by Alex Irvine
April joined him. The rain got through, but not as much, and by this point she was so wet it had stopped making any difference. “How often do JTF patrols come by?”
He was looking under the bridge to get a view of the Hudson. “Varies,” he said. “Over the winter they had a garrison here, but it packed up in March. I guess they figured since the virus wasn’t spreading as much they ought to focus on more dangerous places. But like I said, they left motion sensors. And the patrols, well . . .” He shrugged. “Put it this way. If we see one go by, we’ll have time to get across before another one shows up.”
It was nearly an hour before a patrol boat appeared from the south, sweeping a spotlight across the riverbank and the bridge pilings. The boat steered in toward the bridge, close enough that even in the rain April could make out the figures of its crew. One of them was looking through binoculars. If they’ve got thermal imaging, we’re in trouble, she thought.
At the same moment Brother Michael said, “Duck down behind the rocks.”
They scrambled down toward the water together, hiding themselves from view. “They don’t usually come in that close,” Brother Michael said. “Must be figuring someone might be using the rain as cover.”
The boat idled on the far side of the bridge for a minute or so. Then they heard its engines rev. April peered up over the blocks and saw its lights arcing back out into the river. It headed back south, and soon it was lost in the rain.
“Okay,” Brother Michael said. “Now we go.”
April watched him climb up the stone blocks and then get a grip on the outside of the bridge structure. He scooted a couple of steps ahead and looked back at her. “See?”
She nodded and climbed up after him. The steel was rough in most places, either rusted or covered in corroding paint applied in multiple layers over rust. It wasn’t as slippery as she’d feared after Brother Michael’s warning.
“You ever do any climbing?” he asked as they started to work their way out over the water.
“No.”
“Three points of contact,” he said. “Move one hand, one foot at a time. Keep that in mind, you’ll be fine.”
April fell into the rhythm of it pretty quickly. The bridge superstructure had trusses in a vertical zigzag pattern extending from the span up to arches. They were spaced closely enough that she could always keep a hand on one while reaching for the next . . . barely. She learned to lean her weight in over the bridge deck when she was making the reach between trusses, so if she missed she would fall on trestles instead of water. About halfway across they came to the platform that supported the swinging part of the bridge. “Rest here for a minute,” Brother Michael said. She was glad to. The rain drummed on the platform, a harsher sound than the white-noise patter it made on the surface of the creek. That thought got April looking back toward the JTF checkpoint at the Henry Hudson Bridge. She could barely tell it was there. Just a few smeared lights.
“We’re doing fine,” Brother Michael said. “In this rain they probably wouldn’t see us from the checkpoint even if they were looking.”
“What would they do if they did see us?” April asked.
“It’s a little far to start shooting, unless they’ve got a sniper there. Who knows?” Brother Michael shrugged. “It’s never happened.”
He sounded pretty confident. Much more confident than April felt. “How many times have you done this?”
“This is the fourth,” he said. “Better keep going.”
Her forearms and calves were trembling by the time they got to the far side and dropped down into the brush on the Bronx side. She shook them out and flexed her cramping fingers. Then it occurred to her that for the first time in nearly five months, she was off Manhattan Island. She looked down at her feet. The Bronx. She’d escaped the quarantine.
“Feels pretty good, right?” Brother Michael said.
April nodded. “Yeah. It does. I’d kind of forgotten what it was like to be able to go where you want.”
“And where is that?”
“Michigan.”
“Michigan? Man, that’s a long trip. Hope you have some friends along the way.”
It hadn’t even occurred to April to think of this. She’d been assuming that everyone she knew, in New York or anywhere else, was dead. After all, those were the odds. But now that Brother Michael had put the idea into her head, she started running through possibilities. She didn’t have any siblings, and her parents had retired to Montana. She hadn’t heard from them since the quarantine came down. A couple of her college friends were living, or had lived, in places along the way—one in Pittsburgh and another somewhere near Toledo. Maybe she would be able to stop at one or both places and try to find them, depending on circumstances. If Toledo or Pittsburgh were as bad as New York, she would want to give both places a wide berth. Probably the best thing to do would be to stay in the country as much as possible, as long as she could find water and food.
“I’ll figure it out,” she said.
“All right, then,” Brother Michael said. “Here’s what you do next. Get up the hill here and then stay on the tracks for about two miles. You’ll run into the Riverdale Yacht Club. Ask for Blake and give him this.”
She could barely see his extended hand in the rainy dark, but she held out her own hand. He put something in her palm and closed her fingers over it. She could tell it was some kind of figurine. Turning it over in her fingers, she tried to discern details. Human, maybe?
“It’s a jade Buddha,” Brother Michael said. “Song dynasty.”
“I can’t—” She didn’t have anything worth trading. “I don’t have anything to offer you in return.”
“It’s a gift from the Master and the Riverside Templars.” Brother Michael climbed back up onto the outside of the bridge. He raised a hand in farewell, and April thought: three points of contact. “Consider it our blessing,” Brother Michael said. “It’s a long road to Michigan, April Kelleher. You better get going.”
13
VIOLET
The rain finally let up before the next morning, and they could all get out of the Castle, so of course that was how Wiley got shot.
They were all running from a group of robbers: the seven kids, plus Junie and four other adults. Twelve of them. They’d gone out along the edge of the Mall, following Jefferson west until they hit the edge of the flooded zone just past the Washington Monument. The Reflecting Pool was invisible under the muddy floodwaters, and the river lapped at the bottom steps of the Lincoln Memorial. They squished across the sodden ground to Constitution Gardens again. The harvest had been good enough last time that Junie wanted to see the place for herself. “Maybe if things get a little more stable we can set up a farm there,” she said. “Be nice if we could do it a little closer, but . . .” She trailed off. Violet knew what she meant, though. Nobody was going to be planting anything on the parts of the Mall right by the Castle. It was all a mass grave.
The south side of the garden pond was marshy after all the rain, so they went around to the north, along Constitution Avenue. Everything was overgrown here. From the north side of the pond a little footbridge went out to an island, and it was like a little piece of jungle there. A rabbit bounded away from them into the underbrush. Junie was in heaven, spotting edible greens everywhere she looked. Not just cattails and dandelions, but all kinds of other plants Violet had never known you could eat: garlic mustard, yellow sorrel . . . and violets, which gave Violet a funny sense of pride. Junie set the kids to gathering them, and she was picking some herself, talking about all the sources of nutrition nobody ever paid attention to, growing right in everyone’s backyards.
It felt good to be out in a big group, with adults. Violet liked having time with just other kids, but she also knew that they were safer with adults around. It also helped that they were close to the JTF’s main base in the White House. Violet imagined the presi
dent—there had to be a president, didn’t there?—working hard to get America back on its feet. The JTF had soldiers and some vehicles all around the White House grounds, from the Ellipse right up to Lafayette Square. Being so close to it made her feel more secure.
“Wonder if there are any fish in this pond,” Mike said.
One of the other adults stood next to him, hands on hips. “Don’t know,” he said. “But there’ll be frogs.”
Violet didn’t know if she could eat a frog.
She was considering the question, wondering just how hungry she would have to be to eat a frog, when people appeared from the little building just across Constitution Avenue from the middle of the garden pond. They were ragged, wearing mismatched clothes and looking different from each other. Not one of the organized groups of bad guys. Just a band of scavengers and robbers, was Violet’s first thought. She’d seen groups like them before. DC was full of them. They were scary, but not any more than yellow particles drifting over L’Enfant Plaza, or the ever-present midnight crackle of gunshots echoing over the Mall. Not when she was part of a big group, with five adults.
Then one of them raised a gun and started shooting.
Violet knew what to do. She got low and looked around at everyone else. Were they running? If they were, she should run, too. Mike had drilled this into the kids back at the hotel, and she knew it applied here, too. The rest of the kids hit the ground, too, as Mike and the other adults got their guns up and started shooting back.
Her first thought was to get out of there, to run and not stop until she was back in her room in the Castle. But Wiley cried out and fell, right at the edge of the pond, and Violet ran to him instead. She dropped onto her belly and crawled right up next to him. Wiley was panting and crying from the pain, and there was blood on his shirt. They huddled together in the cattails. “You’re okay,” Violet said automatically, not knowing whether or not it was true.
“It hurts,” Wiley moaned through gritted teeth. “They shot me, Vi. I’m going to die.”
“No, you’re not,” she said. He rolled over, clutching at the wound. She could see that he really had been shot, and part of her wanted to run all the way to Alexandria and hide forever in her old room with her old posters and stuffed animals, sleeping until someone came to tell her that everything was going to be all right.
But it wasn’t. There were more gunshots.
Around her, everyone was getting down into the weeds around the pond, trying to hide. She saw Mike shooting back, but the robbers kept coming.
Violet slid along the muddy bank into the water, pulling Wiley with her. The other kids were running to the other side of the little island—except Noah. He crashed down next to Violet, grabbing Wiley’s hand. Wiley was groaning with the pain and kicking his legs.
Bullets slashed through the cattails over their heads. Violet couldn’t see Mike anymore. She couldn’t tell where any of the adults were.
She crawled out of the water to get a better view. There was Mike, on his hands and knees by their end of the footbridge. He was trying to get up, but couldn’t put any weight on one leg. The robbers were in the trees between Constitution Avenue and the north side of the pond. She could see them moving. Four of them together started out from the trees, headed for Mike. Where were the other adults? Violet tried not to panic, but she didn’t know what to do. Noah and Wiley were pretty well hidden, but it was too cold to stay in the water, and Wiley needed a doctor.
Junie crawled up next to her. “Don’t move,” she said.
“But Mike . . .”
“There’s nothing we can do.” Her face was grim. “Maybe in a minute we can get Wiley out of here.”
Behind the first four robbers, six more came out of the trees. “Wrong part of town to pick flowers,” said the robber in the lead. He started over the footbridge, the rest of the robbers behind him.
Violet wondered if she was going to die. She was shaking. Junie put a hand on her back. “Ssshhh, now. If things get bad, just don’t look.”
Mike heard the robbers coming and started crawling away, toward the little monument in the middle of the island. Nobody was shooting now, but somehow that made everything worse.
Beyond the robbers, she saw another motion in the trees. More of them, she thought. Maybe she could swim across the pond and get away. Where were the other kids? Her mind was jumping from idea to idea, but her body was stuck in place. Junie stayed with her. Violet saw she had a gun, a square black pistol. But it wasn’t going to be much help against ten robbers. Or more, if that was who was coming through the trees.
It wasn’t.
A tall white guy wearing a backpack and carrying a rifle stepped into view. He raised the rifle and sighted down it. Violet saw a glowing orange circle on his left wrist and she felt a tiny glimmer of hope. A Division agent. Only one, but in her mind they were like superheroes. And this one was left-handed like her. None of the robbers had noticed him yet. They all had their eyes on Mike, and their minds on what they were going to do to him.
He fired, shifted his aim, fired again. Shifted once more, fired again. All in two seconds. Then he stepped behind the tree again. By the time Violet had looked from him to the robbers on the footbridge, one of them was hitting the water and two others were facedown on the bridge itself.
The rest of them spun around and pointed their weapons in every direction, screaming at each other to find out who was shooting at them. The leader pointed back toward the little stand of trees.
The Division agent stepped out again. One shot, then he ducked back into cover. Another robber fell down and didn’t get up.
“He can’t get us all with a fucking deer rifle,” the leader shouted. “Go after him!”
The robbers charged. Junie jumped up from the cattails and ran to Mike, dragging him behind some bushes where at least there would be some cover. Violet looked back at Noah. “How is he?”
Noah was crying, cradling his brother’s head in his lap. “He’s hurt, Vi. He’s still bleeding.” Wiley was quiet and pale.
“Get him out of the water. Here, I’ll help.” Violet scooted over to them and together they got Wiley up on dry ground again. He was soaked to the waist from being in the pond, and above that his right side was wet with blood.
A rattle of gunshots sounded from the trees. Violet spun around and saw the robbers firing into the trees. She couldn’t see the Division agent. No, wait, there he was . . . but no. This was an Asian woman, another agent, calmly stepping out to flank them. She had a different kind of rifle, one of the ones with the curved magazines. When she fired, it was a long burst that raked the group of robbers. They started to scatter, at least the ones that still could. Then the first Division agent reappeared at the other end of the trees and calmly shot another one of them.
That left only two of the original ten. They ran for their lives through the trees back toward Constitution Avenue. The Division agents didn’t go after them. They converged on the footbridge and crossed together. “You can come out now,” the man called.
Junie stood up from behind the bushes and said, “We need help! Two of us are shot. At least two. I don’t know where everyone is.”
The woman agent tapped her watch face. “Base, Fujikawa here. Civilians in need of a medic, this location, stat.” She paused, listening. “Threat neutralized. Situation stable for the moment. Pearson and I will stay until you’re on-site.”
She looked back to Junie. “Help is on the way.”
The other agent was carrying Wiley up from the edge of the pond. He knelt and set Wiley down gently on a sidewalk. Noah was right there. “Help him,” he pleaded.
“Hang in there, buddy,” the agent—Pearson—said. “JTF’ll be here any minute.”
Fujikawa dropped her go-bag and found her first-aid kit. She applied a field dressing to one of Mike’s wounds. He’d been shot twice, once in the arm and once in
the leg. The leg wound looked worse. “You’re going to be okay,” she said. “Might be a while before you can start jogging again, though.”
“Ha-ha,” he said weakly.
Less than ten minutes later, the JTF response team arrived. Four medics and a dozen armed escorts. Watching them approach from the footbridge, Fujikawa held out a fist to Pearson. He tapped it. “Catch you later,” she said. They walked in separate directions, he going north and she headed west. Pearson nodded at the JTF team as he passed them, pointing at the island to indicate where they should go.
Violet followed Fujikawa’s figure as long as she could, until the agent was lost in the trees growing around the Vietnam Memorial. Agent Fujikawa is never scared, she thought. Agent Fujikawa can handle any situation. I want to be like her.
* * *
• • •
While the medics treated Wiley and Mike, Junie rounded up the rest of the kids. The other three adults came out of the bushes looking both sheepish and grateful. Violet memorized their faces and told herself not to trust them in the future. Only Mike and Junie had stood up and tried to protect the kids.
She stayed close to Wiley, holding Noah’s hand just so he wouldn’t be scared. The other kids clustered like they always did, the smaller ones in the middle. Shelby and Ivan were talking to each other, but Violet couldn’t hear what they said.
The medic looking at Wiley stood up. “Okay, buddy. We’re going to get you a stretcher.” Off the patrol leader’s look, he said, “Through and through, mostly got fat and muscle, but it nicked a rib and grooved a little deep on the way through. Should get it cleaned and closed up so we don’t have to worry about peritonitis.”
“Does that mean surgery?” Mike asked. He was sitting up, his arm in a sling and his leg bandaged from knee to hip.
The medic shrugged. “Technically, yeah. But we won’t have to put him under. Couple of shots, couple of stitches, course of antibiotics. He’ll be good as new.”