City of Savages

by Lee Kelly

  “Come again?” Ryder asks carefully, just as Sam repeats, “Monkeys?”

  “Warden Rolladin overbred all the zoo animals for food,” Trevor says. “Now she lets them run wild to fend for themselves.”

  I nod. “Sometimes we’ve found peacocks as far south as Wall Street.”

  Ryder gives me a big, lopsided smile. “A true concrete jungle.”

  “And besides the game,” I add, now gunning for another smile from him, “there should be some plants and grass, too.”

  Sam fiddles with the bow. “Where are these parks you’re talking about?”

  “I’m pretty sure there’s some stretches of grass along the Hudson up here,” I say. “We’ll have a better chance of finding food there than in the streets.”

  “All right.” Sam throws the crossbow over his shoulder, then waves us back towards the small parking lot. “Let’s try the Hudson.”

  We cross town, hug tight to the storefronts, all shattered windows and angry black spray paint. At first Ryder and Sam are obsessed with checking out each store, like maybe someone’s been magically stocking the shelves the past decade. One of them stops to look in an old bodega, while the other pops into a bookstore. And Trev gets caught up in the scavenger hunt too, crazy-excited since he’s never been south of 58th Street. He keeps coming back with all these odds and ends, begging for some of my backpack real estate.

  “Guys, come on, this is a waste of time.”

  They finally abandon the lost cause, and then we start making progress, the numbered avenues falling away along with the storefronts. Finally it’s just a stretch of road that dumps us into a thick, six-lane street called the West Side Highway. We cut around car after abandoned car until we reach the small stretch of pavement near the Hudson River, and the thin slice of grass sandwiched in between.

  “You call this a park?” Sam hisses.

  “I didn’t promise rolling fields,” I snap, feeling defensive and sort of dumb in front of Ryder. “We can’t go back north, and you said we can’t go east, and all the parks till Wall Street—the ones that weren’t blown up, anyway—are made of pavement. So, yeah, this is what we’ve got.”

  “Easy, everybody.” Ryder points past me, to where the walkway loops around a cluster of buildings. “Maybe the stretches of grass widen out as the trail runs downtown.”

  “They better.” Sam starts trotting south towards the buildings. “Stay here,” he calls back to us. “I’ll check it out.”

  Ryder leans against a skinny tree as Trev collapses Indian-style on the coarse grass below us.

  “Sam’s kind of a boss,” Trev says.

  I plunk down next to him. “Trev, that’s Ryder’s brother. Don’t be an ass,” I say, even though I’m thinking the same thing.

  Ryder just laughs. “It’s okay. Trevor’s right. Older brothers can be like that.”

  “I guess.” Trev’s studying the grass, so I can’t really see his face, but he doesn’t sound like himself. His voice is as small and hard as a pebble. “I mean, I wouldn’t know.”

  Ryder looks at me before settling on Trevor’s other side. “No siblings, then?”

  “No siblings, no parents,” Trevor says with a sigh. “No friends, really, but Lauren, and the Millers, when they come back for the winter.”

  My stomach churns a little bit as I watch Trevor pull out the grass in ratty clumps. I try not to think about Trev during the summers. It just makes me feel guilty, picturing him without me around to get his back, without Mom and Sky listening to him babble. Even with Lauren looking out for him, he has to get pretty damn lonely. But what were we supposed to do? Orphans stay in the Park. Plus, we couldn’t afford another mouth to feed. Especially a loud one.

  So I say, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’ve got friends. You’re fine.”

  It comes out a lot harsher than I wanted it to.

  “Either way,” Ryder covers for me, “us orphans’ll have to stick together.”

  Trev doesn’t answer, but as he keeps ripping the grass new bald spots, a little smile escapes his lips. And I get this crazy impulse to hug Ryder, or kiss him or something, for saying that.

  But then Sam jogs towards us, and the moment’s gone.

  “All right, the trail does open up ahead.” Sam takes big gulps of air as he collects himself. “There’s even some trees, some bushes and stuff, a ways down.”

  The jerkoff acts like this is some big discovery. “So, basically, you’d call it a park?”

  But Sam doesn’t say Sorry, or Yeah, Phee, you were right, or anything else that would make me forget about wanting to punch him. He just gives me a blood-boiling smirk as Ryder, Trev, and I scramble to stand.

  The four of us begin traipsing south. We march down the pavement path, eyes on the hunt, hands on our weapons, as the sun throws its arms around the city.

  “Are we near your summer place on Wall Street?” Ryder asks as we pass a squat, colorless building marked NEW YORK SANITATION.

  “We’re not too far. But we never come up this way.” I shrug. “Mom likes us to stay close to home base.”

  “So while Trevor’s in the Park all summer, you three really brave the city on your own?” Ryder scans the sad, empty trail that cuts downtown ahead of us. “Seems like it’d be almost impossible outside the Park.”

  I think about all our summers on Wall Street—Mom and I hunting in the Financial District, Sky and I learning the herbs in Mom’s garden. “It wasn’t too bad,” I say. “We just had to find our own food sources, like we’re doing now. After a while, there wasn’t anything useful in apartments and stores and stuff. We scavenged as kids, but it became a lost cause eventually.”

  Ryder looks shocked. “So, for the past few years you’ve just lived on squirrels and peacocks?”

  “Rye, they’re still here, aren’t they?” Sam says as he readjusts his bow. And I could be imagining things, but I swear it sounds like he’s impressed. “Not everyone needs three-course meals and a library to survive.”

  Ryder shakes his head. “I’m just saying, zoo cuisine’s not a balanced diet for two growing girls.”

  I laugh. “We ate more than squirrels and peacocks. Our summer apartment had a roof garden. We’ve got crops that come up every year, and we add each time we get our hands on seeds at the Park.”

  “Couldn’t have been an easy way to live, though. Just the three of you,” Ryder says.

  “Nope.”

  “Then why do it?”

  Trev laughs behind us. “I’ve asked myself the same question, like, a million times.”

  I have too. Even though I love our place along the water, I’ve sometimes wished for the Park so bad it hurt. Like when it snowed in April, or rained so hard in June that our little farm was nearly flooded.

  “The Red Allies only forced everyone to the Park for the winters, ’cause of the land and animals and timber and everything,” I tell them. “Mom said she wanted the summers to be ours. That we deserved a taste of freedom. So even though it’s tougher on our own sometimes, Mom feels like it’s worth it.”

  Ryder studies me with wide, probing eyes. Then he asks softly, “Do you?”

  His question jars me, ’cause I’ve never thought about it—that was just the way it was. But now I try to consider both sides—what we’d be doing at the Park right now if we weren’t hunting game along the Hudson. Maybe waking up, warm in our tiny Carlyle room, getting ready to pick crops in the shock-cold air. Then I think about Wall Street—our summer kingdom of three. All those lazy days of lying in the sun with Sky in our roof garden . . . all those long nights of freaky noises outside our walls. A kingdom every bit as awesome as it was terrifying.

  I want to explain all this to Ryder: that the answer is messy, that I haven’t let myself sort it all out, ’cause no good would come of the sorting. Plus, I don’t want him writing me off as some Manhattan
savage, especially compared to my brainiac sister.

  But like always, I can’t find the right words. And I’ve got to settle for, “I don’t know.”

  I’m waiting for Sam to grunt or make a crack at such a lame answer, but he doesn’t.

  In fact, no one speaks for a long, long time.

  “I get that,” Ryder finally says as he flashes me this big, awesome smile. And his voice is full and knowing, like I’ve said something important. It warms me even more than his smile and pretty face. “There aren’t many straightforward answers anymore. Are there?”

  Sam grabs Ryder’s arm to slow him on his other side. Then he whispers, “Quiet.” He points to a bunch of scraggly trees a stone’s throw down the path, then steps onto the grass and crouches behind some bushes. “Get down, guys.”

  Ryder, Trev, and I all crawl behind Sam and follow his gaze. A family of squirrels runs up, down, and around the near-bare branches of the trees, frantic little figure eights one after another. I focus and count. Six squirrels. Jackpot. With these and some mushrooms, and if we’re lucky, some herbs, it’s a stew to feed all of us.

  “A gun might be better,” Sam whispers. “You’ve got extra ammo for yours, right?” he says to me.

  I clutch the small handgun in my pocket. The little pistol with one measly bullet. And even though by now I should probably just trust this guy and come clean about my lack of replacements—at this point, we’re all in this together—it still feels safer to lie.

  “I left the other rounds with Sky,” I tell Sam. “Sorry. Guess it needs to be the bow.”

  Sam mutters to himself and then looks at Trevor. “What about you, the big-time hunting prodigy? Where’s your weapon?”

  Trev gulps. “I don’t have one.”

  “Naturally.” Sam rubs his forehead and sighs. “So basically, this was just a kiddie field trip.”

  My heart starts rumbling into fight mode again—I’ve helped Mom hunt and held my own in the Park for as long as I can remember, and this jerkoff’s been dismissing me since I saved his ass in the zoo.

  “Call me a kid one more time and we’re going to have problems. Seriously, what are you, like, twenty or something? And what have you actually done, besides gotten us in trouble in the tunnels and taken up a mat at the YMCA?”

  Sam stares me down.

  “She’s got a point,” Ryder answers. When Sam glares at him, Ryder just shrugs and says, “What? Step up and show us that fancy marine training you’re always bragging about, or knock the insults.”

  Trev nudges me in the ribs as we stay silent behind them. But Trev’s mouth is twitching, and his eyes are all big and animated, like we’ve somehow stumbled on a secret street-fight no one else knows about. I totally feel that way too. But there’s something else going on under my skin, that same urge I had before—to grab Ryder, and hug him or something. I somehow manage to keep my hands on the ground.

  “Fine,” Sam mutters. “Watch and learn.” He repositions himself on his stomach, with his forearm propping up the bow and his eye resting in the scope. He scoots forward, army-style, so his head’s peeking out of the bushes.

  He waits a long time—watching the squirrels, fluff and fur parading round and round the trees. I almost lose interest, until he whispers, “Now.”

  His arrow slices through the air, stapling two squirrels against the trunk with one shot, one’s tail and another’s face pinned to the bark.

  The rest of the family scatters in a frenzy, jumping to the nearby branches as Sam gets ready to fire off another arrow. He’s quick this time and catches one of the squirrels in midair. Two shots, three squirrels.

  I can’t pretend I’m not impressed.

  The four of us scurry over to our victims, and Sam takes Sky’s knife and finishes off the squirrels. He shoves the carcasses into my satchel.

  “Good morning,” I say to Sam breathlessly, before I remember I hate him.

  And for the first time since I’ve met him, Sam looks up and gives me a real honest-to-God smile. “I’d say a pretty damn good morning.”

  26 SKY

  Phee, Ryder, Trevor, and Sam burst back into the YMCA like they’re soldiers returning home from a glorious battle, with good cheer, a satchel full of squirrels, and Phee’s pockets bursting with mushrooms. Mom and I abandon our card game in the workout room and walk to our makeshift door as soon as we hear them.

  Mom brings the mushrooms into the stark white light near the window to double-check Phee’s work, even though Phee and I are both near experts at distinguishing edible mushrooms from poisonous ones. Phee just rolls her eyes.

  “Half the time I feel like she can’t believe anything good can happen,” she whispers to me. It’s not an unfair statement.

  Speaking of Mom and her lack of faith in a better future, I really want to pull Phee aside, to let her know what I’ve found out from the journal. But before I can, Ryder says, “Phee, we need to get these squirrelies in a pot, before the natives get too restless.”

  Then he grabs Phee’s backpack of carcasses and throws it over his shoulder, as my sister cackles and follows him. Ryder throws me a wink before he climbs the stairs, but it doesn’t stop my stomach from sinking.

  To be honest, I’ve been driving myself insane most of the morning, thinking about the two of them together. Imagining that Ryder was so awed by my tough-as-nails sister that by the time they returned, our conversation yesterday would feel like no more than a dream. But seeing them all chummy still stings more than I could ever have prepared myself for.

  “You guys need any help cleaning them?” I swallow my pride and mumble after them.

  “Nah, Ryder and I’ve got this,” Phee says quickly over the stairwell.

  “But we’ll need candles, and bowls,” Ryder calls down. “Trev, help the woman!”

  Sam trails his brother—“Rye, hold up, let me skin them first”—but Mom gently grabs Sam’s wrist over the banister.

  “Sam, seriously, thank you.” It’s sweet, but almost uncomfortable, watching my mother thank someone genuinely: She doesn’t do it often. Then again, she doesn’t need to. “You deserve a rest. Leave this part to me—there’s a kitchen on the fourth floor. I’ll make a true stew over a fire.”

  Then Mom shoots me a look, reminding me that I’m supposed to feel grateful, instead of consumed by jealousy.

  “Thanks, Sam,” I muster.

  “No big deal.” But I can see the faintest hint of a rare smile on his lips. Sam throws his arms over his head, revealing two inches of lean torso, and yawns his way to the yoga room. “Wake me up when it’s ready, I guess.”

  Mom slowly follows my sister and Ryder upstairs, while Trev grabs my hand to collect some candles.

  “So did you have fun? With Phee, Sam, and Ryder?”

  “Yeah, it was a good trip,” Trev says. “Sam’s okay, kind of a jerk, but I think he just doesn’t know how to not be a jerk, if that makes sense. And Ryder’s beyond cool. He’s an orphan too and everything. And he’s really . . . accepting. Just . . . nice.” Trev shakes his head as he piles candles into his arms. “I was kind of hoping he wasn’t so nice.”

  I laugh. “Why?” I take a wicker basket off one of the shelves and load Trevor’s candles into it.

  “Because then it’d be easier to hate him.”

  His words pinch me as we return to the main workout room. And I ask the question, even though I’m pretty sure I know his answer: “And why do you want to hate him?”

  Trev’s face twists into a grimace. “’Cause Phee’s crazy about him.” Sometimes Trevor’s more mature than I would ever give him credit for.

  Trev shakes his head. “At least he’s nice. At least he’ll be good to her.” He looks at me. “We should get upstairs, right? They’re waiting on us.”

  But I can’t move my feet. Even though my mind knows that Trevor’s analysis hasn’t
changed anything, my heart feels like something monumental has shifted. “I’ll be right there.” I hand him the basket, and he shrugs and bounds up the stairs.

  So Phee likes Ryder too. Of course she does.

  If I’m honest, I’ve known this for days. I knew it in the tunnels, and saw it in that look Phee flashed me last night in the yoga room, when she literally inserted herself between Ryder and me. Then this afternoon on the stairs as she took them two at a time—this possessiveness, this claim to him—Ryder belongs to Phee, just like everything else in this city.

  And even though part of me is itching to barge into the kitchen, pull a Phee and just plunk myself in between them . . . I turn away from the stairwell. Then I tiptoe back into the dark of the yoga room and dig Mom’s journal out of my bag.

  I feel like a kid again. Jealous, overshadowed, sneaking off into corners to escape into other worlds, where younger sisters aren’t always the heroes or the belles of the ball.

  The most frustrating part is, I thought it was different with Ryder. I thought for some reason we had connected yesterday, and for the first time maybe ever, I could give someone something that my sister could not.

  I wade through the equipment room and situate myself near my favorite window in the corner, Charlotte smiling up at me from my lap. I know I shouldn’t be reading this, making this trip through Mom’s past alone—it’s just not fair. Once is one thing. To keep sneaking off by myself, without Phee, quite another.

  But I also feel like she deserves it.

  Right before I crack the spine open, there’s a musical whisper—

  “There you are,” Ryder says as he hovers over me. “I was looking for you.”

  “Hi,” I say, unable to contain my surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “You’re quite taken with Charlotte, aren’t you?” He smirks and sits across from me, each of us mirror images of our yesterday selves.

  “She gives sage advice, what can I say.” I flash Ryder a smile before I remember I’m kind of confused by him. “But really, what are you doing here? What about Phee?”