The City Series (Book 1): Mordacious

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  “While I what?”

  “Forget it.” Paul drops his shovel and walks away. I let him. Paul won’t discuss it until he’s ready, and going after him will only make him dig in his heels.

  ***

  Sylvie stands in our exit house, chisel in her gloved hand and leather coat hugging her waist. It’s Ana’s coat, and Ana knew exactly what would flatter a figure. “The purple really livens up your outfit,” I say.

  Sylvie sets her hands on her hips and cocks her head. I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s changed. She’s at ease in a way she wasn’t before—still skittish but less guarded. Possibly because I plied her with candy. “That’s exactly what I was going for. It’s all the rage this seas—”

  “Let’s go,” Paul says. Sylvie opens her mouth and then closes it. She and Grace exchange a look and walk out the gate.

  Paul keeps his distance inside the houses but moves close on the streets to keep Grace and Sylvie between us. I don’t think they notice—probably a good thing with the way Grace reamed him out—although I’m grateful he’s not acting like a total dick.

  Sylvie and Grace are up stoops, in and out of houses, and through yards efficiently. They stay together and, though it’s obvious they know this route, they’re vigilant. I don’t think they needed me to follow them to Brooklyn Heights. If they couldn’t get through, I’m willing to bet it had nothing to do with their abilities. But that doesn’t mean I won’t follow them if they decide to return while I’m still around.

  Finally, we stand on the roof across from Key Food. Paul ducks when the men on the roof swing their guns our way.

  “Don’t worry,” Sylvie says. “They’re friends.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” Paul mutters. “Anyone would duck when a gun’s pointed at them.”

  “I didn’t duck,” I say. He shoots me a dirty look. “That was a joke. Remember those?”

  Paul ignores me and leads the way out of the building. A couple of easily avoided zombies wait in the street, but Paul swings his bat into both their heads. I jump out of the line of splatter. “Damn. Did we insult your manhood or something?”

  Sylvie laughs. Paul’s eyes land on her then flick back to me, impassive. “Good one, bro.”

  He jumps onto the cars that cordon off the streets surrounding Sunset Park. Sylvie and Grace are already over and walking for the houses. “I’m only fucking around,” I say to Paul. “You used to have a sense of humor, especially where your manhood was concerned. I mean, you have to have one. Especially where your manhood is concerned.”

  A small crack appears in his granite expression. “I’m gonna kick your ass one of these days, Forrest.”

  I grab his head in the crook of my arm and give him noogie. He punches me in the gut just hard enough that I let go. “All right,” he says, “let’s go see this place.”

  Sylvie and Grace lead us up the steps and through the parlor floor of a three-story limestone house. Sylvie stops on the deck, finger pointed to where Guillermo talks to a man beside a larger version of our rocket stove. “Hey, that looks like our magic stove.”

  “That’s because I gave them the plans. I guess they built it.”

  Guillermo raises his chin our way and finishes up his conversation by the time we get there. “Hey, what’s up? You like our stove?”

  “It’s awesome,” Grace says.

  Guillermo offers Paul his hand. “I’m Guillermo.”

  “Paul. Nice place.”

  “Thanks.”

  I pull a Ziploc bag from my small backpack and hand it to Guillermo. “Seeds. I wrote instructions.”

  Taking all those seeds was a good thing. Guillermo has close to fifty people now. They’re going to need the plants, and now I don’t feel as if I’ve stolen food from other people’s mouths.

  “Thanks, man. We really appreciate it. What do you want for them?”

  “Nothing. I guess you owe us a favor.” I’m kidding, although it never hurts to have a little extra goodwill coming your way.

  “Two favors now, with the stove. You sure you don’t want to move here? I’ll hook you up. Whatever house you want, first dibs on the shitter in the morning.”

  “As great as that sounds, I think I’ll stay where I am for now.” I glance at Sylvie, who’s been listening, half-amused, while she watches people line up near a pot of food, and then return my attention to Guillermo.

  “Right,” he says. “Why don’t you eat while you’re here? One of the stupid-ass chickens broke its neck, so we’re having my mom’s asopao de pollo.”

  I had meat at Wadsworth, but it seems like a distant memory. The others have gone even longer. There are cans of tuna in the basement and some dehydrated stuff, but once meat’s been dehydrated I’m of the opinion it can’t be called meat anymore. We thank him.

  “No problem,” Guillermo says. “I’m glad to see the two of you over at Maria’s. I know Jorge, so I don’t worry too much, but still…”

  “Willie!” Sylvie groans. “Don’t tell me you’re a chauvinist.”

  He cowers. “Aw, c’mon Sylvie. I just think the more men someone sees, the less they’re going to try something. I know you could kick my ass.”

  “Guillermo, I couldn’t kick your ass if you were hog-tied.”

  “You can hold your liquor, though. Sort of.” A faint blush creeps up Sylvie’s neck. He straightens up with a laugh. “Nah, but I do wish you would all come here. I could use more people who know what they’re doing.”

  “Maybe when our cake runs out.”

  “How did I know you were gonna say that?” Guillermo puts an arm around her shoulders, and she wraps an arm around his waist. It’s so unlike her that I’m tempted to ask him his secret. “Why don’t you go get some food before it’s gone? Maybe I’ll give you some cake for dessert.”

  I hand Sylvie a plate from the stack when we get in line. Paul attempts to hand Grace one, and she stares at it for a moment before she leans past to take her own. I shake my head at Paul while we’re served a scoop of the meal. He shrugs, but I know it’s getting to him.

  Sylvie waves to two guys washing dishes at a table in a concrete yard. They motion her over, but she points to her plate while we find chairs under a couple of trees. I take a bite that has chicken and carrots and recall how much I enjoy fresh food. No one says a word, only shovels it into their mouths, so I guess they all feel the same.

  “That was good,” Paul says, once he’s inhaled his food. He leans toward Grace. “I’m sorry, all right? I shouldn’t have said that about you staying.”

  Grace shifts her eyes his way, then gives a short nod. “Fine, just don’t do it again.”

  “Friends?” Paul sticks out a hand. Grace sets her fork on her plate, shakes his hand with her delicate one and says, “Friends.”

  “Thank God,” I say. “I thought I was going to have to choose sides. It wasn’t looking good for you, Paul.”

  Paul punches me in the shoulder. Maybe he’s coming around. I cringe when his gaze skips over Sylvie. She doesn’t seem to notice, but I don’t think much gets past her.

  Grace leaves for the outhouse, stopping to talk to Guillermo and a couple others on the way, all of whom greet her warmly. “You guys seem to know everyone here,” I say to Sylvie.

  “What’d you expect? That we’d sit in our house crying for some men to save us?”

  “That’s not what I—”

  She stretches out a leg and taps me with a sneaker. “Kidding. For someone who jokes all the time, you don’t know when I’m joking?”

  “Maybe because you’re not funny,” Paul mutters. It’s possible it was supposed to be inaudible because he looks startled when we both turn to him.

  I open my mouth, but Sylvie speaks first. “Excuse me?” Her voice is clipped, her cheeks reddening.

  “Nothing,” Paul says. “It was a joke.”

  “Well, I guess I’m in good company, then.” Sylvie’s eyes are dark and flat, but something like hurt lurks underneath. “Because you’
re not funny, either.”

  “What the fuck, Paul?” I say. “You—”

  “Stop.” Sylvie’s voice is sharp, as if I’m the enemy. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

  She rises and stalks toward the dish-washing guys. Not sure whether it’s a good idea to follow, I turn to Paul. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “She’s a bitch. She doesn’t even give a shit that her own mother died. What kind of person is that?”

  I take a breath. “You’re so wrong, Paul. You don’t know anything about her or her mother. She—”

  “I call it like I see it.” His big shoulders rise and fall once, and his impenetrable expression makes it clear he doesn’t want to see anything but what he’s decided is truth.

  My words are probably wasted on him, but I say, “Then you’re fucking blind. You can be a real asshole, you know that? She’s been nothing but nice to you. Say something like that to her again and I swear—”

  “Got it, bro.”

  I glare until he looks away, then I remember what he said in the yard. He’s hurting, angry and maybe jealous. He just lost his wife; I have to cut him some slack. I loosen my fists and force myself to walk away. I won’t punch him now, but I won’t cross it off my list just yet.

  Guillermo stops me on my way to Sylvie. “Hey, man. Have a question for you.”

  He proceeds to ask me something about the seeds, which I answer while I watch Sylvie talk to the two guys. One has a fauxhawk and tight jeans, the other a Caesar haircut and an amusing attempt at a swagger. Both no more than early twenties.

  “We went up to Chinatown this morning.” Guillermo leans in, voice low. “We usually see that group around, but we hadn’t seen them for a while. Their place was emptied. Broken doors and windows. A few Lexers were in there. Don’t know if they got attacked or what. Their food was gone, but they left all their clothes and stuff. It didn’t feel right, you know what I’m saying?”

  I nod. It doesn’t sound right, either. But you can source most personal things anywhere—it’s food that’s harder to find. Depending on how personal the items were, however, you’d think someone would’ve gone back for them. If you had to run, you wouldn’t have time to take all the food. Although it is possible someone took it after they were gone. I would.

  Still, that pulse from Wadsworth starts up again. Only this time it whispers fight.

  “Listen, Guillermo, there is something I want.”

  “Name it.”

  “I’m leaving for upstate once I get them set at the house. Maybe in a couple weeks. They’re going to need someone to check in on them. And we need ammo. You have some, right?”

  Guillermo nods. “Yeah. You need guns?”

  “Paul brought a couple, but I wouldn’t mind another. They need to learn how to use them.”

  “I offered them some a while ago. They didn’t want them.”

  “Things have changed,” I say. “People are going to start coming out of the woodwork now that things are settling down. Can you help me out?”

  “ ’Course. That’s not a favor, though. You’re our neighbors.”

  “Same goes for the stove plans and seeds.”

  Guillermo tips his head. “All right, true enough.”

  I seek out Sylvie again. The fauxhawk guy hugs her with soapy hands while the other guy smooths his blunt-cut bangs, preening like a bird. Sylvie’s hair swings as she leans in to say something, and they laugh. They think she’s funny.

  “Who are they?” I ask Guillermo.

  “Not competition, that’s for sure.” He chuckles. “I can tell you’ve got a little thing for her. Sylvie’s great.”

  If it’s obvious to Guillermo, then it must be obvious to Paul. And right there is part of the problem. Maybe I need to tone it down, although I’d say I’m using an epic amount of restraint. I already feel as if I’m working against time—to get the apartment into shape, to find Cassie, to live another day—and I don’t want to go in slow motion with anything. I’m a fairly calm person, but everything is moving at a snail’s pace. Adding another thing to the list might push me over the edge.

  “You should get her drunk,” Guillermo says. His laugh booms at my sharp look. “Not like that. Damn, what do you think I am? It’s just funny when she drinks. You’ll see.” He claps me on the arm, still grinning. “I’m done talking your ear off. Go rescue your girl.”

  I think Sylvie would balk at being referred to as my girl, but I don’t argue. Maybe it’ll get these two off her back. I want them to back off, and not because they’re annoying her—from what I can see, she finds them entertaining—but because I’m slightly jealous. It’s an unexpected and juvenile emotion but also completely accurate.

  Fauxhawk is talking and doesn’t stop when I arrive. “…and Carlos is showing me how to fight. I killed four Lexers yesterday all by myself.”

  “Congratulations,” Sylvie says. “Carlos is quite the warrior.”

  “I lost count at two hundred,” the guy who must be Carlos says, smoothing down the hair that can’t possibly get any smoother. “I just walk up and I’m like hwaah!” He thrusts a soapy knife into the air.

  Sylvie steps back and catches my eye. Hers are bright with silent laughter. “I wouldn’t mess with you on my best day. Anyway, I think we’re leaving. Just wanted to drop off my plate and say hi.” She points to me. “By the way, this is Eric. This is Carlos and Micah.”

  They say hello and face Sylvie again. I can already tell I won’t get a word in edgewise. “When are you coming back?” Micah asks Sylvie.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you should come to our place one day. We don’t have thousand-dollar vodka, but we can hang out. Play games or dominoes or something.”

  “Really? We could totally do that. Right, Carlos?”

  Carlos gives a smug nod. I have a feeling if Micah asked him about going to the moon, he’d probably give the same nod. “I’m good at dominoes.”

  Sylvie sticks a finger in his chest. “I’m great at dominoes, so you’d better bring your game.”

  Carlos laughs, looking less like an awkward horny teenager and more like a kid. “All right, now it’s on, Sylvie.”

  “Tell Carlos to teach you that, too,” Sylvie says to Micah. “And we’ll play charades.”

  “I love charades!” Micah says.

  Sylvie throws an amused glance in my direction. “I think you mentioned that once before. Okay, I have to go, but I’ll see you soon.”

  Guillermo hands Sylvie a box of donuts on our way out, and she plants a big kiss on his cheek. It’s a good thing he’s not competition, or I’d have to step up my cake game exponentially. We walk up to the deck after we say goodbye. Carlos and Micah elbow each other. If those two make it to our house, it’ll be miracle.

  Chapter 65

  Sylvie

  When I hear the raindrops an hour before sunrise, the only thing that stops me from waking everyone is the knowledge that they’ll kill me for it. I put down my book and peer out the parlor floor’s kitchen window to make sure buckets are filling, but it’s too dark to see. I could go out with a lantern, but entering dark, open areas while alone is still scary, no matter how enclosed. I think most everyone feels the same, which is why the poop bucket has become a chamber pot.

  Just as the sky lightens, Eric rounds the banister to the third floor dressed in wool socks, jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. “Hey.”

  “It’s raining!” I whisper-shout.

  “I saw.” He smiles and runs a hand through his untidy hair, which flops right back to where it was. I don’t know if he’s perfected the look or if it does it naturally, but it adds to his out-of-doors/just-out-of-bed appearance.

  “Do you want to see if the buckets are filling?” I ask. “Also, won’t it be easier to plant now? Should we build a cistern? I was reading about cisterns. We can water the seeds that way.” He blinks a few times, and I remember that he just woke up. “Sorry. You probably want to brush your teeth before we start on cistern building. It’
s just that I’ve been sitting here for the past hour waiting to tell someone it’s raining.”

  “Wow.” He looks me up and down. “You’ve actually out morning-personed me.”

  “Sorry. I’m a little excited.”

  “I like it. It suits you.”

  I smile in response and he brightens, possibly at the lack of a cynical comment. I think he likes me, at least in the general sense, and by now I’m positive Paul doesn’t. Leo does, however. I’m sure Paul thinks that I encourage Leo in order to piss him off, but the truth is that I think Leo is a delightful miniature human. Pissing off Paul is the cherry on top.

  “Do you want coffee?” I ask.

  “We usually make it later. I can wait.”

  “But if I make it now you’ll want to go outside with me, right?”

  “I’d follow you anywhere.” It’s jokingly said, but that doesn’t stop me from losing my train of thought. Eric pulls his toothbrush from his back pocket. “We’re out of water upstairs. Let me brush my teeth and then I’ll be out.”

  I grab a raincoat in the downstairs hall and tiptoe through the living room. Jorge still sleeps on the couch instead of moving upstairs. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to leave us women down here, which I could find offensive, but it’s comforting to have his presence and the congeniality of his big laugh. I know firsthand how hard it is to have a drug-addicted parent, but I could smack his kid for not giving him another chance. Though if he had, Jorge wouldn’t be here, and I don’t want to give him up.

  Outside, the rain is a gentle patter on the concrete. I take dry twigs from the bin and feed them into the little shelf inside the rocket stove, as Eric showed us, then watch the rain pool on the dirt while the water heats. It’s not the next Great Flood, but one peek in the barrel confirms it’s already full. Eric steps outside wearing a gray rain jacket. Thin and probably Gore-Tex and infinitely more practical than the long slicker I wear.

  “It’s full!” I practically scream, then cover my mouth when he startles. “The barrel, I mean. It’s full.”