Survivor

by James Phelan

  “I think I’m okay,” she said. “Just a sec.”

  She leaned back and took a step down the road, unsure, a toddler taking baby steps. One foot in front of the other, a hand tight in mine, faster and surer as we inched away from the cars.

  Another gas tank exploded, the sound of shattering glass from a building’s facade as the fire belched and caught in the lobby, the force of the blast knocking us over. Plenty more to burn around here, and all this chaos sure to lure the Chasers. And just as I thought that, there they were.

  Chasers. At least a dozen of them, headed straight for us, the burning mess between us and them, their forms shimmering in the heat haze.

  “We have to hurry,” I said. Even with her arm over my shoulders we were going too slowly.

  “What is it?” Felicity asked, still looking dead ahead, stumbling, trying to figure out how to walk let alone run. She reminded me of seeing football players being knocked out and then trying to get up, all groggy on their feet at best—often they needed to be stretchered off. No time for that here. We had to move.

  “The commotion’s attracted the predators,” I said, half-dragging her towards the next intersection. The smoke was carried with the breeze and followed us as we ran north.

  She looked back.

  “Just keep moving as fast as you can,” I said, and we started what was a medium jog. She was making whimpering sounds.

  “Come on, around this corner,” I said, checking behind us as we turned again and rounded back onto Fifth Avenue.

  “Where are they now?”

  “They’re at the burning cars.” They’d just passed them. I could see glimpses of them through the smoke.

  “In here,” I said, dragging her into a clothes store. It was a big open space with a long curved ramp and white waist-high walls, twisting up a couple of levels. “Keep moving.”

  We made it up to the first level and I guided her down to the rear of the floor, navigating in the darkness. Through racks of clothes to a row of storerooms, change rooms, and a bathroom. I ushered her into the bathroom and locked the door behind us, which felt solid enough. It was pitch black in here and I could hear our breathing, so loud, and feel my heart racing. The dimmest glow of light under the door illuminated our feet and not much else.

  “Do—”

  “Shh!” I said. I helped her to sit on the tiled floor and lean against the wall. Another door in here led to a toilet. It was the same kind of door as the one I’d just locked, with the same kind of lock on it. If it came to it, if they found us and got through this first door, I’d put Felicity in there and make her lock the door and I’d fight it out.

  Her hands found mine in the darkness and I sat next to her. Her hands shaking, mine sweating inside gloves. Bile rose in my throat, so bitter and sharp against my dry mouth. Her head rested on my shoulder and we sat in silence. If this is it, I thought, I hope it’s quick.

  At least two hours passed, seated on the floor of the dark bathroom, Felicity’s warm body leaning against mine. I can pinpoint the moment that her heart rate calmed. Two hours in the dark, in silence, listening, before we ventured out.

  25

  As we rounded the arsenal building, I took the walkie-talkie from my backpack’s side pocket, turning it on despite its being a half-hour before my scheduled check-in time with Rachel. Just as I flicked the switch and toggled the talk button, I saw her heading towards us from the equipment room, moving quickly as she always did, as if keeping busy would make time move faster.

  “Rachel, this is—” I started to make the introductions, but then I noticed that something was wrong, something had happened. Rachel looked at me, worried, panicked; didn’t even double-take at the sight of Felicity.

  “Jesse,” she said, jogging over and unlocking the gates. Close up I could make out there was blood down the front of her red polar-fleece jumper.

  “The snow leopards,” she said, tears in her eyes.

  The snow leopards had been attacked some time overnight and Rachel had found them during her morning rounds, just after I had left. One was dead, the other was now sedated. Some heavy cut wounds down its side and back flank had been stitched up, the smell of antiseptic hanging in the air of the dimly lit veterinary room. Still, it was the most beautiful animal I’d ever seen.

  Felicity stroked the cat’s tail and turned to Rachel. “Who could do this?”

  Rachel looked like she herself was feeling the pain of this leopard.

  “Those Chasers, as Jesse calls them.” She looked at me, hatred in her eyes.

  “You’re sure it was them?” I said, but I knew the answer.

  “I found footprints in their enclosure. Man-sized footprints, four sets. They went into the pen last night or early this morning. I found some torn clothing and . . . this.” Rachel held up a bloodied butcher’s knife.

  That was it, then. The zoo was no longer safe, no longer the fortress that Rachel needed it to be. She would have to leave now; if they had jumped the wall once, they could do it again. But I couldn’t say that aloud, not yet. “I don’t think Chasers use weapons,” was all I said.

  “But it had to be them—the Chasers—didn’t it?” Felicity said. “Survivors like us wouldn’t do this—I mean, what for? Food? There’s food everywhere. Sport, for fun? No . . . Going up against these big cats with a knife? No way.”

  Rachel nodded. She’d already thought all that through, but I still hoped the two girls would bond over Felicity’s words.

  “What can we do to help?” I asked.

  Rachel stroked the animal’s neck, its breathing shallow as it lay there on the cold table. She looked up at me.

  “I’ll need to care for her right through the night,” she said. “Maybe do some X-rays to see what’s broken, if I can.”

  “Anything you need, or I can do, I’ll do it,” I said. I wanted to tell her about the soldiers, about the attack, but this was her world and it was falling apart fast.

  She looked at me as if she were trying not to cry. She seemed to hesitate, as if unsure of what she was about to ask. “What I really need,” she said, “is a generator.”

  Suddenly, I saw the perfect way to bring Caleb here. I knew Caleb had a generator to spare. I also knew I’d need his help to heft it all the way up here. At last, the four of us would be together.

  “That’s easy,” I said. “I can get one—I’ll get it now.”

  Felicity said, “It’s crazy out there, Jesse. Besides, we’ve only just got here.” As if she was concerned about being left alone with Rachel.

  “You’ve only just got back,” said Rachel. As if Felicity wasn’t even there. “You can’t keep going, you’ve been up all night; you look exhausted.”

  I couldn’t be annoyed with her. I didn’t mean to exploit this situation, but perhaps the attack on her precious animals made Rachel realize that we were all in danger—that she couldn’t go on for much longer without help. Her resolve was finally deserting her.

  I shouldn’t feel guilty, I tried to tell myself. I was doing the right thing. I could have stayed to help, to protect them, but then this was helping too. I hoped I was doing the right thing.

  I said good-bye to Rachel, reassuring her that I would be back as soon as possible.

  Felicity followed me out.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  “I’ll be fine. Just . . . just see where she’s at.”

  “With what?”

  “With leaving,” I said, then felt guilty again. Was it cruel to make Felicity chip away at Rachel? But there was no judgment there in Felicity’s eyes.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Felicity squeezed my hand through the bars of the tall gate. She’d watch over the wounded snow leopard while Rachel no doubt frantically fed and tended to the other animals. I made them load the zoo’s rifle and have it ready, easily to hand. It was powerful enough to euthanize the polar bears if it came to it, so it would be more than capable of dropping a Chaser or two if they climbed t
he walls again.

  What about four? What then? What if a whole pack of them attacked the zoo?

  But it was Felicity who said, “Be careful,” as she locked the gate behind me.

  I went up the stairs to Fifth Avenue. No backpack, just me and my coat and the pistol in my pocket as I jogged south towards Caleb’s.

  My feet dragged in the snow. Were the Chasers as well organized as Caleb made out? Did they really hunt like that? Traveling in packs, with scouting parties out there? Could they communicate, call in their buddies when they found a decent feed? Maybe only at night, and that was why I hadn’t seen that behavior myself. I’d seen them chase, but hunting people? Planning?

  As I neared 57th and approached the bookstore, I saw more footprints, including some around Caleb’s front door. I felt bile rise in my throat. Then I saw the blood.

  26

  In a panic, I banged on the glass door. The sun was really shining now, blinding, and squinting against the reflected white light sapped at the energy I thought I had. My head was spinning and I could feel droplets of sweat running down my temples. I heard a sound behind me and was relieved to see Caleb staring out at me through one of his black paper peepholes. He unlocked the door, all smiles, and gave me a big bear hug as I stood there.

  “What happened?” I asked, pointing at the carnage, evidence of a fight out here at his doors. Was I leading Chasers and danger to my friends?

  “They came last night,” he said, looking at the fresh debris matter-of-factly.

  “How many?” I asked, looking around me. No bodies, no sign of Chasers or anyone else—but no doubt, there were fresh footprints and marks out here, shattered bits of broken . . . something.

  “Enough,” he said. It was as if the matter was closed. “You all right, buddy? You don’t look so great.”

  “I’m okay.” I crouched down to examine the blood more closely. “So, how did they get in?”

  He shrugged, scratched at the back of his head. He seemed so calm when I was so tense.

  “Just after dark there was knocking at the door. I thought it was you.”

  “They knocked?”

  “Yep,” he said “Stupid . . . I opened the door without checking.”

  I swallowed hard, trying to catch my breath.

  “Four of them, the kind with the dried blood welcome sign around their mouths,” he continued, miming the ghoulish clown face with a finger motion around his lips. He stopped and followed my gaze; I was looking at his bandaged hand. “This? Oh, it’s nothing. They rushed me, I managed to get the doors closed, and they would have bashed through if I hadn’t run upstairs and pelted them with pots and pans and crockery. Then the riot gun when they moved out onto the street.”

  “Holy crap . . .”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Freaky thing is how they knew I was in here; I wasn’t followed, I’m sure of it.”

  “So . . . what? They remembered you being here?”

  “None have ever seen me come in here,” he replied.

  “Maybe they tracked your prints?”

  “I’d been careful, and it’d snowed over. You know, I think it could have been those who followed us the other day.”

  “Serious?”

  “Serious. I can’t think of any others who have come here, seen me in here. Told you they’re getting smarter.” He was peeved. “So what are you doing here, Jesse, are you coming in or what?”

  “Yeah, listen,” I said. But I started to choke before I could continue. My throat was so dry and I felt hot all of a sudden. I moved away and leaned on a crashed car and coughed until I felt myself calming down, then looked through the windscreen and saw a frozen family of corpses staring back at me through long-dead eyes.

  I run through the empty streets of Manhattan. The winter sun is out, warm on my back. I round the corner and the world is in shadows. I stop here, not wanting to enter into the impenetrable dangers before me. I could be in a tunnel, the light behind me calling. The snow here is up to my knees and I turn to head back—but they are still there. They are after me, nearing, getting closer with every stride. I am being chased and they will not stop. They’re after me, or what’s in me, and there is no time to waste, for to hesitate is to die. To die by their hand is a brutal way to check out of this world. Violent. Unspeakable. I have no choice. I speed into the darkness.

  Black broken storefronts flash by me. I imagine I hear their footfalls but I believe it’s my heart beating loud in my ears. This is a pace I cannot keep up for long.

  Seconds later I am inside a building, the lobby of some formerly grand hotel, my shoes skidding on the ash-strewn marble floor and I catch myself against an overturned chair. My breathing echoes, so loud. Like most other places in this city, this building has survived the attack but has been gutted by some kind of fire, the windows long blown out, debris everywhere.

  I am out the back, on a silent street void of cars. The shadows here are long, stretching across and up the road, lonely flashes of sunlight between the teeth of buildings. I pause for the briefest moment and in that stillness I weigh up my options. I hear a scream of the chase and I resume running. I know my only option is to keep on running and hope that before I can run no more I find a place to hide.

  Three blocks pass before I stop, hidden around a bleak corner, my hands on my knees as I catch my breath. My heartbeat drums in my ears, louder than I have ever heard it, as if it may be beating the last of what it can take or is spending all of its predetermined beats far too soon. My breath fogs as plumes of steam crashing through the still air in front of me, the frantic rhythm I’ve come to know well, always synched to the terminal sequence of heartbeats. I want to sink to the ground and rest, to catch my composure before they catch me. Just a matter of time, I know that. Something else I know: I know that when you run for your life, it is the fastest and farthest and fiercest you will ever move. It is, if you want to stay alive, the one time you have no choice. You have to run. Run!

  When my eyes opened all I could see was a dim light.

  I felt dizzy and my head throbbed.

  “Jesse?”

  I turned my head to the right. Caleb was on a seat by the couch where I lay. He sat there, a bottle of water in one hand, his face concerned.

  “Hey, Caleb . . .” I said, hoarse. I had something to say to him, something to ask, something urgent, but I couldn’t place it. I tried to sit up, but it made me nauseous and my world went spinning.

  “Here, buddy,” Caleb said, holding the bottle to my mouth. I sipped slowly—two, three mouthfuls—then he took the water away. My breaths were deep and long, measures against the panic that was rising within me for no apparent reason.

  What’s bugging me? What’s so urgent?

  “How you feel?”

  “Sick,” I replied. I looked at him through half-closed eyes. “How did I—What happened?”

  “You collapsed in the street out front,” he said. “Knocked your head on a car on the way down to terra firma.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. You’ve been out for a while. I was worried.”

  My head was heavy and I was so tired I couldn’t even sit up straight.

  “You look like crap,” Caleb said.

  I was glad Caleb was there to drag me in. We’re in this together, and we came together for a reason. We’ve found one another amidst all this.

  “Here,” he said, rifling through some orange prescription bottles and presenting a couple of pills in his palm, “take these.”

  Taking those pills was the last thing I remember before falling asleep.

  27

  I turn and run. Upstairs.

  The dark stairwell now lit by my flashlight, my feet finding their way and because the power has been out for over two weeks I am adept at moving like this, the sixteen-year-old me versus the eternal darkness. I trip and skin my knees. When your life depends on speed, accidents happen and you don’t stop to sulk about it. The flashlight broke in the fall and I ditch it. I do not slow m
y ascent, feet a blur somewhere in the darkness until I get to the uppermost door. I am used to this now, this way of avoiding the chase. I’m a survivor, one of the few, uninfected, hunted. Preyed upon.

  My hand finds the door handle. I open the door.

  Daylight. This is the roof of the building. Several stories above the street, ankle deep snow. From the edge I cannot see them down there on the street or at the entrance and I know they must now be inside this building. Will they be smart enough to track me up here? Yes. When you are being chased, there are no doubts as to the ability of those who want to have you. They will get you, given the slightest chance. They don’t use flashlights or even matches or a lighter—they will navigate those stairs in complete darkness and they will do so better and faster than you or I, for their lives depend on this chase too. I reach around to the side pocket of my backpack and pull out the pistol. Heavy, loaded, ready to fire. How many bullets did it hold? Thirteen? Fifteen? I think thirteen. Dave’s held fifteen.

  Dave. He was . . . I missed him. More than my school friends back home, maybe even more than my family. Dave, another guy my age, a friend I’d known for just a couple short weeks, a guy taken too soon by this place. I missed him, and I missed Mini, and I missed Anna—

  Jesse! Someone called my name. Jesse!

  Jesse, over here!

  It’s a girl’s voice, so familiar, so sweet. As I hear it and it registers I know it should not be, but then nothing in this place is certain anymore. I turn—

  Anna is there. Standing, by a handrail, waving at me. Beautiful Anna, my lost friend, here now . . .

  She yells: Come on!

  I run to her. At the edge of the building, where it backs onto another street, she’s disappearing. The steel handrail of the fire escape snakes downward and I see that Anna is already a couple levels below, headed fast for the street.