by Trevor Zaple
Mark held up his hand and Conley’s litany ceased. The man’s abundantly bearded face fell, and after a moment he nodded ruefully.
“All right, son, all right,” he conceded. “I get it. You and your friends are getting out of here, come hell or high water. Well, there’s nothing I can say to stop it, so I’ll stop trying. Just consider my offer, Mark. I think you’ll be a lot safer if you do”.
Mark smiled. “I doubt that you think that at all,” he replied fondly. Conley let out a roaring laugh.
“True,” he replied, wiping at his eyes, “I’m pretty sure we’re all going to end up dead in one way or another”.
Emily appeared into the cafeteria without warning and Mark realized that he had been sure that she had been there the entire time. He blinked and shook his head, amazed at how stealthy she could be when she wanted. She joined Mark and Conley at their table. Amber and Olivia sat at another table; Olivia was feeding Victoria while Amber chatted a steady stream of soothing nothing. Mark turned away from watching them reluctantly, a burning question on his lips.
“So, what happened to Barry?” he asked quietly. It had been obvious for some time that they weren’t going to be meeting him along the way; the obscure pain that he saw in Amber’s eyes from time to time alone cemented this. He hadn’t wanted to rip off psychological scabs, so he simply he hadn’t asked. There also hadn’t been time, before, in the middle of blasting their way out of the hospital and fleeing for their lives through the haunted remains of Kensington Market.
Emily’s expression darkened. “He was shot,” she said, and for a long time Mark thought that this was all that was going to say on the matter. He was about to prompt her for more information when she finally volunteered it herself.
“We were hiding in that coffee shop across the hospital, on the other side of Bathurst. We stayed there for three weeks or so, scouting the place out and trying to figure out how to get in and get you out. Barry was spying on the roof guard post one night and he must have made too much movement, because one of the guards posted in the windows managed to pick him off”.
Mark went white and rational thought seemed to abandon him. He remembered the night that he had been in a panic about being shot for cowardice. The night that he had loosed off one round and then hidden behind the table, Olivia’s face burning in his mind and weakening his treacherous knees. He leaned back, trying to appear casual and gather his scattered thoughts. A heavy fist made of guilt seemed to be battering at his abdomen, and he very suddenly needed to answer the call of nature. He saw Conley looking at him speculatively, and he felt a sudden need to move. He got out of his chair and stared around the room.
“I have to unload,” he said, to no one in particular. “I’ll be back in a minute”. He walked out of the room without waiting to see if anyone was going to remark. His face was burning, although he felt deathly cold.
His flashlight bobbed and weaved as he made his way through a random assortment of hallways, casting disinterested eyes on the entrances to various galleries. He picked one haphazardly and ducked inside. He hiked down his pants in the corner of the room only seconds before his bowels exploded. After he was done, he cleaned up and peered around the room, feeling a dull sort of curiosity. There were a number of strange, misshapen sculptures on pedestals; each had a small, neat plaque with the name and a brief description. He wondered idly how long it would be before another person came back into this room. His mind shrank back from the possibilities and he left quickly.
He continued to wander through the art gallery, peeking into rooms and casting desultory glances at the contents found therein. His mind still reeled from the news that he’d been given concerning Barry. He tried to consider it coldly as he went but found himself unable to string together a coherent mental paragraph. Sentences were coming hard enough. He lost track of time and immersed himself in the collections. He saw cultural artifacts from millennia before the disappearance, each as inscrutable as the last. Eventually he found himself in the middle of a series of undulating, smooth sculptures that seemed like suggestions of the female form forged from the bones of the world. He sat against one, a vague sketch of a reclining nude, and wept like a child. Heavy sobs wracked his body and then faded into a series of hitching breaths. After a while he shut off his flashlight and was left staring blankly into the darkness.
After what seemed like hours passed he saw the skittering illumination of a flashlight beam turn the corner from the hallway and shine into the room. He held up a hand, his eyes stinging from the sudden intrusion. The light went down to the floor and Carlos stepped in.
“Hey, man, been looking everywhere for you. You ok? Emily wants to go over the plan for tomorrow”.
Mark wiped at his eyes.
“Yeah. No. I don’t know. Carlos, I think it might have been me that shot Barry”.
Carlos’ expression didn’t change.
“Well, I wouldn’t go telling Amber that,” he said, “but how would you have known? A figure moving across the street is just a figure moving across the street. It’s not like you saw him in the window and said “hey, it’s Barry, I should shoot him”. Right?”
Mark nodded ruefully. “I suppose. It doesn’t really make me feel any better though”.
Carlos shrugged. “You gotta live however you can,” he said easily. “Now you gotta come. If we don’t get back soon, everyone’s gonna come looking for us”.
They came back into the cafeteria just as the others were getting up to search the museum. Amber greeted Mark with a warm survivor’s hug; Mark returned it, although he felt like the world’s biggest cad in doing so. He kept silent as they seated themselves around the biggest table in the cafeteria. Emily unzipped her knapsack and brought out her well-worn map of the downtown core. She spread it out on the table before them and began making marks with a pencil stub. She tapped one circle that she had made.
“We are here,” she said, and pointed to another mark, far to the north, near the edge of the map. “This is the closest on-ramp to the 401. Once we can get here, we can get onto the highway and it should be a straight walk from there to wherever we end up”.
“There’s no cover at all,” Conley pointed out, his voice agitated. “You would be sitting ducks for whatever spotted you”.
“We’re not looking for cover,” Emily admonished him, “we’re looking for speed. I seriously doubt that there’s going to be anyone on the highway, being as cars are not a high priority these days. We can get on there and just walk, and there won’t be anyone to interrupt or molest us”.
“I don’t know about that,” Conley said doubtfully. “What if there’s a blizzard? You’ll be caught out in the open with nothing to protect you. In the city, at least, there’s shelter”.
Emily smiled, but it was apparent from her eyes that she was growing impatient with him.
“We can use the smashed-up cars to cut the wind, if that happens, and if the worst comes we can crawl inside of them to ride the storm out. The city may have shelter but it also has people, people who may or may not have been driven crazy. On the highway, it will just be us, which is the point”.
Conley’s expression spoke volumes but he didn’t pursue the matter any further. Emily waited for a moment and then continued.
“We’ll have to double back to Bathurst; from there we can walk straight up to our destination. We’ll keep our guns out and make the best time we can. It may take us a couple of days to really make it up there but it shouldn’t be any longer than that. After we make it to the highway we should be out of the city in a week, if we’re lucky”.
They all seemed to consider this, and eventually Conley broke away from the table.
“Well,” he said, “if I can’t convince you to seek safety then I’ll have to be off. I have to let the Mayor know exactly what happened before it’s too late”.
Mark rose up and offered his hand. Conley shook it without hesitation.
“If you change your mind, you know where I’ll be,
” the bearded soldier said. Mark nodded amiably, but his face nixed the idea wholeheartedly. “I’m leaving the supplies here, with you,” Conley continued. “We can get more at City Hall and you’ll need everything that you can get if you’re going to make this trip”. He frowned, looking at each one of them. “Although I still don’t know if it will be enough”. He seemed to consider this last statement for a moment and then he left the cafeteria without any further discussion. His few remaining police officers rose silently and walked out after him.
Emily looked at Olivia, her face troubled.
“Last chance to speak up,” she said. “You’re the one with the infant daughter. If you have any concerns, let me hear them”.
Olivia laughed. “Concerns? Oh yes, I’ve got a lot of them. None of them matter, though, because we have to get out of the city. Everything else is kind of beside the point. We won’t really be safe until we’re long gone from here”.
“Exactly,” Amber murmured, and they all looked at her, each of them realizing that it had been a while since she had spoken. She shrugged nervously and seemed to blush.
“Are you going to be alright?” Emily asked her pointedly. “If you want to back out, now is the time. You can always find yourself a position in the police. You have more than enough skill and nerve for it”.
Amber frowned. “Why the hell would I want to do that? If the police and their pig mayor hadn’t decided to try to starve out everyone who didn’t agree with them, Barry would still be alive. Fuck them. I’m with Olivia—we won’t be safe until we put this city at our backs”.
Emily nodded, her eyes shining.
“All too true, unfortunately,” she agreed. “I think we should get some sleep, in that case. We have a string of very long days ahead of us, and by the time we finally finish we’ll all likely be unsure of what real, restful sleep is. So let’s get it now”. There was no argument to be had. None of them had enough energy to fight against it. Despite this, Mark found that finding sleep was much more difficult than it sounded. He lay awake for hours, staring into the blind darkness and playing B-grade horror scenarios on the endless cinema reel in his head.
The next morning dawned cold and cruel, with a blistering wind blowing down from the north. They gathered up their supplies and laced on their knapsacks as quickly as they could, listening to the wind batter against the glass-and-steel frame of the AGO and dreading exposure to it. Eventually they could no longer put it off. They gathered at the wide, cavernous entrance lobby to the gallery, watching the wind blow the top layer of snow around in a drifting white haze. Emily looked around at their dejected faces and shrugged.
“No time like the present, my friends,” she said, and pushed the heavy gallery doors open.
They made it past the first street on their left when they heard the sounds of a large group huffing their way through the snow drifts ahead. A block later and it grew louder; shouts and recriminations were carried on the wind and Emily called them to a halt, stopping them against the wall of a looted junk shop. She listened for a moment and then swore sulphurously.
“Taggert’s heading west already,” she spat, and her eyes narrowed. “He’s not even stopping to rest his men, I can’t believe he thinks that they’re going to be able to fight effectively”. She swore again, biting the words off like tough steak.
“Let’s turn up a side street, they won’t follow us,” Carlos suggested. Emily shook her head.
“Those streets will slow us down completely. Getting through there would be a nightmare. I wouldn’t put it past Taggert to send small patrols up the streets as well, to make sure that the police aren’t trying to flank him. We’ll have to go back and try going up University Ave instead. It’s not ideal, but it’s what we have right now”.
“There is another way,” Amber murmured, but Emily cut her off with a slash of her hand.
“No. I want to avoid that if at all possible. There are too many things that can go wrong if we do that”.
Amber nodded and looked at her feet. Emily listened for another moment and then motioned back the way they came.
“This way!” she hissed, and they followed her back through the tracks they had carved out of the snow.
They made it back to the AGO and began to push their way further west. They went as fast as they dared to make themselves but the sound of Taggert’s men gained on them as they went. For every block they moved, the army behind them seemed to gain a block and a half. Their efforts seemed worthless for the amount of work they were putting in. As they passed a side street just before University they heard a couple of shots ring out into the cold, blustering air. Emily winced, although neither shot came close.
“This is going to be too close!” she shouted, and pressed onwards.
As they turned onto University they could see Taggert’s army, trudging madly through the snow behind them. They were still too far away to see the hopeless expressions on the men’s faces and so their march seemed inexorable and deadly. Then, from ahead, they heard more shouts and chanting. Emily stopped them with a curse and peered into the blowing distance.
“More people, could be from the Mayor,” she judged. “He wouldn’t have…goddamn,” she exhaled. “We’ll be caught in the crossfire, even if we get into the buildings”. She looked up to the frozen, slate-grey sky and closed her eyes”.
“St. Patrick is right over there,” Amber urged, pointing back to the corner. Mark followed her finger and saw the green subway entrance to St. Patrick Station, partially buried in heaps of snow. The wind blew through him, driving like icicles with the loose top-snow.
“The subway?” he yelled, his words being whipped away. “We can get to the subway! That’ll take us north and they’ll be too busy killing each other to bother with us! Let’s go!”
He started churning through the snow, grabbing at Olivia’s hand to bring her along. Olivia shook his hand off and used both of hers to pump herself along, her breath puffing out of her reddening face. Olivia tried to get their attention, but it was lost in the din that seemed to be descending upon them. Carlos and Amber took off after Mark and Olivia and Emily was left to curse once more before she followed them.
Mark went down the stairs first and slid immediately. A great deal of snow had piled up in the entrance and after two steps he slipped down the rest of the way as though it were a slide. Olivia used the path he’d smoothed to slide down, keeping her hands protectively cradled over Victoria. When she came to the bottom Victoria began to cry, a looping wail that echoed loudly into the darkness.
They both lay there, stunned, and a moment later the other three came hurtling down, eclipsing the light from above that illuminated such a small area. They crunched into the snowy floor. Emily was the first one to get up, and she motioned frantically for the rest to follow her. She retrieved her flashlight and switched in on, leading the way into the interior. They came to a set of turnstiles and hopped over; Olivia unstrapped Victoria from her sling and handed her across the fence to Mark before crossing over herself. When she made it to the other side Emily looked at her.
“Does she need to eat?” she asked Olivia.
“Yes, absolutely,” Olivia panted. “It’s been hours”.
Emily nodded impatiently and led them onward. Their lights soon shone upon the round-bored, green-tiled walls that marked the actual tunnel and they stopped. Olivia fumbled her coat and sweaters off and threw a blanket over herself. She took Victoria and brought the squalling infant to her breast; a moment later Victoria was contentedly feeding, and silence settled back into the station like harassed layers of dust. Mark brought out his flashlight and peered around the station. There was nothing really remarkable about it, just green, round walls and a dusty cold platform. There were faded advertisements on the walls, still intact after months, and Mark was fascinated by a glimpse into the world that, until recently, he had taken completely for granted. There was an ad for a multi-blade razor system and he unconsciously scratched at his own stubble. He would
have to raid a pharmacy when they got out of the core, if they hadn’t been completely looted in whatever part of the city they came out in. The ads for movies brought a deeper, more obscure twinge in his soul. He was willing to bet that it would be a long time before anyone made a movie again. He thought of Victoria, feeding with an audible suck, and wondered how he would ever explain any of it to her. It would be as foreign to her experience as life on the moon.
Olivia and Victoria finished, and Emily got them moving. They moved down to the edge of the platform and Emily shone a light down into the darkness of the tunnel. There was no movement, and after a moment Emily leaped down onto the tracks. It was on Mark’s lips to cry out after her, but a split second later her flashlight beam came out and Carlos and Mark affixed on her. Mark whispered a non-denominational prayer and leaped into the abyss after her. Carlos came next, grunting as he hit the ground but standing up afterward without problem. Amber came down and put her arms out to take Victoria. Olivia nervously knelt down and carefully passed her daughter to Amber, and then stood up and held her arms at her side.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted.
“Just make sure you kneel down when you hit the ground,” Amber cautioned her. “You’ll absorb the shock better and you probably won’t break anything”.
“Probably,” Olivia repeated, and chuckled tensely. “You know, you spend your whole life afraid that someone was going to push you down there and it makes it difficult when you actually have to”. She hooted laughter and then bit it off, disturbed by how loudly it echoed down the lightless tunnel. She knelt, rubbed her hands together, and made a couple of false jumps.
“We have to get moving,” Emily scolded her, and at that Olivia jumped, her arms flailing as she went. She hit the ground and bent at the knees, but pitched forward too far and went into the rails. Mark was beside her instantly, trying to get a clear vision of her with his skittering flashlight. She rose to her feet with a grimace; by the dispassionate electric light they saw that her palms looked red and shredded. Mark cooed over them and opened his coat. He tore some strips off of the top layer of his sweaters, a cheap thing he’d dug out of a bodega around the corner from where Olivia had once lived. Olivia protested, but he waved her demurrals away and wrapped the strips around her palms.