by Jo Treggiari
His forehead wrinkled. “How?”
Her fingers tightened on his. The knuckles showed white. He groaned.
“I got away from them,” she said again. “Shhhh.”
He shook his head. “Let me talk.” He tried to rise from the ground but couldn’t. “You’re okay? They said they wouldn’t hurt any of you.”
“Oh, Leo.” Del’s eyes filled with tears. One splashed onto her hand. She rubbed her face against the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
“The kids? Lottie and Patrick. Were they with you?” she asked.
He shook his head. His tongue ran over his blackened lips. “They were kept in the tower. I was put in the hospital with the other adults.”
“Hank?” Grammalie asked. “Walter and Olive from the sweep before?”
“I don’t know. They were with me, but then—I didn’t see them again.”
“Why did they put you in the hospital?” Aidan asked.
Leo ran the tip of his tongue over his cracked lips. “Tests. Needles. Dr. Lessing said the secret was in the blood. But which blood … the dogs know.”
He seemed to be raving again. The muscles along his jaw bulged and jumped. Dr. Lessing, Lucy thought to herself. The name was familiar for some reason. Not her family doctor. That had been dear old Dr. Ferguson, who handed out lollipops, and he was dead. Maybe an X-ray doctor at the hospital, though she didn’t think that was it, either. But Leo was clearly out of his head. Maybe he was mixing up the past with the present.
“Let him sleep,” Aidan said.
Del looked up at him briefly and then back down to Leo. “Did you get sick? Were they treating you?”
Leo’s eyes rolled wildly. “Not treating. Infecting.”
“What?” said Aidan. He dropped to his knees beside the man. “What did you say?”
Del shushed him. She watched Leo’s face. His eyes darted from her to Aidan to Grammalie Rose, who stood behind them, clasping and unclasping her hands. Lucy wanted to leave, but her feet were rooted to the ground.
Leo took a deep breath. It whistled in his chest, as if he were sucking air through a blocked straw. Sweat broke out in huge droplets across his forehead, yet his teeth chattered. Grammalie covered him with the sheets, smoothing them under his chin as if he were a small child. Del stripped off her sweatshirt and carefully pushed it under his head for a pillow.
“They made me sick,” he said between throttled gasps for air. “'Easy,’ they said. They’d done it a hundred times. Then they injected me with different serums, vaccines. Looking for the secret in the blood. The blood.” His chest rattled as he struggled to breathe. The flesh around his lips was as white as a fish’s underbelly. Lucy found herself digging her nails into the palms of her hands. The healed knife wound itched. She remembered how gentle he had been when he bandaged it. She pulled off a loose strip of skin, wondering why it didn’t hurt.
After a few torturous seconds, Leo continued. “It didn’t work, so the Sweepers dumped me. They promised the kids would be safe if I cooperated. And you,” he said, looking at Del.
Del sat up. Her fingers tightened around Leo’s hand. “Did they lie about that?” she asked. “What happened to the kids?”
He drew another shuddering breath. His face purpled, visible even through the black blood. His chest seemed to be laboring with no effect. “I don’t know. They weren’t in the hospital. No one alive there now.” His fingers tightened around her hand. “Del, she lied about everything.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
GOING IN
Lucy stared at the mess of beans and overcooked rice on her plate. She pushed them around with her fork. She had tried to eat the food but it was tasteless, and just the sulfurous smell of it, the look of it, was making her stomach rebel. Across from her, Del was doing the same thing. Shoveling beans up into mountains and smashing them to mush, using her fork as a weapon. Her hair was a tangled mess. She’d gathered it back into a ponytail, but hanks of it fell forward over her face and trailed over the tabletop. And she’d chewed most of her fingernails off, one finger after another, spitting the half-moon curls into the air. One had ripped into a jagged edge, and a spot of blood welled next to the cuticle. She sat hunched in her seat as if her spine couldn’t support her, and her eyes were shadowed and looked huge in her face. Lucy probably looked just as crappy. She knew her hair was one big frizzy knot, but she couldn’t make herself care too much. She had the curious sensation that she wasn’t really in her body. Beside her, Aidan turned a hunk of bread into a pile of crumbs.
Leo had died half an hour ago, first his breath becoming more and more labored, then the veins on his thick neck standing out like cables. He’d been unable to bear the touch of blankets or wet cloths against his skin. Grammalie Rose and Henry had talked, quietly, and then given him a glass of cloudy water to drink. Leo had gripped Henry’s wrist and guided the edge of the glass to his lips. This time the big man hadn’t struggled, although it seemed as if most of the liquid had dribbled out of his mouth and onto his chest. He’d kept his hand on Henry’s wrist until the water was gone, and then he’d moved the hand to Henry’s shoulder before letting it fall limply to his side.
At least, Lucy had thought it was water, but afterward Leo had sunk back against Del’s pillowed sweatshirt and his eyes had closed. The lines of pain, the grooves between his blood-filled eyes, had smoothed, and it was only when Lucy had realized that she was holding her breath, waiting for his next breath, which did not come, that the truth became clear.
Now, she felt as if she’d hit her head. Her brain couldn’t process everything that had happened in the last few hours, and simple things like eating and talking were beyond her capabilities. She could only sit and stare at the congealed heap of food on her plate. The only thing that felt real and alive to her was Aidan’s hand wrapped around her own and the warmth his body gave off. Del had glanced at their interlaced hands and something had passed over her face, but it was so quickly replaced by a glazed expression that Lucy was convinced she had imagined it.
Del shivered now. Her bare arms were goose-pimpled. The wind had picked up, and she, Lucy, and Aidan sat at a far table, not wanting to be close to the people gathered by the fire. They’d made their way there by consensus, although it hadn’t been spoken out loud. Lucy didn’t think any of them had said more than two words in the last hour. Somehow, though, they had headed in the same direction, in a group, the three of them together.
Sammy had brought over the food. His white mask hung from his neck on a loop of string, his face bare for once. He’d put the plates down, a large bowl filled with beans and rice, bread, some water. He’d pulled Del into a hug. Surprisingly, she hadn’t jerked away from his touch. Instead she’d nestled under his arm, her face turned against his shoulder. A few sobs had escaped from her mouth, and Sammy had stroked her head, murmuring words too faint to catch, before letting her go. And then, after a worried glance at Aidan’s face and a nod to Lucy, he’d gone back to the huddled mass of people by the fire.
Lucy pulled her hoodie over her head and pushed it across the table, then shrugged back into her coat. Del glanced at her and put it on without a word. Afterward she went back to picking at her ragged fingernails.
Lucy looked over at the crowd. She thought that all the scavengers were grouped there, the young and the old. Henry was sitting close to Beth. She wore a pearly blue mask that glowed in the light of the flames and, instead of her usual black robes, a light sweater and a pair of jeans. Sammy was cross-legged on a bench. The kids sat in a circle on the ground, away from the flying embers, wrapped in blankets, and Lucy thought Sammy was telling them a story. He was clearly acting something out. She could see his extravagant gestures with his shadow leaping behind him on the hanging tarpaulins, the white mask catching the fire gleam, and she could hear the low hum of his voice. Every once in a while a child shrieked, but it was a joyful sound followed by squeals of laughter.
“Sammy knows how to scare them in just the right way,” Aidan sai
d.
Lucy searched for Grammalie Rose’s unmistakable silhouette but didn’t find her. “What will happen now?” she asked quietly. She couldn’t tell if Del was listening or not. Her hands were pulled into the sleeves of Lucy’s sweatshirt. She had her head down, the hood up. Her silver bracelets sparkled in a stack in front of her. She’d stripped them off as well as the large gold hoops she wore in both ears, pulling so hard she’d ripped the lobe, but Lucy didn’t think she’d felt the pain.
“Connor and Scout are collecting wood,” Aidan said. “Once dinner is over and the kids go to bed, they’ll build up the fire.” His voice cracked. “We have gasoline. No cars, but plenty of fuel.”
Lucy felt the tears fill her eyes. She knew that was the way of it, but it filled her with horror. It brought back memories of the mattresses piled in the treelined street she had grown up on. She remembered the roar of orange flames and the surprising stink of burning fibers. The billowing black clouds that obliterated the sky like an eclipse.
“Does everyone know that he died of the plague?” Lucy asked.
“Not the littlest kids, but everyone else.”
“I can’t be here when they—” Del said.
Aidan cleared his throat. He squeezed Lucy’s hand and then let it go. He reached over for Del’s hand, but she just stared at his fingers until he withdrew them. Lucy noticed the hurt look that flashed across his face, and something in her belly hardened. Aidan cleared his throat again. “We won’t be,” he said. “We’re going to the tower.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Right?”
Lucy sat up. “Can we?”
“We know that the kids are in the tower, not the hospital. It probably won’t be guarded as well. I mean, they’re a bunch of kids, not one over eleven years old.” He sounded excited and determined. He looked at Del. “You saw the tower. You remember the basic layout.” She nodded slowly and sat up straight.
“I remember the way in. A big winding staircase with lots of rooms coming off it.” She frowned. “There was a main entrance and a fire door around the side.”
“We know the kids were in the tower,” Lucy said. “They might not be there anymore.”
“We need to try,” he said. “Things have changed.”
It went unsaid, but the words hung in the air: They’re killing people.
He shifted on the bench. “We’ll have to head west across the plateau and the Great Hill, and then south, and cross the mudflats. Find the bridge to Roosevelt Island.”
“What about taking the big road? The way the vans came? Wouldn’t it make more sense to go that way?”
Aidan shook his head. “Too exposed. There’s nowhere to duck and cover if the vans are out. They could just scoop us up.” He met her concerned look.
“I know,” he said. “It’s miles longer, and over uneven ground, but we have a better chance of getting there unseen.”
Del stared steadily at the table, tension visible in the line of her shoulders.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Aidan continued. “It’ll be tough at the beginning, but once we’re down on the low ground, it should be pretty straightforward.”
“The mudflats are probably still dry enough,” Lucy said, feeling a bubble of excitement. “Did you check them out earlier?”
He shook his head. “Not today, but last week. Leo was wandering around that gully where the Grand Canal crosses under the road.” His voice roughened and he cleared it. “You’ll have to lead us over the Wilds. It’ll be dark and you know them better than anyone.”
Lucy thought. They were still barely into the Long Wet. When she’d left her camp, the waters had been high, but no higher than the top of the toadstool on the Alice statue. Rainfall had been light and the tsunami had swept through over a week ago. “The ground shouldn’t be too bad.” She hesitated. “I can find my way around there pretty well, but the island bridge must be half a mile long, exposed, and we’ll have to cross it. We’ll be easy to spot if they post guards.”
Del looked up. “There are no lights on the bridge. If we keep low, we should be okay. There’s lighting inside the tower and the hospital. A generator. I could hear it.” She swallowed. A mixture of emotions ran over her face. Lucy had no trouble recognizing one of them. Fear. It was on all their faces.
“Good,” Aidan said.
Lucy was suddenly nervous. “It could be pretty dangerous.” She wasn’t sure which was worse, heading in blind or, like Del, knowing what was waiting for them.
“We have to go,” said Del. “Otherwise it won’t ever stop.” She pushed the hood back off her face. Her eyes glittered feverishly. There were dark shadows beneath them, and her face was pale and sick.
“We’ll go and we’ll bring the kids back home, no matter what,” she said quietly.
Slowly the sun went down. The children went to their bedrolls. No one lit the lanterns this night. The light from the great fire and the scattered stars was enough, although there was no moon. Every stick of broken furniture, every scrap of timber gathered for the cold months ahead was thrown onto the blaze. The flames shot up higher and higher, transformed into tongues of orange and red by the gasoline Sammy sloshed everywhere. He had removed his mask again, as had Beth and silent Ralph. In the sporadic flashes of illumination, their features looked deeply etched, swarthy but normal.
From the shadows, Lucy watched the flames climb. It seemed impossible that Leo was dead. She remembered his strength and gentleness. She couldn’t see Del’s face, but sensed her overwhelming grief and anger. The girl held herself apart from the others, her gaze fixed ahead, unmoving except for her fingers, which continually worried the red scabs on her wrists. She’d grunted when Lucy told her how sorry she was, and turned her face away when Aidan tried to hold her.
“We should all eat something,” Aidan said, after a time. He handed a loaf of bread around. Lucy tore off a hunk and dutifully chewed. Her mouth was dry. She swallowed with difficulty, taking the water bottle from Aidan and washing down the lump that had caught in her throat with a hefty swig. Del ate a tiny bit and shoved the rest into the pocket of Lucy’s sweatshirt. She still shivered.
“Let’s go now,” she said. “I can’t stand being here any longer.”
“Are you going to be warm enough?” Aidan asked her.
“Once we’re moving. Don’t worry about me.” She sprang up from the bench.
Lucy zipped her jacket and tucked the ends of her hair into the collar. Her legs, clad in cutoffs, were chilled, but she didn’t want to change into her jeans in case they went through water. She checked the clasp on her backpack and shrugged the straps over her shoulders. Aidan and Del had retrieved their packs, too. They each carried a short bow and slingshots, and had stuffed their pockets full of sharp rocks. Lucy had her knife. She made sure the sheath was buckled securely at her hip. In her right hand she hefted a long spear. She’d whittled it out of ash yesterday, and it was similar to the frog spear she’d used at her camp. Five feet long with a three-inch point hardened in the flames of the campfire. She was far better with it than with a bow and arrow, and she had already impressed Aidan by hitting a target four out of five times. Del cast a snotty glance at it, but Lucy ignored her.
“Let’s go,” Aidan said, getting to his feet. “Slowly, as if we’re hunting for rabbits.”
Lucy rose from the bench and followed him. The weight of her bag chafed her sore muscles, but it felt good to be moving. Aidan and Del walked ahead, and she was content to let them lead. Maybe Aidan could calm Del down. She could hear the soft murmur of his voice. A short reply from Del—the tone of her voice so musical when she wasn’t pissed off. He slung his arm over her shoulders, gave her a quick hug, and then let go.
Their forms were bulked out by the backpacks. Lucy wasn’t worried their leaving would give rise to suspicion. Even if someone in the camp saw them, which didn’t seem likely, pretty much everyone carried their personal possessions with them at all times. More so since the last Sweeper attack.
> If they were lucky, they’d get to the tower before dawn broke.
Lucy concentrated on where she placed her feet, being especially careful while her eyes were adjusting to the dark. Thousands of stars lit up the sky, but the twisting alleys around the camp were still confusing to her, and they were treacherous, strewn with trash and rubble. She knew they were heading west at first, until they’d crossed the bridge out of the Hell Gate and reached the plateau. Then they would turn toward the south. The terror of her journey across the canal was still fresh in her mind, and she fought to control her breathing. One foot in front of the other, Lucy told herself, stubbornly determined not to let Del sense her fear.
Too soon they had reached the suspension bridge and the gorge. The winds seemed stronger here, whistling past like racing cars. A horrid thought occurred to Lucy, and she ran to catch up to the others.
“We’re just going to cross one of these things, right?” she asked Aidan in a low voice, darting a glance at Del. She appeared to be distracted. She stood a few feet away, tearing at her raw thumbnail. Her sleek head came up when Lucy spoke.
“Scared?” she said mockingly.
Lucy felt her cheeks redden. She found herself missing the grieving, silent Del. “No.” Yes, said the voice in her head. “I came this way already, remember?” she reminded the other girl. Helped along by a tsunami at my back and too panic-stricken to really watch where I was going.
“Hmm,” said Del, like she didn’t believe her.
Lucy itched to hit her.
“By herself,” Aidan added, putting his arm around Lucy.
Del’s face took on a sour expression. She pulled her hair back out of her face and secured it tightly with an elastic.
“Pretty windy tonight. It’s going to rock and roll.” She touched the thin ropes. They vibrated with the force of the wind.
It looked flimsier than before, Lucy thought, this slender device made of old, braided hemp and recycled planks, which hardly seemed capable of supporting a cat.
Del adjusted her bow and quiver across her back. Then, casting one of her arched-eyebrow, curved-lip smiles at Lucy, she walked out onto the bridge.
