It Falls Apart Series | Book 1 | It Falls Apart

by Napier, Barry

  On the sidewalk, the truck dinged a garbage can and rolled over another body. Rather than slow down to be careful about it all, Paul hit the gas slightly and cringed. He sped through all of it, the truck thumping over yet another body. By the time he came to the intersection at 85th and Lexington, he was able to get back onto the street by knocking aside another sawhorse and barely knocking against a hastily stacked pile of sandbags. When he felt pavement back under the truck’s wheels, he settled down a bit; his shoulders relaxed and he took a deep, steadying breath.

  Paul looked ahead and his heart sank. He’d hoped to get at least ten or twelve blocks with the help of this military route, but he saw that he wasn’t going to be so lucky. Through the cordoned off intersection one block ahead, he could see that the New York Streets resumed their previously congested state. He thought of the subway entrance just ahead, thinking of that dark tunnel below their feet. There was also Central Park, just a few blocks to the east of where he currently sat. Even the mere thought of the innumerable dead in both of those places began to overwhelm him. He tried to think of why his mind would go to such a place but some dark shadow in his mind knew the answer and was more than happy to tell him.

  Because the entrance to the George Washington Bridge is ninety blocks away, that’s why. You feel trapped. If you weren’t in such a hurry to escape this, you might have thought it would be best for Olivia and Joyce to sleep the night back at the daycare…fifteen blocks behind you. Your mind is going there because you feel trapped and you’re afraid you’ve trapped them, too.

  It was all true, but he managed to push it away. Besides, with less than an hour of daylight remaining, he figured that time would be better put to use by being proactive and covering as much ground as possible.

  So he drove forward, covering 86th Street and then coming to a stop at the intersection where a train of cars had started to pour in through Lexington and Madison Avenues. He looked over to Olivia and gave her an apologetic look. Olivia still had something of a blank look in her eyes, the same look that had appeared when Joyce had asked if they should call her mother.

  Olivia looked down to Joyce and lovingly placed a hand on the side of the girl’s face. “Joyce, we’re going to need to walk now, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you okay with the blindfold?”

  She wrinkled her little nose, shifting the mask a bit. “I guess so. How much longer do I have to wear it?”

  “I don’t know, sweetie. Hopefully not much longer.” She looked to Paul, then out to where the cars were once again blocking the streets. “There’s one more thing, Joyce—something I need you to do for me.”

  “Okay…”

  “I need to step out of the truck and speak in private to our friend, Paul, okay? So that means I need you to sit here in the truck by yourself for a bit. But Paul and I will be right outside and I’ll be able to see you.”

  “That’s scary,” Joyce said at once. “Can I at least take off the blindfold?”

  “No, not yet. But I tell you what. When I get out there, I want you to start singing that song you like. The one you said your mommy taught you about the three birds.”

  “The one by Mr. Marley?”

  “Yeah, that one. Sing it, and I’ll keep the beat on the hood of the truck. That way you’ll know I’m out there. And I promise…it won’t take more than two minutes and then we’ll be back in. But when I open that door again, we’re going to have to walk. Maybe a lot.”

  “Okay,” Joyce said with some sorrow in her voice. “But this adventure is starting to get scary.”

  “I know,” Olivia replied. She then leaned down and kissed the little girl on the forehead. “Okay, so start singing now, okay?”

  Joyce wasted no time. She started singing and instantly bobbed her head right along. “Don’t worry…’bout a thing. ‘Cause every little thing…gonna be alright!”

  Before she’d finished the last word of the first line, Olivia had opened the passenger side door. Paul opened his door as well and met her in front of the truck. They both left the doors open, not wanting Joyce to feel trapped and alone.

  “I have to tell her, don’t I?” Olivia said right away.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well, I need your opinion. I can’t do this…I can’t make a decision like this on my own.”

  Paul considered it for a moment as Joyce continued to sing inside the truck. As she sang, “Rise up this morning, smile to the risin’ sun…” Olivia tapped the slow beat on the hood of the truck as she’d promised.

  “I say don’t tell her unless you absolutely have to. If we’re being realistic, we can’t keep that blindfold on her. She’s going to see all of this at some point.” He said this, gesturing all around them. A body on the street corner, having collapsed directly beside a deli, stared blankly at them as if in agreement. “And if she has to digest this and a dead mother, that might be too much, right?”

  Olivia nodded, but she did not look convinced.

  “Plus, as of right now, you have to keep thinking about her father. If we can get the two of them together, I think that sort of news might be better coming from him.”

  “You don’t think this mess is already out there?” she asked. She was a few seconds away from a total collapse. He could hear it in her voice, see it in her eyes, even see it in the way she tapped on the hood of the truck to keep time with Joyce’s singing as her arm trembled.

  Paul thought it was very likely that this mess was already out there. It had taken out the entire city of New York in about twelve hours as far as he could tell. He found it highly unlikely that it had merely stopped at the state line.

  “It probably is,” he said. “But you said her dad is in Minnesota, right? We have to assume he’s safe for now. And the quicker we can get somewhere where the phones will actually work, the sooner we know for sure.”

  “Yeah,” Olivia said. “That’s what we have to do. What I have to do. I just…I need you to help me get to where it’s not so thick…so crowded. I can’t let her see this. Not yet…”

  “Well, we’ve got about two hours of walking ahead of us. Maybe more if the streets and sidewalks are this bad all the way to the bridge. If you think she’ll allow it, I can carry her on my back.”

  “She’s a trusting kid,” Olivia said. “I think she just might. And I can help. But right now, I feel weak. I feel weak and cheated and…and…”

  Paul saw it happen, that dead glimmer in her eyes snapping and causing some other part of her to fade away. Her knees seemed to stop working and she stumbled against the side of the truck, still keeping time with Joyce.

  “Every little thing…gonna be alright…”

  He reached out to hold her steady but Olivia collapsed into him. He caught her and felt her entire body convulsing with sobs. She clutched to him and screamed into his shoulder. Paul held her as well as he could, though it was awkward. He didn’t say anything because he had never believed in promising empty hope. He could not say “It’s going to be okay” because he doubted it would be. So he held her and let her cry, holding her up so she would not collapse into the street.

  And when he realized her arms were limp by her sides but Joyce was still singing, Paul use his right foot to tap hard at the truck’s bumper to keep time with her singing. The sun was setting quickly, Olivia was heaving her sorrow out against him, and little Joyce was singing a Bob Marley song he knew quite well.

  He wished he could say it was the oddest moment of his day but, of course, it was very far from it.

  Chapter 16

  As it turned out, Joyce was more than willing to hitch a ride on Paul’s back. It had been a very long time since Paul had given a piggy-back ride, and he found it oddly refreshing. He and his wife had gone their separate ways twelve years ago, their inability to have children causing part of the stress and tension that eventually ended the marriage. But he had two nephews that he had not seen in about eight years or so, who had loved piggy-back rides from Unc
le Paul whenever they could get them.

  It was clear that Joyce was accustomed to getting this treatment at home. She held on to his shoulders and laced her hands around his neck in a way that was only mildly uncomfortable and did not seem to choke him. To make room for her on his back, he’d swung his backpack around to his chest, which felt weird but wasn’t terrible. He felt Joyce moving her head left and right several times, likely getting irritated with the blindfold.

  “You okay up there?” he asked her.

  “Yeah. Just tired. And this blindfold is itchy. So is the dumb mask. “’Livia, can’t I take it off?”

  “No, not yet. It would be dangerous to take it off right now.”

  “But why?”

  “It’s hard to explain, Joyce. Could you please just trust me for a bit longer?”

  “I don’t like this adventure anymore. I want to go home.”

  Paul did his best to break the tension of the moment before it even had time to settle in. “Don’t like this adventure anymore?” he said in an astonished voice. He put some bounce in his step. “What if you were riding a horse? Would that make it more fun?”

  Joyce giggled a bit and in the face of the day he’d had, it was like music. “Yeah, maybe!” Joyce said.

  Olivia kept stride with him, leaned over closer to him, and whispered: “Thank you.”

  Paul nodded and did his best to keep the bounce in his step, but his muscles and nerves seemed very confused. He was absolutely exhausted, and as true night started to fall across the city, his body seemed to take that as a cue to shut down. But all he needed to do was remind himself of where they were and what was all around them. Even now, as they weaseled their way between two cars at the intersection of 131st Street and Frederick Douglas, the proof of what had occurred today could be seen in the streetlights and glow of storefronts and towering buildings. He was rather surprised the power was not yet out and wondered how much longer it would be before it crashed.

  For now, though, the lights shone down on the ravaged streets. Most of the dead they were passing by now were police officers and a few people that looked like they might be military. When they passed by a small hardware store, there was an older man sitting in a foldout chair right in front of the door. At first, Paul assumed he was still alive but when they got closer to him, the signs of his sickness were pooled and dried at his feet. He’d died in front of the store, his head slightly tilted back and his thick glasses askew on his head.

  Paul only nodded as they continued down Frederick Douglas Boulevard. He had them heading in the direction of Saint Nicholas Avenue, which Paul assumed would give them the shortest overall shot to the bridge. He knew Harlem fairly well and though he was mostly satisfied with the progress they were making, the idea that they still had about forty-five more blocks to go was daunting—especially if he had to cover that distance pretending to gallop like a horse. Especially coming up on one of the roughest parts of the city. He knew the expanse between 130th Street or so and the bridge entrance could be rough at any part of the day—and it only got worse at night. Muggings, rapes, stabbings, shootings…he’s heard of it all from this area during his twenty-two years with the force.

  The question, he supposed, was whether the events of the day had made it even worse or if the streets would be timid. He looked over to Olivia and saw that she had noticed that they’d come into a grimier part of town. His gun was holstered at his back, and he felt it pressing into him, as if reminding him it was there if things got dicey. But honestly, with the traffic being just as bad as anywhere else they’d been, he didn’t think there would be a problem. No matter the reputation this part of the city had, at the end of the day people had a gut instinct for preservation. Hopefully everyone had elected to stay inside. There were certainly fewer dead bodies on these streets as they crossed over onto 135th Street. Again, though, he wasn’t sure if this worked in their favor or against them.

  He had just looked at his watch and saw that it was 9:19 when they heard a single, blood-curdling scream from close by. It was a man’s scream, shrill and high pitched. Paul and Olivia both stopped at the sound of it and turned towards it. For Paul, it was a good reminder that they were clearly not the only ones alive. He thought of his neighbor, refusing to come to the door, and wondered how many others had been wise and stayed in their apartments and houses when the news started circulating about what had happened. Surely there were others.

  Yes, and they’re screaming and shooting one another, Paul thought, basing that assumption on the experiences he’d gathered up throughout the day. And you’re about to take this attractive young lady and this little girl through one of the roughest parts of town…

  Slowly, they started walking again. A few minutes later, he heard a slightly comical sound coming from directly beside his right ear. Joyce’s head had sagged downward; she’d apparently drifted off to sleep and was now snoring lightly.

  “My passenger has fallen asleep,” Paul said.

  “Good,” Olivia said. “Though, I’m sorry. It’s probably harder to carry her like that, huh?”

  “Don’t know yet. We’ll see.”

  Truthfully, though, he had no intention of making Olivia carry the girl through the streets. He’d noticed a few blocks back that Olivia had started to look at more and more of the bodies. It seemed as if she was trying to acclimate herself to the sight. She turned away only a few times, one of which had been when they passed by a car packed with six people, all dead; the passenger on the back driver’s side had been hanging his head out in his final moments. It looked as if, in death, he had been studying something on the road with fierce concentration.

  “Forgive me for asking,” Olivia asked quietly, “ but it’s been on my mind since we left. You told Joyce you have a gun. Do you really, or was it just to make her feel safe?”

  “I do. I have two. My service Glock is holstered against my back. I also have a .45 in my backpack.”

  “So we’re safe?”

  “We’re protected,” he said. “After what happened today, I don’t know if I even trust the word safe.”

  It was a grim comment that he wished he’d kept to himself. “You know how to shoot?” he asked, trying to erase his previous comment.

  “Nope. I’ve never fired a weapon in my life that wasn’t made by Nerf. Do you expect to have to use them between here and your grandfather’s place?”

  “I hope not. It seems like anyone that survived thinks it best to stay inside.”

  “They’re probably right,” Olivia noted.

  “When we get to the bridge, I think we should try making outgoing calls again. It might be worth a—”

  All around them, the streetlights dimmed and then went out. Paul could actually hear a sort of humming noise coming from several directions as the power went out. He knew New York well enough to know that there were several power grids; there was no telling if this outage was central to the Harlem area they were now walking through, or affecting all Manhattan.

  Olivia let out a curse and then a shaky sigh. “Paul…I don’t know if I can do this…”

  “I hate to say it, but I think it’s too late to turn back now. If you just need a break, we can do that, but—”

  “No. Not on these streets. Not on…no. Let’s get across the bridge and then we’ll figure it out. Are you okay to carry Joyce that far? I promise you, I can take her.”

  “You know…given where we are, I think it might be best if my hands were free to grab my gun if needed. Do you think you can manage her for about half an hour?”

  Olivia nodded emphatically and opened her arms to take Joyce. It looked as if she wanted to carry her, and Paul supposed he understood that. He carefully backed up towards Olivia and she took Joyce from his back. Olivia held the girl closely against her chest, Joyce’s head resting in the crook of her right arm. It didn’t seem as if the weight was a bother to Olivia, but Paul still took one of the two packs she had slung over her back, just to lighten her load.

&
nbsp; Joyce stirred, but did not wake up. They started walking again and he noticed that Olivia was now walking much closer to him. In the dark, it all felt more dangerous and Paul couldn’t help but feel more exposed.

  As they finally stepped onto Saint Nicholas Avenue together five minutes later, she was walking so close to him that he could hear her shaky breaths through her mask, coming out in time with the slight tremors that passed through her body. Paul looked through the darkness, feeling like some spooked child every time he saw a body on the street or sidewalk. Just because there was no light, his mind somehow thought that each body he passed would come to life and attack them. Every corner they passed was an invitation for a monster or a murder.

  Two streets further up, one of those corners did present a monster. Only, it was not a snarling toothy creature from the bowels of Hell. Instead, it came in the form of a thin figure slinking out from a darkened alleyway between two apartment buildings. The shape was fragmented by a ramshackle and mostly destroyed vendor booth; the tattered and fallen sign boasted about tasty Dominican food. The man appeared like a living shadow from between the buildings and stood there, motionless and quiet. Paul saw the man before Olivia did and his hand instantly went to his back.

  “I see you,” Paul said.

  “And I see you,” the figure replied. It was the deep and steady voice of a male. When he came a few steps closer and in the dark, Paul saw that he was an African American with a pretty impressive build—the sort of guy that likely hit a weight bench a few times a week. Paul also saw that the man had a gun—a run-of-the-mill 9 millimeter that was passed around on these streets like common currency. The guy looked quite young, no older than twenty for sure. And even though Paul could tell from his constantly moving eyes and over-hyped stance that the man was scared, he also knew he posed a very real threat. Sometimes men that were scared for their lives could be a hundred times more deadly than a confident man with very little to prove.

  “I’m armed, son,” Paul said.