Resurrection Day
Page 34
Jim paused, and looked down. ‘Sorry. Bringing back some killer memories, as you can see. Well. We were in the basement and she looked at us and told us to be good, to keep on studying and helping each other, and not to worry. Then she patted me on the cheek and said that since I was the oldest, I was now in charge. She put her hat on her head and walked up the stairs outside, and that’s the last any of us saw of her. And I’ve been in charge ever since.’
Carl said, ‘This whole place, this is all yours?’
Jim smiled, a sad expression. ‘Well, it sure as hell didn’t happen overnight. It came later, after we started expanding some. Other kids, a few adults, they joined up with us ‘cause we were organized, and we took care of each other.’
Sandy glanced up from her notepad. ‘Why didn’t you leave the city with everyone else after the bombings?’
He shrugged. ‘I guess the word never got to us at first. You see, we were living in the school basement and we spent most of our time there. We were afraid of fallout and we were scared of whatever was out there that had gotten Mrs. Callaghan and Mrs. Bouchard. So we only went out for short periods of time, late at night, scavenging for food. You see, it’s less windy at night, less chance of fallout coming from Queens and Long Island. After a while, that’s the way of life you get used to. Then we did hear about the evacuations, but we also heard other things as well. That they were shooting the sick, or the ones that had been exposed to a lot of radiation. Crazy stuff like that, but we believed it. By then we didn’t trust much of anybody or anything, and we decided it was better to stay on. Plus, you know, we were still kids. It was like some sort of adventure. Better to be in a gang in the city than split up in a bunch of foster homes if we did get off the island.’
Carl looked around the room. ‘How did you end up here?’
‘Just outgrew the school,’ Jim said, toying with a fountain pen on his desk. ‘After a while we were the only real organised group in this part of the Village, and we started trading with other gangs, mostly kids like ourselves, or people in other blocks, who never left. We like being underground, you know. Keeps us out of the Army’s way, it’s a way of life that we’re used to, and . . . well, if the bombs ever come again, we feel like we’ll already be protected.’
Sandy said, ‘You know, of course, that there’s no more Soviet Union. Or even Red China. It’s a fairly remote possibility.’
He smiled back at her, though he didn’t look particularly happy. ‘I’m sorry to say we’re not as trustful as you, Miss Price. We thought the grown-ups would take care of us, as kids always do, and we got a quick lesson that they didn’t know what the hell they were doing. You tell me that we don’t have to worry about the Russians or the Chinese. That’s true, and you don’t have to lecture us. We get the shortwave and a couple of times when I’ve been over to New Jersey, I’ve seen the TV. I know what’s going on out there, even if you didn’t know about us. I know about the English and the French and the Germans. They think they’re first on the world stage again, and I know most of ‘em don’t like us. So one of these days, if the French or the Germans or even the English get tired of us, you can bet that they’ll strap a few bombs on their rockets and finish the job the Russians started.’
Sandy was writing furiously and Carl noted the red flush on her cheeks, and stepped in, saying, ‘You said you didn’t trust grown-ups or adults, Jim, so why the picture of Kennedy?’
He swiveled in his chair. ‘JFK? The only president I really knew as a kid. I can’t half remember Eisenhower. My mom and dad, they were ...well, they were lifelong Democrats. Loved Roosevelt. They told me during the missile crisis, before the war started, that JFK would do good, that he wouldn’t allow the Commies or the generals to take us to war. I guess I believed my mom and dad, and believed in JFK. I’ve even heard him a couple of times since the war, on the radio. Or at least some guy who claims to be him. Nice to think that he didn’t get killed in the bombing, and it sure would be somethin’ if he came back to run things.’
Jim turned back to the desk. ‘Plus, it’s good for business.’
Carl asked, ‘How is it good for business?’
‘The old Kennedy folks, the true believers, the ones that worked in his administration. Some of them live here.’
Sandy snapped up her head with surprise. ‘Here? They live in this subway station?’
‘No, no, most of them live in the Upper West Side. I meant they still live in New York City. Still a bit snobby, after all that happened. We do some trading with ‘em and they like to see the picture. Makes them think about the good old days.’
Sandy said, ‘You mean they never left in the evacuation.’
‘Well, you could say that...’
Carl spoke up. ‘They came here, didn’t they?’
Sandy stared at him, not saying a word.
Jim nodded slowly, as Carl went on. ‘Sure. After the war, with the pressure on about the Domestic War Crimes Trial, and arrests and lynchings and all that, they had to go some-place safe, someplace where they could drop out of sight. Why not here, in the largest and most empty city in the world? Guarded on the outside by the Army, left pretty much alone. How many of them are here?’
‘Hard to tell,’ Jim said. ‘But they are certainly the true believers. I’ve had grown guys, old enough to be my grandfather, in this office and crying in their hands, saying how sorry they were about what happened. The first time I heard that, I felt bad about everything, but at about the tenth and fifteenth time, I just cut ‘em short and get right to business.’
Then he opened up the ledger and said, ‘Which is what I want to talk about. Business. You said something earlier, about wanting to get out of Manhattan. Still true?’
‘Very true,’ Carl said. ‘Is it possible?’
‘Surely is,’ Jim said, nodding at them both. ‘We run this part of the subway system, and we’ve explored a lot of places over the years. You’d be surprised at how many water mains, conduits, old subway tunnels, and inspection tubes there are underground. Some of the guys are real explorers, they like to find where some of these old tunnels end up. And we found one that we’ve used for a while, that ends up in New Jersey. You interested?’
‘Very,’ Sandy said.
‘It’s pricey,’ Jim warned. ‘And pricey for a reason. We can’t have everybody traipsing back and forth. It takes a lot of upkeep, and that means resources, and we have to be choosy. So. The earliest you could leave is about five A.M. tomorrow. Whaddya got?’
Now, he thought. Now’s the time. ‘Information,’ Carl said.
‘Information?’ Jim said, like he couldn’t believe what Carl had just offered. ‘It had better be pretty important, to pay your fare across the river. So, again. Whaddya got?’
‘The Army. They’re getting ready.’
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the questioning look on Sandy’s face. He kept looking at Jim. The young man said, ‘Getting ready for what?’
‘Getting ready to clear every one of you out.’
‘They’ve tried before,’ Jim said bitterly. ‘They failed, and they’ll fail again.’
‘They won’t, this time,’ Carl said.
‘Why?’ came the question.
‘This time, they’ll have help,’ Carl said, not wanting to see the expression on Sandy’s face when he said the next sentence.
‘This time,’ Carl said, ‘they’ll be using British troops.’
Sandy said, ‘Carl, what do you mean—’
Jim held up a hand. ‘Hold on, miss. I want to hear more of what your friend has to say.’
He kept his eyes on Jim, wanting to know what was going on in that young man’s head. ‘Up at the Tyler Air Force Station, there’s British transport aircraft. I’ve also heard reports of other British troop transports, up in Canada, and there are British paratroopers and Army Special Forces - maybe the Zed Force—working together here, in Manhattan. And I’ve seen a supply dump.’
Jim’s voice was steady. ‘What kin
d of supplies?’
‘Rolls of barbed wire. Plastic handcuffs. Wooden barricades. Riot sticks. Shields. And crates of CS gas, also known as teargas.’
Sandy remained silent. Jim was staring right at him. ‘Anything else?’
A few things,’ Carl said. ‘We’ve heard that next January, Rockefeller will be inaugurated in Washington Square. Couple of months after that, Manhattan will be open for resettlement. We were part of a press tour, Sandy and I. My guess is that they wanted to publicize the fact that the island is ready to be resettled, and to let everyone know that the island is empty.’
He added, motioning with his hand, ‘They want the press to go back and say that this place doesn’t exist. That you and PS 19 don’t exist. And that opens the way for the troops to come in and clear you out, and soon. My guess is, maybe after the election, just before the inauguration. Maybe before the first snows fly.’
Jim said nothing, though Carl noticed his free hand was toying with the old fountain pen, rolling it back and forth, back and forth. It was quiet enough that Carl could hear someone whistling outside in the corridor, and the faint music of a flute.
The head of PS 19 cleared his throat. ‘Mister, you just got you and your friend a ticket off this island.’
~ * ~
A few hours later they were in a tiny room built from scrap lumber and plywood, part of a boardinghouse that had been built over a stretch of rails in the subway tunnel. The only light came from a tiny bulb set in the wooden wall. The older woman who ran the boardinghouse and wore a patched jumpsuit that had a faded New York City Sanitation Department badge on the side had given them two keys and told them what to expect.
‘It’s clean and that’s about it,’ she said. ‘There’s some cold running water from a faucet over there, and there’s a chamber pot under each bed. No open fires. That means no smoking and no candles. We find you folks using any flames, you get sent up top and we take whatever we think is of most value from ya as a fine. Got it?’
Carl looked at the two cots with blankets, a small table, and an even smaller sink in one corner. ‘It’s gotten.’
She left and Sandy dropped her satchel and went over to the little sink, ran some water, and began washing her face. ‘We’ve got to help them, you know.’
He sat down on the other cot. ‘I know, but we’ve done what we could. We’ve warned them what’s going to happen.’ He was tired and his left leg ached, but he was also trembling with nervous energy. After leaving Jim Rowley, with Paco as their guide, they had spent the next couple of hours talking to people and taking photographs. His mouth was still dry from talking so much, his fingers ached from scribbling notes and taking picture after picture, and his head throbbed from trying to reason through all of the things that they had been shown. The small businesses that thrived in the underground community, protected by PS 19. The storerooms of canned food and other supplies, guarded by sharp-eyed young men with weapons. The infirmary, dealing with the sick and the dying, especially those men and women suffering from fallout-induced cancers. The classroom where children—some of whom had been born after the war—were taught, not unlike a one-room New England schoolhouse.
And then there had been a meal in a cafeteria-like setting, with thick black bread and bowls of soup that neither he nor Sandy wanted to know the ingredients of. There was a low chatter of voices in the cafeteria, about fifty or sixty people, and most eyes were on them. The outsiders. The reporters. The ones who came from the world of real hospitals and electricity and hot water and safe food. They had not been unfriendly looks, but neither had they been friendly. Cautiously curious was more like it, he thought. But there had been other things as well, and he noticed Jim a couple of times, speaking urgently and quietly with other members of PS 19.
Now he watched as Sandy dried her face with a small dish towel that he had salvaged earlier, and she said, ‘When we get out of here, I’ll run the story in the Times. Maybe we should go to Philadelphia first, so the two of us can find refuge in our embassy. Then I can get the story and your pictures out through a diplomatic pouch. Don’t take it personally, but I know your newspaper wouldn’t be allowed to print anything. Especially with your censor out there in Manhattan.’
‘That might make it worse for Jim and his folks,’ Carl said. ‘All that publicity.’
She turned, still wiping her face dry. ‘Could it be any worse than what you predicted for them? Teargassed in these tunnels? Brought out like animals and sent to some camp out West, so that this place is nice and empty for Rockefeller in January?’
He stifled a yawn. ‘Face it, Sandy. Your instincts are good, but they’re wrong.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You mentioned it before. The Official Secrets Act. A D-notice. You think your story will get published, once your editors find out what’s involved?’
She turned to him. ‘But it’s a story, an important story, a—’
‘Damn right it’s an important story, but it’s a dangerous one as well. Look at the facts. You have troops here, and troops in Canada. They’re coming over on someone’s behalf, someone’s invitation. That means a very powerful high-level agreement. A secret agreement. I’m sure that your Official Secrets Act will cover that.’
Sandy threw the towel on the cot in disgust. ‘Damn it. .. You’re right, you know that? You’re right.’ She sat down, rubbed at the side of her temples. ‘The paras ... I had an uncle who was in the Parachute Regiment in World War II. Very dashing, very cocky. A nice man who brought me sweets every time he visited us, but a man who once punched a bloke in the local pub because he insulted the Queen.’
She looked up at him. ‘I can’t believe they’d do something like that, like coming here and helping your Special Forces arrest these people, destroy their way of life.’
‘The paras are a fine, special, elite force. They follow orders. It’s what they’re trained to do, it’s what they have to do. The people who give the orders, the people who reached this agreement, they’re the ones who deserve blame.’
‘We must be able to do something.’
‘We’ve warned them,’ Carl said, his own mind tossing out options, thinking of what he might have missed. ‘That has to be enough.’
‘I don’t like it.’
‘Neither do I.’
~ * ~
Later, he lay next to her on the cot. After looking at the gray sheets and black blankets—‘the easier to hide the grime, I suppose,’ she said—she had climbed inside fully clothed. She was tired, but he felt terribly awake, so he offered to hold her until she fell asleep. A lot of things were racing through his mind, from Sandy to Merl to this crew of kids running things, kids looking jaunty in their Yankees baseball caps . . .
You idiot, he thought furiously. You should have noticed that before.
Yawning and rubbing her head against his shoulder, Sandy said, ‘Promise me something, will you?’
‘All right,’ he answered mechanically.
She sighed and her hair tickled his nose. ‘When all this mess is taken care of, come back to London with me. I want you there, in a safe city. Rooms in the Savoy, a walk by the Serpentine, tea at Harrods. It’ll be lovely ... so lovely . ..’
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘Of course.’
He stroked her hair for a while, until he was sure that she was asleep, and then he gently untangled himself from her arms and stood up. The little light set in the wall was still lit, and he left it on. He scratched at his hair and looked at his own cot. He knew he should get some sleep. He knew that they had a long day ahead of them tomorrow. He knew what he should do.
And he went to the door and outside into the subway tunnel, gently closing the door behind him.
~ * ~
Fifteen minutes later, he was back in Jim Rowley’s tiny office, and Jim was looking at him with a mix of suspicion and confusion. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand your request. Look, you’re leaving here in about five hours. Shouldn’t you get some sleep?’
He looked at the name. ‘Sarah Landry. A relative?’
‘My sister.’
‘Missing?’
‘Since the war. She was a student at a college near Omaha. I got word after the bombing that she might have survived. I’ve tried all the regular channels, Red Cross, Salvation Army. Nothing.’
‘Why do you think she might be here?’
How to explain it, he thought. How to explain the way Sarah thought and the way she talked, her loud opinions about politics and life and women. ‘I don’t think she’d like it, out there in the Midwest. I think she’d like it better here.’