Chasers

by James Phelan

  To shave.

  I miss TV.

  I laughed at Mini’s call.

  Yeah, I miss TV too.

  As they talked I watched them closely and it was interesting to see how much they’d changed since that subway ride. How much we’d all changed.

  Dave had probably altered the most, especially since he’d got back from his day and a half outside. He’d walked the streets of New York alone and I didn’t know what he’d done while he was away and I didn’t want to know. I could imagine well enough. Maybe he’d just sat in a fire engine or a shop and cried. Why did it even bother me where he’d been for all that time? Whatever he was doing, it was his business and I didn’t want to ask because that would be prying, like asking Anna what she wrote in her journal or Mini about her thoughts. All I knew is that he’d come back different—he’d changed. Maybe he’d seen death on a biblical scale, like me.

  Anna had taken out her notebook and was writing in it, and I loved that even in the midst of all this she was doing her own thing. I hoped she was creating a story to take her to another place far away from here. It was what she deserved. As she wrote, she bit her lip in concentration and I thought I could smell strawberries. Her lips were red and her eyelashes long and dark and I watched her writing and wished I could kiss her again. I never would, would I?

  And Mini. Mini had grown to be my favorite. She was always there but never in the way; she was economical and giving and reserved and generous, all at the same time. She looked at me sometimes, I knew. The kind of looks I gave Anna. I’d seen her do it at the UN camp and I knew she liked me. Thinking about that now made my cheeks and ears burn. I didn’t want to be a teenager anymore and I didn’t want to be here anymore; I was sick of living in my head and thinking too much. I wanted to be older and stronger and have more answers than my friends could provide.

  Let’s go in five, I said and they agreed.

  I walked out to the bathroom and a couple of rats scurried away. I went to wash my face but there was no water. Just ash in the hand-basin and a big burn mark on one wall and I stared at myself in the broken mirror and replayed my nightmare in full. I’m standing in an open pasture. I see little glimpses, little flashes until suddenly I’m seeing myself from above. I’m standing in Central Park, but I’m not alone. I’m surrounded. By Chasers. They want what I have. They want what pumps inside me and I know I must give it up. I have no fight left in me. There’s blood on my arms and it drips freely down to the earth. I close my eyes, put my hands in the air and yell at them to take me. My scream for them echoes and fades and when I open my eyes I can see that they haven’t moved. They watch me, like I’ve watched them so many times. They move in a giant circle, like a great sea of fish cycloning out of the way of a predator. Maybe they fear me like I fear them?

  I coughed and spat out dusty mucus in the basin. My eyes watered, tears fell and I felt a breeze and was startled from my thoughts.

  Mini was there, standing behind me in the open doorway.

  You’re not alone, she said. No matter what your dream says. You’re okay.

  I stared at her. How could she know about my dream? I hadn’t told anyone. I didn’t understand what was going on but I was grateful to Mini; in some ways she knew so much more than the others. Would I ever be able to properly thank her for getting me through all this?

  Thanks, I said. I looked at myself in the dirty mirror and turned away and left the room with her.

  I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m fine, really.

  She didn’t speak but she nodded that she understood, and she did—more than anyone else ever could.

  I put on my heavy backpack and the others followed me outside. The snow had stopped and the sun was bright now, the clouds sparse, and there was hope in the air.

  This way, I said and led north to the end of the block, until we reached Columbus Circle, where Broadway and Central Park South and West 58th Street all collide. The area was vast and open, empty of life but full of wrecked cars and broken buildings. I strode across the road, weaving my way through the chaos. I wanted to continue west along Broadway but it was an impassable mountain of shattered buildings. I changed tack and led the others down Central Park West until it too became impassable. I crouched behind a bus that shielded me from the park and checked my map.

  Why are we stopped? Anna asked.

  We’re going to have to go through the park.

  No way.

  Uh uh, Dave said.

  Look, the only alternative is to go back the way we’ve come, and try another way south and west to get around all this.

  Let’s do that then.

  It’ll waste the entire day, maybe more, I said. And it might be blocked as well. We know the park is clear. We head north, and we can get back onto the road a couple of blocks past all this mess and head west.

  I don’t like it, Anna said.

  We’ll be careful.

  It’s dangerous.

  We’ll be quiet.

  Please, no.

  Dave?

  He’s right, Anna. It’s the only way.

  But we know they’re in there, Anna said. We’ve seen them, we’ve watched them from the Top of the Rock. They’re near all the water in the ponds.

  We’ll just go round the edge, stick clear of the paths—

  There’s thousands of them in there, Jesse!

  I felt sick.

  Look, we do this or we go back and try the other route another day. The park today, or the unknown tomorrow.

  She was silent. Dave was silent. It was Mini’s quiet voice I heard.

  We should go through the park. We should go and we should do it now.

  24

  The southwest corner of Central Park was deserted. We tried to stick to the perimeter but as the undergrowth became denser we were forced farther in. We crossed a wide, empty plain; the frosty grass that peeked through the snow in patches was as slippery as glass. My blood turned to ice as I realized this was the place of my nightmare. This was the open expanse where the mass of Chasers had circled around me and watched me, thirsty for my blood.

  Walking through the streets seemed preferable now. I missed those man-made canyons and their reminders of what had once been. This was far scarier. Empty, desolate. Windy. I imagined ten thousand pairs of eyes burning into me. The trees here were alive with them, I could feel it. Without speaking, we broke into a half run. My feet skidded but I didn’t fall; I wouldn’t fall—

  I slipped and came down hard on the icy ground. I got back up and kept going. The Chasers would be on me soon, I knew it. The sun had disappeared behind the clouds and it started snowing and I ran hard now.

  A noise startled me. A foreign noise; a noise I hadn’t heard for over a week.

  I stopped running and squinted up at the sky. There were clear patches, despite the heavy cloud bank that had rolled in and hung low and littered the ground with snow. My breath fogged in front of me and I felt dizzy and I fell again, then got to my feet and kept running, looking at the sky, listening.

  I pinpointed the noise. It came from a place high above me and off to the east. Four small jet aircraft flew in a diamond formation from north to south, faint lines of vapor in their wake. They were far from the center of the city and didn’t seem to be flying towards it. Why would they give this place such a wide berth? I waved my hands over my head as they doubled back and flew east over Long Island.

  Come back! I called to them. Come back! Come back . . .

  I looked at the others. I could tell they felt the same way I did but we didn’t have time to cry about it now.

  Come on, I said. Move!

  We ran and a new noise came and it was terrifying. Dozens of Chasers emerged from the trees and started running for us. We headed west and sprinted over a road and I looked over my shoulder—

  The Chasers were only two hundred yards or so behind us. Unlike the poor infected souls we’d seen earlier that day, these Chasers looked strong and purposeful. I looked forward again and
kept running and knew I’d have to dump my pack if they gained on me. These weren’t just desperate, opportunistic Chasers; these were the kind that drank people because they could.

  Run harder! Dave yelled and it was like he was yelling straight into my ear and I ran as fast as I could. I was puffing hard. I remembered that Mini had asthma and realized with a shock that I’d forgotten to bring her the ventilator refill she’d asked for when I went out that day. I looked back and saw she was falling behind. This was it. This would be the moment when I had to stand tall.

  Come on, guys! I yelled, and they seemed to push themselves a little harder and we crossed the road and followed West 67th Street that would lead us out of the park.

  More Chasers. About twenty of them, huddled around a fire in a car park up ahead. They looked weak and some of them watched me running, but they didn’t seem interested in chasing—just watching.

  A familiar face was among them. I almost tripped over the curb but got my footing back and turned to look at them again as I ran past. A familiar face watched me, stared right back at me—

  The boy.

  The boy I’d met many blocks from here, at the East River. The boy I had given a bottle of water and an apple.

  He was drinking now, from a water bottle. Not the bottle I’d given him but another—this group were all drinking from bottles. They looked like Chasers but they had fire in a steel drum and they drank from bottles.

  I kept running, but when I looked back they did the most unexpected thing. The boy, then two others, waved at me. They waved at me as I disappeared from view into the chaos of Central Park West.

  They’d waved.

  They’d waved at me. I will never know if it was a wave hello or a wave goodbye, but they’d been drinking from bottles and they had a fire and they’d waved.

  25

  We were followed all along West 67th Street. Pursued by Chasers who were at least as fast as us and didn’t seem to be tiring. Chased over Columbus Avenue where I skidded to a hard stop against a yellow school bus and turned right, ignoring the sharp pain in my arm, heading north up Columbus. It was twelve blocks to 79th Street. Twelve blocks north and then three blocks west to the Boast Basin.

  I heard squealing behind me and looked back at an intersection about a hundred yards away; one of the Chasers had slipped and the others were already upon her, drinking her as she lived and screamed.

  I’d only stopped for a second or two but in that moment I recognized another face. It didn’t register until I was running again, weaving my way between parked cars, the image flashing into my memory like a hot, sharp knife. We couldn’t stop running, we ran for our lives, but I remembered one of the Chasers behind me. It was the guy I’d seen from the Top of the Rock, the one I’d watched drinking from a dead body. I looked over my shoulder; my friends were right behind me and the Chasers were beyond them but they were a blur of strangers. Maybe I’d just imagined that face?

  I slipped and fell on the icy ground. I could hear Dave urging the others to keep going as I got to my feet. Anna watched ahead but Mini looked back at me and called my name.

  Left! I yelled, and Dave led the way down West 68th Street. It was clear enough to get through and we ran fast and rounded the next right, and then we were on Broadway which would take us all the way to the Boat Basin.

  Wait!

  What? Dave said as he came up next to me. We kept running but our pace had slowed.

  You guys take the next left!

  What about—

  I’ll head straight up Broadway and they won’t see you, only me and—

  We’re not separating! Anna yelled, and we ran faster, skirting behind three abandoned garbage trucks that cut across the lanes and around a crater filled with taxis. A car door was stuck deep into the road and we had to hurdle over it.

  Go left! I yelled to Dave, and he turned the corner of West 73rd Street.

  Mini was panting for breath and Anna was close to me and I yelled to them:

  Go! Run into a building and wait for five minutes then head west.

  We’re not separating!

  I looked behind me. I couldn’t see the Chasers but they wouldn’t have been more than a few hundred yards back and they were surely closing in on us.

  I’ll meet you at the—

  Don’t—

  I’ll meet you at Oprah!

  No!

  Dave kept running but I knew he got it, and when Mini realized what I meant the tears started streaming down her cheeks.

  Hide for five and then head straight there, I said as we ran. Wait here until they’ve all chased after me . . .

  No! Anna said. She turned and looked at me like she’d never looked at me before and I knew, in that moment, she loved me.

  I can outrun them. I can outrun them, but if we stay together you might slow me down and then we’ll all get caught, so you just wait here for a while, okay?

  What if it doesn’t work?

  It’ll work. I’ll meet you there.

  What if they get you?

  They won’t catch me, I’m fast.

  I unclipped my backpack and slid it off, removing the big FDNY jacket at the same time. I looked like I was about to run a circuit on the track. I didn’t bother with a gun; there were too many of them so it would only be good for one thing and I wasn’t interested in that.

  But—

  No buts. Sorry, Anna, Min. I have to do this.

  Mini nodded and Dave pulled her back into a shop and Anna looked from them to me like she couldn’t believe they were letting me do this.

  What if you get lost?

  I know the way.

  What if you forget?

  I can’t forget.

  What if you don’t make it?

  I have to make it. You three are all I have.

  She nodded and sucked back her tears and I reached for her but she took a step closer to Mini and Dave in the dark shop.

  I’ll be waiting there for you.

  I know, I said.

  Then I turned and saw a group of Chasers round onto Broadway and I faced them and screamed as loud as I could, out in the middle of the street. They saw me and ran harder, and I ripped the bandages off my hands and showed them blood. I waved at them and they were chasing me now, only me.

  I ran up Broadway, through the gaps between cars and over bodies and I thought about those Chasers in the car park who hadn’t chased but had waved and—

  I risked one last look over my shoulder and saw that my friends were in the clear. I knew that no matter what I couldn’t outrun my pursuers, but maybe, just maybe, I could make it to a car and get in and lock the doors and drive away.

  The Basin was five blocks away and I ran as fast as I’d run that day when I’d first fled for my life. I felt my heart pumping blood through my veins and I thought of my friends and the group of Chasers who’d waved and I knew one thing, at the very least: I was not alone.

  I ran like I was never coming back and wondered, Would my friends be there? Would I see them again? Of course I would, I thought, why wouldn’t I? I remembered a girl back home who spoke in class sometimes when we were meant to be silent. Spoke to people who weren’t there. All year they made her see a psychologist and she was silent after that but never the same, like she’d forgotten how to smile.

  I wanted to be on a houseboat that could float down the river and into the harbor and beyond to the ocean. I didn’t care if I couldn’t steer it; I’d be happy if it made its own way and the current took me wherever it pleased. I’d like that actually. I’d like to let go and not have to worry about anything, not have to be the one steering the boat or anything else in life. I wanted to close my eyes and drift.

  A subway sign flashed by. I thought of my friends. I remembered the banging and the fire and the man who fell like a tree when he was shot, silent, slowly, hitting the ground as gently as an angel falling on the snow.

  I glanced back for my friends but I couldn’t see them; they weren’t there. I ran. I thoug
ht about the subway ride we’d taken that day. When my world had rocked and turned sideways; hot, black, lonely.

  I thought about coming to in the cold darkness. I’d emerged from under an upturned seat. I’d fumbled around blindly and found Anna’s backpack and in it her flashlight and, with its light, my friends. I’d seen the vacant forms of Dave and Anna and Mini as they lay there together: silent, broken.

  My broken friends.

  They had been with me the whole time, but only I had seen them after that day. Only I could see them. They had done for me what I could not do for myself. I’d been the one to vomit up chocolate cake and look longingly to the east. I had shot a man dead in the street—he’d fallen like a tree. I was the one who broke through the locked door in 59C and used the typewriter in the study.

  Blood stained my hands; I’d seen everything.

  Only I had climbed out of that subway tunnel.

  Dave had never finished that joke; I never heard how it ended. I’d made it to 30 Rock and remembered Dave talking about the observation deck as I climbed the stairs, alone. I’d made myself breakfast and kept myself company. I heard their voices clearly at first, but soon their activities took over and clouded them, and I knew I was losing them long before I decided to leave 30 Rock. I’d ruffled their beds and served them food and pretended not to notice when I scraped it away, like I pretended not to notice so much else. I sat there on the observation decks and took it in shifts by myself. There were no other survivors from that subway crash and none that I’d met since and there may never be. Just me and the Chasers and the hint of those I’d seen from afar.

  I was alone.

  I could admit that now; I was no longer afraid to. I wondered if someone would ask me about it one day and whether they’d say there was nothing wrong with imaginary friends as long as I knew they weren’t real. But my friends had been real, once. Who’s to say that every bit of them had to leave when they died? Some head doctor might tell me otherwise one day, but even then I’d be glad just for the chance to talk about them. And good luck to anyone who tries to pry my friends away from me; they’re not going to civilize them out of me, not ever.