Eleven

by Tom Rogers

  Nunu took one hand off the Gameboy controls and waved. “Hi, Alex.”

  Alex grabbed her by the hand and dragged her sideways out of the pipe.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE??”

  “Playing Dora.”

  “YOU RAN AWAY!”

  “I couldn’t see the screen in the sun.”

  “I’VE BEEN LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU!”

  “Why are you yelling at me??”

  “I’M NOT YELLING!”

  Once again, Rex howled right along with Alex.

  When Alex and Nunu saw what was happening, they both got the giggles and couldn’t stop. Rex stopped howling and let loose a happy bark.

  “Sorry I yelled at you,” said Alex.

  “S’okay.”

  “I was worried.”

  “Not me.”

  Alex rolled his eyes, then grinned at his dog, who was scratching intently behind one ear, like nothing had happened. “You’re lucky I’ve got the greatest rescue dog ever.”

  “HEY, CRYBABY!”

  Alex spun around. Jordan and his goons were up on the bridge. Calvin seemed to be arguing with Jordan, but Jordan shoved him aside, then whipped his arm forward.

  The beer bottle was in mid-air before Alex realized Jordan had thrown it.

  “NO!”

  The bottle hit with a sickening thud, followed by the sound of shattering glass.

  The dog yelped once, and then his front legs buckled.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Man in the White Shirt

  10:24 a.m.

  The Man in the White Shirt turned a corner and saw a female police officer helping an injured man in a suit limp down the street. The police officer had lost her hat; her pants leg was dusty and torn. The businessman was in worse shape: he had no shoes; one foot was covered in blood; he couldn’t put pressure on his ankle and held onto the cop’s shoulder like a crutch.

  The Man in the White Shirt angled towards them. He started to speak. At first, all that came out was a hoarse croak, and then he was choking, coughing, hacking the gritty gray dust out of his throat and lungs. The cop looked impatient; the last thing she needed was another invalid on her hands.

  Finally, the coughing stopped, and he croaked out a question.

  “Can I help?”

  The cop threw him a look. “You up for it?”

  The Man in the White Shirt nodded and got on the other side. He and the cop linked hands and made a cradle. The injured man put his arms around their shoulders and lowered himself into the basket they had made with their arms. Then they lifted him off his feet and carried him down the street, three people moving as one.

  CHAPTER 17

  Radar

  11:34 a.m.

  Alex’s arms were on fire. But he barely noticed. Even though the dog was nearly half his size, Alex carried him the entire way, moving so fast that Nunu sometimes had to run to keep up. The dog laid his head on Alex’s shoulder, blood seeping from behind his ear and matting his fur.

  Alex whispered to him reassuringly. “It’s okay, boy. You’ll be okay.”

  Alex had passed the Happy Dog Animal Hospital a zillion times on the school bus. It was a low, white building painted with Dalmatian spots and a rotating sign out front shaped like a dog bone. Alex long ago made up his mind that when he got a dog, this would be his vet.

  “I’m sorry, boy. I’m so sorry.”

  “Is he okay? Alex?” Nunu trotted anxiously behind them, holding onto the dog’s paw and cooing, “Good boy.”

  “Alex, is he gonna be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” said Alex.

  “Who did it?”

  “Some jerks.”

  “Why did they hurt him?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  “Because they’re jerks.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know,” Alex replied sharply. “They just are.”

  They arrived at the vet’s door just as the vet was locking up to leave. But the vet took one look at the injured dog, gave them a reassuring smile, and led them inside.

  Dr. Marks was quick but thorough and soon reassured Alex that Rex was going to be fine. The dog just needed some stitches to close up the cut on his head. Alex stayed right by Rex’s side through the whole exam, holding him while the vet irrigated the wound and stroking his paw when the doctor injected the cut with anesthetic. And when the doctor sewed the two flaps of skin together with needle and thread, Alex flinched but never looked away.

  “There. Good as new. Just rub this cream on the wound twice a day.” Dr. Marks held out a tube of ointment.

  “I can’t.”

  “It’s not hard. I’ll show you.”

  “No, I mean, I don’t have any money.”

  Dr. Marks slapped the tube into Alex’s hand. “This one’s on the house,” he said as he scratched the dog’s neck.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Um, well…see…the thing is….”

  “You don’t know your own dog’s name?”

  Alex hesitated. “I found him today. He’s mine. He’s my birthday dog. I’m gonna call him Rex.”

  The vet took a hand-held electronic scanner off the counter and waved it back and forth over the dog’s back. The scanner beeped.

  “He’s got a chip.”

  The vet checked the read-out and nodded.

  “Say hello to Radar.”

  “Radar,” Alex echoed.

  Radar turned at the sound of his name and licked Alex’s hand.

  “He’s got an address, too.”

  The vet copied an address onto a pad, tore off the sheet, and held it out to Alex. “417 Van Orton. You know where it is?”

  Alex shrugged.

  “That’s his home. You should take him back,” the doctor said.

  Alex felt hot and cold all at once and reached for Radar to steady himself.

  “No way. He’s mine.”

  “He belongs to someone else.” Dr. Marks’s voice was quiet but firm.

  “I found him.”

  The vet took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Look, son, I don’t have time to deal with this now. I’ve got to close up and get home to my family.”

  “He’s mine.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  Alex did not want his parents getting wind of any of this. “Okay, fine, give me the address. I’ll take him back.” He came around the table and reached for the paper.

  The vet pulled it away. “Where are your parents?”

  “My mom’s in the hospital.”

  “Oh. Is she okay?”

  “I guess. She’s a nurse.”

  “Ah. What about your dad?”

  “He’s under the river.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what he always says. He drives the PATH train under the river to the World Trade Center.”

  “Oh, lord.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t know?”

  That was the second time today he’d been asked that.

  “Yeah,” said Alex. Then he shrugged. “I think.”

  Dr. Marks glanced out at Nunu in the waiting room. He lowered his voice, turned back to Alex, and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Son, a bunch of terrorists just flew two planes into the World Trade Center.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Questions

  12:00 noon

  Now Alex knew.

  That’s what Jordan and his goons were talking about when they asked, “You don’t know?” That’s why everyone got sent home early from school. That’s why the people on the bus looked worried, and why his mother was stuck at work, and why he was supposed to bring Nunu straight home, and why all his friends had been told to leave the TV off. All those weird moments that had been bugging him since second period suddenly made sense. It was like a Rubik’s cube, where everything seems like a total jumble until all the pieces slide into place at once.

  For a split
-second, he understood.

  Then a flood of new questions filled his head. Who did it? Why did they do it? How could those huge towers just collapse? Did anyone die? How many? Now that he knew, he wanted to know more.

  He thought of his father, driving a train straight to the World Trade Center.

  A new question shoved all the others aside.

  Would his dad be coming home?

  CHAPTER 19

  Mac

  12:00 noon

  Across town, in a little house that looked a lot like Alex’s, an old man sat in his den, watching the disaster unfold on TV. Like Alex—like people all over the world that day—his head was full of questions. He was desperate for news and searching for answers.

  His name was MacKnight. Everyone called him Mac.

  His grown son, Bobby, called him Pop.

  Mac’s wife—Bobby’s mother—was a retired schoolteacher named Dottie. After she stopped teaching, Dottie had kept herself busy volunteering at the library, until Alzheimer’s clouded her brain and left her unable to take care of herself. Now she sat by the television all day, smiling sweetly and watching SpongeBob.

  When Dottie first grew ill, Mac had struggled to provide the care she needed. Mac didn’t complain, but Bobby knew it was hard on his dad; his father would never admit it, but he was lonely. So even though Bobby was in his mid-thirties, he gave up his Manhattan apartment and moved back home. He told his dad it was to help take care of his mom, but the truth is that Mac needed Bobby just as much as Dottie did.

  Now every morning, Mac would rise early to put on a pot of coffee, and Bobby would come down in his clean white shirt, his tie loosened and sleeves unbuttoned.

  “Good morning, Pop,” he’d say.

  “What’s so good about it?” Mac would grumble.

  It was their little joke, part of their morning routine. Then father and son would quietly read the paper and sip their coffee together before Bobby would rise, pat his Pop on the shoulder, and head off to ride the commuter train into Manhattan.

  Bobby worked in the World Trade Center.

  Now a single question ran through Mac’s head, over and over: would his son be coming home?

  CHAPTER 20

  The Man in the White Shirt

  12:00 noon

  The Man in the White Shirt helped the cop lower another injured victim onto a plastic chair. They were inside a makeshift medical tent that had been set up just beyond the disaster zone. He and the cop had somehow become a team; this was the fifth person they’d carried over from West Broadway. The injured man tried to thank them, but a nurse told them to move so she could take the man’s vital signs and check his wounds.

  The Man in the White Shirt stepped back to let her do her job. A voice on the cop’s radio cut through the static. The cop paused to listen, then ran back to the street and disappeared around a corner, headed south. She was gone before the Man in the White Shirt could say goodbye. Only then did he realize he didn’t even know the cop’s name.

  The Man in the White Shirt stepped outside. Suddenly, he felt very, very alone. His hands began to tremble, and his legs started to quiver. He sat down heavily on the curb. At first, he thought that it was muscle fatigue from carrying all those injured people. He just needed a moment to rest.

  Then his eyes started to burn. He blinked, and a warm tear rolled down his cheek.

  What he needed wasn’t rest. He needed his family. He needed to go home.

  CHAPTER 21

  Crossing the Bridge

  12:15 p.m.

  “Alex? Where are we going?”

  Alex wasn’t sure. His feet seemed to have a mind of their own.

  Nunu held Alex tightly by the hand as he marched on, jaw clenched. He was carrying her backpack now, wearing it across his chest and his own on his back, but she still had to walk fast to keep up. Radar trotted along on his other side, bandaged but none the worse for wear.

  “Alex?” Nunu tugged at his hand.

  Alex stopped walking, staring in surprise as he saw where his feet had brought him. They were coming up to the bridge, the tall one they crossed on the bus ride to school every morning.

  The one that let him see all the way to Manhattan.

  Up ahead, policemen on horses clip-clopped across the bridge, eyeing every car that passed, checking the terrain below. Two more police cars drove slowly by; they paused briefly for the officers to exchange a few words with the men on horseback, then moved on.

  Before he’d gone to the vet’s office, Alex hadn’t noticed the heavy police presence on the streets. Now he saw them all over town. Like they were on high alert or something.

  “Alex?” Nunu sounded impatient. “You said we’d go home after.”

  Alex waited for the police to move on. He was afraid they might not let kids on the bridge. He realized why he was here. He had to see for himself.

  When the police were out of sight, he set the backpacks down beside Nunu.

  “Wait here. Don’t move. You too, Radar. Stay.”

  Radar sat down obediently. Nunu looked frustrated but leaned on the guardrail next to Radar.

  Alex kept his eyes down as he made his way to the center of the bridge, the highest spot. Then he slowly lifted his head to face Manhattan.

  The Twin Towers were gone.

  Where they once stood, a huge cloud of smoke and dust billowed up from the ground and trailed off to the east.

  Alex stared. It didn’t seem possible. He held up two fingers where the towers should be, trying to fix the view, trying to make it right.

  He felt dizzy and gripped the railing tightly. Somewhere under that smoke was his dad. He remembered the last time he’d seen his father: last night, in the dark, at the bedroom door.

  “I hate you,” Alex had said.

  Alex heard the words in his head and shivered. His father was in trouble, and Alex knew why.

  He’d said the ugliest thing possible to his dad, and now he was paying the price.

  The universe was evening the score.

  “This is all my fault,” he whispered.

  Alex continued to stare at the broken skyline. His mind raced as he struggled to think of a way out of this. He had to undo the damage and bring his father home.

  “What do I do?”

  Radar whimpered and licked his hand. The dog had come to his side, like the answer to a question. Alex stared down at his new best friend.

  And then a deal began to take shape in his head. He ran it forwards and backwards. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became. He was going to have to give up something big—big enough to make up for what he’d done.

  Big enough to bring his father home.

  He was going to have to make a tremendous sacrifice.

  He was going to have to give up Radar.

  CHAPTER 22

  New Deal

  12:15 p.m.

  Mac closed his eyes and made another deal: if he stopped watching the news, the phone would ring.

  He’d been sitting there all morning, glued to the TV. Now he turned away from the disturbing news reports and forced himself to stare at the phone, trying to make it ring.

  The phone didn’t ring.

  He was on the sofa in the den, in his usual spot on the right-hand end. Bobby always sat on the left. Most nights, after Dottie was in bed, Bobby would join Mac there on the sofa to watch the nightly news. It felt wrong to Mac to be sitting here without Bobby by his side.

  He continued to stare at the phone.

  The phone didn’t ring.

  Maybe I need to shake things up, he thought. He got up and walked around the house. He turned off the coffee pot. He looked in on Dottie. He walked out to the porch, glanced up and down the empty street, came inside, and wound up right back where he started, on the couch.

  As he settled into his usual spot, he glanced over at Bobby’s side of the sofa. They’d sat there so many nights that the empty sofa cushions still held the shape of their bodies like a memory. Mac slid
over, into Bobby’s spot. He enjoyed the strangeness of sitting in the wrong seat, and then feeling his son’s presence as the cushion molded around him and held him close.

  He could see the phone out of the corner of his eye but forced himself not to look. This was his new deal: if he didn’t look, the phone would ring.

  He imagined the call he felt sure would come soon. The phone would ring, he’d answer, and then he’d hear two words: “Hi, Pop.”

  The thought made him smile. It wouldn’t be long now.

  CHAPTER 23

  Whirlwind

  12:23 p.m.

  “Where are we going?” Nunu struggled to keep up as Alex led them through town.

  “We’re taking Radar home.”

  “Our home?”

  “His home,” Alex replied through clenched teeth.

  “Why?”

  Alex groaned inside. The Why game again.

  “Because I have to.”

  “But you just got him.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t you want to keep him?”

  “Duh.”

  “Then why?”

  He knew if he tried to say it out loud, it wouldn’t make any sense. Besides, how could he tell anyone the truth, that all of this was his fault?

  “I have to.”

  “But why?”

  “I just have to! Okay?”

  Nunu frowned. Her brother wasn’t making any sense.

  Alex glared at her, wishing she’d just be quiet and leave him alone. The more questions she asked, the worse he felt, and if she asked one more question, he just might tell her everything.

  A blizzard of papers whirled around Alex and Nunu. Radar was furiously swinging Alex’s backpack in his mouth, shaking it like a rag doll, spilling notebook paper and sheets of homework everywhere. Alex made no move to stop him, not when they had so little time left together. He just watched as the whirlwind of paper swirled around their heads.