by James Phelan
9
The next day Anna made us bacon and eggs for breakfast. We didn’t need to notice Dave’s changed appetite to know that he was different now. I wished I could take back what had happened, the same way I wished I could forget what those bullets had done and the splatter of blood on the road. We’d warned that guy, hadn’t we? What other choice had there been?
Afterwards Dave had carried a gas bottle in each hand all the way up the stairs and he wouldn’t stop for a break even though the rest of us did, and we were only carrying two bottles between the three of us. I could hardly move my arms later on. At dinner time I’d found Dave in the men’s toilets sitting on the ground and he’d told me to beat it.
Now his plate of food sat untouched and he stared out the window. I looked at the girls; they were both watching Dave.
I’m gonna go down again, he said suddenly. Open the elevator shaft doors, check them out, see about tying the last gas cans to hoist up.
Anna shot me a worried look.
You should stay up here to do the lifting, I said. I’ll go down and do it.
I wanna see if I can get across to my parents. Head east, try Williamsburg, or maybe a tunnel.
His voice was flat, as if he didn’t really believe what he was saying.
I’ll try the Queens Midtown Tunnel first, he said. Take that cop car.
But we need you here with us, Anna said, putting a hand on his arm. Please stay here.
I wanted him to stay for a different reason. What if he did go out there and saw that his family was dead? What if he saw them infected?
Dave, please . . . Anna said.
He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. I knew what Anna had said was true, that we needed him here, but I also knew she probably wouldn’t have said that about me. The three of them were like their own little group and I’d never really be part of it. Well, maybe they didn’t need me, but I needed them.
She’s right, I said to Dave. They need you here. You three should stay together.
What are you saying?
What I just said.
Why?
I’ll do it, I said. I’ll go. See if I can find a way clear to your parents. I can do this, for us.
They all looked at me, waiting for answers.
Dave, you’re the only one who knows how to shoot, I explained. You should stay here, it makes total sense. I’ll go out at first light tomorrow, tie off the rest of the gas bottles to hoist up the lift shaft—from whichever floor is clear—then I’ll take the police car and check out if there’s any way over the East River. I’ll try to get across, then be back before sunset.
Jesse, you don’t know—
I’ll take a map and follow it, I said. I gave a deflated laugh. Come on, Anna’s right—you’re needed here, man. If I can see a way that’s clear out there, we can venture farther out next time, together. Besides, if there’s one thing I can do, it’s run fast. If I have to ditch the car, I’ll hoof it. I’m the fastest one here. None of those Chasers out there can catch me—none of you could either, if it came to it.
I was trying to convince myself as much as them. Anna was the first to nod in agreement. I was hurt that she’d done it so quickly.
It’s a good idea, she said. Dave stays here. You leave at sunrise tomorrow and see what you can find out for us.
Dave was silent as he sipped his coffee. Anna poured herself more tea and then some for me, and for the first time Mini held out her cup. I sat there and watched the steam rise and tried not to think about too much.
I had the afternoon shift on the observation deck. As I sat looking out at the city through binoculars, trying to figure out a clear route for my trip the next day, I thought about what it would be like to be on my own down there. Up here, the height of the place, the fact that we had to use binoculars to see any detail below, made it seem like we were somehow removed from reality. It was a bit like a game, what we’d been doing and how we’d been living; a game that only got real when one of us pulled a trigger down there on the street.
I’d seen things in the past four days; things other people wouldn’t believe. Buildings glittering in the dark and becoming dust. Dead bodies. People no longer in control of themselves. Deranged men with a bloodlust, driven by some kind of primal greed. I’d had nightmares and terrifying thoughts, but nothing had prepared me for that terrible moment. A trigger being pulled. A life taken. I closed my eyes and saw blood and realized I would never forget what it’s like to hear a pistol being fired up close, for real. For keeps. Was that Chaser less than human? Did it matter? I’d flinched on the first shot, and the second, and the third, but the fourth—that last shot—I didn’t flinch. I’d watched it enter that man and kill him and by then he didn’t flinch either. Death didn’t seem so remote anymore—I was surrounded by it.
Here, Mini said, breaking my thoughts. She sat next to me and put a massive shopping bag full of chocolates and lollipops between us.
Thanks, Min, I said.
I peeled a Snickers bar and ate it in four bites. Tomorrow I’d go down there alone and find the way for us all to get out.
You’ll be all right out there, Mini said.
It felt good to hear her say that; it had been a statement, not a question.
But you don’t have to go, she said. She smiled and I saw she had false candy teeth in place.
I laughed and she did too and the teeth fell into her lap.
I know, I replied. It’ll be cool, Min. Chances are, I’ll find help—find where the other survivors are hiding. If not, I’ll come running right back here—I mean, I’ll come back either way.
She nodded. She believed me more than I believed myself. She handed me something I’d seen her use before—her asthma ventilator.
Can you get me one of these while you’re out?
Yeah, sure, I said and took it from her. Have you run out already? I thought we found you a couple of replacements downstairs.
Yeah, we did, she replied. It’s no big deal. Just, if you see any drugstores, can you look for that brand for me?
Yeah, of course, I said, standing up. I’ll keep my eyes peeled.
Huh? she asked as she followed me to the stairs.
What? Oh, I said, and tried to explain: Eyes peeled . . . It means that I’ll keep my eyes open. I’ll look for a drugstore for you.
Oh, right.
But in Australia we call them chemists or pharmacies.
Yeah, we do too, but we also call them drugstores. Our country has a big American influence.
Yeah, we do too, I replied as we entered the restaurant. It’s everywhere, the whole world.
What’s the whole world? Dave asked. He was sitting at the table we’d set up with maps of Manhattan and the US East Coast.
Americanized, I replied, throwing my jacket on my bed. The whole world’s Americanized.
Don’t complain—that might be all that’s left of us, he said, but despite his words he seemed a bit brighter. Maybe he’d had some rest. Or maybe it was all part of the Big Dave show, the guy who’s so tough and strong and righteous. An act that was starting to unravel.
My dad once told me that no two countries with a McDonald’s have ever gone to war against each other. That’s gotta mean somethin’.
Yeah sure, whatever, Dave, I said.
I hadn’t been ready for his mood to be so normal again. I’d been thinking all day about what to say to him and couldn’t get past, What choice did you have? But I was glad if he was starting to accept that for himself.
He took me through the map. As I watched, he highlighted various routes, marking up the spots that we knew were blocked off by debris and fallen buildings. We did that for about an hour and then I packed my backpack and laid out my clothes for an early start. By then Anna had made dinner and Mini helped her carry it out. It was grilled tandoori chicken legs with rice and flatbread, and I swear it was the best dinner I’d ever had in my life. In the candlelight I noticed Anna sneaking looks at me a few times w
hile the others were talking, and I started to get even more nervous about leaving this place in the morning.
We played a couple of card games after dinner and then Mini put on Stevie Wonder’s Superstition and pumped up the volume to full and we danced. When we’d finally exhausted ourselves, we went to bed and chatted—the kind of chat you have when you’ve got your friends over to stay, when you can talk and laugh all night about the stupidest things. I guess we were trying not to think about the next day.
Half an hour later, I was waiting for the symphony of Dave’s snoring and Anna’s sleep-talking to send me to sleep when Dave said:
We need to get a signal set up. Something up on the roof.
We could paint a sign, I suggested. Something that an aircraft would see if they were passing overhead.
There’ll be paint in someone’s apartment or in the maintenance room.
I was thinking more like a signal fire, Dave said. Something that would be visible at night.
It might burn through the roof, though, Anna said. It’s too dangerous.
Not if we do it right. In a drum or something, put some bricks down, Dave said. We don’t have to have it going all the time, we can just have it ready to light if we see or hear something.
He’s right, I said. And we know the roof’s tiled, probably on a concrete base. We could even check the building plans. We should try to find those, actually, to make sure we really know our way around.
Dave grumbled something about checking out the basement the following day.
What would we burn? Mini asked. Paper?
Furniture, Dave said. Soaked in a bit of gas. Books. Table linen. Whatever we can find that will go up big and smoke good.
But we need those things, Anna said, then corrected herself: We need the gas, the petrol. And . . . We can’t burn books.
I could, I thought. I’d be willing to burn anything.
What about that apartment with the big fireplace? Mini added. It might have wood and stuff?
That was fake, I told her. It’s gas operated. We can’t keep a fire burning on the roof permanently, but Dave’s right—we should get something set up ready to light at the first sign of a rescue opportunity. You guys are right too, though—we can’t waste what we need to survive. The price we pay for staying up here is that we have to lug everything up. We can’t carry loads of oil or gas up seventy flights of stairs every other day. But I’ll keep my eyes peeled for anything useful when I’m out tomorrow.
Mini laughed at the word peeled.
Maybe our generator could power the lift and we could do a big trip that way? Anna said.
No. The generator can only power three electric outlets at once, Dave said. That’s three normal domestic power loads, not an elevator that weighs tons. Not to mention the fact that we’d need to do some serious rewiring to try and rig it up. Can’t happen.
How about the building’s generator then? Anna asked. Could we fuel that up for the lifts?
No, that’d be for emergency lighting only, Dave said. We’d need an electrician or engineer to do a re-route like that, then heaps of gas or diesel or whatever the emergency generator runs on. Won’t be happening.
The silence sealed it.
But we need to set that signal up ASAP, I said. I can’t believe we haven’t done it yet. Not that we’ve seen any cavalry coming over the horizon.
Not that we’ve seen much of anything, I thought but didn’t add. No convoys, no airlifts, no big groups of people other than the infected.
I’ll look for paint tomorrow, Dave said. And fuel for the fire—I’ll start going though the rest of the floors below us, every apartment and office; you never know what we’ll find.
Wait, said Anna. What if we do see someone coming, like a plane or a helicopter, and we’ve only got seconds to act? We’d need a proper signal for that, flares or something. We can’t just rely on a fire—if it’s been raining or snowing it might not start.
You’re right, I said. I’ll look for flares when I’m out tomorrow, check the fire engines. There must be some in there somewhere, for accidents and stuff.
And I’ll set up the fire ready to go on the roof, just in case, Dave said. Maybe an armchair with a big stack of linen on it. I’ll pour some liquor over it and protect it from the weather with some plastic sheeting. Until we can set up something better.
I waited for Anna to say something but she just gave a slight smile and nodded. None of us would have believed a few days ago that ideas like this would make us happy.
Maybe it was Godzilla, Mini said out of the blue.
Dave laughed.
Or that big-arse thing from Cloverfield, I added.
Or Independence Day, Dave said. Some kind of alien shit.
Or maybe this is some new reality TV show that we’re part of, Anna said, and it’s all just a big movie set with hidden cameras and they’ll surprise us at any moment.
We were all quiet for a bit.
It would be nice if we could find out this isn’t real, Mini said. Fake, like that fireplace. I’d really like that.
10
Each block that runs north-south will take you about two minutes at a fast walk, Dave said. Take it by car as far as you can. First, you try here—
His big index finger tapped a section of the map lit up by my flashlight. The sun was just the faintest glow on the cloudy eastern horizon.
Queens Midtown tunnel, I said, tracing my own route there in my mind’s eye. Got it.
It’s about an hour by foot, give or take; I doubt you’ll be going slow, will you? And if the streets are clear you might be able to drive most of the way. Check it out. If it’s blocked, then head south, probably take Third Avenue; it’s a few blocks in from the shoreline.
Most of the Chasers have left the shores, Anna said. They could be anywhere by now.
It was true. Each day since we’d been here, we’d seen fewer and fewer of them around the shorelines. A few remained there, looking sick and worse for wear as time passed, but most of them had moved to Central Park. If one got weak and dropped to the ground, the others tended to ignore him. But if they dropped to the ground and their heads opened up as they hit the footpath, it was like watching seagulls at the beach diving on a chip.
I don’t think they’ll come after me, I said slowly, realizing something as I spoke. They’re just opportunists.
Anna shot me a look. Don’t be so blasé about it, she said. They’re probably more dangerous than we give them credit for.
What about the subway tunnels? Mini said. Surely they would have held—some must be okay to get through?
Yeah, probably, Min, I said. But they’re dark and scary and we’ve had so much snow and rain there’s probably been flooding. I bet lots of Chasers have gathered in there. I’d rather not go anywhere near the tunnels.
I thought back to the subway and the moment my flashlight beam had landed on that gang member’s face. I remembered his twitching before he died and how scared I’d been of the gang members before everything turned to hell.
Queens Midtown is still our best bet if it’s passable, Dave said. It’s not far from here. It’s a tunnel—and I hear what you’re sayin’, Jesse—but it’s much bigger than a subway line. If you get to the point where you can see daylight coming from the other side, we’ll know it’s passable, so just get yourself back here. Hell, who knows, you might get lucky and be able to drive all the way there. My ma’s probably flipping burgers at a refuge and my dad’ll be shoutin’ at the National Guard to come on in and find his son.
I nodded. Even if it was just bravado, I liked that Dave was feeling upbeat and I wasn’t going to ruin his mood.
I picked up the backpack I’d taken from an apartment downstairs and filled it with enough food and water for twenty-four hours. I also had a spare flashlight, and Dave had already packed my pistol. The remaining space was occupied by the big FDNY jacket I’d rolled up in case I got caught in a downpour. I had sneakers on my feet; they were a size too big but wer
e laced up tightly and had good grip. I wore trackpants under military-style cargo pants, and a T-shirt with a thermal vest and a hooded sweatshirt over the top for warmth. I looked like I was headed off to sports practice, albeit in a desolate city with a temperature of four degrees Celsius and an unknown number of people who were likely to chase after me for what was in my veins.
I’ll be fine, I said, pulling the straps of the backpack tightly around my body. This’ll be a walk in the park. Who knows, maybe I’ll find a Porsche convertible and drive down Third Avenue with the wind in my hair and a beautiful babe in the seat next to me.
Dave smiled with his big white teeth, and I noticed how thick his chin stubble was compared to my own meager growth. I could count on my hands the number of times I’d shaved, while he looked like he’d been shaving since grade four.
He clapped a hand on my shoulder, checked his watch and said: Let’s do this.
The descent was easier today as we’d worked out a good way to combat the darkness. Dave led with his big flashlight in one hand and his Glock pistol in the other; I was just behind him with a flashlight in each hand, which I pointed over the handrail to the right, so that their beams shone around the next bend and onto the stairs below. Anna and Mini each had a pair of solar-charged garden lanterns. We moved down the stairs as one giant mass of light, a lighthouse only confined by the concrete walls around us.
Within an hour we had reached street level and I’d said goodbye to the others, shut the door of the police car and backed up—a little too quickly; the accelerator was really responsive compared to Dad’s old Ford. The dead body from yesterday had still been on the road when we’d come out of the lobby, covered in a fresh coat of snow. Dave and I had spotted it first and tried to block out the view from the girls, but they’d probably seen it anyway.
I put the car in drive and drove south down Sixth Avenue, watching my friends wave goodbye in the rearview mirror, before I turned left onto West 47th Street. The way ahead was clear enough to navigate. I drove slowly, no more than ten to fifteen miles per hour, and took the detours around other cars very carefully. A few times the tires of the police car lost traction in the snow, and twice I had minor fender-benders despite slamming on the brakes as hard as I could. The cars were all pointed my way and I realized I was breaking yet another traffic law—but hey, I thought, I’m in a police car, whaddya gonna do? I played with the FM radio but just got that woodpecker noise.