Chasers

by James Phelan

  We walked in silence down the tracks, shell-shocked, the smell of smoke becoming stronger the further we went. We kept a hand on each other as we moved through the darkness and I realized for the first time that the white UN lettering on our parkas was fluorescent. We were like an emergency crew, only we were trying to get away from the scene of an accident. The image of the gang member’s staring eyes flashed in my mind but I pushed it away.

  There, Anna said. We were standing under the source of the light—a manhole high above us, the cover blown off. Smoke from the tunnel wisped out. The grey wintry clouds seemed unnaturally bright.

  Can I have the flashlight? Dave asked.

  I’ll light the way for you guys, I said. I wound the base of the flashlight’s plastic handle and the beam instantly became brighter. I pointed it towards the tunnel walls until I found the ladder rungs.

  Can you all climb up? Dave asked us.

  Yes, we said quickly, almost in synch.

  Dave led the way. Anna followed his big bulk, which blocked out the light coming from above as he exited the tunnel. I watched as he helped Anna out, then held the flashlight steady for Mini, directing the beam ahead of her hands so she could see.

  When Mini had reached the top, I checked my watch in the light before putting the flashlight in my pocket. It was after 1 pm. I realized I must have been unconscious for about an hour back in the train. Why hadn’t the others said anything? Had they been out of it too?

  Jesse! Dave called from above. Hurry!

  I grabbed the dusty steel ladder and climbed one rung at a time, concentrating on not letting go. Halfway up I felt so dizzy I had to stop. My head was pounding and the pressure in my ears was so great it felt like it might blow my head clean off.

  Jesse, you have to hurry! Anna yelled down into the tunnel.

  I was almost at the top when I felt strong hands reach down and haul me up by my armpits. I was pulled out of the darkness and onto the cold white ground. I sat with my legs splayed, in the middle of a Manhattan street. There was no traffic. All was quiet but for the construction noises in the distance, like a million people were building an entire city in a hurry.

  The others were all squatting down, close to me. Anna’s hand rested on Mini’s shoulder. I felt snow falling, the light, soft flakes that made for good skiing. It had rained too, turning the snow to slush underfoot. I closed my eyes, letting the snow fall on my face.

  Jesse?

  I opened my eyes and suddenly understood why there was no traffic. Along the street were hundreds of cars crashed into one another, some with their lights and engines still on, the exhausts steaming in the frigid air. The street was closed off, in both directions, by massive pile-ups.

  Jesse? Mini said again.

  The others were all staring at a point farther down the street. I followed their gaze and saw thirty or forty people huddled in a big group.

  Should we go to them? Anna asked.

  Dave shook his head. Look at them, he said. Look . . .

  I watched the group. Most of them seemed to have their heads tilted up towards the sky. The rest were kneeling on the ground, as if they were looking for something or in some kind of prayer.

  What are they doing? Mini asked. Are they . . . are they drinking?

  The group shifted a bit and I saw they were crowded around a broken fire hydrant. Water was spurting into the air like a geyser and these people were standing underneath, their mouths wide open, trying to catch the water as it fell. Others drank from puddles on the ground.

  Is that Mr. Lawson? Anna said.

  It was. He was walking towards us, his UN parka hanging off one arm. He looked different from the man we’d known; his eyes stared vacantly and he was coming towards us at a strangely rhythmical pace.

  Mr. Lawson! I yelled.

  He didn’t reply.

  What’s wrong with him? Mini said.

  He was thirty feet away, but he stared straight through us as if we weren’t there.

  Mr. Lawson!

  He stopped short before us, squatted down and with cupped hands drank from a puddle. His thousand-yard stare was fixed on the water.

  Mr. Lawson, are you okay?

  Anna had moved to go to him when Dave pulled her back.

  Oh my god! he said. Behind him. They’re . . . they’re—

  I caught the look on Mini’s face and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I followed her gaze and saw, as if in slow motion, the scene that had my friends transfixed in shock.

  Among the group of people drinking from the sky and the ground was another, smaller group, hunched over the dead bodies in the street.

  Like animals.

  In horror, I realized that their mouths were closed over the bare flesh of those bodies. They were drinking from them. They were drinking everything. Anything.

  Then they saw us.

  2

  It was the fastest I had ever run. My arms and legs pumped hard and my plastic parka blew out behind me like a sail. I looked over my right shoulder and saw Dave there, with Anna beside him and Mini just behind. Beyond them were our pursuers.

  But . . . Mr. Lawson, Anna gasped.

  He’ll be able to look after himself, I said.

  I jumped over a bench and turned right onto Seventh Avenue, trusting the others would follow me. My shoes slid out in the tight turn and I almost lost my footing, but somehow I kept it together. I let Dave and Anna take the lead and fell in next to Mini.

  Come on, Min, you have to push it!

  We picked up the pace together, then almost smacked into Dave and Anna as they came to a stop in the middle of the street.

  Cars were all around us. Empty. Abandoned. Most were crashed, some still had engines running, some were in pieces. But that’s not what had stopped us. Ahead, north along the expanse of Seventh Avenue, we had a clear view of the destruction.

  Buildings were crumbled onto the street like they were made of blocks and some giant kid had pushed them over. I was wrong about the construction noises I’d heard earlier—it was the sound of demolition, the booming bang crash of large-scale demolition. Six or seven intersections ahead, the street was impassable to all but a mountain climber. The road was blocked by at least five stories of dangerous rubble; jagged pieces of concrete and glass that would cut you up if you took them on. Small fires were everywhere, and the air was thick with smoke and dust.

  Something clicked in my subconscious and I looked behind us. Something else wasn’t right, something I hadn’t been able to take in at first. There were dozens of office buildings in ruins. Paper was falling through the air like autumn leaves and I smelled smoke, dangerous acrid smoke, like burning plastic or tires. There was a massive crater at the start of the street and a school bus had almost disappeared into it. The scale of it all was surreal, like a movie full of special effects. But this was real and it was all around me.

  Then I noticed the bodies. Hundreds of them. Covered in ash and debris. They lay awkwardly in the street, like they’d dropped there from a great height. Most were in one piece. Most were face down.

  Suddenly an explosion shattered the facade of a ten-story building on the next block. A fireball belched out, consuming the cars closest to the building and setting off a chain reaction of exploding vehicles; a horrifying fireworks display that was snaking towards us like dominoes.

  Come on! I yelled.

  Dave pulled Mini hard and Anna was next to me as we made for the next block. I hoped we’d reach it by the time the cars—

  Half a yellow taxi landed to my left with a deafening crash. The engine was a second behind and it bounced off the ground and cleared right over the top of us as we ran.

  In that second I saw them. At least a dozen people, chasing us. They didn’t seem to be fazed by the explosions that continued to ricochet down Seventh. Two ran towards a body that lay by the corner. Another went to a puddle in a crater and dipped her face in like she was snorkeling, her palms flat on the ground, holding herself so close t
o the water that her forehead was immersed.

  I ran flat out, my heart beating loudly in my ears. Dave and Mini were next to Anna and me now, and we were closing on 40th Street.

  Right! I yelled. Turn right!

  We followed Dave and Mini around a pile-up of taxis and vans and crossed the street. To our left was a heap of charred bodies. I saw Mini turning her head to look and told her to keep watching ahead, keep running.

  We turned the corner onto 40th and all seemed relatively calm as we ran along the sidewalk.

  People! Anna shouted, pointing into the middle of the road.

  Three men were helping one another walk, their blood-soaked clothes hanging from them like an image from a war movie. Three men sticking together, three men looking for help.

  We should—

  Keep running! I yelled as I spotted another group—a very different group—rounding a corner in pursuit of the men. I went to push Anna’s backpack to stop her from slowing down, but she was off more quickly than before and we kept our pace as we ran ahead. I glanced back and saw our pursuers as they rounded onto 40th Street.

  Which way? Dave yelled. He’d taken the lead and I could see him urging Mini to keep up with him.

  What’s ahead?

  More of the same! he yelled. Cars and fires ‘n’ crap.

  No, what street? We need—

  I tried to read the street sign . . .

  Sixth! he said. North or south?

  I glanced up at the sky, looking for some kind of sign of what was going on.

  Terrifying screams came from behind us, and we all slowed down and looked in spite of ourselves.

  It was horrible. The chasers were upon the three wounded men, and they had them down on the ground—

  North! I yelled.

  Dave pulled Mini along so hard that he almost dragged her over the snow-covered road as we headed for the corner. Anna and I were close behind them. I heard Mini starting to make freak-out noises, but before I could call out to her I was hit full in the face.

  The shock slowed me almost to a standstill. I couldn’t see and I swiped my hand over my face to find a sheet of white paper. We were in the middle of a massive paper storm; it was as if a whole office-load of copy paper was being blown at us by a giant fan.

  We moved on more slowly, having to push our way though the awful ticker-tape parade. At the end of the street we turned left onto Sixth Avenue. The paper hurricane behind us, we settled into a half-run up the street, my heart still pounding in my ears.

  We should find some cover, I said. Try a landline phone . . .

  The looks on the others’ faces made me stop.

  Bodies had been blown halfway through a shop window to our left, and at that moment I really thought one of the girls would snap. One of the bodies had a large, pointed shard of glass stuck right through the chest. The corpses were so close that we could see the blood and gore and god knows what else spilled all over the ground. Dave saved us then:

  Come on, he said, in that deep, sure voice we’d heard so many times during the past week. Next block, there’s a department store, big old stone thing. The way looks clear from here.

  He ran closest to the shop window, blocking out the view of the bodies for the rest of us. Our eyes shifted ahead again and we ran towards the next block. I imagined what it would be like in the store, hoping it would be warm and bright and there would be other people in there. That there would be phones and police and a nice lady making tea and coffee, and that the fire department would be on their way. I heard a siren in the distance and then thought I’d probably imagined it as we passed an upside-down police car, smashed against a massive wreck of vehicles at the intersection of 42nd Street.

  It began to rain; hard, heavy rain that was too torrential to turn into snow on its way down. My shoes were soaked. I wished I’d worn proper running shoes like Dave did every day. I remembered thinking earlier in the week that he looked stupid with his white sneakers and blue jeans and button-down shirt. But now, as I looked at the back of his extra-large UN parka, I thought he looked like an emergency worker, the kind of hero a situation like this needed. Even the back of his big head with its closely cropped hair looked like it could belong to a guy I’d seen in disaster movies.

  Up here on the right, Dave said.

  We followed him across the road between the wrecked cars and onto the footpath. My head was throbbing and my chest burned. I let my mind wander as I followed the two UN parkas in front of me, my legs settling into a tired sort of rhythm. I could smell the hot chocolate they were making in the store. I might have heard gunshots, but if they were real they were far off.

  We disappeared into a glass-fronted building and headed towards the middle of the store. It felt solid and safe, like a cave. We slowed down, then stopped, sucking in the deep breaths we’d not dared take outside. In through the nose and out through the mouth, I heard my football coach say. My hands were on my knees and I was doubled over, my mouth dry, my hair and body pooling water onto the white marble floor. Drops of blood dripped from my eyebrow and diluted in the water, swirling and blooming like red dye.

  Are we safe? Anna asked.

  She was standing, her posture as straight as ever, looking back at the entry doors. Mini took a puff of her asthma inhaler and I wanted to hug them both and say, Everything will be all right, but I didn’t know if it was true.

  Dave walked back towards the glassed entry and looked out at the street.

  There’s no one out there, he said. It’s raining even harder now. Be difficult for anyone to see much.

  We caught our breath for a minute and then I dragged a long bench seat against the doors so it would be harder for someone to get in. We walked deeper into the arcade but I wasn’t taking in much around me; I was just glad we were no longer being pursued. I was glad it was quiet.

  Mini made a squeaking sound and then began to cry. Really cry. She put her whole body into it, standing there, her hands at her face, shaking, sobbing, sucking in air like she couldn’t breathe.

  Shh, Anna whispered and wrapped her wet arms around Mini in a tight hug. I remembered what it was like to be that close to Anna. We’d been on our way back to the hotel earlier in the week when it started pouring. We’d taken shelter together—I’d pulled her under a deli awning and we’d huddled close and then she’d kissed me and it was hot and fast, but she seemed to forget about it as soon as the weather cleared.

  Anna was still rocking Mini gently. It’s all right, she said. You’ll be all right.

  I glanced over at Dave and saw he was looking at me with that big open face of his. The fear in his eyes was too real and I looked away; he couldn’t give me the reassurance I needed.

  We should fix that cut of yours, he said, pointing at my eyebrow.

  I turned to look at my reflection in the glass storefront behind him. I nearly laughed—it was a lingerie shop, so my face, with blood running down from my eyebrow to my chin, looked like it was attached to the body of a mannequin, complete with pink lacy underwear.

  Shit! Anna said, looking at me. I’d not heard her swear before, but it actually sounded distinguished when she said it, like her parents had sent her to a special elocution school back in London where the young ladies practiced swearing in plummy tones.

  I was about to ask her to swear again but she’d let go of Mini—who’d stopped crying and was staring at me with her mouth wide open—to go into the shop.

  I’m gonna find a phone, Dave said and left us there.

  Good idea, I said.

  I watched as Anna rummaged through the drawers in the shop’s front counter.

  Anna, I think the changing room is out the back, not under that counter, I said.

  Mini choked back a laugh and I was glad to see she was almost smiling now.

  Pay phones are dead, Dave said as he passed us and disappeared into a health-food store.

  Anna came out with a small white plastic lunch box with a red cross on the top.

  Here,
she said, passing the box for Mini to hold. All right, this might hurt . . .

  She patted my bleeding forehead with a pair of scrunched-up panties. They smelled of disinfectant and I watched her dab some more on from a small bottle as she worked to clean my face.

  They’re actually really soft, I said. Silk?

  Mini laughed and Dave grumbled something about the Internet not working as he went into the lingerie shop.

  Don’t think they have anything for you in there, Dave, I called after him. Unless you’re into that sort of thing—ouch!

  Anna pushed a fresh patch of soaked underwear against my cut and I could feel it bleeding under the aggravation.

  Not that that there’s anything wrong with that, I said, as Dave exited the store and headed deeper into the store.

  All the phones are out! His voice echoed back at us.

  Then why do some of these lights work? Anna asked as she dabbed at me some more. It was like she was pecking at me with the cloth, not gentle at all, the kind of rough job I could have done myself. My great-grandfather had fought in World War I at my age and I wondered if he’d ever had a British nurse like Anna: beautiful, painful, efficient and unobtainable.

  It must be emergency lighting, I explained, as Anna held the underwear tight against my cut. See how only some lights are on?

  I gestured to the dim fluorescent tubes in the ceiling.

  There must be a generator in the basement or something, I said. By the way, Anna, are you trying to hurt me by doing that? Because if you are, you’re doing a good job.

  Mini, look in that box for Band-Aids, Anna said, ignoring me. But she held her makeshift rag a fraction lighter against my head. Part of the silky fabric escaped and covered my face.

  Jesus, how bloody big are these! I said, my voice muffled under the silk. Magellan’s sail was smaller than these undies!

  Both girls were giggling now. I heard the peeling of Band-Aids and moments later my vision was free and Anna moved in close to stick them on, one hand applying and the other pinching the cut closed. Her mouth was open in concentration and her breath smelled like strawberry lip gloss.