“No…”
I could barely hear her. But seeing her hold out her hands toward me was enough for me to fight through the guards back to her side. She clawed at my sleeves, looking for my hands. I held onto her, interlocking my fingers with hers. “Don’t leave me…” she whispered, before closing her eyes again. Chrysler was infuriated, but he nodded and urged everyone to hurry up. The elevator doors finally opened, and we entered.
Chrysler had to use a key to make the roof button active. The elevator took us to the topmost floor. We came out in a small room with one door and two guards posted. Chrysler looked at me. “From here on out, you have to be blindfolded. Don’t worry. You’re safe as long as my little girl is.”
I nodded, one of the guards handed him a black cloth bag, and the two other guards who accompanied us were given the same. We looked at each other, all sharing the same confused look. But I decided not to question and put the bag over my head. Everything went into darkness. I could hear the door open, the breeze of the outside blowing over my skin. We were all led outside in a tight shuffle.
“Where are they?” Chrysler shouted in a panic.
“They are on their way, any minute. Look!” Steven cried. I was fascinated by a whopping sound I remembered from my childhood, back when we had a TV. The motor and spin of helicopter blades. Gushes of wind slammed into us as we all continued walking again. Chrysler was yelling something to Steven, but I couldn’t hear over the roar of engine and the waves of wind hitting my bag-covered face.
I was still holding Gia’s hand when I felt others running around me, and someone pulled her away. I started fighting, but Chrysler whispered closely into my ear, “Don’t worry, they are helping her. Here give me your hand. There is a bit of a step.”
I reached out, and was roughly guided up. My unsteady feet found three steps in front of me, and, before I could feel the air around me change, I was pulled inside. I was pretty sure I was in a helicopter. I don’t know if he finally trusted me or if it was merely for Gia’s sake. But, after I was seated and strapped in, a limp hand was placed in my lap again.
“Please,” he said. “Give her your strength.”
I felt weightlessness in the pit of my stomach. The world was moving around me as the whopping sound began to speed up. We were rising into the air. The helicopter was taking off. And I had no idea where we were going. All my courage came from holding Gia’s hand.
“What you are about to see, you can’t un-see. I will no doubt get in a lot of trouble for bringing you here, but you understand my daughter is more important to me than anything my employers have to say. If you give me any indication that I cannot trust you or I find that you indeed had something to do with her being shot, rest assured that you will meet the highest form of torture before you die. Are we understood?”
I nodded. The mask was taken off, and I was blinded by the white shine of florescent lights. The first thing I saw was Gia, lying on her side. IVs were hooked up from her fragile arms to small bags of liquid hanging from her bed. There was another machine hooked up to her that steadily beeped. Every time it did, a line would run across the screen zigzagging on its way. Three people stood around her―a man dressed in a doctor’s gown, a mask over his mouth, and two nurses, who wore masks as well. One nurse looked me up and down, disgust in her eyes. She held a tray of tools that the doctor kept swapping out. He was digging into Gia’s back with a strange plier-like instrument.
The room was immaculately clean; all the light fixtures worked, casting a dull brightness throughout. There were two more empty beds. Next to them on night stands sat vases of flowers.
“I need you two to wait outside.” The doctor barely looked away from his work. “You are distracting my nurses.”
“Of course.” Chrysler sounded like a scolded child. “Come on.” He opened the door and led me outside into a waiting area. The room was rather large with soft seats all along the walls. A sparkling glass coffee table had a couple of magazines spread out across the top. At a reception desk, another masked nurse sat behind a computer typing away as if we didn’t exist. A large flat-screen TV hung from the wall across from us, and it wasn’t just a fixture―it was on, showing what seemed to be a news report. I sat down, confused as hell. The room was so bright and white, like a complete other world. The brightness and cleanliness was a stark contrast to the monotone grays and filth of the world I was used to. I rested my head in my hands, too dizzy to think straight. Chrysler sat down next to me.
“She’s going to be all right. They know what they are doing. They have the means to help her,” Chrysler told me.
“Where are we? Are we beyond the quarantine zone?” I asked, wondering exactly which side was the quarantined side.
“I can’t say. Remember what I told you. Everything you see here, you are to forget. And better for you if you forget as soon as possible. Once Gia’s condition is improved, we will be returning to Brooklyn.”
“What about me?”
He thought on this for a while, then leaned back and sighed. “I promised you a place in Brooklyn, did I not?”
“What if I don’t want to stay in Brooklyn?”
At this he cracked a smile. “That choice, I believe, has been taken away from you.” He nodded toward the TV, reached for the remote on the coffee table, turning up the volume. An arrogant well-dressed man was sitting behind his desk with a channel-five logo. In the upper corner was a picture of Reynolds. That got my attention, I leaned forward to listen.
“Sources say his medication was switched out with poison by a government assassin; no word yet on which faction employed this assassin. Brooklyn and Queens are currently under heavy suspicion. Standing in for Reynolds until further notice is first lieutenant Stanley Spencer, who has put out a huge bounty on The Gutter Punks, a local city gang. He is urging all of the Manhattan gangs to band together in finding the whereabouts of gang members Dodger, Twist, and Smith. In return for their capture, a place in the Empire State Building is promised. You know what this means, Trish?” The camera panned over to a beautiful blonde twirling her hair in her fingers.
She looked at the camera with magnificent blue eyes and smiled. “It means that those boys are as good as dead.”
The world outside was not only alive and well, they were keeping tabs on us. I was heartbroken by the fact that we knew nothing; that this whole time nobody was looking for a cure outside the quarantine zone. Instead, they were keeping tabs on us as if we were a reality show to entertain the masses.
Chrysler turned the TV off and fidgeted with the remote. “Like I said, you are more than welcome in Brooklyn. Twice you brought my daughter back to me, and you have also done me another favor we shall not speak about here.” He looked over at the receptionist.
“You tricked us!” I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout, to strangle him and run in to see Gia. I wanted her to hold me and tell me everything was going to be all right, and then to leave this place with her and go back home and find Dodger was still alive. I wanted everything to go back to normal. But I knew things would never be normal again.
“It was all a means to an end, and, rest assured, you will be rewarded handsomely for your task.”
“Gia is in there paying for this!”
“Boy, do not try my patience. What had to be done was done. You were reckless to let my child follow you across the city. But she will be fine now. All is well.”
The door opened, and the doctor came out. His coat and latex gloves were covered in spats of blood. He nodded at us. “We got through the rough part, and she is going to recover fine. We just need to patch her up. May I have a word with you in private?”
“Yes, of course.” Chrysler stood. “Listen, young Twist. The world is on the cusp of change, and you are at the center of it all. Rejoice that I let you stand by my side and watch as all the pieces fall into place. But now is not the time to worry about politics and business. Now is only for my daughter.” Before leaving, he threw the television remote into my
lap. “Do not leave the waiting area. I’ll be back soon. Watch some TV. Talk to the receptionist if you are hungry or need to use the bathroom.” He patted me on the back like a father would a child who just lost his puppy, and followed the doctor off into the operating room.
I had no desire to watch TV. All I could do was wait and think. I couldn’t return home, but, when I stopped to think of it, what did I have left back in Manhattan? Dodger was gone, and it sunk in. I’d never see my best friend again. He had died taking a bullet for Gia. He did that for me. He was happy for me. She was going to get better, and we’d figure things out together. I would stick with her in Brooklyn until she was a hundred percent, and then we would run away, to that faraway place she always dreamed of, together. I leaned over to put the remote on the coffee table, and a newspaper caught my eye.
The date stood out like a sore thumb―March 28, 2025. Two months after the newspaper clipping the Runts had. Like a zombie, I walked over to the window. The light of day stung my eyes, and I had to cower away from the sun. But it wasn’t enough to chase me away. Outside the window was another world. We were in a high rise, overlooking a busy city street. Cars lazily drove up and down perfect roads. People, so many people, marched about eagerly. So many buildings, all in perfect condition, jutted up toward the heavens, while smaller shops crowded the lower streets. In the sky, clouds lazily floated about, while birds mingled in merry flight. This is what they kept us from; this is what was beyond the quarantine zones… life.
April 2027—New York City Border
eter sits at the head of the campfire, poking it with a piece of kindling. He notices the distant look in my eyes. A strong sadness has overtaken me. This was the part of my tale that took the highest toll. The Runts all look tired; however, they are enthralled with my story. Most of them yawn and fidget about, except small Sam, who has been watching and listening with a determined interest.
Peter decides it’s time for bed. “Come now. Twist is tired. Let him rest, eh? Those were dark days that followed, the way I remember. That’s when everyone was out looking for Gutter Punk blood. The streets ran thick with those greedy bastards. How quickly everyone forgot the deeds they did. It wasn’t worth a damn once a bounty was on their heads. Dodger was gone, dead as dead, and I had mine to watch over. Meanwhile, Twist here was playing first knight with the Brooklyn tyrant and falling for the princess he had no business falling for. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You couldn’t even begin to imagine all the troubles headed his way. Not to mention someone else was getting blamed for putting the hit on Reynolds. And Queens was a sleeping dragon no one wanted to wake. Yet wake it did.
“Go on, scram! Time for some shut eye. We got a long journey ahead come tomorrow. There will be no more time for slowing down. We’ve come too far to slack off now. Twist will have more to tell. I’m sure he can’t wait. The tales are all he has. But tomorrow will be another day for stories to be heard. Tomorrow, we make our way to that place they took Twist, that place at the end of the world.”
Most of the Runts scurry off without protest; only small Sam pouts and looks at me with desperation in his eyes. I smile at him, then nod toward his bedroll. With a great sigh, he crawls in and turns his back towards the fire. There aren’t many of us left, just Peter, six of his youngest, and myself. We still have a long way to go, but already New York is behind us. The moon shines low over the precipice between here and there. We can already see the looming walls that surrounded the city. When we left to find the end of the world, all we left behind was a wasteland; New York City will be a war zone soon, and it doesn’t matter because there is nothing left for us. We are leading the last of the Runts to a better tomorrow.
When you tell somebody you are writing a book, they usually want you to tell them what the story is all about; this can quickly become awkward in itself. Some people will smile and nod, then conveniently have to go to the bathroom. While others will smile in delight and offer you their ear and ideas. During the process of writing this book, there were so many people who in some way helped, who I didn’t want to forget to name drop. Whether it was something small or something so major these people were a huge help. I found that writing a book takes plenty of time, time you never have, dedication, hard work, and most importantly support. This is the story of those supporting people.
There were so many people involved in some way behind the scenes, and I would like to take a moment to thank them. To my beta readers; Jun, Mike, Daniel, Ali, Diana, Crystal, Wyleen, and Dave. Thanks for reading my rough drafts and committing yourself to all the questions and emails that followed. Most of all thanks for reading it from beginning to end, even with all the mistakes.
To my editors; I always hear Craig’s list horror stories, but I was lucky enough to find a great editor there. Tracy, you took my mess of ideas and helped me mold them into something beautiful. You gave me the confidence that this book needed, and convinced me it wasn’t meant for the slush pile. Val, you are not only one of my closest friends, but you have so much patience with me it’s amazing. It’s the patience that only comes with family, which you truly are. Your last minute edits, notes, and help will always be appreciated. Last but certainly not least, Matt, for saving the day at the very last minute. I thank you all for the time and effort you put into this book.
I can’t forget all the cool kids who were there for me through all this, who recognized and helped bring out my inner talent; Alex, Lenis, Igbara, Biz, Gavin, Lou, Melissa, Vicky, John, Lana, Susan, and The Doctor.
Last but nowhere near least, I obviously have to thank the Curiosity Quills staff; I can’t imagine a better company to publish my first book with, than such an awesome crew of goat loving misfits. A special thanks to James for wanting more after reading my query letter, and for telling me Dodger curses too much. The whole staff has welcomed me with open arms and made my dreams a reality.
Wilbert Stanton was born and raised in New York City. From an early age, Wilbert decided he would either write books or take over the world; everything else was just a precursor to his end game. Along the way, he has studied Psychology, English, and Computer Science. He's held jobs in a wide range of fields and met people from all walks of life.
Wilbert is constantly learning and growing as a person, in order to solidify his dreams. In the end world domination was a bit tedious, so he decided to focus on writing books.
You can find Wilbert online at:
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Shadow of a Dead Star, by Michael Shean
(http://j.mp/17VBzuW)
As an agent of the Industrial Security Bureau, it is Thomas Walken’s duty to keep the city of Seattle free of black-market technology.
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Theocracide, by James Wymore
(http://j.mp/184gc5D)
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(http://j.mp/1f0Tsc5)
Warren never lets bullies mess with his family, no matter now big or bad – so when the King of the Texas Empire kidnaps his brother, Warren embarks into a still-wild West to save him. On his journey, he makes a discovery that changes his life forever – he and his brother are estranged members of the Texas royal family and the King wants them both dead!
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(http://j.mp/1aSpNyd)
The Storms came, and with them disease and blight like mankind had never experienced. Most died. Those who survived were quick to scramble for weapons, wealth, and control. Petty lords gave way to new societies.
From the ashes of old came the Reformed Arizona Theocracy, or simply put, the Zona. Their laws are simple, all sins are punished swiftly and violently.
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Appetizer:
Book Cover
Copyright & Publisher
Title Page
Dedication
Main Course:
Part I
The Artful (Shadows of the City) Page 23