For now, he had to put some more clothes on. The journey back to his bedroom was easier as he felt his strength begin to return, and he quickly found a pair of lounge pants that were warm but loose around his wound. He took another glance at Mona's peaceful form, before heading into the living room and looking out onto the street below. No lights, no sign of movement at all. The sky was darkening, so he knew it must be around 4 p.m. He flicked his right wrist and his BonesWare flashed amber warnings about dehydration, but nothing too concerning. Whatever was killing people had passed him by. So far.
Then he looked back at his BonesWare. In the top corner it showed the time, 4:11 p.m., that was what he expected. But beneath it was the date—November 16th. He'd been out for two days! No wonder his legs felt weak and his head was swimming. Mona must have tended him and then, on the night before he woke up, she died.
He suddenly felt confused and vulnerable. What had been going on outside while he'd slept? Mona's gun! He went back to the bedroom. Her handbag was there, but the pistol wasn't inside. Instead, he found a spiral-bound notebook. He went to put it back, but he spotted his name on the front page, so he pocketed it and then looked through the drawers before searching everywhere he could think of for the precious weapon.
It was when he'd reached the front door that it struck him. Where would he hide a gun before going to sleep? He rushed back into the bedroom again and, somewhat fearfully, ran his hand under the pillow Mona's head was resting on. It moved a little as he groped around, but he kept his eyes elsewhere and, finally, his fingers closed around the cold metal.
Pulling it out, he took it back to the living room, stopping off in the kitchen for a pack of candles and a box of matches as the light was fading fast outside.
He pulled the curtains, lit a couple of candles and sat on the couch again, breathing heavily. Two whole days. He'd have to make sure he ate again tonight and, above all, that he kept hydrated. But if the power had gone, how long would the water work? He made a promise to himself to stock up in the morning but, for now, his attention was focused on the book he'd found in Mona's hand-bag.
Holding it under the candle, he swiped back a few pages to the point where she'd started writing.
Dear Solly, if you are reading this, I must be dead, like so many, many others tonight. I am keeping notes of what I'm doing and learning so you will have some answers when you wake up. I hope you never see this. I hope I'm alive to welcome you back. You look so peaceful when you're sleeping.
Thank you for saving me.
Love, Mona
Tears formed in the corners of Solly's eyes as he read this, before he moved on to the entries below.
14th – 4 am
Have dressed the wound and stopped the bleeding. News says there have been deaths in the millions. Have turned off all lights—lots of people in the street shouting and crying out. Lots have driven away. Not sure how far they'll get. Hope Solly doesn't mind me sleeping in his bed, but I need to rest a bit.
14th – 9 am
Am concerned that Solly is showing no signs of waking up. He must have lost more blood than I thought on the way here. He must have been exhausted too, poor man.
14th – 2:30 pm
No one on the streets now. Have heard shouts from neighboring apartments but haven't gone out. CNN reporting casualties among the military even higher than the general population. The chain of command is being simplified, but may not hold. We're being told to stay inside, but no news on whether help will come.
14th – 6 pm
President Kowalski is dead, as is the Vice President. General Sam Tusk has taken over the administration, declaring martial law.
15th – 10 am
Solly wet himself. I'm sorry if you're reading this, but you have to know why you're wearing new underpants. Don't worry, I cleaned up. I've seen it all before. You came around a little as I was doing it, and you had some water, but fell asleep as soon as I'd finished. I hope it's a good sign. Maybe you'll wake up properly today.
15th – 7 pm
I'm scared. The power went an hour ago and it's not going to come back. Nothing is moving outside, except the odd car light in the distance. I've made an inventory of the food in the apartment. There's not a lot. When you're awake, we'll have to go out and get some essentials. I'm not doing it on my own. Please wake up Solly.
That was the final entry and Solly could barely see for the tears. She'd cared for him on her own, stuck here looking after a near stranger because she couldn't leave him. He looked out of the window at the darkness. He'd never seen it like this before—even in the dead of night, this part of Queens was always lit up so bright you needed blackout drapes to sleep. Well, now the night belonged to the dead.
He went back into the bedroom one final time, pulled the duvet from Mona's body, sat on the sofa and wrapped it around himself. He opened a can of peach slices, ate them and then fell asleep, the gun beside him.
It was daytime when he awoke again, and, in a panic, he looked at his BonesWare - 9:30 a.m. on the 17th. So, he'd only slept the one night this time. Cold hit him like a slap in the face as he opened the quilt and stepped out. But he felt an urgent need for the bathroom, so he shivered his way through the process and was grateful to hear the toilet tank refilling once he'd flushed. At least the water was still running.
After a quick breakfast of cold baked beans, he sat on the sofa and pulled the dressing off his wound. It felt warm to the touch and the edges of the jagged wound were red. It was infected. It might heal of its own accord, but Solly had no intention of taking the risk. He knew it was still possible he'd die from whatever had killed everyone else, but he couldn't do anything about that. What he could do was to go out and get some antibiotics.
Padding back into the bedroom he was somehow shocked to see Mona lying there. What had he imagined? That she would get up and let herself out? He shook his head to jump out of that particular rabbit hole. He noticed she'd gone to bed that night fully dressed. As he went through his drawer and wardrobe digging out the warmest clothes, he thought about his next move. Beyond getting some antibiotics and essential supplies, what then? The image of his children appeared in his mind's eye and he knew the answer. Sooner rather than later he was heading out of town and onto the road to Texas.
Solly opened the door of his apartment and peered carefully along the landing. He had two neighbors. The Sanfords lived on one side, an elderly couple he'd barely spoken to, and Bettany Moreau on the other. She was a French engineer who worked at La Guardia. Solly had harbored ambitions in her direction but she was so far out of his league he'd confined himself, thus far, to admiration from a distance.
He decided to check Moreau's apartment first, but the door was open and it was trashed inside. He hoped she'd left before this had happened and tightened his grip on the gun as he left.
The door of the Sanfords was locked, but there was no response to his banging. They'd either left or were lying dead inside. The chances were, in the latter case, that they had some antibiotics he could take, but he couldn't face the prospect of finding them dead inside and he probably wouldn't be able to force the door in any case.
So, he turned away, pulled his thick coat around his cheeks and his thermal hat down around his ears. He caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror as he went to open the outer door. Any mental image of himself as some sort of vigilante in black was banished. He looked like a terrified dorky nerd with a child's pistol in his hands. He gave a grim chuckle, opened the door and slipped outside.
Queens was as silent as a tomb.
Chapter 8
Solly headed south on 79th toward the medical center. He felt as though he were walking through a dream. It was as if a princess had pricked her thumb somewhere and the whole of Queens had fallen asleep. The silence wrapped itself around his mind to the point where he thought he could hear the blood bubbling away in his ears.
Red brick, two-story apartments lined one side of the road, wooden houses the other. The Sta
rs and Stripes hung from twin flagpoles outside one of them—a well-kept white building with an iron gate. Inside, perhaps, two patriots waited silently for the end of days.
He pulled his head down into his collar as a chill wind blew along the street. He reckoned that half the cars he'd normally see parked up on a weekend were gone, and most of those that remained were lined up perfectly normally along the side of the road. But, here and there, he'd see one abandoned and, around it, cars on either side unable to get through. He quickly learned not to look inside any of the cars he passed.
When he was crossing Northern Boulevard, he heard voices crying out in the distance. He couldn't tell what they were saying, but they didn't seem to be frightened or stressed. If it wasn't impossible in this dead city, he'd say it was the sound of children at play. No time to look, though. He needed those antibiotics and, once he had them and some other essentials, he would be heading south to his own children.
He wasn't surprised to see that the medical center had been broken into. Shattered glass lay across the entrance, and inside was a scene of utter mayhem. Computer displays, chairs, even pot plants lay strewn across the room. Two bodies lay partially covered by the debris in front of what had been the reception desk. What had happened? He guessed that frightened people had gathered here on that first night and frightened folk can turn into an angry mob in the blink of an eye.
Where would he find antibiotics? There would be a dispensary somewhere close to reception and, sure enough, he spotted a sign and found it within minutes. It had been pretty thoroughly looted, but he was able to scavenge some bandages. He felt nervous, and it didn't feel right to be simply taking without paying, so he moved quickly and shoved every box of drugs he came across among the debris into his pack as he went. No antibiotics, as far as he could tell. He was no medical expert, but he thought their names ended in "…in," so he scanned the labels quickly. But he rejected nothing he found—who knew what he would need? He could separate the useful from the mere baggage when he got back.
Solly moved behind the pharmacy desk, tripped over something and fell sprawling on the floor. He looked back with horror at the hand that had wrapped itself around his foot. It belonged to a man who lay on his side beneath the desk. As he moved, Solly gagged at the overwhelming stench. He pulled his foot free and scrambled away, sitting up against a wall and looking around. Once his heart had settled again, he pulled in a deep breath and crawled back to the desk and peered under.
"Are you alive?" he whispered.
The man's head nodded gently. He was a black man of late middle age, his thinning, close cropped hair peppered with gray. He wore a white coat but, as Solly's eyes scanned down his torso he could see that it was soaked in thick, black, blood.
"What… what happened?"
The man didn't say anything, but Solly read the wish behind those pleading eyes. He'd either been shot or knifed in the guts, probably on the first night, and he'd lain here ever since as his body died from the legs up. He let out a cry that reminded Solly of a kitten's meow and stretched his arm a few more inches as if begging.
Swallowing the pure terror that was rising in his throat, Solly pulled the revolver from his pocket and pointed it at the pitiable figure. The man, seeing this, relaxed. His arm fell loose on the floor and he nodded as he held Solly's gaze.
"May God forgive me," Solly muttered. His heart thumped in his chest and his hand shook as he took aim.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't shoot someone up close like this when they were posing him no threat. As if reading his mind, the man lunged at him, grabbing his hand. As he tried to pull away, Solly's finger pulled on the trigger and the crack of the shot echoed around the building. But the bullet went wide, and the man lay there crying.
What was Solly to do? The right thing would be to put him out of his misery. He'd done that for the burn victim in the subway. But no, he hadn't done the deed himself, he'd given it to Marek. Did he have the strength, in this new reality, to kill in cold blood?
Suddenly, he heard the scraping of a door being opened. His shot had attracted someone's attention. More than one person, judging by the murmuring sound. Lonely though he'd been, the last thing he wanted now was to run into strangers. With a whispered curse, he got to his feet, trying hard not to look at the man on the floor.
He took his grief and shame with him as he ran out the rear of the pharmacy and into the staff hallways beyond. He still needed his antibiotics. If anything, his leg was more painful now than it had been when he'd woken up. He didn't want to end up like the man under the table.
He pushed at a door and found himself in an empty consulting room. Good, this one hadn't been raided. Pulling open the drawers, he scattered their contents onto the desk. Pens, a stethoscope, some mints. Nothing useful.
In the next room he hit the jackpot. He couldn't tell what this doctor's specialty was, but she clearly dispensed a lot of antibiotics because her desk drawer was full of them. Amoxicillin would do. He took every box he could find and topped it up with other varieties just for luck. He'd have taken more if he'd thought to bring a bigger bag. Cursing himself, he went to the door and heard again the sounds of people talking, echoing down the corridor. A brutal laugh went up and then, to his horror, he heard a wailing cry. He couldn't tell whether it was a woman or a child, but either way, he couldn't turn and run.
Swinging the pack onto his back, he checked the gun and sneaked toward the noise.
"There's someone else in here."
Solly halted. The voice was calm, and it was too close for comfort. He held his breath as he listened.
"Yeah, I heard the shot. But maybe we don't want to go looking for trouble."
The first voice erupted in laughter. "Moron! We are trouble. We bossed this place before the falling, we sure as hell rule it now."
"True enough. But can't we just play with the booty? And go looking later?"
The first voice seemed to consider this. "Maybe you're right. We don't want Jez going spoiling the prize. Nice little virgin."
So that was it. They'd found a woman hiding, probably in the medical center itself. Could his shot have brought them here in the first place? Good grief. Again, he felt like a bear in a trap, caught in a net of responsibility and guilt.
Mercifully, the two men moved away from him and he was able to follow. The glimpses he caught as he shadowed them along the corridors of the medical center told him that one, the first voice, was a slightly built black man with long dreadlocks. His accomplice was short, wide and looked white, but might have been Hispanic. Both wore blue denims and he could see tattoos covering the neck of the paler man. Each carried a handgun.
At first, he couldn't tell which direction they were heading in but then, with horror, he realized that they were behind the pharmacy.
"Look at this," said fat boy. As he peered around the doorway, Solly could see him looking under the table. Dreadlocks was out of sight, presumably on the other side of the room. "That must really hurt. Let me deal with that for you." Another crack and Solly guessed the injured man was finally dead.
He was about to slip back into the hallway and wait for them to leave when a deep voice whispered in his ear, "Where are you goin'? Why don't you come join the party?"
He spun around, and, in a blur of movement, Dreadlocks had pulled Solly's gun from his hand and the other thug was riffling through Solly's backpack. "Just pills."
"And what kind of drugs were you looking for?" Dreadlocks said.
There was no point in lying. "Antibiotics. My leg's wounded."
"Ah, been in a scrap, have you? Well, I suggest you come along with us and we'll take care of you. I'm Lenny, by the way, and this here is Otis."
"Solly."
With a gesture and a push, Lenny indicated the direction they were to walk. "I knew you was following us. I said to Otis, I said we'd set a trap for whoever had fired the shot in here. And we got our little mouse."
Another cry went up. Closer this time.
&
nbsp; "Come on now, Otis. We need to get back for the party or the goods will be spoiled."
They emerged suddenly into a large room like a college lecture theater. Two figures were gathered around a third who was kneeling, head bowed.
"Ah Lenny, you're just in time," said a white youth whose pock-marked face peered out from beneath a black hoodie.
"I'm glad to see that," Lenny responded. "But put it away for now, Jez, the lady don't want to be seein' what you're packin'."
Otis laughed at this, followed a few moments later by the boy who stood alongside Jez. And he was just a boy. Fourteen, fifteen perhaps.
"We found our gunman," Lenny said, pushing Solly to the front. As the others backed away, he could see that the kneeling figure was, indeed, a woman. She was slightly built with a mass of brown ringlets crowning a pretty face. She wore a white blouse—Solly could see her discarded coat where it had been flung away—which contrasted with her mocha-colored skin. She looked like a lamb to the slaughter and Solly was powerless to help.
Or was he?
He'd originally imagined he'd been taken by a city gang, but now that he'd seen them up close, only Lenny was truly dangerous. Otis was a moron and Jez an adolescent bully. As for the boy, he looked terrified. Lenny was the key.
"Now then, friend Solly, you have an opportunity," Lenny said, forcing him down onto an auditorium chair. "We are the power in the hood now. Everyone else has gone, one way or another. You can handle a weapon and I figure you has more brain than those three put together. Join up with us and you can live like a king."
Solly gave a noncommittal shrug.
"Well, perhaps you should see what living like a king means? Eh? Now you just hold that girl down, Jez, and I'll show you how a real man does it. Don't be jealous of my gear though, will you boy?"
The Long Night Box Set Page 7