“What do you feel like doing tonight?” Samuel asked as he cleared away the plates and stacked them next to the kitchen sink. There was no running water to clean them with and so Samuel and his father were simply making their way through the dishes, reusing the bits that weren’t too stained from meals two or three times before adding them to the pile. “I’m making pretty good progress with the radio I think, do you want to take a look at that?”
“Have you managed to pick up a signal?”
“No,” Samuel replied with a shake of his head. “But I got some static the other night, that has to count for something, right?”
In the days since being back at his parents’ home, Samuel had been tinkering with an old radio he’d found in Charles’ study. He was the first to admit that he didn’t really know what he was doing, never much of a man for electronics or indeed attempting to re-wire them. But Austin had shown him a thing or two during their time together and if nothing else it kept Samuel’s hands and mind busy, distracting him from the reality of the world around him.
He was hoping to pick up a signal eventually, some old bootlegged radio station or – in an ideal world – a broadcast message from the government or someone in authority. The last thing he had heard transmitted across the radio was the pirated show that played as he and Austin were driving out of the city several weeks ago, when they had first been heading to Poughkeepsie.
Through constant reassurance from Austin, Samuel had gradually come to terms with the fact people were blaming him for Trident’s collapse and moved on from it. He knew he was nothing more than a scapegoat, a face that was easy to blame while society struggled to deal with what was happening. He had almost been at peace with the knowledge, until he returned home and discovered exactly why his mother was no longer around. That was something which would be impossible to forget. Whether he was truly responsible for what had happened at Trident or not, Samuel knew that it was people’s assumptions over that, that had ended his mother’s life. He remembered that as he tinkered with the radio each night and tried to find a signal, a part of him hoping he could find another station blaming him for what had happened, track down the broadcaster and prove them wrong once and for all.
Charles only murmured in response. The old man was uninterested by the radio and unenthusiastic about any of the potential evening activities that Samuel had laid out for him over the last few days. Instead, Charles preferred to be left alone to read his books or simply sit and stare off into space. Samuel had no idea what his father was thinking of half the time, but when quiet tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks, he was able to hazard a pretty good guess.
“How much longer do you think we can keep this up?”
“What?” Samuel turned back to face his father, looking away from the garden outside where the sun was just about still high enough in the sky for him to see the flecks of dirt on the grass, evidence of the grave where his mother was buried. While Charles lost hours thinking about the woman, Samuel stole glances whenever he had the chance, picturing Addison lying beneath the soil and feeling rage bubble up inside of him as a result. That shouldn’t have happened to her. It wasn’t fair. [MP13]
“This,” Charles continued with a sigh. “How much longer do you think we can stay here for? In another week, I won’t even have the strength to leave.”
“You will, dad,” Samuel answered, walking over to his father’s side. “We’ll work something out.”
“Be realistic, Samuel. There’s a ticking clock on the wall and it’s not getting any slower. I know we said we’d talk about this when the time was right. Well, I think that time has come.”
“You want to go into the city?”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Charles nodded. “If the options are stay here and wait to starve to death or leave my home and have a chance of living, then I have to choose the latter, even if it pains me to leave.”
“We wouldn’t be leaving forever,” Samuel reassured his father. “We could come back when everything blows over.”
Charles let out a laugh. “Interesting choice of words,” he spoke with a smile. “I don’t think this is the sort of thing we’ll just wake up from one morning. As much as I’d like a big gust of wind to come and wipe the slate clean, I think we need to live in the mess that we’ve made.”
“But still,” Samuel countered his father, “it doesn’t mean we can’t ever come back here. I know it might be a while, but our home isn’t going anywhere.”
“Maybe not,” Charles shrugged. “Who knows. The only thing I’m sure about right now, is that we can’t stay here much longer. I –” Charles paused and looked up at his son. “I feel myself getting weaker by the day.”
“Dad…”
“No,” Charles silenced his son, “let me finish, Samuel.” The old man still had some strength in him and he wanted to make every last shred of it count. “I’m not an idiot, I know we need to leave this house if we want to stand a chance at surviving, but I also know that no matter where we end up, my chances aren’t great.”
“That’s not –”
“I’ve lived a good life,” Charles continued, cutting off his son again. “And I have very few regrets. So, I want to you to promise me, when the time comes, that if I say go – if I say to leave me behind – you’ll do it.” Raising a hand, Charles signaled to Samuel that he wasn’t quite finished, clearing his throat and pausing for a second. “I know what you’re going to say and I understand why, but there’s no point in you suffering any longer for something you cannot change. You deserve to live your life, Samuel. You deserve to have a future. And I won’t have you sacrificing that for some old fool like me. So, promise me, when it happens, you’ll walk away?”
“Dad, you know I can’t do that.”
“You have to, Samuel. I need to hear you say it.”
***
Staring up at the ceiling in his bed some hours later, Samuel couldn’t believe he’d actually agreed. He knew saying the words to his father was one thing, but doing it would be something else entirely. He didn’t know whether he’d be able to until the time came and until then, it didn’t bear thinking about.
Instead, Samuel chose to focus on the more pressing matter. Tomorrow they were going into the city and for the first time since Trident had been burned to the ground all those weeks ago, he was going to see what had become of the city he had so fondly called his home.
Charles couldn’t make the journey on foot, but thankfully that wasn’t going to be a problem. Locked away in the neighbors’ iron-gated, steel-enforced garage which Charles had the spare key to was a 1968 Shelby Mustang, painted bright red with a white stripe splitting the car in two down the middle. Mr. Cavell had been a car enthusiast for as long as Samuel could remember and it just so happened that in their old age, he and Charles had struck up a close friendship. Samuel had no idea when his father was entrusted with a key to the garage – imagining it was likely during a time when the Cavell’s were away and Mr. Cavell wanted someone to check on his baby for him – but however it happened, it now meant that Samuel and his father had a very impressive ride secured for their trip into the city.
It came as quite a relief to Samuel, the question of how they were going to get into the center plaguing him as he made the plans. Once they were in the city, the best solution that Samuel had was to head to Austin’s apartment in Queens – he had the address and he had faith that his friend would’ve managed to get his family properly set up there. It was as good a bet as anywhere else. Samuel hoped that Austin and his family would’ve found enough food to feed a couple of extra mouths by now.
After the decision had been made, he set about packing up the meagre supplies they had with them, along with a number of keepsakes that Charles didn’t want to leave the house without. Addison’s wedding ring and locket were among them, both items of jewelry Samuel had never seen his mother without, no matter whether they went with her outfit or not. The locket carried pictures of both him and his sister
inside, one last shred of evidence that Addison had truly cared about her children. Samuel had been shocked to discover this, previously unaware of the hidden contents inside the gold casing.
Both items wound up in Charles’ pocket, while a few other family treasures were packed alongside their water canisters, tools and what scraps of food they had left. The bag Samuel had packed it all in was barely half full when they’d finished, cramming the rest of the space with spare clothes instead.
Even with all of that done, he didn’t feel prepared to leave. It felt wrong. Returning to his parents’ house had always been an end goal for Samuel, when Austin had spoken of Poughkeepsie and reuniting with his husband and son, Samuel had pictured himself sitting around the kitchen table with his parents, playing cards as the sun set and sharing the last bottle of red wine. It wasn’t the same without Addison, but it was still a place of safety. Leaving that behind frightened Samuel more than he was willing to admit, but he knew it was his responsibility to look out for his father now. The old man needed him and he was right, staying in Long Island was just like watching a clock run down.
Chapter 18
Despite everything on his mind the next morning, as Samuel sat behind the wheel of the 1968 Mustang, he granted himself a few minutes to appreciate the car itself. He’d never been much of a motorhead, but it was impossible not to marvel at the vehicle as he and his father pulled away from the house, leaving it and Addison’s grave behind. Samuel tried not to think about it, focusing instead on how the leather seat felt beneath him and how smoothly the vehicle cornered even after all this time. Once the house disappeared in the rearview mirror, he forced himself to put all thoughts about it out of his head and focus instead on where they were going.
He was excited to see Austin again. And Bowie. Even Dante and Meghan. Samuel thought of the family as he navigated away from the quiet streets of Long Island and in the direction of Queens. He pictured what their apartment might look like, imagining an art deco interior with vibrant splashes of color mixed in with contemporary art. Austin was a practical man, but he had a flair as well, and Samuel was sure that would be reflected in his home.
The longer he was driving, the harder it became to picture a well decorated apartment in an up and coming part of the city. New York was far from a pretty sight now, buildings smashed and looted, burned and crumbling in some cases. Cars were rolled over on the side of the road, their windows broken and tires punctured. Evidence of the collapse was everywhere and it only grew worse the further they drove.
“I can’t believe this,” Charles whispered as he gazed out of the passenger side window. “What’s happened?”
Samuel shook his head and remained quiet, nothing he could say was adequate enough to answer his father’s question. It was like America had been struck by mass warfare – the streets empty of other working vehicles and the sidewalks quiet. They weren’t back in the middle of the city yet, but there would still normally be people out on the streets. Charles pressed his forehead up against the window as he looked out, searching for any sign of life.
As the car grew stuffy in the heat, Samuel rolled down the window and let the breeze whistle through. It was calming and comforting, making him feel like he could ride the wind to anywhere in the world and avoid all his troubles. But then another thought crossed his mind. In the silence of New York City, the 1968 Mustang was like a rocket. The engine roared so loudly that Samuel and Charles were unable to hear one another speaking while the window was down. As they began to approach the inner city, both men realized that they could be heard from miles away and with that noise, came unwanted attention.
“Slow down,” Charles instructed his son as Samuel continued along the Northern State Parkway, the buildings around them becoming more built up – and torn down – with each passing minute.
Samuel did as he was told and the engine quietened, but it was still a working vehicle in an otherwise dormant city. There were likely other cars which people had managed to keep running, but none quite as loud and overbearing as the Mustang Samuel and his father sat in. The red paint still shimmered on the hood of the car, the vehicle freshly polished before it was last put away in the garage to sleep.
A blazing fire in the distance caught Samuel’s attention as he took a turn, navigating as best he could from memory back to where Austin lived. The temperature outside seemed to increase as he drove closer, the air heating up as all the oxygen was sucked into the flames. Entire buildings were consumed by it, red and orange tendrils reaching out and grabbing hold of anything they could see. Slowing the car to a halt in the middle of the road in front of the fire, Samuel knew there was no way he could drive past it. Parts of the buildings were starting to break apart and crash down into the road, if they continued on this route, there was a high chance they wouldn’t make it to the other side.
“We’ll find another way,” Samuel commented, twisting in his seat and putting a hand on the back of his father’s chair as he reversed back the way he’d come, swinging into an alley and turning the car around.
“Why isn’t anybody helping?” Charles asked in awe as he stared into the fire, a loud crash ringing out as part of the building plummeted down to the street below. “How is it so bad? What started it?”
Samuel could only shrug. “Kids,” he guessed, raising his eyebrows. “Someone’s fire they were using to cook got out of control maybe? I don’t know, dad. But there aren’t any fire fighters left to put these sorts of things out now.”
“So, what happens?” Charles asked, turning back in his seat to look back at the burning buildings they left behind them. “The fire’s just left to burn?”
“Yeah,” Samuel admitted. “Half the city’s lost already, dad. The Manhattan skyline isn’t what it used to be.”
Charles’ mouth dropped open in astonishment, unable to fathom what his son was saying. From their home in Long Island, Charles and Addison watched what brief news reports there were on the day of Trident’s collapse before all the power went out. From then, they had spoken to trusted neighbors when they could, but mostly they had kept to themselves, unaware of what was happening in their city. Charles had no idea the heights the destruction had reached nor the level of dissolution society had come to. He was seeing everything for the first time and he was having his eyes opened to the truth.
Samuel on the other hand was less bewitched by the surroundings and more focused on where they were going. Because of the fire, he needed to go a different way to get to Austin’s and it meant driving through an area of Queens he wasn’t as familiar with. Keeping his window cracked at the top, Samuel drove slowly along the empty streets, every now and then catching sight of someone down an alleyway or in a window and being reminded that the city was not, in fact, deserted.
Shadows scuttled just out of sight like animals caught in the headlights, moving away just as Samuel turned his head to try and catch a glimpse of them. He constantly felt like they were being watched, but couldn’t figure out where from, Samuel’s eyes darting off the road and all around him as he drove. He didn’t feel comfortable, the layer of sweat that quickly formed on the small of his back and his upper lip amplified the feeling.
“How much further is it?” Charles asked as Samuel peered up at a road sign as he reached a crossroads, trying to remember which direction he needed to go in. Several years had passed since Samuel last made a journey to somewhere unfamiliar without the use of GPS and the built-in navigational system in his car. The Mustang had neither.
“Not long,” Samuel replied. “They live around here somewhere, I just can’t remember which turning to take. All these one-way streets have got me confused.”
Charles laughed. “I don’t think there’s going to be anyone telling you to turn around, just drive.”
A smile cracked on Samuel’s face as he realized how foolish he was being. Of course there was no need to follow the road signs and obey the one-way directions; there weren’t any other cars on the road. Glancing across at hi
s father, Samuel grinned and took the next turn, the virtual map in his head slowly coming together as he headed for Austin’s apartment. He was still looking at his father when he rounded the corner, seeing the old man’s expression change before he saw the reason why.
Standing in the middle of the road, blocking their path was an overweight bald man, wearing an open leather vest over his otherwise bare chest. In his hands he carried a shotgun, the weapon carried across his body and not held in a threatening way, but making its presence clearly known. Samuel slowed the car and immediately spun around in his seat to try and reverse away from the strange man, shifting the gear stick before his eyes fell on another similar looking man, blocking the road he had just turned off.
“Dad…”
“It’ll be okay,” Charles reassured his son, looking back as another man joined the one behind their car. They were surrounded, but while the men all carried weapons, no one had threatened them yet. “Are the doors locked?”
“I don’t think so,” Samuel replied, looking down at the doorframe and seeing the old-fashioned locking mechanism still pointing up. When the doors were locked it slid down inside the frame and disappeared with a click. There hadn’t been any reason for Samuel to click them on when they left Long Island, now he was wishing he had. “Should I turn them on?”
“Just roll down the window,” Charles said instead, aware that the clicking sound of the doors being locked could be a catalyst for something very bad. “Let’s see what they want.”
Doing as his father instructed, Samuel opened his window a little further. Once it was wound about half way down – neither of the men behind the car or the one in front reacting to the motion – he tilted his head to the side and called out to them.
Wipeout | Book 5 | Foul Play Page 13
