by Anna Woltz
Abby shudders. “Does it still hurt?”
He nods, but doesn’t say anything. That very first night, when I slept beside him on the woolly mammoth mattress, was the only time he’d actually said out loud that it hurt.
“You’re so brave,” whispers Abby.
“Seriously!” cries Seth. “There are loads of people who are having a worse time right now. Abby, did you even think about Aunt Leah?”
Her eyes widen. “She lives in Long Beach! That’s … ”
Without saying another word, she points out Long Beach on the map. It’s a thin, stretched-out island with its length completely exposed to the ocean. Exactly where Sandy made landfall.
We get dressed in silence. I clean myself with my disinfectant wipes and shiver in the chilly bathroom. We eat everything that’s left in the dark refrigerator for breakfast: chicken sausages, eggs, cheese, and chocolate milk. I’m amazed when Seth lights the stove, because I thought nothing at all was working. We don’t have water, heating, or light, but we do have gas. And that’s the only thing we have. Yippee. In our ice-cold, dark house in the desert, we can still cook.
We’re hurrying, but no one says so.
“A coat,” I whisper to Seth. “You said I could borrow one of your mom’s coats.”
I see him sigh and I know it’s ridiculous to think about disguising myself when we’ve just been hit by a hurricane. But I’m still happy with the moss-green velvet coat. It comes down to my knees and has a belt that Abby makes me tie tightly around my waist. She also gives me an eggplant-colored hat and scarf, and then I’m ready to go.
We all take our ID cards and cell phones. And chargers, in the hope that we’ll find a working power outlet. Seth slips his laptop into a backpack and Jim takes a bag of food, because we have no idea if any food stores will be open within walking distance.
Well, I say to myself, this is certainly an adventure.
The four of us set out on our journey toward the light. A few days ago we didn’t even know one another. And now we belong together.
We walk along amazingly empty streets, and I know this must feel even stranger for the others than it does for me. I’ve only been in New York for three days, but they know exactly what this city should look like. The sky is dark gray. There are puddles everywhere, and piles of garbage. The wide street is absolutely silent and seems bigger than ever.
Abby stops. “Even the streetlights aren’t working!”
And that’s just the start of it. We keep discovering more and more things that don’t work. It’s so crazy to see all the neon signs without any illumination. All the stores and bars and restaurants are closed. All of them, except for one supermarket.
WE ARE OPEN—CASH ONLY, says a piece of cardboard by the door. The letters were written by hand, because of course printers aren’t working either.
The door is open but it looks disturbingly dark inside the store. We see a customer with a shopping basket and a flashlight, searching for food, and someone calls out of the darkness that there’s fresh hot coffee for sale.
“Let’s keep on walking,” says Jim impatiently.
Abby gives him a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
He nods. “I just want to get to a hospital as soon as possible. The ER is sure to be completely overrun.”
We hurry onward. Sandy’s over, but still there are hardly any cars on the street. There are just a few yellow cabs whizzing past, and they’re all busy. Most pedestrians I see are lugging duffels and sleeping bags and pillows.
And suddenly it dawns on me.
“Seth!” I call. “Abby!”
They spin around.
“You must know people who have power! Why don’t you go there?”
It’s a moment before Seth answers.
“We do know people, but we can’t just turn up with four of us. That won’t work.”
He looks at me with a serious expression, and I want to say something noble. I want to tell him that of course he should take his little sister and head for warmth—but I can’t. I can’t bear the thought of having to stay behind in the hurricane shelter without them. I wouldn’t survive.
“If you want to go to the light,” says Jim, “then of course you should. I’ll manage.”
High above our heads, a helicopter flies over.
“How about we wait and see?” Seth doesn’t look at Jim. “I’m not going to let my little sister freeze to death, that’s for sure. But maybe we’ll have power again by tonight.”
Abby takes hold of my hand. “No way am I going to stay somewhere without Emilia and Jim! Not even if they act tough and say they don’t need us. That’s what Dad always said too, and it’s dumb.”
“What are you talking about?” Seth stares at her.
“It’s what Dad always said, isn’t it? That we should do what we wanted. And he wouldn’t try to stop us, and he could manage fine without us. Exactly what Jim’s saying now!”
“You were tiny. You can’t possibly remember that.”
“I do so.” Abby sticks her chin in the air. “He said it that time at Coney Island. We stuck our feet in the ocean with Mom and we ate corn dogs and went on the Wonder Wheel and ran to the end of the pier. And he didn’t do anything at all. He just sat there. And that’s when he said it. That we didn’t have to stay with him and that we shouldn’t worry about him. He could manage fine without us.”
A stoplight has fallen off its post and is dangling by a cable. A taxi blows its horn.
Seth starts walking again, on his own. “You know nothing about it!” he yells. “Dad didn’t know what he was saying. He didn’t mean that … ”
He’s walking so fast that we don’t even try to catch up with him.
“I really do remember,” Abby whispers to me. “I’m good at remembering things.”
I hold on to her sticky hand. Right through all those cuddly-bunny bacteria.
Block after deserted block, we walk northward. I time it on my phone. It takes us just over a minute to walk one block.
We finally stop when we reach Union Square. The island with the benches is sealed off with black-and-yellow tape. Sandy has torn down trees and the park is a real mess. The rest of the square is packed with Con Ed trucks. I heard on the radio that Con Ed is the company that’s supposed to restore the power.
A thin man with wild eyes tells us there was an explosion here yesterday evening.
“Didn’t you see the flash of light?” he asks. “At first I thought aliens had landed.” He rubs his hands. “The whole city’s a disaster area. The subway’s flooded, the bridges are closed, the tunnels are shut. It’s going to take at least a week until everyone gets power again. And they say it’s going to freeze on Friday. You know, it’s going to get real cold here … ”
I feel sick as we walk on.
We’ve only been going for half an hour and already I’m chilled through. I’m starting to worry now. Am I ever going to get warm again? Later, after hours of walking around a cold city, we’ll go home to a cold house.
This happened to me once before, when I went camping with my dad on the island of Texel. After a walk in the rain, we got back to the campsite, half-frozen. Back inside the tent, I put on all the dry clothes I had with me and climbed into my sleeping bag. But I just couldn’t get warm. I was so cold that I lay awake all night. It was scary.
Dad and I went home the next day, but that won’t work this time. I can’t leave now, because the airports are closed. Trains aren’t going anywhere. The subway’s not running. We’re trapped in the cold.
All four of us are walking along with our cell phones in our hands now, so we’ll notice as soon as there’s a signal. Sometimes I spot someone else doing something on their cell phone and my heart starts beating faster, but it’s always another false alarm.
Until, suddenly, we see a stoplight that’s working. It’s bright red, but Abby doesn’t stop; she runs toward it with outstretched arms. Red no longer has any meaning for us—it’s light, and that’s wh
at matters. Soon after that, our cell phones start beeping like crazy and we halt in our tracks. It’s as if we’re playing a game where you have to freeze when the music stops. Only today it’s when the music starts.
Holding my breath, I read all my messages. My dad. And my mom too. I didn’t know they could actually get that worried.
“Mom!” I hear Abby yell. “We’re fine! We had sausages for breakfast and I have my ID card with me just in case I collapse … ”
“Yeah,” says Jim into his cell phone, “everything’s okay here. No, I’m not on my own.” He turns his back on me. “I’ve been living here two months. You really think I don’t have any friends yet? There are four of us here. A great group of guys. Much better than Detroit.”
“No, we don’t want to go stay someplace,” Abby shouts at her mom. “Seth and I have opened a hurricane shelter and everyone there really needs us.” She frowns. “Well, you’re not here, so you don’t get to decide where we sleep!”
Seth has his phone up to his ear too, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Aunt Leah?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I can’t reach her.”
I look again at the telephone in my hand. I was planning to send a text message. But suddenly I can’t help myself. I have to speak to them. Not for my sake, but for theirs. Who knows what’s happened to them? One of those lunatics from Twitter could have carried out his threats.
“Dad?” I yell when he answers. “Are you okay? And what about Mom?”
“Emilia!” he cries. “We hadn’t heard anything from you and … ”
“There was a power failure. But I survived the hurricane. I’m still here!”
It suddenly feels great to speak Dutch again. I can stand here, screaming in the middle of the street, and no one understands what I’m saying. I see Abby and Jim staring and I think: Yeah, just you look! This is who I am. This weird language is part of me.
“The lights started flickering at eight thirty yesterday evening. Twice, and then they went out altogether. And the water’s not working and … ”
I go on talking until I have to stop to take a breath. And of course my dumb dad uses that couple of seconds to start going on about the police. He says I really have to hand myself in, because he still hasn’t been able to get a flight. And that I’m in danger and it’s irresponsible and I have to do as he says.
“Just stop talking!” I scream furiously, because now that I know he’s still alive, I’m allowed to think he’s stupid again. “You still don’t get it, do you? I don’t want to go back to the Netherlands. Never! It’s a hundred thousand times better here than over there with you. I have supercool friends, no one can send disgusting tweets when there’s no signal, and, what’s more important, you aren’t here. Believe me. Even in the dark, this is fucking paradise!”
Before he can say anything else, I hang up.
Abby looks at me, openmouthed.
“Wow,” says Jim. “Is that Dutchie language of yours one of those languages that makes it sound like you’re always angry? Or were you actually mad?”
“I really was pretty mad,” I say with satisfaction.
Six thousand kilometers, I think. There’s an entire ocean between us. There’s nothing you can do if you don’t like me wandering around this city. I have my friends and my passport and a toothbrush. I’m free.
We are standing in the middle of gray, deserted New York and we’re cold. It’ll be light for five more hours before night sets in. What are we going to do with those precious hours of daylight?
“I really need to get to the hospital as soon as possible.” Jim’s face is pale.
Abby looks at her brother. “How about we go to Aunt Leah’s? I want to find out how she’s doing.”
“Me too,” says Seth. “But it’s impossible to get to Long Beach. You heard what that guy said, didn’t you? All the bridges and tunnels are closed. We’re stuck in Manhattan.”
I shiver. A hazy rain is falling, and my coat is getting wet.
“I know!” says Abby. “Let’s go to Bridget’s!” She looks at me. “Bridget is Mom’s best friend and she lives uptown in a little box about the size of a rabbit hutch. But we should be able to squeeze in there with her for a few hours. She has the Internet and heating, and you can drink as much water as you want.”
Seth has already started walking, but I shake my head.
“I’m going with Jim.”
“Seriously?” asks Seth. “You’d rather go with him?” I nod. I haven’t spoken to any adults at all for the past few days, and I want to keep it that way. I’m scared that this Bridget will start asking questions. That she’ll cause problems and that I won’t just be trapped in Manhattan but, to make matters worse, I’ll be in a rabbit hutch.
“How are we going to do this?” says Jim. “Where are we going to meet up again later?”
My brain’s never had to think this way before. I got a cell phone when I was eight, and I can’t remember my parents ever not having a cell. In this part of town we can use our phones. But as soon as one of us heads south, there’ll be no way to contact one another. We have only one key. And we don’t know who’ll get home first.
“This is ridiculous,” says Jim after a while.
“Don’t I know it!” says Seth. “Okay, Abby and I will get home before it’s dark. So you can come any time after five.”
“But the doorbell’s not working!” I say. “And neither are our cell phones.”
We rethink our plan. The apartment’s too high up for us to throw something at the window. You wouldn’t hear anyone shouting either.
Seth sighs. “After five, Abby and I will look out the window every fifteen minutes to see if you’re there. And when it gets too dark to see anything, then we’ll come downstairs every fifteen minutes to check if you’re at the front door.”
An ambulance goes by, sirens wailing.
“Seriously,” says Abby. “How did people do this back in the Stone Age?”
We have no idea.
“Be sure to fill your water bottle at Bridget’s,” I say.
“And please,” calls Jim. “Use the bathroom before you head back to the darkness!”
As Abby starts giggling, I remember my panic attack on the plane. Four days ago I was worried about a slurping toilet on a plane. Now I’m living in an apartment with a toilet that can’t slurp at all and just gets the occasional bucket of bathwater thrown into it.
Jim pulls the zipper of his jacket up to his chin. “Emilia?”
I nod. Just for a moment, I glance at Seth. He’s standing there all alone, locked up inside his time capsule. Ever since Abby told me about it, I can practically see the thing. Thick iron walls. A small, fogged-up porthole that he peers out through every now and then.
And then I follow Jim. I pull my hat down over my ears, put my hands in my pockets, and try to act like it’s normal to be walking along next to a movie star.
It’s just not fair. Whenever I look at Jim, I get a weak feeling in my knees. Not because I want to, but because—oh, how should I know? Because that’s how evolution works.
How do the rest of us stand any chance at all when there are girls like Juno and boys like Jim? Girls with actual breasts and wavy hair, boys with muscly arms and sculpted faces. Boys who aren’t trapped inside a capsule, but who want to conquer the world and still keep on smiling even after they’ve almost lost a finger.
It’s so confusing. Why do I never get that weak feeling when someone’s nice to me?
• • •
“Wow.” Jim shakes his head. “These really are the weirdest months of my life. I moved to New York, chopped off my finger, survived a hurricane, and now I’m walking here next to you.”
“You still have your finger,” I say.
He sighs. “Hey, let me just pretend I have only nine fingers! I’ve been suffering for four days, and it’s easier to bear if I’m allowed to play the part of an amputee.”
“Okay,” I say obediently, “you hav
e nine fingers.”
“Tragic, huh?”
I can’t help laughing. “Absolutely megatragic.”
His phone rings and he answers. “Mom?” He suddenly sounds younger. Kind of cute, in fact. “Hey, Mom. Calm down! Everything’s fine. Like I just told Dad.”
He listens for a while and then shakes his head. “He promised not to say anything about my finger! No, really. I’m doing fine. I can’t even feel it now.”
He listens again.
“No, I’m not alone. I’m out walking with Emilia, my girlfriend. She’s from the Netherlands.”
I feel evolution kick in again. He called me his “girlfriend”! Now there’s someone out there in the world who thinks I’m Jim’s girlfriend. Even if he did just mean that I’m a friend who’s a girl …
“That’s sweet of you,” he says into his phone. “No, I didn’t pray last night. I was asleep.” He sighs. “But I don’t want to come back! What am I supposed to do there? The city’s half-empty and there’s no work. Only losers want to live there.”
He’s silent for a moment.
“No, of course that’s not what I meant! Mom, you know you … ” He bites his lip. “I really do need to hang up now, or my battery’s going to die. Talk to you later!”
The conversation’s over. He sniffs and wipes his face with the back of his hand. I look down at the ground. He sniffs again, so I pass him a tissue from my bag.
“She’s going to pray for you,” he says. “That crazy mother of mine. She says she’ll pray for Emilia. And for me, of course, but it hasn’t helped much so far.”
We go on walking. The streets are getting busier and I gaze at the people all around, who survived a hurricane last night, just like us. They look miserable and bedraggled.
“You know,” I say, a little surprised, “this is the first time anyone’s ever prayed for me. I don’t think I know any people who believe in God.”
“Really? I only know people who believe in God.”
“Does it help?” I ask.