by Frank Tayell
“It’s as real as the crown jewels,” Chester said.
“Better,” Jay said. “Because you can actually play ball with this. Thanks, Chester.”
“No problem.”
“The back’s empty,” Sholto said. “A few bones, only a few of which are human. The rest, I think they’re cat. The place has been thoroughly looted.”
“No soda syrup?” Jay asked, looking behind the counter. “Back in England, when Tuck and I were heading south, we often found jugs of it even after the rest of the food was gone, but... no. It’s gone. I guess they’ve been here long enough to search everywhere.”
“Good point,” Sholto said. “How do you guys fancy a detour?”
“How much of one?” Chester asked.
“We’re not far from Prospect Park,” Sholto said. “It’d take us half an hour, no more.”
“Why’d you want to go to a park?” Jay asked.
“To see if they’ve turned it into a farm, right?” Chester said.
“Right,” Sholto agreed. “If they have, they might stay here. If they haven’t, and if that guy did come from Halifax, and since the outbreak, they might come north looking for food.”
“That’s a lot of ifs,” Jay said.
“But the peace of mind is worth a half-hour long-cut,” Sholto said. “Your call, Chester.”
“As long as we stay this side of their walls, even if they see us, we should be all right,” Chester said. “We’ll take a look at this park, but from a distance, and I don’t want to linger too long.”
While they did eventually get close enough to see the park, there was no way of seeing inside. Crouched in an alley, Chester peered at the sheet metal barrier cutting across the street beyond. It was a similar construction to the wall built on the road near the subway, and of a similar height.
“The park’s on the other side?” Jay asked.
“Yep,” Sholto said.
“Could be a farm,” Jay said. “Or it could be a prison.”
“Time we went home, then,” Chester said.
“Hang on,” Jay said. He fished out his phone. “Oh. It’s broken.”
“We’ll send the satellites over,” Chester said.
“Or we could go inside one of these buildings,” Jay said. “Go upstairs, and just take a look over the wall. I mean, we’re here, right? Shouldn’t we just go the extra few metres? There’s a door right there.”
“Every horror film I’ve ever seen tells me this is a bad idea,” Chester said.
“I can’t hear anyone,” Jay said. “We haven’t seen anyone on this side of their wall. Except that zombie, which kinda suggests there aren’t many people here. Not anymore. Maybe it’s just, like, ten or twenty of them now. They wouldn’t really be a danger to us.”
“Only takes one person to kill you,” Chester said. “Thaddeus?”
“We’ve come this far,” Sholto said. “Two minutes, and then we’ll be back on our way.”
“I still say it’s a bad idea,” Chester said. “But that’s no reason not to do it.”
Chester crossed to the door Jay had indicated. Long ago broken open, it was ajar, hanging loose from the bottom-most hinge. With a lift and push, he opened it fully and stepped inside into a service corridor leading to the back staircase of the apartment block.
There was an unfamiliar scent in the air as he climbed the stairwell. Oddly pleasant, comforting. Not food, but something floral. It wasn’t the smell he usually associated with communal staircases. It couldn’t be flowers, not at this time of year. Air freshener? Candles? He didn’t know what it was, but he realised its meaning three steps from the second-storey landing. The doors were mostly glass. Reinforced, yes, but still transparent. Beyond was a long corridor, carpeted with thick rugs. Between the doors hung paintings. Some were portraits, others landscapes, interspersed with a few that were impressionistic. Art-theft wasn’t his area of expertise, but the heavy gilt frames looked expensive. The doors to the apartments had been recently painted in bright colours, with fairy-lights strung around at least six. And one of those had just opened.
Before Chester could duck out of sight, a woman stepped out into the corridor. A red scarf was around her neck, an almost matching hat on her head, an empty bag on her shoulder, a shotgun in her hands, and a look of shock on her face when she saw Chester.
“We’re not here to steal anything,” Chester said quickly. “We’re not here to hurt anyone. We didn’t know anyone was living here on Long Island. We’re just looking around, that’s all.”
The woman looked at him, then beyond, at Jay and Sholto. Chester knew the calculation she was making, and it wasn’t one of whether these strangers were friendly. She was judging whether she could raise and fire her weapon before any of these newcomers could draw theirs.
“We’re going to leave now,” Chester said. “We’re going to walk away. No one needs to die today, okay?”
Slowly he shuffled back a step. Behind him he heard Sholto and Jay do the same, but he didn’t look around until he reached the bend in the stairs. He ducked down.
“Run,” he whispered. Following his own advice, and following Jay and Sholto, they barrelled downward, reaching the bottom of the stairwell just as a shotgun roared.
“She shot at us!” Jay said, accusingly.
“Worse,” Sholto said. “I think she just raised the alarm.”
Two hours of running, jogging, and twice of hiding, later, they reached the dockside. Norm was almost lost among the stack of coolers he’d gathered by the quay.
“We’ve got company,” Sholto said. “Locals. Hostile. We’re leaving.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Norm said, and dashed for the launch.
Chester’s heart began to slow, while his curiosity about what Norm had gathered in the coolers began to rise. Before he could ask, a rifle cracked loud.
During their dash back to the ship, they’d hidden from the New Yorkers twice, but in both cases, it had been from groups of four heading back towards their base, unaware that the alarm had been raised. Chester had begun to think that there was no pursuit, but he’d overlooked the obvious, in that it must have been obvious to the New Yorkers these interlopers had arrived by sea. Organising a search-and-attack party had taken the locals some minutes, but they’d regained the time during a run through streets they knew well.
“On the boat!” Chester barked, backing up to the launch. Another shot clapped across the barricades and alleys, this one flatter, duller.
“Look up,” Sholto said quietly.
A bright flare arced skyward from a rooftop on which he could make out a figure: a scout, who’d fired the shot to alert others where to come.
“Time for us to leave!” Chester said.
A minute later, and not a minute too soon, they were barrelling through the waves, towards the hulking shape of The New World.
“What happened?” Nilda asked, as Sholto and Jay ran to the winch to help raise the launch out of the water.
“There’s people on Long Island,” Chester said. “And they shot first. Hard to say whether they had reason to or not.”
“Did you just start a war?” the chief demanded.
“I hope not. We want to make ourselves scarce,” Chester said. “Norm?”
“Ma’am?” Norm prompted.
“Yes, by all means,” Nilda said. “Take us away from here.” She turned back to Chester. “Did you start a war?”
Chester quickly explained.
“They shot first,” the chief said, and sounded satisfied. “I’m heading down to my engines.”
“Are they good or evil?” Nilda said to Chester when they were alone. “Were they protecting their food or hunting you? Are they asking themselves the same question we’re asking each other? You didn’t see inside the park?”
“Not even close,” Chester said. “Someone had made that apartment block their home. Put up paintings and everything. And I’d say that suggests the park is a farm, except for the zombies. One was recently turne
d, the other had an absurdly long chain around its neck.”
“We saw that in England,” Nilda said. “People chained up by their loved ones. Did you say one of them said something about Malin Head?”
“Just Malin. The bloke was Irish, and he said something that sounded like Malin. But is there only one Malin in Ireland? Did he emigrate before the outbreak? Did I hear him right? I dunno.”
“And does it matter?” Nilda asked. “The other mentioned Nova Scotia?”
“No, he said something about leaving Halifax. Might not be the one in Nova Scotia, but even if it was, there were millions of people there after the outbreak. If you were leaving, and by sea, wouldn’t you do just exactly what we did, follow the coast until you came to New York?”
“And if this was anywhere else in the world,” Nilda said, gripping the rail as the giant ship began to pick up speed, “I’d say there was no way it was a coincidence, except it is New York.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Chester said. “What it comes to, when you brush aside the questions, is that there are people on Long Island, and they weren’t pleased to see us.”
“Mum! Chester!” Jay said, running over. “Don’t you… can’t you… just look!” he said, stumbling over the words, while pointing behind. “There!”
It was a boat. The New Yorkers were following.
“Jay, go down to the engine room, tell the chief,” Nilda said. “I’ll get everyone else. Chester—”
“I’ll keep an eye on them,” he said calmly. “Don’t you worry.”
Alone, he watched the speck bounce across the waves towards them. The boat had come from the north, from somewhere The New World must have sailed by on their journey down to the wrecked bridge. A boathouse, he supposed, and one that was usually kept unoccupied. That didn’t help them much now. The enemy craft was getting nearer, clearer even to his weak eyes. It was less a cigarette boat and more a roll-up, overloaded and slow with people hanging on to grab-bars on the open deck. His glasses were too smeared with dirt and grease to see them clearly, but they were almost certainly a boarding party.
“That’s the perfect metaphor for this new world,” he muttered. “Never enough damned certainty.”
Were they good, or were they evil? He knew what he’d been, and he knew what he wanted to be, and that told him what he had to do. He walked over to the all-weather shelter the chief had built at the back of the boat to conceal the Vulcan cannon. The ammunition was stored in a box bolted to the deck: weather-proof, clasped, and worryingly not nearly as full as he’d thought. He remembered Norm’s demonstration under the chief’s watchful gaze. It was easy to load, and just as easy to fire. Other than a short practice-burst as they’d approached Iceland, they’d had no cause to use the machine gun before now.
The cruise ship was picking up speed, but not quickly enough. Chester lined up the gun. What Norm hadn’t said was how to aim it. Could he wait for the sailor? No. In five minutes, The New World would be outpacing the smaller craft, but in two, the enemy would be alongside. They were less than three hundred metres away and closing. Close enough he could see the weapons in their hands. Close enough he could see one of them, pointing a long arm, one-handed, at the ship.
Good or evil, they weren’t friendly. He braced his feet, straightened his back, slowed his breathing, adjusting for the rolling rhythm of the ship, and opened fire.
The cannon whined as a wall of shot ploughed into the water, spray pluming from the waves fifty metres from the enemy boat. He fired again, another warning burst as close as he dared, a one-second drill that sent a hundred bullets churning the water in front of their craft.
“Don’t make me be evil,” he muttered as the boat ploughed on, drawing nearer. They had little enough ammunition for the cannon, and not enough that he could waste any more. “But I’ll do it so no one else has to, so don’t make me. Please don’t make me.”
He lined up the cannon, this time not to miss. Before he pressed the trigger, the boat swerved, nearly throwing two of the clinging passengers over the side. The boat slowed, turning into the waves even as The New World picked up speed.
Chester let go of the cannon and leaned against the rail, breathing deep of the cold sea air. “Thank you.”
Chapter 32 - Leaving New York Was Never Easy
The New World, The Atlantic
The ship stayed on alert, and Chester stayed on watch at the stern, but only for an hour. With darkness approaching, he finally retreated inside and made his way up to the bridge, certain there was no way anyone would catch them now. When he saw Nilda hunched over the radar, he changed his mind.
“Did you pick something up?” he asked.
“No,” Nilda said. “I want to make sure they aren’t following.”
Chester collapsed into a chair, glanced at the window, then realised the shadows cast by the setting sun were wrong. “We’re not heading south.”
“East-southeast,” Norm said.
“Out into the Atlantic?” Chester asked.
“In case they are watching us,” Nilda said. “The chief pointed out they’ve a coastal mega-city full of top-of-the-range equipment, including radar more powerful than ours. In which case, let them see the direction we’re going, add it to your accent, and then conclude we’re heading back to England. You did say you spoke to one of them?”
“Yeah, a few words. Enough she’d have heard the accent. Good plan,” Chester said. He stretched his legs and sighed. “Do you think they are watching, then?”
“Norm?” Nilda prompted.
“Me? No. And I don’t think they’re following, either. But you know what the chief’s like.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Nilda said. “We’ll change direction after dark, angle back towards the shore, then find it again at first light.”
“Fair enough,” Chester said. “Did you call the admiral?”
“In a way,” Nilda said. “We recorded a message which we played on repeat, then waited for one in return.”
“What did she say?”
“It was pretty terse, little more than an acknowledgement,” Nilda said.
“No questions?”
“Not yet. The only relevant one is whether we’re in danger.” She looked at the radar screen. “And I don’t think we are. Not immediately.”
“Did the admiral ask about Malin Head and the Faroese?” Chester asked. “I was thinking about that. I mean, if that bloke did come from Malin Head, then he’s got to be one of the people who went to Faroe. Which means not all of them died on the island.”
“I didn’t include that in our message,” Nilda said. “Simply because I wasn’t sure what to say. Perhaps those survivors arrived in New York long before the outbreak. Perhaps it really is someone Siobhan once knew, but that doesn’t make them a friend of ours.”
“Did I hear right, that they weren’t in charge?” Norm asked.
“The Irishman and the Canadian? Not even close,” Chester said. “They weren’t just at the bottom of the pyramid, but beneath it.”
“Then it wouldn’t make a difference,” Norm said. “If we knew they were a real friend of Siobhan’s, and if they were in charge, then we’d have ourselves an in, a leg up. Question is, what for?”
“And how would we find out if it was someone Siobhan knows without her coming here herself?” Nilda said. “To put it another way, the Courageous is already on its way to Newfoundland, and the Ocean Queen is on the verge of departure. Is there any reason it should delay? At best, the admiral would go tell the Faroese that we might have found someone from Ireland who made it to New York. What difference would that make to the Faroese? I don’t think it would make them trust us more, nor us trust them. No, it’s too late. The people in Nova Scotia are friendly, and they need our help. They made us welcome. Whether or not we thought so before, Canada is going to be our home. It has to be.”
“Now there’s a thing,” Chester said. “If this turns out to be the beginning of humanity’s second act, rather th
an its epilogue, future historians will be thoroughly confused as to why we settled there, up in the frozen north.”
“Speaking of which,” Nilda said. “The Canadian in New York is of far more interest to us than the Irishman. Does he know about the harvest? If they’re looking for a new home, will they go north?”
“Not this winter,” Norm said. “If they try, they’ll freeze solid.”
“Which gives us some time,” Nilda said. “Maybe to send Jonas down to New York, with Siobhan, I suppose. Or is it safer if we don’t make contact? Would it be better to build up our walls and then stay behind them? I honestly don’t know. Clearly, they were ready for a fight, and I don’t want to begin a war with the living.” She shook her head. “It won’t be my decision, and that’s what I hate the most. It will be a collective decision made by the admiral, by Napatchie, but ultimately, the decision will be made by the New Yorkers. How they act, if they go north, will determine our response, and it’s completely out of our hands. Anyway, tomorrow we’ll continue heading south.”
“Not north?” Chester asked.
“We still want to know whether the zombies are dying everywhere,” she said, “And I’d like to know whether the New Yorkers ever ventured further south, whether they’re able to reach much further south. I’m not sure we’ll find the answer, but we can afford one more day looking before we go back to Canada. Norm, you’ve got the bridge, and I’m going to sort out some dinner.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” Chester said.
In the mess deck, they found Jay sitting on one of the many rarely used tables, the baseball bat on his knees.
“Hey. Why so glum?” Nilda asked.
“People, I guess,” Jay said. “I don’t know. It’s just… sometimes they can be so disappointing.”
“That’s the story of my life,” Nilda said. “But I truly hoped it wouldn’t be the story of yours. We were talking about that, too. About the people in Faroe and Calais. But there are the Canadians, too. And you liked them, didn’t you?”
“It’s not that,” Jay said. “We didn’t see any smoke from cooking fires because they were using the fuel in generators, right?”