut the bags, and toss them down the chutes. That’s all you gotta do. Then we fire the flare, go back to the Queen, and save your hostages.”
“And if we refuse?” said Priestly.
“If you refuse, I’ll do it myself. Then I’ll drive back to the Queen without you. I’ll tell her you disobeyed her orders, and it’ll be a slow and painful death for your husband and the Major,” said Marissa.
“You’re making us chose one life over hundreds,” whimpered Priestly.
“You’re absolutely right, child-killer. It’s a choice,” said Marissa.
“If I do this, my husband lives?” said Priestly, staring at the blood pack.
“That’s what I said,” retorted Marissa.
“I’ll do it. Pass me the packs,” said Lucy.
Lucy took the first bag from Priestly’s hand and held it over the vent. She stabbed it then tossed it down the chute, where it clattered against the sides and landed somewhere inside the ceiling duct below with a damp thud.
“Alright. We’re officially on the clock,” said Marissa.
Lucy stabbed and chucked the bags as quickly as she could, with Priestly feeding them through from each backpack. They spread the payload across vents as Marissa instructed. Within two minutes each backpack had been emptied, and Lucy stood clutching the knife in her bloodied hand.
“Good. Now cut him,” said Marissa.
“What?” said Lucy.
“Cut the cop,” said Marissa.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” said Lucy.
“Do it, or I’ll throw your flare off the side of this building. If the sun starts to rise and there’s not been any kind of signal, I don’t think the Queen will treat your hostages too kindly,” said Marissa.
“Hold still. I’m sorry about this,” said Lucy, turning to Priestly.
She slashed his cheek with the tip of the blade. She tried to scratch him lightly, but the blade was sharp. Blood seeped from the cut.
“Alright, we’re done here. Well done, Priestly. I’ll tell the Queen you did your job. Your husband’s life will be spared. See you back at HQ,” said Marissa, heading for the staircase.
“You’re leaving us?” cried Lucy.
“Those creatures are coming and you’re both covered in blood, I’m outta here. Wait, did I not mention? This is the second part of your test, Lucy. Get the cop back to the Queen by dawn, or the Major dies. Cya round. The flare’s in the bag. It buys you an extra thirty minutes,” said Marissa, dumping the dry backpack and disappearing down the staircase.
“How far are we from the Queen’s HQ?” said Lucy, turning to Priestly urgently.
“To hell with that, I need to warn my people,” replied the bleeding cop. “Hey!-”
Lucy clamped her hand over his mouth and pinned the knife to his throat.
“Shut the hell up. If we get caught, there’s no way we’ll make it back to the Queen,” said Lucy, uncovering the cop’s mouth but keeping the blade in position.
“Screw the Queen, we need to warn the people in this building,”
“Yes, but not if it’s going to get us caught – if that happens, Lopez dies. Your guy may be safe, but mine isn’t,” said Lucy.
“He’s one life – you can’t put him above hundreds of innocent people,” rasped Priestly.
“You damned hypocrite!” spat Lucy.
“That’s different. That was my husband. Who are you saving? Your life partner? A dear friend? Your brother?”
“No, he’s–”
“He’s nothing, then,” spat Priestly.
“He’s about the only person left who believes in what this country used to stand for,” said Lucy.
“I don’t buy it,” said Priestly.
“Fuck you,” said Lucy, edging the blade closer.
“I’m a cop, I know when people are lying,” hissed Priestly.
“You really think the Queen’s gonna spare your husband if you don’t make it back?” said Lucy.
“You’re changing the subject,” said Priestly.
“What will I tell him, if you’re not there? It sounds like he can’t bear to live without you,” said Lucy.
Concern washed over Priestly’s face.
“You wouldn’t,” said Priestly, weakly.
“I already let my life partner die, and I can’t be that person again,” insisted Lucy.
“The truth at last,” said Priestly.
“You’re still bleeding,” said Lucy, pointing to his cheek, with the blade. “If you want to survive the night, I’m your best bet. I’m immune to the creatures. I can get you to your husband alive,” said Lucy.
“Let me warn my people first, we’re running out of time,” implored Priestly.
“I can’t risk losing you,” said Lucy.
“Then use the flare. Fire it into the vent – the smoke will lead them to the blood. Do it and I’ll come with you,” said Priestly.
“We’re miles from the Queen’s place and it’s getting lighter already, I can’t throw away thirty minutes!” said Lucy.
“I can get us a car,” said Priestly.
“Double-cross me and you die,” said Lucy.
“Like you said, I’m bleeding, and my husband’s still vulnerable. You’re my best bet,” said Priestly.
Lucy stared into the man’s eyes for a moment, then released her grip. He slumped down the vent and regained his breath. She grabbed the flare and fired it into the nearest AC unit. It smashed against the piping and out of sight.
“That should raise the alarm. Now come on – we need to get to the ground before this place is overrun,” said Lucy, hastening towards the stairs.
They fled down the exit, rattling down each floor as quickly as they could. As they wound past the third story, a bell sounde
d loudly inside. The pitch and rhythm varied slightly, suggesting it was hand-held. Muffled shouts and cries spread across the building as more residents awoke to the alarm and roused their peers.
“Hurry!” urged Lucy as Priestly lagged behind.
She finished the final set of stairs, descended the end ladder onto the crates below, and jumped to the ground, regaining her balance in time to catch Priestly as he followed.
“That way!” cried Priestly, pointing down the side of the hotel.
As the pair skirted the length of the building, Lucy heard an engine running. She stopped at the periphery and stuck her head around the corner. A man was sat behind the wheel of an SUV, shouting through the open window to people on the street. A child was running from the hotel towards the passenger door. A woman stood on the sidewalk, shouting at someone else inside to hurry.
“The safe house is too close, we need to get further away from the blood!” cried the man.
“I’ll distract them – you get to the kid in the back. She’s our leverage. Go!” cried Priestly.
Lucy scampered to the far side of the street, into the shadows, and skulked towards the parked vehicles as Priestly staggered down the sidewalk towards the woman.
“Josie, take me with you!” cried Priestly, waving his arms dramatically.
Lucy drew level with the rear passenger door.
“Oh my god, Leo!” cried Josie, as Priestly ran towards her.
“He’s bleeding!” cried the father, from the car.
Lucy darted to the car and pulled the rear passenger door open. She hauled the young girl out pressed the bloodied knife to her neck.
“Jesus!” cried the man.
Lucy stood in front of the car.
“Do what we say and she’ll be fine. Now get in the back!” shouted Lucy.
The father jumped out of the front seat, his hands raised imploringly.
“Please, please let her go,” he begged.
“Get in the back! Priestly, you’re driving,” yelled Lucy.
Convulsive Box Set Page 40