City of Savages

by Lee Kelly

  Sam gives this flat little laugh, then nudges me in the ribs. “It’s the United Kingdom, or Great Britain. Pick one, but not both.”

  I start blushing. There goes my attempt at playing the smart card.

  “It’s challenging, remembering so many names we don’t use,” Ryder saves me. “That’s why I’m excited for school, and history, English . . . all of it. It’s important to remember, you know?” He gives me one of his huge lopsided grins.

  And I start nodding. ’Cause I’d pretty much agree with anything Ryder’s perfect face is saying . . . even if what makes him excited puts me to sleep.

  We follow Robert down the platform of cracked pavement and hungry weeds and enter the Standard’s lobby.

  “I present to you,” Robert says real dramatically as he opens the glass doors and walks past a couple of guards, “the Standard.”

  The place is, hands-down, awesome-looking. The lobby’s a huge room with ceilings as high as the sky, slate floors, and floating white wall-divider things made out of plastic or glass. And instead of the old torches that are pinned to the wall at the Carlyle, here they somehow managed to secure cups of fire below the light fixtures, and each one throws off so much light that it pools on the floor. In the far corner sits a smiling woman at a huge stone desk, a check-in girl behind a slice of a mountain.

  “Not quite the Carlyle,” Mom whispers as we take in every inch of the lobby.

  “Exquisite, am I right?” Robert says to her. “We were lucky. This hotel was nearly untouched by the West Side bombing. Mas—Wren kept all the prewar details.” He looks up and around him, as if he’s impressed by his home all over again. “You might remember how much I love architecture, Sarah.”

  Mom smiles at him. “Practical art.”

  “That’s right. Practical art.” Robert rests his hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t I give you all a tour, then maybe we can settle you into your rooms for the night . . . or however long you want to stay. Community dinner is at sundown, and I’m sure you don’t want to miss that.”

  “Community dinner,” Ryder whispers. “I’m hungry already. Sounds promising.”

  “Hopefully more venison,” I say. Then I add just to bug Sam, “But anything beats squirrels.”

  Sam just shakes his head and smirks. “You know those squirrels were clutch.”

  “We’ll take the internal stairs,” Robert interrupts our bickering. He leads us down a slate hallway off the lobby to a stairwell.

  As we climb, he tells us all this stuff about “the roots of his community.” How the head honcho of this place, Wren or whatever, used to be some big “preacher,” and how his missionaries saved “countless souls in the tunnels.” I’m catching about half of it, but it seems like Ryder’s eating all this history stuff up, so I smile and nod like, Oh, isn’t this fascinating?

  We pass a couple of people in the halls every once in a while on our tour, but otherwise it’s fairly empty.

  “Is there really a whole . . . community here?” I finally ask, testing out the word, once we wind our way around another hallway, past rows of white doors. It’s weird—unlike the rest of the hotel (which feels brand spanking new), the room doors look roughed up. Like there were once symbols or numbers on them that were removed and painted over. Maybe they’re fixing them.

  Robert laughs. “I believe there’s at least a hundred of us. Maybe more. I know, you can’t tell, right? Most of our members spend a good deal of time in their rooms. Solitude and reflection are extremely important for the Standard. But I’m getting ahead of myself,” he says. “I want to show you the big reveal.”

  He takes us up one more flight of stairs, and then pauses expectantly in front of the door. “I’ve told you about our past,” Robert whispers excitedly. “Now, on to our future.”

  He pulls the door open to showcase a huge farm behind glass. It stretches the whole length of the hotel floor.

  Sunlight filters in through the ceiling and fills the entire room with blinding light, and green is everywhere. Grass planted somehow in the ground, trees two stories high, bushes. There’s even a shallow moat on one side, teeming with fish. Monkeys and squirrels scramble from tree to tree. And there’s a family of deer grazing in the stretches of grass.

  It’s a mini Park—a mini Park inside a hotel.

  “How did you manage to do this?” Mom asks what all of us are thinking. “This might be the biggest greenhouse I’ve ever seen.”

  “Innovation, mostly.” Robert pulls open the sliding glass door and helps Mom inside. “What was once a restaurant is now a controlled ecosystem, though of course it serves the same purpose. To feed the Standard.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Sky says.

  “Breathtaking, really,” Ryder adds.

  “Thank you,” Robert says. “It took years. Missionaries raiding abandoned homes, lifting seeds from Central Park and surroundings. Gathering animals, instead of hunting them, as I was doing yesterday when I had the pleasure of meeting your company.” He nods to Ryder and Sam. “In two words really, patience and sacrifice.”

  “Can we back up a second?” Sam asks. “How the hell did you manage deer?”

  “My friend, our innovation will astound you.” Robert smiles. “We’ve been truly blessed by the genius and scope of expertise of our community members. We’ve created tranquilizers, weapons, and aqueducts, among a great many other things. Honestly, the only thing we haven’t managed to do is turn the lights on, but we’re not the first community to survive without electricity.” Then his smile breaks wide open. “Like I said, it’s as if the Standard was destined.”

  I take a look around the wide green expanse and inhale the scent of the trees. I close my eyes and listen to the echo of the water within the glass. It’s not the Park, but it’s a slice of it.

  Mom comes up behind me and grabs my hand. “I’ve always wanted something like this for you girls,” she whispers. “I gave up on it long ago. But now, seeing this place, I think maybe we’ve found something special.”

  I tighten my hands around her shoulders, squeeze, and pull her in. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her truly happy.

  “Ladies, I hate to interrupt,” Robert says gently behind us. “But it’s almost time for supper. I’d love to get you settled in your rooms so you can fully enjoy tonight.”

  “Of course.” Mom squeezes me back before she turns to go.

  Robert waves us out of the glass paradise and back towards the stairwell. “Let me show you home.”

  30 SKY

  I take my time cleaning up in my own private washroom, the first space that’s ever been “mine” in my life. Robert assured us that there are plenty of open rooms in the hotel, so each of our group was given their own suite, a floor-to-ceiling box of glass with views of the entire city.

  It feels beyond luxurious, having so much space: a bed of my own, a bath, and a mirror. But strange as well. Part of me feels like I’m missing a limb, not hearing Mom right outside, or Phee banging on the door to hurry up already. Today, though, I’m glad for the space. Today I really need a break from my sister.

  After she practically took my head off at the YMCA, she spent the entire walk over here buddying up to Ryder, acting like she cared about what he had to say. About books and lessons, and learning about places beyond this tiny island. Which is ludicrous, as half the time I try to engage with Phee about a book, she ends up falling asleep on me. I tried to tune out her conversation with Ryder and Sam, but I couldn’t—which prompted poor Trev to ask if I was okay about four times on our walk over.

  I have to give Phee one thing, though I’ll never admit it to her. She was right about giving this place a chance. The Standard feels magical, somehow, a true oasis—especially that glass atrium teeming with life, food, on one of the top floors. Even more magical is the idea that our father lived here, in this very hotel, and that the road he blaz
ed, the sacrifices he made, might have come full circle to give us a home here too. I can tell, it’s ignited things long dormant in my mother—happiness, and hope. Mom never lets herself see the bright side of things. But today it was like her shell was cracked open, like her hard exterior might actually be fracturing.

  * * *

  Robert has a whole fancy evening planned for tonight: A member of the community is going to escort each one of us to supper, so we can start to meet people and get acclimated. It feels very royal, like something out of Cinderella or King Arthur’s court, and I’m surprised at how excited I am. Compared with eating outside in the bitter cold as Rolladin barks orders at us, this dinner sounds like a page out of a Brontë novel.

  After I finish getting ready, there’s still no sign of my escort, so I start to poke around my room. The bed linens are clean and white, and there’s a small chair and bureau in the corner. I go through all the bureau drawers, but they’re empty, save for a fine layer of dust. The only personal items I see besides my own are in the bedside table: two books stacked on top of each other. I move aside a small, tattered copy of the Holy Bible and pull out the hardback underneath it. On the front cover is a man with his arms crossed, dressed in a black robe, with a small white square of fabric stitched into the robe’s collar.

  I scan the cover, and the title page . . . The Standard Works: God’s New Test for America. I’ve never heard of it.

  It’s been so long since I’ve read anything but Mom’s journal that I find myself bashful about jumping in. So I flip to the introduction, testing the waters:

  Today’s generation has been wooed by the temptations of our all-consuming Information Age. Brothers and Sisters, we are failing God’s test . . .

  I jump at the knock on my door, then carefully close the hardback and slip it inside the end table.

  “Good evening, Sister Skyler.” A young man about my age stands on the other side of my door. He doesn’t make eye contact, just keeps his head bowed and his hands locked in front of him, taking this whole royalty thing a little far. “I’m here to escort you to supper.”

  “Thank you.” I peer around the hall—it’s empty. There’s no sign of my mom, Ryder, or Phee, who all have their own rooms along my corridor. “Aren’t we waiting for the rest of our group?”

  “No, Sister. Master Wren and Elder Robert asked that I bring you right away.” He extends his arm, anticipating that I grab it. I hesitate, for a second.

  “But they’re coming, right?”

  “I’m sure, Sister.”

  The “Sister” and “Elder” thing definitely feels odd, maybe even old-fashioned, but then so do personal escorts. Then I think about all the weird rules we were subjected to in the Park—the arbitrary check-in hour, the lockdowns, the street-fights. And the nuances of every world I’ve read about, real and unreal. I guess every community has its quirks.

  I smile, shrug off the uneasiness I’m determined to keep at bay, and take my escort’s arm. I study him as we walk—he’s kind-looking, if a little bit bland, with pale skin that looks like it hasn’t seen the sun in a decade.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, uncomfortable with the silence.

  “Brother Quentin,” he says with a nod. His eyes dart around the hallway suspiciously, even though it’s obvious that we’re alone. “I’m not sure if you and I will be sealed or not. But I hope so.” He gives me a tentative smile, and I return it, completely confused as to what he’s talking about.

  “Me too,” I say, to be polite.

  He walks me down the blue-carpeted hall, down the sleek metal stairs, and into a tiny dining room, no larger than my own suite. In fact, on second look, it is a converted suite, but the bed and bureau have been taken away and replaced with a small circular table. Six people are already seated, and two open place settings remain for Quentin and me. I do a quick scan. Everyone’s a stranger.

  “Quentin,” I whisper. “Where’s my family?”

  He offers a tight-lipped smile. “Master Wren and Elder Robert will be stopping by to greet us soon. You mustn’t worry.”

  I nod and try to take him at his word. I think back to what Robert said about meeting the Standard community—maybe he thinks splitting us up will maximize the opportunity.

  I look again at the odd assortment of people around the table. Quentin to my left, an older man and woman to my right, a young couple, and two small children across from me. But no one’s looking up. No one’s even acknowledged my presence. So much for getting to know the other Standard residents.

  Finally, when the silence becomes so intense that I’m almost prompted to laugh I’m so uncomfortable, there’s a swift knock at the door, and Robert enters the room with another man in tow.

  “Robert,” I rush, glad to see a familiar face.

  He gives me a smile, but it’s contained, hesitant, and he takes a step back as he says, “Skyler, this is the man I was telling you about, the man responsible for everything you see here. This is the true Master of the Standard, Wren.”

  A wave of hard-to-characterize energy washes over me. Because I know this Wren person too. Not personally, but I’ve just seen his picture. He’s an older version of the author of the “New York Times bestseller” resting in my end table—the man behind The Standard Works. Same intense eyes, same long face. All that’s changed is a softness around his jaw, a few wrinkles, and streaks of silver hair where there used to be brown.

  Wren gets down on one knee and kisses my hand, and gives me a wide smile. “Elder Tom’s daughter, in the flesh. I never thought I’d see it. I never thought I’d have such a chance. I can’t tell you how delighted I was when Elder Robert told me he had found your family.”

  “It’s . . . it’s lovely to meet you,” I say, trying to be patient, just like my mother always says. “You mention my family, Wren. May I see them? Are they joining us here?”

  Wren exchanges a look with Robert. “Your family is getting acquainted with our little community, just like you.”

  “But,” I say. I tread as carefully as possible, trying not to sound rude. But this is the longest I’ve been away from Mom and Phee in my life, and it’s starting to panic me. “They’re all here, aren’t they? Will we be together soon?”

  “Of course, my dear. Trust me, there’s a method to my madness.” Wren gives me a little wink. “I’ve always felt incredibly indebted to your father. I very much want you to love this community, like he did,” he continues. “And I desperately hope this place will become your home.”

  His words spring a river of questions in my mind, but I keep them dammed inside. I find myself just nodding. I don’t know what else to do.

  “Please, take advantage of our food, our drink. Our company.” Wren stands and rests his hand on my escort Quentin’s shoulder. “Brother Quentin, I paired you with quite a lovely dinner partner tonight, didn’t I?”

  Despite the fact that I still feel somewhat out of sorts, I can’t help but blush at Wren’s compliment.

  Quentin takes a quick peek at me, his face the same color as mine. “Yes, Master Wren.”

  Wren bends down and leans into Quentin, whispers what I’m sure I’m not supposed to catch: “And dare I say, in nights further, a union for the heavens.”

  My face is now hot, my throat closing. A union for the heavens? What’s he talking about?

  Could I have heard him right?

  I’m so flustered that I miss Wren’s next whisper, something that sounds like a code, a string of numbers, before he pulls away from Quentin’s ear.

  “Tonight, my lambs, we’re having venison, chard, and mushrooms,” he says to our small crew of eight.

  On cue, the entire table chants, “Thank you for the Standard, the only Standard, the lofty Standard.”

  I nearly jump out of my chair.

  Wren smiles. “Please enjoy.”

  “Robert—,” I call
out to him, but he’s already halfway out the door with Wren, and a man in black is sidestepping his way into our room, with a huge tray of plates in his hands. I smell the food immediately, and for a moment, I forget about the disconcerting chanting, the weird chill Wren left in the room. I push aside the bizarre way our group has been separated in this hotel, and try to think only of the dish in front of me.

  * * *

  After the delicious, painfully slow three-course meal, through which I smile and nod at Quentin against a backdrop of total silence, I finally speak.

  “Quentin,” I whisper, quite aware that our companions can hear me. “I need to see my mom and sister now, okay? Can you take me to them?”

  I give him a long minute to answer, and when he doesn’t, I slowly push my chair behind me to stand.

  But Quentin grabs my wrist. “Please, Sister Skyler.” His voice is soft and shaky. “It’s clear that Master Wren wants to share the Standard with you. And if he wants you to stay here, you must.” He looks up at me, tentatively meeting my eyes, as if even explaining this to me is sacrilege on his part. “There are many ways of accepting Master Wren’s will. I promise you, this way is . . . easiest.”

  His words cut right through my chest and swat at my heart. I have no idea what he means, but the warning behind his tone is crystal clear.

  I sit and stay quiet as the waitstaff cleans up our table. Quentin eventually takes my arm, staying tight to me as he leads me back to my suite, then finally says good night.

  Once I’m alone in my room, I count to a hundred, then five hundred for good measure, before I peek my head out and down the blue-carpeted hall. My body wants nothing more than to lie down, but my mind is reeling. I need to check in with the others. I need to know if anyone else’s encounter with the Standard was as unsettling as mine. And it’s worth a temporary truce with my sister.

  So I trudge through my exhaustion and tap softly on each of their doors, starting with Mom’s, and move quickly across the hall to Phee’s. Then I knock on Ryder’s, back to Phee’s, then on Ryder’s once more. I press my ear to his door, but hear nothing.