by Hunter Shea
Elizabeth couldn’t stop staring at the rows and rows of still corpses. Did they die praying? Was there some measure of comfort at the end? Or did they pass away embroiled with fear, or with the impossible weight of grief, having lost the ones they loved most? Would it show on their faces—hundreds of death masks forever frozen in their final moments of emotional agony or ecstasy?
She didn’t dare walk among the pews to find out for herself.
“If you’re hungry, I can offer you food and water. There is plenty to go around. Most people who came here brought their provisions. Unfortunately, they passed on before they could make use of them,” the priest said.
“We don’t want to impose,” Daniel said.
“You’re not. I know that I won’t have much use for them soon enough. I keep everything upstairs where the choir and organist would sit. I’ll bring some down.”
“Max, help Father Bodak,” Elizabeth said. Her son rested his bat against the wall and followed him up the creaking stairs.
Gabby wrapped her arms around her hips. “I don’t want to stay here.”
As welcoming as Father Bodak was, Elizabeth couldn’t stand the thought of being among the dead for much longer, either. She ran her fingers through Gabby’s curls. Her hair was a ratty mess and her finger snagged on the knots.
“We won’t. Just have a little something to eat to keep up your strength. We’ll leave when the fires die down. It won’t be long. I promise.”
She thought of Buck and Alexiana. When the car went up in flames and smoke shot out everywhere, they’d been swamped. Being so close, she was sure there was no way they could have made it. But if they had, they were out there now, most likely hurt, and exposed. They had to leave, if only to find their neighbors, their saviors.
She glanced at Daniel, who reassured their daughter that they would leave very soon. Until then, it was best not to look at the pews, harder still to ignore the pervasive smell that hung lower than the rising incense.
96
The bad man who had hurt Miguel by squeezing him so hard he could barely breathe threw him to the ground. Miguel landed on his knees. He cried out from the pain.
“Shut up, crybaby!” one of the other bad men barked.
They’d taken him somewhere by the river. He could see the dark waters of the Hudson River at one point as the bikes scooted by the nice restaurants and the park that his parents took him to sometimes when the weather was good. They kept pedaling until they came to a run-down apartment building. It looked like half of it had been through a fire.
The gang rode to the back of the building, and one of them rapped on a dirty steel door nine times. Someone opened it but Miguel couldn’t see who. Riding down dark, narrow hallways, they cruised through the opening of a steel cage, where he was deposited like a bag of sand.
Miguel bit his trembling lower lip, his tears making it impossible to tell who was who.
The room they had taken him to smelled bad, like old and broken things. It looked like it had been carved right out of the earth itself. A single lightbulb dangled from a chain in the ceiling. Old broken wood crates were stacked along one wall, along with dented metal garbage cans, their lids too warped to fit on top.
A man with an impressive seventies-style Afro stood over him.
“You going to keep quiet, Little Man?”
Miguel nodded quickly. He had never wanted his mother and father so badly in all his life. He was so scared, he’d peed himself on the ride to this dark place, and he felt ashamed.
“Good. You do what we say, we’ll give you something to eat later.”
He tossed something on the floor that landed with a hard smack. Miguel reached out for it, running his hands over the surface, fresh tears cascading down his cheeks. It was one of those plastic mattresses they use in cribs.
“Lie on that if you want.”
The steel door slammed shut and a chain looped through it. The gang member snapped a lock in place.
Taking a breath was becoming a chore. He’d learned long ago that the moment he started struggling, he had to use his inhaler. There was no toughing it out, at least not until he got older and his lungs were stronger. He took his inhaler out of his pocket and took two quick puffs.
Miguel curled atop the mattress, thinking about his family, wondering what the gang was going to do to him.
And in the gloom, he thought of the rats. They lived in basements and horrible, dark places like this. If they came, there was nowhere for him to go.
Worst of all, there was no one to save him.
97
Father Bodak understood without having to be told that they needed to be on their way. Daniel kept a close eye on the elegant stained-glass windows, the image of John the Baptist baptizing Jesus searing into his memory. As soon as the smoke from the burning cars thinned out and the shadows bled from John and Jesus’s faces, he knew it was time to go. He’d never felt so creeped out in all his life. If he survived, he was sure this church, all churches once being a great comfort to him, would haunt his dreams until his end.
“You could come with us, Father,” he said. “Maybe we can find someone who can help you.”
The priest gave a tired smile. “I need to be here, not just to pray over my parishioners, but to be here to help any others who may come. Maybe there will be other families like you in need of rest and food. Or more like them”—he motioned with his head toward the pews—“who need comfort and absolution.”
“The captain always goes down with his ship,” Daniel said softly, bringing a knowing nod from Father Bodak.
“Except this one is unsinkable,” the priest said.
Elizabeth asked him to pray for them, and they dipped their fingers in holy water, making the sign of the cross before they left the church.
“Thank you, Father,” Rey said, Max giving him support. “Can you also say a prayer for a friend of ours? She . . . she died trying to save us.”
He handed the priest a folded piece of paper. When he undid the folds, Daniel saw Dakota’s name written in pencil.
“I will, once a day, every day.”
Daniel opened the large doors, facing the dusk. The smoke had all but blown away, but the acrid smell remained strong as ever.
“If you find your boy and need a safe place to stay, please come back. The parish house will be yours, along with all of the remaining supplies.”
Elizabeth pressed her hand into his. “Thank you. God bless you.”
“And God be with you. I know you’ll find your son safe.”
Daniel stood at the top steps, contemplating their next move. It would be dark soon. Without lights anywhere, there was no telling who or what would be lying in wait for them.
But Miguel was out there, and there was no way they could wait to find him any longer than they had to.
Father Bodak closed the door behind them.
“Do we head for Chicken Island?” Elizabeth asked.
“It’s a good place to start,” he replied. “When we get close, we could find a store or something to hide in and stand watch. If they’re down there, we’ll spot them and trace where they’re coming from. But first, let me look for Buck and Alexiana, alone.”
The last thing he wanted was anyone to see their friends in pieces or burned or both. That explosion had been massive. He didn’t hold out much hope of finding them alive.
He ran to the road, scorch marks tattooing the street and surrounding cars. Pieces of cat had flown as far as a hundred feet. “Buck! Alexiana!”
There was no reply. Flames still crackled in the demolished cars.
“Buck! Can you hear me?”
He couldn’t see them anywhere.
But he did see something else.
He stopped, walking backward slowly, steadily, keeping his eyes on the massive sentinel standing guard over the remains of the two-car blast.
98
Buck woke to the ringing of tiny bells. Hundreds of them. They sang and rang until his head felt as if
it would split in two.
Christ, he hurt. This was worse than that car accident when he was working as a taxi driver at nights to pay for college. Then, he’d only broken his collarbone and fractured a rib or two.
This was all-over pain. No bone or organ spared.
“Oh fuck,” Buck groaned, painfully rolling over from his stomach to his back. The air was filled with white smoke. The setting sun reflected off a long striation of clouds.
The cats!
He bolted upright, the rush of blood making his head swim. Eyes wide, he scanned the immediate area for any skulking cats. He saw the burning cars, frames blackened, tires melted, windows devoid of glass.
That sure made them scatter. I’ll have to remember that for the next time. Just have to stand a little farther away.
Memories of what had transpired came back little by little, like pictures being flipped by a slow hand.
Two car doors, severed from the frame, had fallen one atop the other just a foot from where he lay. They would easily have flattened him if they’d landed just a little bit closer. He’d have to jump to get over them, and his body was in no shape for leaping.
His heart began to gallop. Where was Alexiana?
“Alex? Alexiana?”
It was a struggle to get to his feet, and once there he thought for sure he was going back down. His body swayed. He had to lock his knees to keep from tumbling over.
Turning as best he could, he saw her curled up against the back bumper of a Jeep. Its rear window had been pebbled inward.
Buck stumbled to her.
“Alexiana, wake up. Honey, it’s me. Come on, baby.”
With a heavy grunt, he managed to take a knee, cupping her face in his hands. Her pulse pounded beneath his quivering fingers.
“Thank you,” he whispered, angling his body so he was next to hers. Pushing the hair from her face, he tapped her cheeks lightly.
“Alexiana, can you hear me? You’re going to be all right. I just need you to open your eyes.”
With night fast approaching, he had to get them to relative safety. He was in no position to carry her. If they were going anywhere, it would have to be with both of them on foot.
He fumbled through his pockets, hoping the bottle of water he’d stuffed in one was still there. It wasn’t.
Where were the Padillas? If they weren’t hurt, why weren’t they around? If I hurt them with my half-assed idea to kill those cats, I’ll never forgive myself. There was enough in this new world out to get them. It sickened him to think he might have been their undoing.
But he couldn’t check for them until he got Alexiana to her feet. He kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, her lips and chin, the way he did every night before they went to sleep. She had been a godsend to him, restoring his faith in women and love and the possibility of a happy future.
Buck was about to attempt lifting her up, hoping that getting her body in motion would signal her brain to wake up, when her eyelids fluttered open.
She stared straight at him, her body gone rigid as a two-by-four.
What he saw in those eyes scared the hell out of him.
99
Rey knew he should be scared—downright terrified and for more than one reason—but numb didn’t come close to describing the way he felt. Dakota had been murdered right before his eyes. Miguel, the sweetest kid in the world, snatched by gangbangers. Buck and Alexiana were somewhere out there, probably dead.
The wheezing in his lungs grew worse with each passing hour. It was easier to spit up blood now that the night had fallen. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on.
Just give me until we find Miguel. Don’t let me die without knowing he’s okay.
The shopping cart’s front wheels lodged on something, and his chest struck the handlebar.
“What the hell?” he muttered, pulling the cart back with a jerk.
Max said, “Nice rat.”
The dead rodent lay on its side. “Hope there aren’t any more living ones nearby,” he said.
It was getting too dark to see. The only time he’d been outside in this kind of inky blackness was when his father took them on a camping trip to the Adirondacks. And even then they had a fire and several lanterns.
“Maybe we should go back,” Max said to their parents. “That dog is probably gone by now.”
“I was able to see past the dog,” their father said. “Buck and Alexiana were nowhere to be found.”
After leaving the church, their father had gone to where Buck had blown out the car’s gas tank. Shattered bits of car littered the street and rooftops of the surrounding cars and trucks. An imposing bullmastiff rooted around the debris, sniffing for food. When the dog spotted him, it turned to all of them with a head that looked like it belonged on a pony. The mastiff bared its teeth, daring them to come any closer. They called out for Buck and Alexiana but got no answer. Their father contemplated shooting the dog, but was worried the sound would attract more predators, so they headed south on Yonkers Avenue.
Rey held out slim hope that they were alive and had moved on once they recovered from the explosion. They might be searching for them at this very moment.
Something chittered overhead, the sound fading in and out.
“Bats,” Rey said.
Gabby gave a tiny shriek, covering her hair with her hands. Max pulled her to his side. “Stay close to me, Gabby. I won’t let them get to you.”
He swung blindly with the bat, slicing the empty air when it sounded like one was swooping close.
Luckily, it sounded like a single bat, and not the usual swarm they’d been experiencing. Rey wondered if he’d be able to shoot it like skeet when it flashed by the blazing moon that had just edged its way from behind the cloud cover. His arms were so weak, he doubted he’d be able to hold the rifle up high enough to try.
A dizzying wave of cold and nausea passed through him. He coughed in reaction, retching another gout of blood.
“Spitting is gross,” Gabby said, oblivious to what had just come out of him.
“Gotta get the bad stuff out,” he said. “That’s the only way I’ll get better.”
She didn’t reply and he couldn’t see her face in the dark. The geometric shadows of the high-rise apartments ahead stood in contrast to the moon-softened glow of the Hudson behind them. They picked their way cautiously around the cars, sticking to the road, using the useless hunks of steel as cover.
Miguel was close. So were the Nine Judges.
Now it was just a matter of finding the hole they called home.
Rey willed his legs to move, his heart to maintain a steady rhythm, his lungs to take in and expel the fresh night air. All automatic systems had been switched to manual.
Keep going. Keep going. Keep going.
100
They made it to the intersection of Yonkers Avenue and South Broadway without incident. Daniel wasn’t about to blow a sigh of relief. They still had some blocks to go before they made Chicken Island. St. Mary’s sprawling church was to their left, the courthouse right across the street. He couldn’t count how many times he’d driven this way, off to pick up whatever was on Elizabeth’s list for the drugstore. Just earlier that day—God, had it only been hours ago?—Dakota had talked about White Castle. The fast-food joint was just a few blocks away.
All the stores were closed now and pounds of uncooked murder burgers were left rotting in sealed storage walk-ins.
“You want to press our luck?” he asked his wife in the same hushed tone reserved for libraries and church services.
“Yes. We don’t have far to go.”
It seemed as if the same bat had been following them all along. He kept wishing it would come close enough for a formal introduction with Max’s own bat. With the way things had gone, he worried that it was a scout, calling for others to attack.
“We all want to get Miguel back, but you and I have to consider Gabby and the boys. Rey doesn’t sound good at all. I can hear every breath he t
akes. Gabby’s scared of the dark, and Max needs to rest. How about we go around the corner and find a little store or someplace to settle in for the night? If the Nine Judges are around, they’ll definitely pass by this area.”
“It won’t take much for us to get a little closer,” she said, peering into the dark. A couple of times, they’d both clipped their hips and thighs on the edges of cars, stumbling over unseen objects left in the street.
Daniel touched Elizabeth’s arm and felt her go rigid. “I’m worried about something else.”
“What?” she said with a hint of exasperation.
“Nocturnal animals. What we haven’t seen during the day is what will be waking up now.”
“Honey, I don’t think the raccoons are going to be lurking about in the center of the city.”
“That was before everything went dark. It’s been weeks. There’s nothing here to scare them away anymore, and a lot of food left around. I saw quite a few turned-over garbage pails today with the plastic bags shredded. It’s not safe out here.”
She turned on him with contained fury. “It’s never going to be safe out here, day or night. I’m not stopping until we find Miguel.” It was a side of her he’d never seen and it worried him. “If you want to stop with the kids, you can. I won’t hold it against you. In fact, I’ll feel better knowing you’re all safe.”
“And what will you do if you find him, surrounded by that gang? You can’t take them out by yourself. You have to stop a moment and think.”
He was glad he couldn’t see the look she was giving him, because he sure could feel the weight of it.
“Daniel Padilla, if you think for one second—”
She was cut off when Rey hissed, “Mom, Dad, listen. Do you hear it?”
Daniel felt his spirit falter.
He could hear exactly what was coming their way. They had to run.
101
Alexiana watched Buck’s lips move, but she couldn’t hear a thing. Not his voice. Not the crushed Budweiser can behind him tumbling along the street. Not even the breeze that caressed her face.