The City Series (Book 1): Mordacious

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  “You want something?” Jorge asks once we sit in the living room.

  “We’ve got water. Thanks.” Guillermo pulls a crinkled plastic bottle from his jacket pocket and takes a sip. “I can’t wait to tell my moms you’re alive. Until we saw you on the roof, we thought there was no one else, except for those other groups.”

  “What groups?” Jorge asks.

  “There’s one, they’ve been going around smashing houses,” Guillermo says. We tell him about the kids we saw our first night. “That sounds like them. Everyone needs food. Can’t blame them for that, you know? Then there’s a group over in Chinatown. They’re all right. We made a deal with them that they get everything Eighth Avenue and up, we’re from Seventh down. There were a few more—gone now—Lexers got them.”

  “Lexers?” Jorge asks.

  “That’s what they called the zombies at the National Guard tents. They set up in the park the second day, inside the pool fence. It’s for the LX in Bornavirus LX. Lexers.” He shrugs. “We got tired of saying zombies.”

  I’m tired of saying zombies. Zombie this and zombie that all the time gets old. I’m not sure Lexers is any better, but I’m willing to give it a try.

  “Is the National Guard still there?” Jorge asks.

  “Nah, most of them pulled out, we think for Safe Zones. Took a bunch of people with them. The guys that stayed inside the fence were dead. Lexers got in there.” Guillermo pauses, head dipped in a moment of silence, then looks up with glinting eyes. “But we got their guns. You should see what they had. You need one?”

  “We have Maria’s.”

  Guillermo raises his eyebrows Maria’s way. She leans back on the couch with an enigmatic curve of her lips, and I try not to laugh. He whistles when we tell him about the escape from the hospital. “It looks like you’re doing good.”

  “Yeah, we have food and water for a while,” Jorge says. “Just built an outhouse.”

  “No shit?” Guillermo asks.

  “Yes shit,” I say. “In the outhouse.”

  He laughs, smacking his thigh. “You need anything, you come by the Key Food. My guys are on the roof twenty-four seven. They’ll take you to the houses we’re at. Maybe we should dig an outhouse. Can I see?”

  We give him a tour and explain the logistics of the outhouse while Guillermo examines it with shrewd eyes. I offer to loan him the book, which he accepts with thanks. We tell him about our plan to travel the neighborhood using yards and rooftops, and he nods. “That’s what we do when we can. We should make a route between our places. For real. Let’s do it.” He claps his hands like it’s all settled. “I’ve got big plans. We’re gonna be a Safe Zone once we get walls up.”

  “It’ll take us a few days to get to you,” Jorge says. “We haven’t cleared out those blocks yet, and we’re going to check out a couple stores on the avenue first.”

  “Careful in those stores,” Guillermo says. “Some of them are full of Lexers, and most of them don’t have shit. Okay, we’ve got to get back.” He raises his chin at the outhouse hole. “I’m going to build me one of those. If I don’t see you by the end of the week, I’ll come looking.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re coming,” Maria says. “Say hi to your mom.”

  Once they’ve left via the opposite side of the yards, with instructions on how to get back in using the key hidden in the front, I ask Maria, “What’d he say about Penny?”

  “He saw her at our apartment, with Cassie, but it was before I spoke to them. He said the traffic wasn’t bad until the next day. If there was a roadblock, they would’ve come back here.” She’s been tapping her finger on her lips, but now she smiles in response to mine. “Guillermo’s a good kid.”

  “A mensch,” I say.

  “What’s that again?”

  “Yiddish for a stand-up guy.”

  “That’s Guillermo.”

  I no longer feel like we’ve been shipwrecked on a deserted island in an ocean of zombies. Of course, Guillermo and company are an island, too, and the waters are rough, but we aren’t alone.

  God, I sound like Grace.

  Chapter 37

  The poop bucket wasn’t spectacular by any means, but the outhouse takes some getting used to. I prefer locking, soundproof doors, so sitting in a bottomless tent listening to branches wave above was disconcerting. Now there are walls, a roof, and a locking door from inside a house, but even more disconcerting is the dark hole in which you can imagine almost anything lurking if you have a mind to. But it works, and it doesn’t smell as bad as I expected. To keep it that way, we sprinkle dead leaves into the hole and burn the toilet paper in a metal can every day—not my favorite job.

  We’ve set buckets under every downspout, although the weather has been beautiful and dry. Once we have rainwater, we’re going to take cold baths, but I don’t care about temperature as long as it’s enough water to dump over my head. Right now we get a quart to clean up with every few days. It’s enough to lather up a washcloth, wash your stinkiest parts, and rinse away the soap.

  The only useful store we could access from the back was the pharmacy—the cell phone store is as far from useful as one can get. We found feminine hygiene supplies and some medicine Maria deemed useful. Predictably, the strong stuff was gone and my dream of a full night of valium-induced sleep was dashed. Worse still, the candy display was bare.

  At night, we eat our allotted sugar wafers while Jorge teaches us to play dominoes, which usually ends in friendly name-calling before we head to bed. Maria and Jorge beat the pants off me and Grace at first, but we won last night.

  Guillermo’s presence has given us something to work toward. We use our days to clear the houses en route to Key Food. We open doors—either by force or Grace’s unexpected skill with a credit card on certain locks—and houses are vacated of zombies and tallied for supplies. We’ve found another few weeks of food and the water heaters are plentiful.

  I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s fun, but it’s worthwhile. My job had no worth besides a paycheck, and for all the hours I worked, I was less than proud of what I accomplished. I sold out when I took a job I knew I’d hate, to sell products for companies I loathed. And I continued to sell out in small, yet significant-to-me ways: when I pretended that any of it was worth a shit, when I wore pantyhose, when I used the word dialogue as a verb. Actually, I never used dialogue as a verb. That line in the sand is so deeply drawn even the highest tide can’t wash it away, but I didn’t snicker when someone else did, which is bad enough.

  Today we’ll reach Guillermo’s, and I can’t help but be proud we’ve made it this far. There are fewer Lexers close to the park, although more bodies lie in the streets and the houses that didn’t burn are emptied of food. This part of the neighborhood took a beating. Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing to be surrounded by zombies—it appears to have kept people out, even though it’s only a half mile away.

  We stand on the roof of the house kitty-corner to Sunset Park—the park for which the neighborhood is named. It’s a steep hill of green that runs three blocks across and two avenues up, surrounded by a tall stone wall. A chain-link fence forms another ring of protection inside the stone. The only open points of entry into the park were stairs, and they’ve been closed off with additional fencing. Sunset Park, one of the highest points in Brooklyn, looks like it’s also one of the safest, as long as the zombies were cleared out. I have no doubt they were.

  Key Food is a one-story building on the corner across the avenue from the park. Relocated cars form a barrier around the store and at the crosswalks. The spaces between and beneath are filled in with a jumble of metal and concrete to keep out walking or crawling infected. Two figures sit on the roof of the supermarket in lawn chairs, one of whom gets to his feet and points a big gun our way.

  “We came to see Guillermo,” Maria calls. “He told us to come. My name’s Maria.”

  The guard nods and speaks to the other guy, who hasn’t left his chair. The lazy guy rises and ambles dow
n a ladder, then heads up the side street to the houses that face the park. He can afford to go slow, since the cars enclose the entire intersection, but I don’t think Guillermo would approve of the lackadaisical attitude.

  Three minutes later, Guillermo jogs down from the houses. We leave the roof and cross the street in our usual way—each person assigned a direction to watch, weapons at the ready. Jorge kills the one Lexer in our way with a quick strike, and we scramble over the barrier to the asphalt beside Guillermo. I know we’re safe within the cars, but I still have an urge to run for the nearest house.

  “You guys are tight,” Guillermo says, and dips his chin in approval. He introduces us to the two men on the roof, both in their forties. “They’re welcome anytime. You got that?” The men nod and head back to their posts.

  Guillermo jumps onto the wall of the park and encourages us up, then points out the next two intersections. They also have car barricades and one is half-filled with a wall of brick.

  “We’ll do the other one next, then every intersection around the park. We’ve got to demo some houses for more bricks. Have to work out more mortar, too. If we could get to Home Depot or Lowes we’d be set, but it’s crazy down there. It’ll be a fortress when we’re done.” He looks into the distance, wind ruffling his dark hair. “Until the food runs out, but we’re working on that. My mom had us run down to the live markets a couple weeks ago. We got some goats and chickens.”

  “Real live goats and chickens?” I ask. I’ve passed those live markets in the past but haven’t given them a thought. The animals would’ve been dead by the time we left the hospital, but we should’ve thought of it, at least. I picture myself trying to control a crazed goat or flapping chicken and acknowledge they’re probably better off with Guillermo.

  “They were almost dead, but they’re fine now. Idiots wanted to eat them right away. Because they can’t think ahead.” He taps his temple. “We have four goats. They can make goat babies, you know what I mean? We got two roosters with the chickens. Why would you cook them up when we could have more chickens? I’m telling you—people.” He shakes his head.

  “We were thinking of trying to get seeds in Bay Ridge,” Maria says. “We’ll get some for you, if you want to plant in the park.”

  “Hell yeah we want. We can come—just let me know when.”

  Maria nods. Guillermo jumps from the wall, leads us around the corner to the limestone three-story homes that face the park, and bounds up the steps of one.

  He leads us through rooms similar to our parlor floor: living room, a smaller room, and then the dining room alongside the kitchen, although his has a back door onto a deck. The fences have been razed and the yards are a checkerboard of grass and concrete like ours. Close to twenty people clear debris or hammer on the two outhouses being built at one end. Two chickens peck under a table. The goats are penned in one yard by repurposed fencing, although Guillermo tells us they bring them to the park to graze.

  An older woman with long brown hair waves and comes our way. Maria walks down the deck stairs to hug her and then does the same to a teenage girl with the same full lips and light eyes as the woman.

  “This is Lupe and her daughter Marissa, Guillermo’s mother and sister,” Maria says once we’ve joined them. She turns to Lupe. “Guillermo’s really taken charge.”

  Lupe nods and then says, “He’s a real estate mogul now. Thinks he owns all these houses, don’t you, mijo?” She pinches his cheek, which has reddened slightly, but it’s obvious she’s proud.

  “Hey, they came cheap, Ma,” he says.

  Lupe gives him an indulgent smile and says to us, “Make yourselves at home. Are you hungry?”

  We decline her offer of food and wander the yard. Guillermo points out the barbecue areas, where they’ve set up cooking stations, and brings us to a heavyset man who fusses with a rectangular black and yellow contraption that must be a generator. Guillermo explains who we are, and the man’s already sun-wrinkled face creases in welcome.

  “Name’s Gary. USMC, retired.”

  “Gary’s getting the generator working,” Guillermo says.

  Gary nods and pulls his sweaty t-shirt away from his ample stomach. “Lot of gas in the cars out there. You can cook by throwing a little gas on sand and lighting it up, but you could also blow yourself straight to hell. With this, we could cook on hot plates. Maybe get some lights going.”

  I’m immediately jealous. We need a generator. Jorge must agree, because he eyes it as if it’s a pinup girl.

  “You’ll figure it out,” Guillermo says, and claps Gary’s shoulder. “I’m keeping my eyes open for another. If we ever get to that Home Depot, we’ll have more generators than we know what to do with.”

  We continue the tour. I sometimes think we make an unlikely foursome, but this is a cross-section of Brooklyn. Older people, younger people, a spectrum of ethnicities and types—from an older woman with a headscarf to a young guy with a fauxhawk and skinny jeans. They’re up to thirty-two residents now.

  “Did all these people live on this block?” Grace asks.

  Guillermo shakes his head. “Most went with the Guard. Sixteen of us are from my apartment building. We stayed there until it died down some and then we moved here together. Didn’t know all of them before, even though I saw them all the time.”

  I knew all my neighbors before my father left and we moved around too much for me to get to know anyone. Nowadays, you nod hello and get into your apartment as fast as possible. Or I do.

  “You should move here,” Guillermo says. “All of you.”

  “Well, Grace and I are going to Brooklyn Heights soon,” I say.

  Grace flashes me a grateful look. Maria goes still. She is not happy about this, which is partly why I reminded her. I have a feeling no time is going to be a good time for Maria. And the truth is I don’t know if I want to leave, but we will at some point, so I remind myself of that fact every time we find an unopened box of cereal or can of soup. I try not to think about how I’ll miss Maria and Jorge when we do.

  “Think about it,” Guillermo says in the awkward silence and waves his hand at the yard. “Maybe we’ll be a Safe Zone like Stuyvesant Town soon.”

  “What do you know about that place?” Jorge asks.

  “Not much,” Guillermo says. “But I bet they have walls. You ever been there?” Jorge nods and the rest of us shake our heads.

  Guillermo continues, “I have a friend who lives there. Big apartment buildings with their own streets. Playgrounds and stuff. The city had water when we didn’t. You know it’s all gravity-fed? Manhattan might still have it, but have you seen the bridges?” This time we all shake our heads. “Fucked up. I mean, maybe you could get across, but I’m not trying that shit.”

  I agree with that statement wholeheartedly. Guillermo introduces us around, and either Guillermo’s lucky, people suck less than I think, or the zombie apocalypse has motivated everyone to get along, because every last person is exceptionally friendly.

  Micah, the kid with the dark fauxhawk, is twenty-two and from somewhere out west. He tugs on the legs of his skinny jeans. “Can you believe this? It’s totally crazy.” His voice is slow and languid even as he rocks nervously on the balls of his loafer-clad feet.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty crazy all right,” I say, to which he nods emphatically.

  “So, are you guys, like, staying?”

  “No, we’re just visiting. We’ve got our own place.”

  “Cool.”

  I move two steps and he follows. I back up and he keeps pace. I don’t think he has the hots for me; he’s a lost puppy. “Do you know anyone here?” I ask. “From before?”

  “No. My roommate went to his girlfriend’s. I didn’t want to go, and then it was too late. I’ve only been in Brooklyn for two months. I wish I’d stayed in Oregon.” His brown eyes moisten and he gnaws his lower lip.

  I look around for Grace, but she and Maria stand with Lupe and Marissa, having what appears to be a normal conversat
ion. Why Micah decided to seek solace in me, of all people, I have no idea. I pat his head and then realize I’m patting his head as though he is a puppy, but he seems to like it and I don’t know what else to do. “Hey, you don’t know what it’s like out west. It hit there first. You might be safer here.”

  “You really think so?” he asks in a small voice.

  I give him an extra-good pat and drop my hand. “Definitely. This place is great.” Jorge circles his finger in the air. “We have to go. But hang in there, okay?”

  Micah nods and throws his arms around me. I pat his back and look to Guillermo, who watches us with a giant grin. When I’ve extricated myself and we’re out of earshot, Guillermo says, “Sorry ‘bout that. Micah.”

  “I didn’t expect a hug, that’s all.”

  His laugh is full and loud. Everything about Guillermo is exuberant and enthusiastic in a way that makes you want to be a part of it. “Micah hugs everyone. He’s all right, though.”

  Carlos comes up from behind. “He needs to grow a pair.”

  Guillermo speaks to Carlos in rapid-fire Spanish, and, by the end of it, Carlos studies his shoes. Guillermo winks at me. “I asked Carlos who pissed his pants first time he killed a Lexer.”

  I hold up a hand. “Don’t tell me. Lemme guess. You?”

  Guillermo roars with laughter and glances at Carlos, whose cheeks burn with mortification. “That’s right. Me.”

  Chapter 38

  I haven’t yet gotten around to building the solar oven. Maria and I have conspired to design a dinner menu that requires we boil water, in order to brew coffee for the morning. But, as we run out of pasta and the weather warms, we should use that sunshine to cook food and, one hopes, brew coffee. Even if most edibles are gone from the surrounding houses, the coffee remains. And there are boxes of cake mix in the basement that have just passed their expiration date. So far, Maria has resisted any attempt to make cake on the stove, but she’ll have no excuse with an oven. I want cake so badly I can taste it. Or I can’t taste it, which is the problem.