Harry Styles and the New York Apocalypse

by G. B. Hope

  Michael looked at Sienna, bouncing along, her arms around Jerry’s waist.

  ‘Sienna, how are you doing?’

  ‘I’m not too bad, thank you, sir. Oh, sorry. It’s a habit. I am a little hungry.’

  ‘We’ll stop soon. Eat some of the Sedaka’s good food. You’ve been very brave. Not much longer now and we’ll have you at Kacie’s parents.’

  Sienna smiled. Michael smiled back. Then he looked at Taylor’s rear view.

  ‘Taylor. Can’t these things go any faster? Can’t we work them until they collapse. Lawrence of Arabia and all that.’

  Taylor looked back at him, knowing he was joking. ‘No, we can’t. Don’t be horrible.’

  He smiled at her, patted his mount’s neck, then settled back into seeing America go by slowly.

  ***

  So far, despite sleeping on the other single bed, in the same room as Liam, Sabrina had continued to maintain her modesty - changing in the bathroom, and sleeping in pajamas which she had found in the wardrobe. Late one night, alone with Liam, having kissed and cuddled and talked of the future, she decided not to slip over into the other bed. He was surprised and delighted. Even more so when further kissing became heated, and then she was fiddling with the belt to his pants. He stopped her.

  ‘Sabrina, you don’t have to do that, baby.’

  ‘But I want to. I feel I’m a bad girlfriend.’

  ‘You’re a perfect girlfriend.’

  Tears appeared in her eyes, so he pulled her up to hold her to his chest, whispering sweet nothings to her mass of hair.

  ‘Shush, Sab. There will be plenty of time for that when we’re out of here and settled somewhere. I love you. I adore you… enoromously.’

  She giggled at the mispronunciation, and snuggled in.

  ‘Just know, I will if you want me to.’

  ‘Shush.’

  ***

  Michael’s posse passed through the next two towns without incident. They found people getting by as best they could. They talked with officials and with National Guardsmen. They were advised not to proceed, but nobody attempted to stop them. They saw burnt-out shells of buildings, but no current conflagrations. They passed a freshly-dug cemetery with people tending to the graves. The people who had remained in those towns seemed to have settled into the situation - the madness seemed to be over with.

  Michael realised that he had been enjoying the journey. He played cowboy occasionally, drawing his gun and pretending to shoot Indians. They all chatted, all got into the camping spirit when they stopped at the side of the road. Taylor took responsibility, when the chance arose, for feeding and watering the horses. The weather stayed mild. Michael liked the massive American sky above him. They made good progress.

  Michael was delighted not to encounter rogue elements out on the roads. No doubt there were still people like Ferguson all over the place, but they thankfully avoided them. Instead, they stopped now and again to talk to migrating families. Once, they were even offered work on a farm. At night, they took to breaking into abandoned SUV’s, to let the girls sleep in comfort, with Michael and Jerry taking turns on watch.

  The road signs excited them as they approached each one; Darien, Stamford, Greenwich. But after Greenwich it all started to become epic. Fatigue hit both them and the horses. For whatever reason, they failed to see any signs for New York; it was only the occasional chance encounter with someone to ask directions that kept them on the right road. Then they started on the wide, car-strewn approach to what had to be a major city - had to be the outskirts of New York, with apartment buildings far away to the right. Suddenly it all seemed unfriendly. They all felt it. Maybe it was the weather, getting a bit cloudy, the temperature dropping. The landscape looked hard, concrete - the apartment buildings were not exactly attractive.

  As they approached, the clouds appeared to be blended with thousands of plumes of smoke.

  They passed a few black families, on the move with carts and trolleys. The first housing estate they came to was sparsely populated. There was the smell of smoke in the air, a mixture of barbecue and arson. Someone shouted at them. A small black boy ran alongside them for a while. They kept moving, trying to stay on the main road, but almost inevitably they got drawn deeper into the suburbs.

  On two separate occasions they were offered things for the horses. Once, a woman came out of her house with carrots for the animals. They spoke to this woman, told her their route, and she advised them as best she could. So they moved on, deeper into the city. Soon they were on a road bisecting parkland. Taylor suggested Central park, but was quickly shouted down with good humour.

  Coming out from under a bridge, they were faced with a dilemma. Ahead was the Bronx Zoo. They didn’t know whether to go round that or straight through. They decided to go in – perhaps there were staff still caring for the animals, and they could get fresh fodder for the horses, and water.

  They walked right through the leafy zoo, and saw no animals. Not a one. They did manage to water the horses, and rest on a patch of lawn themselves. When they exited the zoo grounds, they were faced with suburban apartment buildings - to Michael it felt like the film, The Village, suddenly stepping from one time back into another. It had been pleasant coming through the zoo grounds. Now they were in the concrete jungle again. Several buildings smouldered nearby. They were stopped by a homeless man. Michael wondered if the man knew what was happening in the world. Whether it impacted on him at all. The man was friendly, stroking each horse in turn. Michael guessed that he and his group could do with a bath, but this new man stank to high heaven. He didn’t mind Taylor giving him some food, but was keen to carry on. Taylor looked up at him after speaking to the man.

  ‘Michael, this is Mr Dawson. I told him we’re looking to get onto Manhattan and he wants to show us the way.’

  ‘Are we far away?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Not far, mister,’ said Mr Dawson. ‘I’m going that way. Follow me, please.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Dawson. Thank you.’

  So, somewhere in the Bronx, New York, they followed a homeless man down empty streets. Michael thought, yes, it has got weirder. His basic knowledge of New York geography told him that Manhattan was an island, so a bridge was needed. From Manhattan they could look for a place to part, for the girls to head towards Paterson. He was reluctant to let them go, but could not expect them to traipse around Manhattan while he tried to find his girlfriend’s hotel - the journey had been long enough. Jerry had already stated his desire to stick with Michael. Michael was pleased to know that young man.

  Mr Dawson gave them a tour as they moved along, sometimes in sunshine, but often in deep shade. He pointed out buildings, without actually saying anything. It was surreal. Michael was hoping for a glimpse of a river soon, when he saw Mr Dawson point at a certain Laundromat for the second time. He told Taylor to halt the horses. She looked at him, questioningly.

  ‘He’s walking us round in circles.’

  They watched Mr Dawson walk on, oblivious to them not being with him any more, continuing to point out buildings. Jerry sighed. Sienna looked confused. But it didn’t really matter, as, between buildings, Michael got a glimpse of a stretch of water. He pointed it out, and they moved off in that direction.

  Out into the sunshine, they could see quite far. Some parts of the vista looked like blackened shells of buildings. Smoke rose in many places. There were two substantial bridges, with stopped cars like toys. The water looked beautiful. They approached another park, before they could get down to the streets near the bridge. Here they found quite some activity. Camp sites had sprung up. There were banners between trees. Cooking smoke curled up into the sky at several points.

  ‘What the hell’s this?’ asked Taylor.

  They paused to read the main banner:

  The One Directioners.

  THIRTY FOUR

  A number of teenage girls, and the occasional older woman, all dressed for camping, or in a hotch-potch of items, including straw hats, ban
danas, Onesies and rubber boots, began drifting closer to the horses. Some were roused from their tents, specifically to see the newcomers. One girl, about seventeen years old, in a rain poncho, looked up at Michael.

  ‘I’m Sapir.’

  ‘You’re what?’ asked Michael, leaning out of the saddle.

  ‘Sapir. It’s my name.’

  ‘Oh, right. I’m Michael.’

  ‘You have beautiful horses. Are they yours? Have you any news? Is the power coming on? Have you heard about any… celebrities being safe?’

  ‘No to all that, I’m afraid. Are you all camping here?’

  ‘Yes, we’re all Directioners,’ answered Sapir, proudly.

  Michael had recognised the meaning of the main banner - his girlfriend was a Directioner, after all.

  ‘There are other groups over there,’ continued Sapir, ‘but we feel better together, talking about One Direction, and about school, and life, and we’ve got some teachers with us. One or two parents, but not many. Do you want to stay? You can stay. Do you like One Direction?’

  ‘I like them very much, Sapir. Especially Harry Styles. But we’re not staying, we have places to be.’

  One of the women stepped closer, checking out the horses.

  ‘You good people will stop for coffee, surely?’ she asked. ‘We’ve baked cookies. You could rest a while.’

  She meant for the poor horses to rest a while, but Michael accepted for his group and they all dismounted.

  Soon they were seated around a roaring camp fire - Michael was expecting them to sing camping songs. Not that he knew any camping songs, he was just thinking back to his one summer as a Scout. The older lady, by the name of Mrs Jaffe (Michael almost choked on his cookie at another name he had never heard before), looked after them. Michael realised a young woman had sat right next to him.

  ‘Hello, what’s your name?’

  ‘Hannah.’

  ‘Where are you from, Hannah?’

  ‘Oregon.’

  ‘Wow, that’s far away. Are you here for a holiday? For a concert? School?’

  Nothing more came out of Hannah from Oregon. Michael looked at her pretty, but terribly drawn features, and left her alone with her thoughts. Some of the other girls, more animated, he noticed, still carried their cell phones with them, holding them like security blankets. He felt a wave of sadness rush over him, which made him hungrier, so he drank his coffee quickly.

  Mrs Jaffe was discussing matters in general with Taylor and Kacie. When they got onto the topic of their journey, she was helpful with advice. She knew the bridge to find for the girls to head to Paterson, and had a vague idea where the target hotel was.

  ‘My girlfriend is a One Direction fan,’ Michael suddenly heard himself say. ‘She saw them in London recently. I bet none of you have seen them in London.’

  One, two, then three of the girls quickly piped up that they had, indeed, seen the boys perform in London. Shit, thought Michael, as a new string on 1D conversation sprang up. He saw Taylor smile at him - now there was a rare occurrence which made him happy. Then he looked at Jerry, deep in conversation with two girls.

  ‘You all right, Jerry?’

  Jerry smiled. ‘Can I stay here?’

  Later, before they moved on again, Sapir came up to Michael. She pointed out to Michael that his tee-shirt was filthy, and offered him a clean, white one. He accepted gratefully, stripped to the waist, put on the new one, then thanked Sapir and wished her well.

  Using a map drawn by Mrs Jaffe, they followed the Hudson river south, finally reaching the George Washington bridge, where the girls were to split off and head to Paterson. For a few miles they had found the air quality deteriorating - a mix of smoke and, they guessed, rotting corpses (they had seen a stack of them recently).

  ‘Mrs Jaffe said they would walk the girls out in a day or two,’ Taylor said, ‘which is for the best.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Michael. ‘So, you know to stay on the main road all the way through to Paterson?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ joked Taylor.

  ‘I should really stay with you.’

  ‘No! You have to look for your girlfriend. It’s been too long already.’

  They all dismounted. Hugs took place. Kacie and Sienna thanked Michael. Taylor left him until last. She read the message on his tee-shirt for the first time and laughed. Michael turned it as best he could, reading, “Harry Styles is my boyfriend”. He laughed, then hugged Taylor firmly.

  ‘You be very careful,’ said Michael, releasing her from his embrace.

  ‘You be careful, too. Thank you so much.’ Tears welled in both their eyes. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’ll never forget you, and I will try to find you if we get the world back.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘Good luck finding your girlfriend.’

  Michael slipped Ferguson’s handgun to Taylor. She took it without a word.

  More kisses, then the girl mounted up and set off onto the bridge. They waved a few times, before they were lost in the tangle of abandoned vehicles. Michael turned to Jerry. They both nodded, stepped up onto their horses, and Jerry took Michael’s reins, leading them further on to Manhattan.

  ‘Could we go back across to the Bronx briefly?’ asked Jerry.

  ‘What do you want to do that for?’

  ‘I just always wanted to see Yankee stadium.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I’ll probably never see it.’

  ‘Probably not.’

  They both laughed.

  They stayed on the Henry Hudson Parkway, heading south.

  ‘Did I see you give the gun to Taylor?’ asked Jerry.

  ‘I had to.’

  ‘No, of course you did. You’d better try the air rifle.’

  The rifle was passed back. Michael aimed at a green street sign. Even with the movement of his horse, he hit it with a sharp ping.

  ‘Not seen a living soul since the camp,’ said Jerry.

  Michael passed back the air rifle.

  ‘I suppose people get off Manhattan in a crisis. Not go on to it. Keep your eyes open for anything on Mrs Jaffe’s map. I’m not sure how we find the hotel. I didn’t pay much attention when I left it. I had the sat-nav in the hire car.’

  Jerry looked at the map.

  ‘For the hotel, she’s done the biggest X marks the spot ever seen. But we may get lucky and stumble on it.’

  ‘Hopefully.’

  Michael and Jerry spent the night in the back of a Porsche Cayenne. After breakfasting on some of Mrs Jaffe’s supplies, they set off again. The morning was misty, so the smog of smoke and aroma of death engulfed them. The horses, despite being fed and watered, looked on their last legs and, indeed, were almost being walked into the ground as Michael had said to Taylor. He felt terribly guilty for them, but knew they had to keep using them, at least until the lead of the hotel had been explored, until they found some kind of sanctuary, with or without his girlfriend.

  Jerry’s hope of stumbling upon the hotel, or even following Mrs Jaffe’s map, became almost impossible. But luckily, after many hours, they did manage to make out the landmark Mrs Jaffe had told them about: the new World Trade Centre building. They stopped to stare at it, and that was when gunshots rang out. ‘Down!’ shouted Michael, terrified for Jerry’s safety - he didn’t want to lose another companion. They jumped clear of the horses, managing to pull the skittering creatures behind a school bus, as high velocity rounds punctured into the side of the vehicle. Michael made Jerry hit the pavement with him, relieving him of the air rifle. Michael strained to see under the bus, hustling to get the rifle out in front of him, realising, as the bus windows were shot out in a cascade of glass, that he was seriously out-gunned. Still, a target presented itself - three, in fact, dark figures approaching them. Then, perhaps, a fourth and fifth in the background. Michael, his heart beating crazily, knew they should run for their lives, but he took aim at one man, fired, and saw him crumple in agony. It was by no means a fatal sho
t, but it made the other two up front take cover, bought some thinking time. Michael reloaded and fired again, hoping to fool the men into thinking they were in mortal danger. But they kept coming, after a glance back at their wounded colleague, firing wildly as they did. Michael shot again, his panic not allowing him to see the result. The bus tyres exploded on the far side. Time to run. Dragging Jerry by the collar they fled back to the left, weaving between cars, heading for an off-ramp. When they were covered by a concrete wall, Michael allowed himself a glance back. The horses were shot dead as soon as the men reached them, and then, with Michael and Jerry forgotten as if they had never been there, two of the men brought out machetes and started to butcher the still twitching animals.

  Stunned, Michael tried to push Jerry onwards. All he could think about was that those men would casually kill them to get at the horse meat. But Jerry wouldn’t move.

  ‘Jerry, come on!’

  Jerry could not continue because he had two pump-action shotguns levelled on his head. Michael finally grasped this situation. He looked around Jerry’s head at two New York City police officers, who were wearing smog masks.

  One of the officers, shaven-headed and wearing mirror sunglasses, relieved Michael of the air rifle on his way to covertly check out the gang, while his partner kept Michael and Jerry covered. When he came back, they were immediately on the move, it being decided that no good would come of tackling the men. The other policeman, of Hispanic descent, asked all the questions as they left the area, wanting to know why they were there. As the answers flowed back, the shotguns were eventually aimed at the floor, and the cops relaxed. Names were exchanged. It was Officer Lyle and Officer Hernandez.

  ‘We’re about to evacuate,’ said Officer Lyle, lifting his smog mask for a moment. ‘You two men can walk out with our unit.’