Chasers

by James Phelan

  You don’t think we should leave it here though, do you? Anna said as she stood up. She narrowed her eyes at me and I saw her use an expression I’d not seen before—ugly.

  You think we might be up there for a while, don’t you? she pressed. I could no longer smell her strawberry lip gloss, even though she was standing close to me.

  You think this is it? she said. You think we’ve gone from being stranded in the street to being stuck at the top of a skyscraper? That’s insane! What if there are people in this building like the ones we saw in the street? What then, boy genius? Wait for them to come and eat us? You’re crazy!

  Funny, I was starting to think the same about her.

  Before anyone could speak I got my vindication—the lights in the stairwell flickered. They remained on, flickered again, and then there was that distant, demolition noise I’d heard when we’d first emerged from the subway. Actually, we felt it more than heard it this time.

  What was . . . ?

  That was a building falling down, Anna, I said.

  Oh my god!

  Her eyes were as wide as saucers. She gripped the handrail and looked down the stairwell to the ground, twenty-one floors below.

  Oh my god . . .

  It wasn’t this building, Dave said, and his deep voice seemed to calm her. She looked up at him and nodded.

  Come on, I said, you guys have carried that gas bottle as high as you can. If you can’t carry it anymore, set it down and I’ll come back for it later.

  I motioned to Dave. He picked up his side of the generator and we set off climbing again. It was so damned heavy I started to wonder if Dave was carrying his share of the weight.

  We stopped again at the 50th floor, just long enough to have a drink of water and sit down for a bit, and then we were off.

  At the 65th floor Mini starting gasping for air and looked like she might faint. Anna and I sat her down and fanned her, while Dave tried the fire door. He used the generator to jam it open, then came back and we all half-carried Mini through it.

  The room beyond was a big, expansive restaurant, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and a good hundred or so tables arranged around a dance floor.

  The Rainbow Room, Dave said. My dad took my mom here once.

  The new surroundings seemed to perk Mini up, and before long she was walking around on her own, exploring.

  Anna perked up too. She wandered through the place, calling Hello! every minute or so. Dave disappeared into the kitchens, and Mini helped herself to a Coke from behind a massive bar.

  I went to a window and saw we were up amongst the clouds. All around us were marshmallows in various shades of gray, cocooning us in, but also blocking the view. I was disappointed; I’d looked forward to proving to the others that coming up here was a good move, the right thing to do. I was hoping we’d be able to look out at the sprawl of Manhattan and pick out places where other survivors might have congregated. Still, at least we were warm and safe. And I was glad we’d put some distance between us and the city streets before night fell.

  I heard doors bang open and turned to see Dave emerge from the kitchen, steering a big waiter’s trolley across the dance floor towards me. His grin was almost as big as the steel buckets he’d stacked up.

  Freezers were out but they’re still cold, he said.

  He pulled the cart up to a table at the window where Mini sat drinking her Coke.

  I found ice creams of every flavor imaginable. We’ve got a dozen different kinds of chocolate alone!

  All right! I said, and took a seat opposite Mini, who’d finally cracked a smile. We lined up the buckets of ice cream in the center of the table and used the heavy cutlery that had been set out for dinner service. Anna arrived and added a bowl of fruit salad to the table, but we made so many jokes about it that in the end even she didn’t eat any.

  We’ll figure this out, I said, running a finger down the steel side of the ice-cream bucket as it sweated onto the linen tablecloth.

  Where would everyone have gone? Anna asked. From here, I mean.

  Home.

  I nodded, thinking about the way Dave had said that word. Confidently, as if that’s all there was to say about it. But I guessed he was right. If you worked in this building and saw the city had come under attack, through bombs or missiles or whatever, then as soon as you thought it was safe you’d head home. You’d run through the streets and over bridges and through the rain and dust and ash—you’d stop at nothing to be with your friends and family. I would, Dave would, anyone would. You’d go to your loved ones. I could imagine the news footage that would run for days and weeks afterwards, showing a million examples of mass evacuations from Manhattan office buildings.

  The room was getting darker now. Mini rummaged through Dave’s backpack and produced a lighter, then lit the two candles on our table. Dave leaned back to light another two behind us. The room felt warmer with that orange glow on our faces.

  Tomorrow, when the clouds clear, like maybe early in the morning, I said—and Dave nodded that he agreed—we’ll be able to look around us.

  There’s binoculars and stuff on the observation deck, Dave said. We’ll be able to see everything from there. It’s an awesome view, awesome . . .

  Anna and Mini were silent and we sat at that table and kept eating ice cream until night came. It was better here, I told myself, better for all of us.

  5

  The night was pitch black. We curled up on couches in the lounge area and I watched a lit-up red exit sign by the door. I wanted to get to sleep before it blinked out. At one point I realized that of all the things to worry about, I was obsessing over how long the emergency lighting would stay on in the building.

  What if we end up like . . . them? Mini said.

  We won’t, Dave answered quickly, like he’d been thinking the exact same thing at that moment.

  How do you know? We don’t even know what’s wrong with them!

  There was silence and then a muffled sound, as if someone was crying and trying to hide it.

  Look, there’s nothing we can do tonight, I said gently. Nothing until we see what’s happened. Till we see where everyone’s at, when the sun’s up. There’ll be more answers in the morning.

  My eyes closed and I fell asleep for what felt like seconds but could have been hours.

  I can’t wait until morning, Mini whispered into the darkness.

  Sleep, Min . . . It’ll come quicker that way.

  If only it were that easy. Maybe it was, I thought. Maybe sleep would change everything.

  When I woke, it was light. Anna and Dave were already up, their faces pressed against the glass like any other tourists. Then I remembered that Dave wasn’t a tourist; he was looking intently at a view he probably knew as well as I knew Melbourne’s skyline. Mini was still asleep on her couch, a few paces from my own. All I could see of her was her red and black spiky hair, which peeked out from the layers of white table linen she’d used for blankets.

  I got up before remembering that I’d stripped down to my underwear in the night. My clothes were hanging over the backs of dining chairs and still looked damp but I shrugged them on anyway.

  I stood there in my cold jeans and T-shirt with the FDNY jacket pulled tight around me and looked out at the view before us. There was an early morning mist rolling in from the east and blanketing parts of the city, but the visibility was enough to cause a heavy weight to settle in my stomach. It was as if the city had been designed by Jackson Pollock. My dad has lots of his prints around our house and to me his artwork represents chaos. And that’s what the mess of Manhattan looked like, minus the vivid colors. It was unbelievable.

  We should go up to the observation deck, Dave said. We can check out the city with binoculars. Watch it as the day clears.

  I checked my watch; it was almost 9 am. Anna went over to wake Mini and I moved in beside Dave. He looked at me with anger, but I knew he wasn’t mad at me. I could sense what he was thinking. Our view was to the west
; his family lived in Brooklyn, to the east. He’d be able to see in that direction when we got up to the observation deck.

  Come on, mate, I said.

  I motioned for him to lead the way upstairs, which he did without speaking.

  The observation deck on the 67th floor was indoors, and like the Rainbow Room it was deserted. The four of us moved as one and the first direction we looked was east.

  Still can’t see much on the other side of the East River, Dave said. He sounded almost happy, as if there was good news headed his way once the sky cleared.

  He ended up staying there for a while, a lone sentinel looking in the direction of home, and we gave him space. As the sun rose higher in the sky and the view cleared, his mood shifted and ours shifted with it.

  Manhattan was in bad shape. It was hard to get an exact picture of the destruction, because we couldn’t see much detail with the naked eye and the binoculars only allowed you to focus on one place at a time. I’d zoom in on a building that was half collapsed into a street, but miss the buildings flattened all around it. The small glimpses between buildings revealed streets that looked cluttered or barren. I realized that we’d need to be higher up, in a helicopter or something, to understand the true extent of the catastrophe. Unless this was worse than just Manhattan . . . But I didn’t want to think about that.

  I pointed my binoculars south and saw the Empire State Building was still standing, as was the Chrysler. From here, I couldn’t tell if any other landmark buildings had come down, but I knew some must have. There were plumes of smoke rising from several spots around the city, particularly to the south in Lower Manhattan.

  The sky there was dark and ominous compared to the steam that drifted up into the sky closer to us.

  After a while I gave up on the magnified view and left the south platform. Even though it was protected by big sheets of glass, I’d felt a little queasy about going near the edge. I went inside, sat down, and settled for watching the view to the north. Dave came over and joined me.

  The Williamsburg Bridge is the only one that seems to be standing, he said. It’s piled up with cars and stuff, but I think we’d still be able to walk across it. I can’t see all of it from here though.

  I nodded absently while gazing out at Central Park and the neighborhoods that surrounded it. Together they looked like a large-scale courtyard garden. The Hudson River seemed calm as it disappeared out of sight to the west. Up here, everything seemed calmer.

  There are smaller bridges farther up the East River too, at Second and Third Avenues, 145th, and a few others.

  They’re still standing?

  Can’t see them from here. Can’t see much of the 59th Street or RFK-Triborough Bridges either, but it looks like there’s smoke comin’ from Roosevelt Island.

  There’s plenty we can’t see at street level from up here. Plenty.

  We sat in silence for a moment. I think Dave liked the fact that a lot was still unknown; in a way, that was one of the only things keeping him together. I was glad he was so optimistic. If he started to lose it, the rest of us would too.

  What was that bridge up there? I asked, pointing to the spot where a bridge had spanned the Hudson. The stubby ends of the suspension bridge were all that remained, just a beginning and an end but no middle.

  George Washington, he said flatly.

  A small explosion mushroomed up to the east of Central Park and we watched as a multi-story apartment building fell to the ground like a house of cards. From our vantage point it looked tiny, but I knew it must have been at least twenty stories. Dave and I shared a look before turning back to the window. There was now only a plume of dust and smoke where the building had been, and the wind carried it slowly across the park.

  Might have been the gas main, I said, watching the wisps of destruction suspended in the breeze.

  Could have been anything, Dave said. A tanker going up, or an unexploded bomb or missile just going off now.

  I realized there were no aircraft visible—none of the commercial traffic I’d constantly seen over this skyline all week and no fighter jets either. But there were some slipstreams in the sky, at least a dozen of them between the clouds. Someone was up there.

  This was an attack, wasn’t it? I said. I mean, this was a country attacking the US, something big, something planned, beyond what terrorists could do. Like you said, bombs or missiles—someone smashed this city and made its people . . . I mean, those people who chased us, they weren’t normal. . . They were infected by, with, something . . .

  Yeah, Dave said, looking somber. Something like that.

  Do you think we’ll end up like them?

  Dave shook his head. If it was going to happen it would have happened already, he said. Whatever it was probably got washed away by the rain.

  I heard footsteps behind us and then Mini and Anna appeared. They’d been up on the outdoor deck of the 70th floor. The expressions on their faces seemed frozen—they both had that punch-drunk look we’d all shared when we emerged from the subway and saw this new world for the first time.

  Should we go and look around this building a bit? See what’s below us? I suggested, wanting to keep everyone busy.

  Mini nodded but Anna looked out over my head at Central Park.

  Come on, Dave said. Let’s go and eat. Then we’ll look around.

  Anna shook her head, news in her eyes.

  The mist cleared while we were up there, she said. We can see some spots where Manhattan meets the River—New York Harbor or whatever, to the south, the southwest . . .

  And?

  Anna looked at Mini who sat stone still on the seat. We know where all the people have gone, she said.

  Before she could say anything else, Dave and I raced up to the 360-degree viewing platform on the 70th floor and hurried to check out the areas where the city met the water . . .

  There were thousands, tens of thousands of people, massed by the shorelines. They weren’t trying to escape the island of Manhattan and didn’t appear to be talking to one another. They had the same vacant look as the people we’d seen yesterday. It was clear these people were after only one thing: a drink. They clamored for places by the Hudson and drank, and their thirst seemed insatiable. But it didn’t appear like they were fighting over the water or for a good position—they were sort of... grazing, like cows and horses do on grass. It was as if they had to keep their mouths wet at all times.

  Dave pointed to something and I angled the big fixed binoculars in that direction. As soon as they focused, I gasped in spite of myself. There, a few blocks south of our position, in a deserted section of Fifth Avenue, was a group of around fifty people. Some of the group were picking up the slush from the street and eating it like you’d eat a snow cone or a Slurpee from 7-Eleven. But it was the ones crouched over human forms that made me shudder.

  As I zoomed in on the face of one, he suddenly looked up in my direction as if he sensed my presence. There’s no way he could have seen me from the street, but I swear his eyes locked on mine for a second. I knew I would dream about that face, that it would be in my nightmares. He had blood dribbling down his chin and dark red lips, and when he turned his attention back to the lifeless body lying on the road before him I willed him to drink from the gutter instead, but he bent down and drank some more.

  6

  We barricaded the doors to the Rainbow Room that afternoon. Holed ourselves up. All the time we worked I had that man’s face in my mind. I worked until I could hardly lift my arms.

  When we got back from the observation decks, Dave had suggested we use furniture to blockade the main fire stairwell, and it seemed a damned good idea to do anything to keep the people on the street from getting up here. We gathered restaurant chairs and tables and stacked them together in an awkward mass, then tied them with kitchen twine and anchored them to the balustrades and handrails, leaving a small tunnel so we could still get out. As a finishing touch we scattered a blanket of light bulbs on the landing behind it, a mi
niature glass minefield. The theory was that we’d hear anyone trying to make their way to the door. The light-bulb idea came from Mini and we all thought it was great. After a while she confessed she stole it from one of the “Home Alone” movies, where the main character scatters light bulbs on the lounge-room floor to catch some thieves. Genius.

  As well as the main exit, there were two smaller fire escapes on this floor and we managed to screw those doors shut using a cordless drill from the restaurant’s maintenance room. I’m not sure the building would have lived up to New York’s infamous fire codes anymore, but after three hours’ work we all felt better.

  I still had the tool-belt on, so I paraded around a bit for the girls, swinging the FDNY jacket around my head and tossing it aside. They laughed and even Dave cracked up, I think more at my lack of muscles than anything, but at least the mood lifted.

  Then Dave decided we should have a meeting. We sat at the same table as the night before—I’m not sure why we gravitated to that table again but we did—and drank juice and ate runny ice cream and gourmet cakes. I found a pad and pencil and designated myself meeting secretary, although at that point we were yet to talk about anything noteworthy.

  Man, these cakes . . . Dave said for about the millionth time, after eating his way through another huge slice.

  You’re going to end up in a sugar coma, Anna warned him.

  I think we all are, I said and grinned a chocolate mousse smile at her.

  The gas stoves are still working, Dave said. We should cook up some real food for dinner.

  Dinner? Anna asked. Shouldn’t we go to where . . . to where everyone else is?

  Where’s that?

  There must be refuges, shelters . . .

  Yeah, but until we know exactly where they are, let’s stay where it’s safe, Dave said.

  He’s right, I added.

  Anna didn’t reply.

  Anyway, by real food I mean meat, Dave said. We should cook the meat while it’s still good. There are coolers full of the stuff out there.

  I’m a vegetarian, Anna said.