by James Phelan
12
The darkness of a winter afternoon surrounded me as I sat in the police car. I took off my wet shoes and socks and sat there with the engine running and the heater on. The windows fogged up and I added the A/C, pumping the heat to full. I kept the lights off and spent fifteen minutes flicking through the radio bands. For the first time I heard something being transmitted—one of the AM stations was playing faint, crackling music, the unmistakable voice of Billie Holiday. It took a few minutes before I realized it was pre-recorded; the song was on a continuous loop. I imagined some place in the mountains where an automated radio station was doing its thing.
I couldn’t make up my mind whether to drive or not. The snow had picked up again, making it hard to see. If I put on the headlights and the beams started bouncing off the other cars all the way home, I’d be a magnet for bad guys. But if I stayed out here in the car all night, all alone . . . I decided to wait and see if the snow eased enough for me to navigate my way safely back to 30 Rock.
Someone had been through this area since I’d left it earlier—there was a big dumpster on its side in the middle of the road, not far from the police car. When it came time to leave I’d have to use the car to push it out of the way. It looked heavy—I’d have to accelerate and hit it really hard. I sized the dumpster up in the rear-view mirror and started to hate it for being in my way. I looked forward to smashing it.
I ate an apple and three packets of nuts—cashews, my favorite. I wondered which of my friends had packed them in there for me. I looked around the police car. I knew every inch of my surroundings despite it being almost totally dark.
By the time night fell, I might as well have been in a submarine stuck on the ocean floor for all I could see outside. I shone the wind-up flashlight at the fuel gauge and saw there was about two-thirds of a tank left. The heater had warmed me up and my clothes were now dry so I switched off the engine for a bit. I would stay put until the snow stopped falling. I nestled under the warmth of my dry clothes and tried to sleep. At home, before all of this, I used to think about the fact that I could never remember my dreams and wonder if life itself was just a dream. If that was true, why had it turned into a nightmare?
The car rocked and I woke.
I wiped saliva from the corner of my mouth and wondered for a moment where I was. For a second I thought I was a young kid again, asleep in the backseat of the car. I looked around, expecting to see my dad, but my eyes settled on the shiny Glock instead. I’d left it on the dashboard. The inside of the car had fogged up, but it seemed lighter outside than in. Moonlight, I supposed. I reached for the door handle—
At the last second I pulled back my hand. The car was still rocking a little on its shockers. Something had bumped into it. Or deliberately pushed it. My stomach clenched into knots as I remembered that was what had woken me.
My body wouldn’t move. I closed my eyes, hoping that when I opened them again I’d be somewhere else, or maybe still asleep. But I couldn’t fool myself.
I watched the water in the bottle on the passenger seat vibrate. Every muscle in me ached and I sat there watching my breath steam in the chill air until the water in the bottle was still. I used my sleeve to wipe away a small section of condensation on the window. Outside, the moon was bright against the white snow. I couldn’t see anyone—couldn’t see who or what had bumped into the car. I wondered if it could have been something else, the aftershock of a building falling down, perhaps. The thought gave me the briefest moment of relief until I heard crashing noises coming from the road behind me.
I tasted bile in the back of my throat, then bent over and threw up on the passenger seat floor. Cold sweat beaded my face and neck. I had to stay down. I wiped my mouth and quickly checked my watch; it was just after midnight. I could hear more noises outside; it sounded like a pack of people were trawling through the big overturned dumpster. Maybe they weren’t Chasers? Maybe they were survivors, like me, looking for . . . But why would they go through the rubbish? There were literally thousands of shops that could be looted for untouched food. Only Chasers lacked the sense to walk into an abandoned convenience store and open up the fridge to a lifetime’s supply of drinks.
I half pulled back the slide on the Glock and saw there was a round in the chamber, ready to fire. It was a confident move and it reminded me of something Dave might do. I looked out the window at the cars on Madison Avenue. I could see eight vehicles and none had their windows fogged up like mine, which meant that my car would stand out like a beacon to anyone looking for survivors. I gulped and made a small, strange sound in the back of my throat. I tasted blood.
There was an odd scraping noise, big and loud, as if the dumpster was being pushed along the road. I started to gently wind down my window—
There was a loud growling noise, and before I knew it the view in front of my eyes was obscured and the car began to rock again.
I started the ignition—the heater and A/C blasted out on high—but before I could put on the headlights or move into gear, something registered. In that blink of an eye, through the narrow gap in the window, I had seen not a person but something much bigger. Something that didn’t make sense in New York City.
I switched on the lights and the windscreen wipers. In front of me, past the stack of cars that were smashed together in a pile-up, was a massive white bear. It had its face turned towards the headlights so I dimmed them and wiped the inside of the windscreen for a better look. The animal watched me, then ambled over to forage in the dumpster.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the last few pieces of fruit. Without stopping to consider whether polar bears ate fruit or sixteen-year-old boys, I opened my door, walked out to where a car separated us and tossed an orange and banana towards it. They thumped to earth in the snow and the bear rose up on its hind legs but otherwise didn’t move. It only sniffed the air, then stood there with steam snorting from its nose. I wondered what it made of all of this. Maybe the city was better for the bear this way: empty, so it could roam around as it pleased. Sniffing the air towards me again, the bear let out a deep growl, then turned and trudged down Madison on all fours, a massive presence on the white snow.
I’d felt strangely safe with the bear, but now that it had gone I was gripped by panic again. I walked to the still-running car, got in and locked the driver’s door.
The bear had cleared the way past the dumpster so I put the car in gear and drove north up Madison, turning left onto 42nd and passing the New York Public Library. I travelled back the way I’d come earlier, the route imprinted on my memory—all the way up Sixth and back around onto 49th and Rockefeller Plaza.
I parked the car as close to the entrance of 30 Rock as I could. When I switched off the headlights, it seemed darker than ever. Time was measured in heartbeats and it was ticking fast; I wondered if this fear inside me would ever leave. I told myself that what I imagined was out there in the cold dark night was worse than the reality. Chasers were human and they were probably weaker than I was; I could outrun them if I had to.
I pulled the key from the ignition. It took me another hundred heartbeats to drum up the courage to unlock the door and get out. Without looking left or right, I bolted into the foyer and up the stairs. It was only when I reached the fourth floor that I stopped to get my flashlight, my breath coming out in rasps and my heart feeling like it might explode.
Shining the light up the stairs, I continued to climb. At the 21st floor, I stopped again and rested, remembering the first time we’d stopped here.
I knew in volunteering to do this trip I had wanted to prove something to the others: that I could do it alone. But I was so tired. I was tired and my flashlight beam was nothing against the gnawing fear that made me afraid of shadows, and I wished that Dave was there with me. I tried to imagine that he was. I saw his bright friendly eyes and big smile and pictured us laughing together as we climbed, and it was the only thing that got me up the remaining flights of stairs.
13
I couldn’t get back to sleep again for a long time that night. Thankfully the others couldn’t either; the three of them were awake when I got back, wanting to know every detail of what I’d seen. I told them about the Williamsburg Bridge first and surprisingly Dave didn’t seem too upset; it was almost as if he’d been expecting it. I told them about the bear, about the cars I’d marked, about the falling building and the tunnel and the wrecks outside. I left out what I’d seen inside the tunnel, and I didn’t tell them about the boy. I didn’t quite know why, but I wasn’t ready to talk about him yet.
What should we do now? Anna said.
Have you seen anything else? I asked.
No, nothing, Anna replied. Sorry.
I wondered what they’d got up to while I’d been gone. Part of me suspected they’d done nothing. It’s not as if I’d been expecting much, but I hoped that maybe they’d have some news for me. A sighting. Something they’d found.
I saw a boat floating down the East River, I told them, remembering the sailboat bobbing along in the water.
Anyone on it? Dave asked.
Doubt it, I said. It was just drifting along with the current.
We could get a boat, Anna said. We’d be safer out on the water, at least from Chasers. We could sail to another city.
We’ll check the maps tomorrow, Dave replied. There’s a couple of spots where they have heaps of boats—
Like that Boat Basin, I cut in, remembering our first day in town when we’d had lunch on West 79th Street. I’d been sitting at a table with Anna and Mini and another guy, when Dave had come over to say hello and ended up joining us. He’d been funny that day, and the four of us had been so involved in our conversation that we hadn’t noticed the rest of the group had moved on to do the tour of Midtown.
It sounds like a good idea, Dave said slowly. But can any of us handle a boat? I mean, maybe we should stick to dry land. We could find an SUV and stock it up, head north out of Manhattan.
I’d prefer to be on the water than the road, I said. Especially at night. It’s not secure sleeping in a car—not with Chasers out there. A boat would be better, but yeah, we’d need to figure out how to work it.
Where would we go? Anna asked. I mean, what direction? Upriver?
Maybe, Dave replied. Or maybe along the coast; head north towards Boston, look for refugees out of town.
That’s the direction those jets were flying on that first day, I said.
Memories of the first moments after emerging from the subway started to flood back, so I said quickly: In the morning we should make a list.
A list?
Yeah, places that we could go, how we might get there. Help us make a choice—we can’t stay here like this forever.
We can take our time making a decision though, right? Mini said. We don’t want to get this wrong. We have a good set-up here.
We can’t wait for someone to fix this, Dave said. If we want out, we gotta do it ourselves.
Yeah, but there’s no rush, is there? Mini said. We have almost everything we need here, it’s comfortable. Right?
That’s true, Min, I said gently. But it would be good to make some plans, just in case.
I guess, Mini said. I do like having choices.
My dad used to say that no matter what happens, it’s the one thing you’re always left with, I said.
You sound like you think this is it, Dave said. Like you think we’re the only survivors who aren’t infected and it’s up to us to start things over again.
Like a new earth, Anna said.
I looked at her. A new earth?
It’s like the planet has reset, she explained, to create a new earth full of hope. Those of us who are left will become the adults of a world that’s changed, a world where things like wars and greed are just a memory . . . It’s like the torch has been passed to a new generation.
Maybe this is what happens to cultures every now and then, I said. It’s like starting fresh—
What, you think there’s been some massive attack like this before? Dave said. I mean, the world wars were big but in reality only a small portion of the world’s population was killed. This . . . this could be billions of people. This could be everyone but us. We have no idea.
I didn’t mean that, Anna said. What I meant was there have been places where the whole population has seemed to vanish. Like Easter Island. It happens. For whatever reason, this kind of stuff happens.
And the Mayans, I added. They had whole cities that were abandoned and forgotten for centuries.
We lay there in silence and I looked out at the skyline of a city that just days ago was one of the busiest places on earth. The city that never sleeps was now a cold bed.
Maybe this new earth is hell, Dave said. Maybe we’re in hell. Those people out there, the Chasers, they’re in purgatory. And for us . . . for us, it’s inevitable: we’ll end up there too.
I doubt it, I replied and it came out louder than I’d intended.
What, you been an angel all your life? Dave said. Me? No, but I don’t think I’ve done anything to go to hell over. And I know you guys wouldn’t be in hell. The people who did this? They’re the ones who’ll wind up there, in hell or whatever you want to call it.
There was silence for a long time and I heard Mini’s breathing grow deep and even.
Tomorrow, I’m going to beef up security, Dave said in a low voice. We need better fallback plans, especially once we leave here; more weapons, just in case.
How do you know all this stuff? Anna asked.
Play Station, Dave said. XBox.
Anna snorted.
Good idea, Dave, I said.
Way I see it, we gotta keep this building secure until we leave, Dave said.
When will that be? Mini asked, and her quiet voice made me jump. I thought she’d fallen asleep.
Soon enough, Min, I said, not sure if she’d heard what we’d just been talking about.
Okay, she said sleepily. But don’t leave without me. Don’t forget me.
Within minutes she was breathing deeply again.
A storm rolled in just before dawn and the sound of the wind and snow, even through the thick glass of the skyscraper, was calming. As I fell asleep, I wondered why Min would have said what she did; I hoped I’d never forget any of them.
14
I found my Spiderman suit hanging over the back of a restaurant chair when I woke up. It had been cleaned and I couldn’t remember if I’d washed it before I left the previous day or if one of my friends had done it. I put on the suit, then pulled on a T-shirt and jeans for extra warmth.
Mini was still asleep but Dave and Anna were nowhere to be seen. I hoped they were on the observation deck, checking out the city for activity. I went to the storeroom behind the bar, took a can of Coke from a massive wall of soft drinks and went upstairs.
Dave was on the outside deck of the 67th floor, rugged up against the cold and using the binoculars to scan the south. I called out to him that I was going to clear some more rooms and he gave me a wave and a thumbs-up.
I headed downstairs again, stopping in the Rainbow Room to get my room-clearing kit: Dave’s fire axe, my Glock, a powerful torch and a tool-belt. I tucked the gun and torch in the tool-belt and continued down to the 59th floor. This level was fairly boring to clear—mainly a couple of big offices with nothing much of use, unless I wanted to start up my own insurance agency one day or a terrible-looking publishing venture of brochures and catalogues. I caught my reflection in a foyer mirror and saw I was quite a sight: a superhero-turned-handyman, packin’ a pistol. I did a couple of quick-draws and then put it away, remembering there was a round in the chamber. I wondered if Anna was somewhere on this floor and what she’d think of my get-up.
There were four apartments on the western side of this level and I used our “master key”—Dave’s fire axe—to gain entry to apartment 59C. The wood around the handle of the door splintered and gave way on the fifth swing so I leaned the axe against the wall an
d went inside. I was used to breaking and entering now; used to eating other people’s food and wearing their clothes. It wasn’t something I would have done a week ago, but I figured there was now a different set of rules.
The apartment was dark throughout so I opened the blinds. Beyond the entry was the lounge room. There were piles of books everywhere and a few stuffed animals mounted on the walls—even the head of a brown bear. I remembered the bear from last night and hoped it would never end up like this. Maybe killing animals for fun would never happen again. Maybe Anna was right and this was a new earth.
In one corner of the lounge was a display case that housed a few ornaments and a medal, which turned out to be a Nobel Prize for literature.
The first room off the hallway was a study, a big oak-paneled room with books stacked neatly on floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I ran my fingers along the spines, thinking that later in the day I’d carry a stack of old novels up to the Rainbow Room to add to Anna’s collection. She was spending more and more time reading and writing in her journal, which I guess was a good thing because it seemed to make her happy, but it also meant that she was quiet and I was beginning to miss the sound of her voice.
On the desk was an old-fashioned typewriter, the kind I’d only ever seen in movies. The desk itself looked antique too—it was old and wooden with a well-worn green leather top. I sat on a swivel chair that squeaked and creaked as I spun around, then tried punching out a few lines on the typewriter. The keys were stiff and hard to use—nothing like my laptop back home.
I left the study and checked out the fridge in the kitchen. There was no off smell when I opened the door, as there had been in some of the other apartments. I shone the flashlight inside and discovered this was because there was no perishable food of any kind, no fruit or veggies or meat. There were a few jars of condiments, but aside from that there was just a whole range of drinks—bottled water, juices, mixers, soft drinks, beer, white wine. I found another low, two-door fridge under the kitchen bench, full of more booze and mixer drinks. The walk-in pantry was stocked with enough canned food and packets of flour, rice and pasta to last someone a couple of years, maybe more. I wondered about the kind of person who would stockpile so much food.