The Dead and Gone

by Susan Beth Pfeffer

  "December twenty-second," Alex said.

  "You'll just make it, then," Mr. Flynn said. "Dependents have to be under the age of eighteen. You'll need to bring your birth certificates and proof of residency." He pulled out a piece of business stationery from under a pile. "Is Julie a nickname?" he asked. "What about Alex?"

  "Julie is Julie," Alex replied. "Legally I'm Alejandro."

  "All right," Mr. Flynn said, writing furiously. "Alejandro, Briana, and Julie Morales are now my legal wards. If they give you any grief about the passes, give them this letter. I'll be making the reservations, so it shouldn't be a problem. And here's the list of what you can take with you. Not much, as you can see, but the town they'll take you to should be fully supplied."

  "Thank you," Alex said, taking the papers from him.

  "The convoy leaves out of Port Authority at two PM on Monday, December twelfth," Mr. Flynn said. "Get there by eleven. Maybe Kevin Daley's father could drive you down. He's in trucking." He paused. "No, on second thought, don't ask him. Don't tell anyone about the passes; they're too valuable. Don't tell anyone you're leaving New York until the day you go."

  Alex nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Flynn," he said. "You're saving my sisters' lives."

  "Yours, too," Mr. Flynn said. "I couldn't look Chris in the eye and tell him I let you die along with the city. I always appreciated what you did for Chris. Until he had you to compete against, he assumed winning came automatically. You gave him valuable lessons in losing. My guess is those lessons are helping him survive today."

  "The lessons he taught me have helped me survive, too," Alex said. "Thank you, Mr. Flynn, for everything. I'll be in your debt forever."

  "Stay alive," Mr. Flynn said. "That will be payment enough."

  Thursday, November 24

  There wasn't pumpkin pie at St. Margaret's Thanksgiving dinner, but there was pumpkin pudding in meringue shells. The string beans obviously came from a can but someone had thrown in some slivered almonds; the sweet potatoes had marshmallows mixed in, and there was enough stuffing for everybody. There was punch and even some apple juice. So what if there was no turkey.

  Only eighteen more days until they were safely out of New York. Of all the secrets Alex had kept in the past six months, this was the only one that made him smile. He didn't care that he had no idea where he and his sisters would end up. Maybe it would be Florida or maybe Oklahoma or Texas or someplace altogether different. It wouldn't be the paradise Julie had fantasized about, with sunlight and clean air. But it would be safe and there'd be food and medicine, and from there they could make a fresh start.

  For the first time in months, Alex allowed himself to think about the future. If he was too old to go to school, he could get a job. Towns couldn't exist without workers. If he could leave and come back, he thought he might try to find Carlos or Uncle Jimmy. If not, he would stay on as a laborer until Bri and Julie were taken care of. It wouldn't surprise him if, after high school, Bri entered a convent. Julie would probably find a guy while she was in high school and get pregnant, the way Mami had.

  Alex finished his pumpkin pudding and grinned. If anyone had told him seven months ago that he'd be looking forward to a future where his kid sister had a baby before she turned eighteen and he would be a laborer instead of a college grad, he would have been furious. But now it sounded like heaven on earth.

  It seemed like everyone left on the Upper West Side was at St. Margaret's that afternoon. What remained of the Vincent de Paul and Holy Angels faculties sat at one table, laughing together. Harvey sat at another, gumming away at his food. Alex couldn't even hate him anymore. Life, for once, was too good for him to feel angry.

  As he and his sisters walked home, they heard some noise on Ninetieth Street.

  "What is that?" Julie asked, and Alex could see her tense up.

  Bri looked puzzled. "It sounds like people having fun," she said. "Hear? I think they're laughing."

  The idea of people actually enjoying themselves was so implausible, they lost all fear and went to look. There, on Ninetieth and Columbus, were a dozen men playing touch football.

  One of them spotted Alex and his sisters. "Come on," he yelled. "We could use more players."

  Alex gestured to his sisters. "What about them?" he asked.

  "Cheerleaders!" the guy called back.

  "Can we?" Julie asked. "Oh, Alex, please."

  Alex looked at Julie and Bri. Half the football players were coughing from the polluted air. Bri couldn't possibly stay out long. But none of them had had any fun since Julie's birthday. "Just for a few minutes," he said. "Bri, you watch."

  "All right," Bri said, but she was bursting with excitement also. They crossed the street and joined the crowd.

  "It's not Thanksgiving without football," one of the guys said.

  "Touch football," another said. "No helmets, no hits."

  "No Cowboys, either," the first man said. "Jets versus Giants."

  "We need another guy on our team!" another man yelled. "Come on, kid. You're a Giant."

  And for one glorious moment, that was just how Alex felt.

  Tuesday, November 29

  There had been eighteen seniors in St. Vincent de Paul Academy before the Thanksgiving break. Now there were five. Alex figured most of them had gone on the convoy the day before.

  James Flaherty was one of the newly missing. It worried Alex to see him gone. His father was a doctor, and Alex had counted on him to get more cartridges for Bri's inhaler when she ran out.

  It didn't matter, he told himself. Bri had enough until they made it to the safe town, a place with doctors and hospitals and real medicine.

  Two weeks. They'd made it this long. They could certainly make it for another two weeks.

  Chapter 15

  Thursday, December 1

  He had no idea what time it was when he woke up, but he knew he was cold. He was used to being cold by now, but this was different.

  He fumbled around the end table, searching for the flashlight, and knocked over the half-filled glass of water he always kept by his side. But there was no sound of water spilling.

  He flashed the light onto the glass and saw why no water had come out. It was more ice than water. The furnace must have run out of heating oil.

  He'd known that would happen eventually, but he'd devoted a fair amount of prayer that it might last until they moved out.

  "You couldn't wait two more weeks?" he asked.

  Apparently it couldn't. The question became if his sisters, Bri in particular, could make it until then.

  He allowed the familiar feeling of panic to wash over him, and then he began to think. It was only for twelve days, and for some of them at least, there would be electricity during the day. With electricity, Bri could keep the electric blanket and electric heater on. He and Julie would be at school, and there was no reason to assume the oil would run out there.

  For the rest of the day, or what passed for day, they should all be okay if they kept on sweaters, coats, scarves, gloves, and multiple pairs of socks. The building provided some insulation from the cold. It was hard to tell, but Alex didn't think the temperature got much below twenty degrees in the daytime outside, so it would probably be about that, maybe a bit warmer, inside.

  Nighttime would be harder, but they still had a couple of unused blankets. The girls slept in the sleeping bags. They were both so thin they could share one bag, which would help both of them since they'd share body warmth that way. It would help him as well, because he'd be warmer in a sleeping bag. Julie wouldn't like giving up her bag, but tough. Asthma wasn't contagious.

  With both girls in one bag, sleeping in coats and scarves and with extra blankets piled on them, they should be okay. He'd wrap himself in a blanket inside the sleeping bag, and that would have to do.

  They'd all need to sleep with as much of their heads covered as possible. But 11F had had a couple of ski masks, so the girls could wear those day and night. He'd wrap his head in a sweater, and that sh
ould help.

  It was for less than two weeks, he reminded himself. After that they'd be living in a building with heat and hot water. He just had to keep them alive for eleven more days, and then things would be all right.

  He brought the two extra blankets into the bedroom and put them over his sisters' sleeping bodies. In the morning he'd explain the new rules to them.

  With the flashlight glowing onto his watch, he could tell it was just after five o'clock. No point going back to sleep. Instead, shaking with the cold, he dressed, then knelt in front of the crucifix they'd taken from home and prayed for the strength he and his sisters would need in the days to come.

  Friday, December 2

  There was hardly anyone on the food line, but that didn't make things move any faster. Julie stuck by Alex's side, the way she did now when they went to school and church. Kevin told her jokes and really seemed to listen to her. Alex could see how much she liked that.

  Every night, when Alex said his prayers, he thanked Christ for the gift of Kevin's friendship. He would have told Kevin that, but he didn't think Kevin would want to know.

  "How are you doing?" he asked Kevin instead, at lunch. "How's your family?"

  "Fine," Kevin said. "Or as fine as we can be under the circumstances."

  "Good," Alex said. "Are you warm enough?"

  "Right now, this very minute, no," Kevin said.

  Alex laughed. "I mean at home," he said. "Does your building still have heat?"

  "Yeah, sure," Kevin said. "They moved us to a DRU before Thanksgiving, so we're okay. Mom complains because they keep the thermostat at sixty-five. But no one ever froze to death at sixty-five."

  "What's a DRU?" Alex asked.

  Kevin looked uncomfortable. "Designated Residential Unit," he said. "They're for the families of essential personnel, to make things bearable until we get out."

  "I guess you have to be a level six for something like that," Alex said.

  Kevin laughed. "A level six?" he said. "That just means you can walk up six flights of stairs without risking a heart attack. Where'd you pick that up?"

  "I heard it somewhere," Alex said. "I guess I misunderstood."

  "I guess so," Kevin said. "You okay? Do you still have heat?"

  "Oh yeah, we're fine," Alex said. "I was just wondering how your mother is doing."

  "She misses our old apartment," Kevin said. "When she's sober enough to remember."

  "What do you miss?" Alex said. "What's the one thing you miss the most?"

  Kevin shrugged. "TV maybe," he said. "Decent food. The Internet. I don't miss the sun that much. At least I'm not freckling anymore. What about you?"

  Alex tried to come up with an answer that was short yet honest. "Family," he finally said.

  "Stupid of me to ask," Kevin replied. "I miss knowing I'm smart. That used to compensate for a lot in my life."

  "Mine, too," Alex said.

  "You ever think this is just a nightmare and someday you'll wake up and things'll be the way they were before?" Kevin asked.

  Alex shook his head.

  "Me neither," Kevin said. "My mother does, though. That's why she stays drunk. When she's sober, she has to remember all this is real. Harvey'd better not run out of booze anytime soon. I think Mom'll kill herself if she has to stay sober."

  "I'm sorry," Alex said. "That must be really hard."

  "It's okay," Kevin replied. "I'd be drunk all the time too if I didn't have to look out for her."

  The line began to move. A woman standing a few feet ahead of them fainted. Alex and Kevin stepped around her.

  Kevin handed his bag to Alex when they finally got them. "Not much this time," he said.

  Alex looked. Each bag had a box of rice, a can of red beans, a can of mixed vegetables, and two cans of tomato soup.

  "Maybe Harvey'll have some stuff," he said. "Are we still on for Monday morning?"

  "Wouldn't miss it," Kevin said. "Seven o'clock, in front of your building."

  "Good," Alex said. "Well, I'd better go home. See you at school."

  "Sure thing," Kevin said.

  "Oh, and Kevin," Alex said.

  Kevin paused.

  "Nothing," Alex said. "Just thanks for doing this with me."

  "Any time," Kevin said. "See you in school."

  Saturday, December 3

  "What's that sound?" Bri asked that morning. "It sounds like broken glass is falling from the sky."

  "Great," Alex said. "That's just what we need."

  Bri giggled. "You sound like Julie," she said.

  "What's wrong with that?" Julie asked. "Alex, can we look out the window and see what's happening?"

  Alex could think of two good reasons why they shouldn't. The first was it would involve pulling nails out of a wall so they could fold back a section of the blanket that covered the window. The second reason was because he knew he didn't want to see what was happening. Ostriches definitely have the right idea, he thought, as he freed himself from the blankets he'd wrapped around his body and went to the kitchen to get a hammer. He could see his breath. Nine more days, he reminded himself. We only have to survive here for nine more days.

  Julie and Bri crowded around the window as Alex lifted the blanket.

  Bri gasped. "Everything's white."

  "More like gray," Julie said. "I never saw gray snow before."

  Alex knew it was a mistake to look. West Eighty-eighth Street was covered with snow. It was hard to estimate how much had fallen, but he guessed at least six inches, maybe more. And now it was sleeting, the snow already glistening with ice.

  "It must have started after we got home from school," Julie said. "Do you think school will be open on Monday?"

  "I don't see why not," Alex said, quickly calculating how much food they had in the house and how long it could last if he and Julie didn't eat lunch at school. "It's not like we take a bus to get there."

  "I used to love snow," Bri said. "I guess now it just makes things harder."

  Bri's right, Alex thought, staring down the street. It was going to be hard enough to get Bri to Port Authority by foot. But now there was snow and ice on the streets, and no one would plow this far uptown.

  He looked at Bri, or more accurately, at Bri's eyes, since the rest of her face and body was covered. How much could she weigh? He'd foolishly weighed himself the week before and found he was down to 112. Bri probably weighed about ninety pounds. He'd never be able to carry her over two miles.

  What if he rigged up some kind of stretcher and he and Julie lifted together. He looked at his baby sister, who was staring out the window, transfixed by the sight of snow. He doubted she weighed eighty pounds. She seemed healthy enough and she had less trouble climbing stairs than he did lately. But it was dangerous to assume she'd be able to share the burden for such a long distance.

  Could they drag Bri on a mattress? Even if they could, the mattress would get wet, and it wouldn't be good for Bri to be lying on a wet mattress in below-freezing weather for the three hours or more it might take. Besides, as the mattress took on moisture, it would get heavier and harder to pull.

  How could God do this to them? What had they done that deserved such punishment?

  "I don't care if it is gray," Bri said. "It's still beautiful. And look how it covers the corpses."

  "Great," Julie said. "Now the rats'll be pissed off."

  "Don't use language like that," Alex said automatically, and in spite of himself, he laughed.

  Humility, he reminded himself. God wasn't singling him out. If he placed his faith in Christ and used whatever brain cells he had left, the solution would come to him. Because somewhere there was a solution. There had to be. There had to.

  Sunday, December 4

  "Come on," Bri said, going into the living room and shaking Alex awake. "It's Sunday. We don't want to miss Mass."

  "Go back to bed," Alex said. "You'll freeze standing there."

  "I'm not so cold," Bri said. "Besides, there's heat at St. Margaret's. P
lease, Alex. Get ready, and then I'll wake Julie."

  Alex reluctantly climbed out of the sleeping bag and walked to the window. He pulled the blanket away and gestured for Bri to join him.

  "Look out there," he said. "There's snow and sleet and snow on top of the sleet. How the hell do you think we're going to get to church?"

  "We can manage," Bri said. "I won't hold you back, I promise."

  "No," Alex said. "Maybe next Sunday if the snow disappears. But not today."

  Bri began to cry.

  "What?" Alex said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "It's just one Sunday. God will understand."

  Bri shook her head. "It's not that," she said. "I know Christ will forgive us for not going to church today." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know everyone is suffering. It's just I feel so trapped. Sunday is the only day I'm outside. I guess God could tell my motives were impure. I'll pray for His forgiveness."

  "Tell you what," Alex said. "Go back to bed and sleep a while longer. We'll all pray this afternoon for God's forgiveness."

  Bri giggled. "Julie'll love that," she said. "But thanks, Alex, for understanding."

  "I try," Alex said. "Now go. You may not be cold, but I'm freezing."

  Bri gave her brother a quick kiss. "See you later," she said, going back to her room.

  Alex continued to stare outside. A foot of snow, he estimated, with an inch or more of ice sandwiched in there. Bri was right to feel trapped.

  He dressed quickly, wrote a note for his sisters saying he was going out to see how conditions were, then walked down the twelve flights of stairs. Down was easier than up, but he was still short of breath by the time he reached the building's lobby.

  The front door opened inward, so it was no problem getting it open. But the snow was even deeper than he'd guessed.

  He cursed himself as he walked down to Papi's office in search of a shovel and rock salt. He should have eaten something. It was going to be hard enough to shovel the snow just so they could get out of the building. It would be that much harder with his not having eaten in twenty hours.