Black River Falls

by Jeff Hirsch

  As soon as I hit the sidewalk, I thought I heard someone call my name. I spun around, but didn’t see anyone. Just the house, towering over me. I thought about all the rooms sitting side by side within its walls—my bedroom, yours, Mom and Dad’s. They seemed like those chambers they find hidden inside pyramids, sealed up for a thousand years, airless. I felt a pull to go inside—to climb the stairs, to lie in my old bed—but I pushed it away. I strapped on my mask and started the walk back to Lucy’s Promise.

  The supply drop must have ended hours earlier. The streets were empty and Black River was quiet. I could’ve believed I was the only one left in town until I heard the sound of someone running on the cross street up ahead. Whoever it was, they were moving fast and heading my way. I slipped behind a row of hedges and waited for them to pass.

  The footfalls got louder, and then a girl with emerald green hair appeared, sprinting down the sidewalk. She made it to a brick house across the street from where I was hiding and collapsed against a telephone pole, head down, panting. The pale blue button-down she was wearing was dark with sweat. Her cutoff jeans and boots were splashed with mud.

  The girl caught her breath, then looked back the way she’d come. That’s when I saw her clearly for the first time. As soon as I did, the world went a little bit still.

  She was about my age, with a heart-shaped face and pale, lightly freckled skin that had gone pink from running. She was obviously scared, but she surveyed the road behind her with a fierceness that was so intense it seemed to make the air around her shimmer.

  I started around the hedge, but before I could take more than a step, she was off again. At the end of the street she cut right and disappeared. By the time I came out into the road, it was empty in both directions. Whoever or whatever she’d been looking for was nowhere in sight.

  I turned to where the peak of Lucy’s Promise rose over the neighborhood. The clouds above it were low and heavy. It took only a few seconds for a storm to turn the trail up the mountain into a river of rocks and mud. I told myself that the girl wasn’t my problem, that I needed to get back home before the rain started. But when I got moving, it wasn’t toward the mountain, it was to follow her.

  When I rounded the corner, I saw her dodging into the driveway of a blue house halfway down the block. A second later, two figures appeared at the far end of the street, racing toward the same house. They hadn’t seen me yet. I wasn’t sure why, but I thought I shouldn’t let them. I hid until they were out of sight and then quietly followed.

  A rusty pickup truck was parked at the end of the driveway. I moved behind it and looked through the windshield into the fenced-in backyard. It was small and overgrown with weeds. A pile of construction debris—lengths of two-by-fours, a box of nails—sat beside a half-built shed in the corner. Two men were squatting in the grass between the house and the shed, looking into the space beneath the back porch.

  One of them was young, in his twenties maybe. Skinny, with shaggy brown hair and a beard. The other man was older. His father? He was thick-chested, with a sizable gut and a sunburned bald patch on top of his head. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on who he was until he pulled a pair of large gold-framed glasses out of his breast pocket and put them on. Mr. Tommasulo. You remember him? The crossing guard for the elementary school down the street? The one who always waved and told us it was a blessed morning as we walked past him on our way to school.

  The younger man inched forward, tilting his head toward the space beneath the porch. “We know you’re confused. You have every right to be. There’s a virus. You caught it. That’s why you’ve lost your memory.”

  “Dale’s right,” Mr. Tommasulo said in that same bright voice I remembered. “But everything will be better if you come out of there. I promise.”

  I eased down the side of the truck and crouched by the front tires to get a better view of the porch. The area beneath it was thick with shadows, but I could just make out the girl. She’d wedged herself in, her back to the house’s concrete foundation. One arm was out in front of her, as stiff as a lance. A shard of broken glass was in her hand.

  “Your name is Myra,” the younger man—Dale—continued, loud and slow, like he was talking to someone who barely understood English. “You and I were married last spring in Hudson. We went to Barcelona for our honeymoon. It cost us an arm and a leg, but we went because it’s been your dream since high school.”

  “You read a book about that architect fella,” Tommasulo said. “The one who made all those weird buildings.”

  “Gaudí,” Dale said. “God, it kills me that you don’t remember, but I know it isn’t your fault. You’re sick. That’s all. But we can explain if you come with us.”

  Everything suddenly became clear. I’d always known that I wasn’t the only uninfected person in Black River. Just as there were people who refused to leave their beach houses when a hurricane was bearing down on them, some uninfected had chosen to stay despite Lassiter’s. They were pretty strict about keeping to themselves, but I’d heard that every now and then one of them got careless and ended up infected. Looked like it’d happened again.

  “We’ve got the photo albums at home,” Tommasulo said. “Wouldn’t you like to see pictures of your wedding?”

  Myra didn’t answer. There was a rumble in the sky, and a light rain began to fall. Before I left, I took a last look. The girl had ventured closer to the lip of the porch. I could see the blue of her shirt and her hand clutching that shard of glass, but everything else was still in the shadows. I felt strangely disappointed not to see her face again. Why? She was just some careless infected girl. I didn’t know her. Had barely even seen her.

  There was another crack of thunder. I started back down the driveway, heading for the street.

  “We can’t wait,” Tommasulo continued behind me. “This thing you have, this virus—it doesn’t just take your memory.”

  I stopped where I was. Raindrops pattered on my shoulders.

  “That’s right,” Dale said. “Pretty soon it goes to the next stage and makes you sicker. You could die!”

  “But it’s okay. We have the cure at home. It’ll be like this never happened. You just have to come with us.”

  “That’s right,” Dale agreed, an oily laugh dribbling out between the words. “Just come on out and we’ll take you home and give you exactly what you need.”

  I turned and looked through the truck’s windshield. Dale was approaching the edge of the porch, reaching into his back pocket as he did. There was a glint of steel as a pair of handcuffs emerged.

  Time jumped forward. I was in the driveway, and then I was in the yard running flat out. Dale turned, his eyes going wide as I drew my knife. But then there was a crash and the world cut to black. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground near the shed and Tommasulo was on top of me, scrambling for my throat. I thrashed underneath him, managing to get my knife hand free. I swung blindly and Tommasulo leaped back, one hand pressed into his thigh.

  I got to my feet. The rain was heavier now, soaking my clothes, weighing me down. I saw a blur off to my left, and then a fist plowed into my ribs. The knife shot out of my hand and I stumbled, barely catching myself before I fell into the pile of debris. Dale growled and came at me again. I scooped up a two-by-four and swung, connecting with his shoulder. He groaned in pain and I charged again, aiming for his head this time. There was a crack, but I didn’t let up. I swung again, harder, feeling like I was tearing the muscles in my arms, but not caring. There was another crack, and then the sound of a body falling into the mud.

  Movement to my right. Tommasulo was coming at me again. I pivoted toward him, but a wave of exhaustion made me slow. Before I could swing, he buried his fist in my stomach, once and then again. It was like getting hit with a baseball bat. The air shot out of me. I dropped the plank and slumped to the ground. The rain had become an angry squall. I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn’t move. Tommasulo loomed over me.

  I looked b
ehind him but the space beneath the porch was empty. The girl was gone.

  Tommasulo darted forward and ripped off my mask. He threw it into the mud and smiled, exposing crooked yellow teeth.

  “You know,” he said, “one of my great disappointments is that I never had a son. I think maybe it’s time to change that.”

  “Mr. Tommasulo, wait! I—”

  He reached for me, but I kicked at the mud, pushing myself away until my spine slammed into the fence. He’d maneuvered me into a corner; there was nowhere else to go. Tommasulo leaned down. I clapped my hand over my mouth and nose and shut my eyes, willing myself away from that muddy yard, away from Black River.

  A street in Brooklyn. A summer night. I’m seven and you’re ten and Mom is walking us back from a school concert. Out of nowhere, she bounds into the light of a nearby pawnshop. She lifts her arms over her head and does a single perfect pirouette, then stretches out into an impossibly long arabesque, her dark, slender arms reaching out in front of her, one leg reaching back. The universe’s spin slows and comes to a halt. I hear your breath hitch, then stop. Your mouth is hanging open. Mine is too.

  I opened my eyes. Mr. Tommasulo was gone.

  The girl with the green hair had taken his place. All I could make out through the curtain of rain was her silhouette and the two-by-four in her hand. Mr. Tommasulo was on the ground at her feet, his eyes closed. His skin was as pale as cotton.

  The girl whipped around, thrusting the club in front of her. Dale stood there cringing. His face was a mess of bruises. He nodded toward his friend and she stepped away, careful to keep the two-by-four between them. Dale shook Tommasulo until his eyes opened, and then he hooked his hands under Tommasulo’s armpits and hauled him up. Together, the two of them lurched out of the yard and down the driveway. Seconds later they were gone.

  I looked at the girl and she looked at me. Something glinted in the hollow of her throat. A silver key hung from a leather cord around her neck.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  She dropped the board and ran.

  6

  BY THE TIME I dug my knife and mask out of the mud and made it to the street, she was gone. I twisted through the neighborhood, searching every side street, yard, and alley, but came up empty.

  No matter where I went, I could see the peak of Lucy’s Promise and the arrow-shaped notch in the trees that marked Greer’s camp. They were probably already back there, safe and dry in their cabins. I thought about giving up, telling myself that the girl would eventually run into a guardsman who would help her, but I knew that the other, more likely possibility was that she’d be found by Tommasulo or one of his friends, so I kept going.

  I’d just passed the high school and was heading back toward Monument Park when I finally saw her.

  An hour had passed, maybe two. The rain had stopped, leaving a junglelike fog. She was on Elm Street, drenched and panting, barely managing to run the length of a few houses before she had to stop and catch her breath. I trailed her until she fell against the stone wall at the edge of the park. She slid down it and collapsed over her knees.

  I was half a block away when she saw me. Her exhaustion vanished in a flash. There was a softball-size chunk of rock sitting by the wall. She grabbed it and jumped to her feet.

  “It’s okay! I’m not with them. My name’s Cardinal. Cardinal Cassidy.”

  “You called that man by name,” she shouted. “I heard you.”

  I took a step toward her and she hoisted the rock, ready to swing at my head. I stopped and raised my hands in front of me.

  “I know his name. That’s all. I promise. I was trying to help you.”

  The girl kept the rock hoisted, ready to swing, as she put more distance between us and searched the surrounding streets.

  “Where am I?”

  “A town called Black River.”

  “How did I get here?”

  “You live here,” I said. “I know. It sounds crazy. Just listen. This town has been quarantined for months because of a virus called Lassiter’s. It makes people lose their memories. That’s what happened to you.”

  “Those men said I was going to get sicker. They said—”

  “They were lying. The virus makes you lose your memory, that’s all. I promise.”

  There was a snap behind me. I whirled around, one hand dropping to the hilt of my knife, but no one was there. I told myself it was a branch knocked loose by the storm, nothing else.

  “Look,” I said, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. “There’s a National Guard shelter just a few blocks from here. I can take you there. They’ll let you stay with them while they figure out who you are and where your family is.”

  The girl considered. Her fingers had gone white on the rock. She searched the park and the hill above it.

  “But those men who attacked us, they live here too. Don’t they?”

  “There are people running the shelter. Soldiers. They can protect you.”

  “So I’ll be safe there.”

  The voice in my head said yes, but I couldn’t get the words out. In the first weeks of the quarantine the Guard had hundreds of men, but their numbers had gradually dwindled until there were only forty or fifty for the whole town. There were never enough of them to keep an eye on everything, not even at their own shelter. If I left the girl there, it would only be a matter of time before Tommasulo and his friends found her. And then, as soon as one of the guardsmen turned his back . . .

  I scrambled for options, but they all came to dead ends. All except for one. I drew in a shaky breath.

  “No,” I said. “You won’t. But I think I know somewhere you will be.”

  I nodded toward Lucy’s Promise.

  “Me and my friends live up there. In a camp on the mountain. You can stay with us until we find out where you belong.”

  By then the girl’s arm had started shaking. She was having trouble holding up the rock. Having trouble standing, it seemed. Still, she didn’t say anything and she didn’t move. Who could blame her? Minutes earlier she’d nearly been kidnapped by two strangers, and now another one wanted to take her away to an isolated mountaintop. As far as she knew, Tommasulo and I were just using slightly different versions of the same con.

  Voices came from somewhere in the neighborhood. Men’s voices. Three or four of them, shouting to one another. Tommasulo’s friends, no doubt. They were a few blocks away, but closing in fast. I did the only thing I could think of.

  The girl jumped back when I pulled my knife from its sheath. She was about to run, but I flipped it so the blade was in my palm and the hilt was facing her.

  “Take it,” I said. “This way you’ll be the only one who’s armed.”

  She didn’t make a move. I set the knife on the ground and backed away.

  “If I try anything, you have my permission to stab me.” I forced a nervous laugh. “You can even kick me a few times while I bleed out on the trail. Okay?”

  Footsteps and shouts echoed among the houses, growing louder as they closed in. The girl dropped the rock and snatched up the knife, holding it out between us. The key around her neck glistened. She nodded toward the mountain without taking her eyes off me.

  “You first.”

  The tip of the knife hovered near the base of my spine the whole way up the mountain. We never slowed down and the girl never spoke. When we came around the final bend in the trail, Greer’s voice boomed through the trees.

  “Throw, DeShaun! Throw the ball! No! To Carrie!”

  He was watching the kids crash into one another in the space between the cabins. DeShaun threw the football to Carrie, who was brutally tackled by Makela. A whistle blew.

  “Okay, everybody! That was an awesome first half! Let’s all go get hydrated. Astrid, your team is in the lead, so when we get back, you’ll start the dance-off.”

  We’d stopped at the edge of the camp. “That’s Greer,” I said over my shoulder. “The halftime dance-off is one of his innovations. Funny thi
ng is, we actually have a rule book. He just thinks it’s more fun to—”

  I turned around, but the girl was gone. I thought maybe she’d run off, but then I caught a flicker of movement in the trees. While I’d been watching the game, she’d slipped into the woods and hidden herself behind a boulder.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “You don’t have to hide. We—”

  “Yo! Cassidy! Where the hell have you been, man? The kids were about to send out a search party.” Greer was jogging toward me.

  “Sorry. I, uh—I got sidetracked.”

  “Sidetracked? Dude, you left before the big announcement!”

  “What announcement?”

  “The one about the Marvins.”

  “What? Who are the Marvins?”

  “Those guys we saw with the blue hazmat suits,” said Greer. “Martinson Vine? Mar Vin? The Marvins? Kids all thought it was pretty inspired. Anyway, the Guard announced that they’re going to—”

  He cut himself off.

  “What?” I asked. “The Guard is going to what?”

  Something had caught Greer’s eye, and he was looking into the woods behind me. “Uh, buddy? Is it just me or is there a green-haired girl with a big knife hiding behind that rock?”

  I turned and called back through the trees. “You can come out. Greer’s a friend.”

  There was a pause, and then she came out from behind the boulder. The knife was at her side, but she was gripping it tightly enough to make the tendons in her hand stand out in sharp ridges.

  “I found her on my way back,” I said. “She’s just been infected. A couple guys were running the lost wife scam on her.”

  Greer leaned to the side to address the girl. “Hi. Welcome.” He held up one finger. “Can you excuse us for just one tiny second?”

  “Greer, I . . .”

  He marched off. I motioned for the girl to wait where she was, and then I followed him.

  “Look, Greer—”

  “You know what’s weird?” he said when we were a safe distance away. “I keep having crazy flashbacks to a conversation you and I were having just this morning.”