Chasers

by James Phelan

  You know how to do that? Mini asked.

  No, he doesn’t, Anna said. And even if he did, how would you know what kind of drugs to use and how much, Jesse? Throw them out.

  I looked at the case and thought through every reason for keeping a big stash of drugs like that. Finally I shook my head.

  We might need them to trade with, I said. Maybe someone will want them and we might need what they have.

  What?

  I don’t know . . . Who knows what’s going to be valuable out there? I picked up a big stack of cash. This might be worthless for all we know.

  Everyone was silent and Anna disappeared, probably to go bury her head in a book.

  Keep that case, I told myself, just in case there’s a final day. A day when we have to escape, a day we know we won’t be coming back. It might help, one day a long time from now, if the others leave me or don’t make it and I’m alone in the world. If I’m truly alone, I want choices.

  I spent the afternoon upstairs on the observation decks looking out at the city. I watched a big explosion in Brooklyn somewhere, which vanished as quickly as it had appeared. I saw a small group of people—Chasers? Refugees?—running in the street. I imagined Dave down there, trying to talk to some of them.

  I bounced a tennis ball against the wall, thinking about home. I wondered what Dad was doing right at that moment. It would have been the early hours of the morning in Australia, but maybe he was lying awake, as worried about me as I was about him. I’d never really considered a life without him in it until now.

  When I went downstairs, Anna and Mini were laughing about something. The sight of them acting so normal was exactly what I needed.

  I was just saying to Anna that it would be cool to get some amazing art for this place, Mini said as I sat down at the table. Anna smiled. She was back to her old self and I was glad the conversation about the drugs seemed to have been forgotten.

  We could go to MoMA, I suggested.

  No way, Anna said. All that risk for some Warhols or Van Goghs?

  What risk? I joked as I started building a house of cards on the table. You think the curator will have turned into a Chaser?

  I just don’t want to take those kinds of risks over something aesthetic like art, she said. Food, fuel, shelter, yeah, but not art.

  How about celebrity houses?

  Sorry, Min?

  We could check out celebrities’ houses, she said. You know—actors, singers, sports stars . . .

  That would be cool, Anna said. But how would we find out where they lived?

  Good point, I replied, and turned to Anna: So you think it’s worth taking risks for that but not art?

  She shook her head.

  I wouldn’t take risks for art or celebs’ houses or anything like that. It’s just that we were talking about things we could do and places we could go in Manhattan since this city is basically ours now. Well, when the Chasers are gone. Can you imagine checking out all the penthouses in this city?

  That would take a lifetime, Mini said. And it would start to get really boring.

  Maybe one day though, I thought, adding a second level to my house of cards.

  Okay, said Anna. New topic. What’s the greatest band ever?

  Mayday, Mini said.

  What? Are they some crazy Taiwanese boy band or something? I said.

  They’re not crazy, Mini replied and I remembered she’d talked about them once before.

  Radiohead, I said. Greatest band ever.

  What about the Beatles? Anna said. They don’t rate?

  Okay, then, I said, Radiohead are the greatest band with all their members still . . . you know. How about you?

  I don’t know . . .

  You started this, I said. Come on. Aside from your crappy pop stuff, what band ranks?

  Muse.

  Serious? I asked. I heard they’d turned into some kind of Mormon tribute band.

  Aren’t Mormons allowed to have heaps of wives? Mini asked. I’d like to marry a rich Mormon.

  What?

  Well, I wouldn’t have to do much work if there were other wives.

  Anna turned to Mini: You want to be one of multiple wives? Where’s the respect in that?

  I think they can only have one wife anyway, I said. The multiple wife thing is pretty old-school. But hey, Anna’s got two mums, remember?

  What’s that like? Mini asked. I mean, is one of them, like, your dad?

  Does it matter anymore?

  Yeah, it matters, I said. I went to touch Anna’s hand but she pulled it away.

  Why wouldn’t it matter? Mini asked.

  She thinks maybe she won’t see them again, I said.

  We were silent. I tried to think of something to say, but I didn’t know how I could convince Anna she’d get to see her family again when half of me didn’t believe it myself.

  Maybe Dave’s a Mormon.

  What, you want to marry Dave now, Min?

  No . . . I just thought maybe he is.

  How would you know just by looking at him? I said. Besides, I think he’s Catholic.

  What, you can spot that?

  No, I can’t.

  No more than I can see much of anything, I thought. I pushed the deck of cards to the side and looked at the big tourist map we were using as a tablecloth.

  We’ve got so many options right here, I said, scanning the notes in the legend. Come on, we’ve ruled out celebs’ houses, what else?

  Why don’t we go to the Natural History Museum? Anna said.

  Huh?

  If we’re going to hide out somewhere, that would be a cool place. Think about it, she said and there was a glint in her eyes that I hadn’t seen for a while.

  What about City Hall? I added, reading off the map. Or Gracie Mansion? Or the Police Plaza?

  Or Liberty Island? Anna added.

  Or Grand Cen—Mini stopped herself as she remembered. Oops, sorry.

  That place was too open anyway, I explained. We need to be somewhere without too many openings, otherwise it won’t be secure enough.

  Wonder what Dave would think? Anna asked, and then came a voice—

  Federal Reserve Bank or New York Stock Exchange, Dave said. Those places are like fortresses, designed to be terror-proof.

  He was smiling from ear to ear and Anna and Mini jumped up and gave him a hug. As he passed me he held out his fist homie-style for me to punch, but then pulled it away at the last second.

  What’s in the Federal Reserve?

  Gold, he said as he took off his coat and sat down at the table. Biggest storage in the world.

  Cool, I said, thinking that Dave looked bigger than ever, pumped up after his adventure in the outside world.

  But what would we do with gold? I asked.

  What do you mean?

  Jesse thinks that maybe drugs will be more valuable to trade with, Anna said, rolling her eyes. I don’t think he sees value in gold now, or cash for that matter.

  No, it’s—

  I stopped and decided not to have that discussion with them again. Instead, I turned to Dave and said: Did you see anyone out there?

  No.

  You didn’t see anyone? I asked.

  No one, he said, taking off his shoes.

  What did you see?

  Cars. Bodies. A building come down.

  As he spoke I could see my own memories play in my mind like a movie. A movie of destruction and death and not a lot else.

  There wasn’t much snow out, but there’s heaps of garbage and dark slushy ash.

  Ash? Mini asked.

  Yeah, from all the burnt stuff, Dave said. Remember the footage of nine-eleven? All that dust and crap that covered people?

  Not really, Min said, but Anna and I knew exactly what he meant. There was a photo of it in one of the apartments below us. My thoughts turned to apartment 59C. I could picture myself crashing through that locked door. The image was like a knife in my skull—in and out, hot and sharp, there and then gone again just as
quickly.

  So what’s the plan? Anna asked.

  We need to talk about it, I said. We need to make the decision together.

  But we’ll be leaving here, yeah?

  Anna looked at Dave, but for once I felt like I had the answers.

  Yeah, we’re leaving here, I said. Dave nodded.

  Will we go tomorrow?

  I shook my head. The day after. First, we pack, we get prepared, we rest. I looked at each of my friends in turn. The day after tomorrow, we go, I said.

  17

  That night Dave told us stories about his day and a half outside. They were mostly boring and tended to go nowhere, so after a while I left him to it and went up to the roof to get some air. Part of me suspected he’d just been hiding in the stairwell for all that time. His bag looked exactly the same, as if he hadn’t eaten any food or used anything. Where was the proof of what he’d seen? If he had lied about going out, could I really trust him? Would he be there for me when I needed him?

  As I looked out at the dark city, questions kept flooding my brain. If I doubted Dave, how much did the others trust me? How far would they be prepared to follow me? Dave had been the unofficial leader of our group, but after he shot the Chaser down on the street that seemed to change. I was starting to feel more and more responsible for my friends. For the first time I could understand why Mum left my dad and me if this was how she felt—overwhelmed by a sense of duty and constantly doubting herself. I didn’t want a lifetime of uncertainty. Decisions had to be made.

  It felt surreal being on the roof in the dark. It had been a few days since I’d done the rubbish run, and I felt like I was throwing my friends off that roof when I launched the heavy bags into the blackness that yawned below. The ruins of the ice-rink would swallow them up like a mouth in the earth that ate what I didn’t want, and maybe the rotten food in there would one day grow into some kind of garden and the polar bear would walk through it, and it would be king again and maybe even have a family. I longed to see new life in this place, this new earth.

  I threw the final bag with everything I had, but at the last moment I stumbled and almost swung myself off the edge with it. Feeling sick, I sat down, my feet hanging over the edge of the building and my hands firmly grasped on a cold rail, wondering what it would be like to fall. What was the worst that could happen? I wasn’t afraid of the height because I couldn’t see much further than my legs that dangled into the darkness. I leaned forward a little and the wind pushed upward against my face and hair. Would I float like a kite? Was this wind strong enough to carry me away? What would happen if I just let go? What if I gave myself a little push, an accidental launch into the abyss . . . ?

  I tried to laugh but a strange sound came out, like a sob. Would I do it? When? When my friends were gone? When we ran out of water? If something happened, something I couldn’t live with? I remembered the Chaser Dave had shot and the teenage boy down by the river and that locked door in apartment 59C . . . I had to leave this place. With or without them, I had to leave more than just this building.

  I wiped tears from my eyes and heard a voice inside me say, Suck it up, and I stood and yelled at the world and all who had made it this way. I screamed and yelled and felt alive and—

  I stopped.

  A light.

  A flash caught my eye from the window of a neighboring building. I was seventy stories up; it couldn’t have been natural. I strained my eyes but could no longer see it. I told myself it was so small and insignificant and passing that it was probably nothing. One fleeting shaft of light on a dark, moonless night. I stood up and turned to leave—

  It was back. I’d seen it in my peripheral vision: a wavering beam like a flashlight. There, but gone just as quickly. Still, I was sure it was a sign of life; no light inside a building at night in this time and place could mean anything else. I glanced behind me, almost expecting to see Dave there playing a trick, but the roof was empty; I was alone.

  I raced down to the observation deck on the 67th floor and ran along the windows until I reached the spot where I thought I’d seen the light. I looked through the binoculars and waited. I felt sick and sad, expectant and anxious. If there was someone else out there, someone like me . . .

  I stood searching every possible window, wondering if I should run down and tell the others. But what if I left and the light flashed again? I remembered a scene in a Hitchcock movie where a guy in a wheelchair thinks he’s seen a murder in one of the neighboring apartments. He watches the window night after night, only to realize that the murderer is sitting in the dark—watching him. For a moment I wondered if the light could have been a Chaser trying to trick us; trying to lure us out . . . No, it had to be another survivor.

  I sat there, staring through the binoculars for hours, waiting for another sign of life. Eventually I must have fallen asleep because I woke with a start, cold and uncomfortable.

  Anna was sitting next to me, and I wondered if that’s what had woken me. I checked my watch; it was just after midnight. Anna’s face was a blurry reflection in the window before me, a ghost in natural colors. There was no light across the way, only darkness. Anna didn’t ask about my subdued state or what I’d been doing, and I didn’t volunteer anything. We sat there in silence for a while, but it was as if I could read her thoughts.

  Do we have to leave? she asked finally.

  I couldn’t answer her. It was a question I kept asking myself and I would never be comfortable with the answer.

  Nothing will be the same if we leave.

  I know.

  We might not be together anymore.

  I know.

  We might separate.

  I know.

  End up in different places.

  I know.

  Forever this time.

  A tear rolled down my cheek; I knew what she meant. She deserved to go and be free to have her life and be with her own Mr. Darcy or whoever was right for her. Maybe she and Dave would end up together; maybe she had more in common with him anyway. I knew they shared something special that I’d missed out on, and for the second time that night I thought about taking the ultimate “out.”

  I know we might split up if we leave, I said, but I’m afraid that if we stay too long, we’ll end up going our own paths anyway; that I might wake up one morning and you’ll be gone.

  Would you blame me? she asked softly.

  I was silent. I gazed at the reflection of her pretty face; she held my heart in a look.

  Come on, I said finally, getting up and holding out my hand. If it’s going to be our last day here tomorrow, let’s make it a good one. Right now, we need our sleep.

  18

  There were things I needed to sort out before leaving 30 Rock. I wanted to say goodbye to some of the places that held memories, and despite my fears I knew I needed to see what was in apartment 59C. I’d miss this building but not all of it. I wanted to leave but part of me also just wanted to lie in bed and not get up again until help arrived and the city went back to normal.

  We fixed breakfast and I woke Mini by sitting on the edge of her mattress and calling her name. We ate and drank in silence. Afterwards I packed a big hiking pack that I’d found in someone’s apartment with a change of clothes and enough food to last about a week. I slipped a couple of flashlights in the massive side pockets—our original wind-up one and a powerful Maglite—as well as rechargeable batteries, two iPods, a toothbrush, toothpaste and soap, a small medical kit, about a dozen gas lighters and matches, and a plastic box of 9mm bullets for the Glock. The pistol was on the table and I planned to slip it in my pocket when we left. For now I pulled back the slide until all the bullets had dropped out and the mag was empty. Then I loaded it again and inserted the mag. I laid out my FDNY jacket and my most comfortable clothes for the next day, and rolled up a light but warm blanket that I strapped to the top of the backpack. I was ready.

  One table in the restaurant was covered with sunglasses from the deserted apartments and I walke
d over and tried a few pairs on. There were other tables with different themes: hats, coats, blankets, batteries and duct tape, weapons. I blamed the last one on Dave, but had to admit I had added a shotgun and a short samurai sword.

  What if we come across other survivors—people like us, I mean? Mini asked.

  We check out what they know and what they’ve got, I said. Maybe they’ve set up camp somewhere.

  We should be careful, Anna said. I think we should avoid people if we see them.

  In case they’re Chasers?

  Chasers, whatever. We don’t know who or what’s out there. Even if there are other survivors, we don’t know what they’ll be like.

  I thought about it. I was sure I’d seen a flashlight beam the previous night. There might be other survivors too; there had to be, sight unseen. What would they be like? There was no sense waiting any longer to find out.

  You’re right, Anna. We should be careful, I said. Maybe . . . maybe we should work out a few codes, just in case.

  Like what? Anna said. She was still sitting at the breakfast table with Dave and Mini, and it was as if the three of them were suddenly looking to me for all the answers. I wished they would get up and help me with the packing.

  Like, locations, for a start, I said. We have this place and the Boat Basin, so far. We could call this Site A, and the other Site B. Like, if we’re cornered or separated or something, we could yell out, See you at Site B!

  Can’t we think of better names than that? Anna said.

  You got any ideas?

  We could name them after people we like, she said.

  What, so you’d want to call this place Mr. Darcy and the Boat Basin Jane Austen?

  She shrugged and said: Why not?

  Okay, if this is Mr. Darcy—

  No way are we calling this Mr. Darcy, Dave said.

  Twenty minutes later we’d all written down our choices and put them in a big bowl.

  The name we pulled out for 30 Rock was “Home” and everyone agreed that’s what we’d call it from now on. For the Boat Basin we pulled out a piece of paper with the word “Oprah” written on it. No one would ’fess up to putting that in the bowl and we couldn’t tell from the handwriting, but I suspected it might have been Dave.