The Dead and the Gone ls-2

by Susan Beth Pfeffer

  “Julie must be so happy,” Bri said.

  “She will be,” Alex said. “I haven’t told her yet. You’re the next oldest, so you deserved to be told first.”

  “When she gets back, can you tell her in here?” Bri asked. “I want to see her face when she finds out.”

  Alex nodded. “That’s a good idea,” he said. “Now rest up, and I’ll come back when Julie gets home. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day for all of us, and I want you to be as strong and ready for it as possible.”

  “I have my rosary beads in the sleeping bag with me,” Bri said. “I’ll pray now. And I’ll thank God for you and for Mr. Flynn and for everyone else who’s been so kind.”

  Chapter 17

  Monday, December 12

  Only five more blocks, Alex told himself. They’d made it this far; five more blocks was nothing.

  The trip downtown had been far more difficult than he’d imagined, in spite of how well it had started. He’d been pleased with how he’d handled things, from breaking the news to Bri and then to Julie (who’d kept her rejoicing to a quiet roar, which he appreciated), slipping a note under the door at Vincent de Paul so Father Mulrooney and Sister Rita wouldn’t worry about them, then returning back to 12B and helping Bri and Julie pack. Then he and Julie tidied and cleaned the apartment until it was as close to immaculate as could be managed under the circumstances. They’d all eaten supper, leaving enough food so they could have breakfast the next day.

  He hadn’t slept well, but that was excitement, and he figured he’d have plenty of time to sleep on the bus. He finally stopped trying around four-thirty, finished up whatever he needed to do, then woke his sisters. It felt strange and wonderful to eat breakfast; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d started the day not hungry.

  He made sure Bri and Julie had packed what they intended, a couple of changes of clothes, and a personal item or two, nothing too heavy and certainly nothing bulky, since they were limited to what fit in their backpacks. They each wore several layers of clothing, more than usual, both as a packing trick and because they were going to be outside for several hours.

  Finally they were ready to go. It was a slow walk down the twelve flights of stairs, since they had to stop at almost every floor so Bri could catch her breath. She wouldn’t have been able to survive much longer under these conditions, Alex thought. He was sure her inhaler cartridges were running low, and he had no idea how to replace them. But in a matter of days they’d be in the safe place and that would be no problem.

  Alex left Bri and Julie in the lobby while he walked down the final flight of stairs to their old apartment. Everything was as he’d left it. He carried up the sled, and was rewarded by squeals of admiration and excitement. He put the sled out onto the street, then went into the building and carried out Bri, placing her carefully on the sled so she never got wet. It was funny to think they’d never be back, never see West Eighty-eighth Street again, or even New York City.

  He suggested that before they go they pray silently, and he could see the gratitude in Bri’s eyes at his suggestion. Then when the time had come, he began pulling Bri while Julie walked along.

  It was never easy, since he and Julie both had to trudge through unshoveled snow, and before long his arms and back began to ache from the burden of pulling the sled with Bri and the backpacks on it. Julie volunteered to help with the backpacks, so she ended up wearing one on her back and one on her chest. It didn’t make that much of a difference, but Alex was grateful that Julie made the effort.

  It took an hour just to get to Seventieth Street, and by then Bri was having difficulty breathing. Julie fell on Sixty-eighth Street, and Alex had to pull her up, which took more energy than he cared to spare at that point. Some of the snow got into Julie’s boots, and she began shivering uncontrollably. Alex didn’t know whether to shake her, slap her, or hug her.

  “Come on,” he said, at least as much to himself as to his sisters. “It’s not that much farther. We can do it.”

  But by Sixty-second Street, he wasn’t so sure. They still had to navigate Columbus Circle and walk a mile’s worth of city streets. Did they have the strength? Bri was coughing and Julie’s steps were more and more labored.

  This is ridiculous, he told himself. In two hours, less if everything went well, they’d be inside Port Authority, finding where they needed to go and getting ready for the bus ride to salvation. They just had to make it until then.

  The wind picked up, and Alex could taste salt breeze intermixed with the familiar ash. His eyes smarted and teared until he could hardly see two feet ahead of him. He thought of Harvey’s offer, a ride from their apartment to a safe place for Bri and himself in exchange for Julie. Bri could die on the sled, he realized. Had that been another wrong decision on his part? Could he be that sure Julie would be better protected by him than by some stranger?

  The wind began to sound like mocking laughter: Papi calling him a debilucho. Carlos calling him a sissy. They were real men. They never would have let things get this bad.

  Julie fell again. The backpack on her chest got soaked in snow, and it was obviously too heavy for her to manage. Alex took it off her and put it on the sled.

  “I can manage the other one,” Julie said. “Put that one on me.”

  Alex shook his head. “We’re fine this way,” he said. “Let’s get a move on.”

  But things got even worse at Fifty-seventh Street, because there civilization began again. Eighth Avenue had been plowed and the sidewalks shoveled, which meant the sled could no longer be used.

  A truck drove by, its driver honking furiously and screaming curses at them.

  “We have to get on the sidewalk,” Alex said.

  “We won’t be able to pull the sled,” Julie said. Alex nodded.

  “We’ll figure something out,” he said, pulling the sled to the curb.

  He grabbed Bri and lifted her over his shoulder, firefighter style. Julie lifted the sled onto the sidewalk. She pulled it from there, while Alex tried to maintain his balance on the icy sidewalk.

  Twice he fell. The first time Julie managed to position herself to break his fall, and the three of them tumbled onto the sidewalk together. It would have been funny if there’d been any humor left in the world.

  The second time Julie had no chance to help, and Alex took a painful fall, his nose hitting the sidewalk so hard he was afraid he’d broken it. The shock jolted Bri and she began desperately gasping for breath.

  As Alex wiped away the blood from his face, Julie rifled through Bri’s backpack, finally finding Bri’s rosary beads, which she handed to her sister. Bri clutched the beads as though they were her lifeline.

  "Dios te salve, Maria. Llena eres de gratia,” Julie began. Hearing the familiar words of the Hail Mary in Spanish, as Mami always said it, helped calm Bri down. When she was able, she recited it along with Julie, while Alex stood there and told himself never to underestimate his little sister again.

  The journey got easier as they got closer to Port Authority, and Alex regained his faith that they would actually make it. They saw a handful of people as they walked down Eighth Avenue, and while no one offered to help, no one cursed them out, either. There were a lot of bodies, and Alex could see, from the height of the piles, that many of them were new dead. Fluicide, he decided. There’d be no need for that word where they were going.

  The last time Alex had been at Port Authority it was May, crowded with hysterical people trying to escape. Now it was deserted. It surprised him not to see anyone there for the convoy, but he thought maybe they used a different entrance or maybe they were all inside already. He couldn’t look at his watch without shifting Bri around, so he asked Julie what time it was. She stopped pulling the sled and checked.

  “Ten-fifteen,” she said.

  “I guess we’re the first ones here,” Alex said. “That’s good. We can get seats together.”

  “I see a cop!” Julie cried, pointing toward the building. “He can tell us
where to go.”

  Alex gently put Bri down and walked over to the cop. “We have passes on the convoy out,” he said to the cop. “Do you know which entrance we need?”

  “No convoy today,” the cop said.

  “What do you mean?” Alex asked. “The December twelfth convoy. We have our passes and our reservations.” For a moment he panicked that somehow it was December 13 and they’d missed the convoy by a day. “It is the twelfth, isn’t it?” he asked, unable to keep the terror out of his voice.

  “It don’t matter what today’s date is,” the cop said. “No convoys because of the quarantine.”

  “What quarantine?” Alex asked. “What are you talking about:”

  The cop looked at Alex, then at Bri and Julie and the sled. “No one told you?” he asked, and Alex could hear pity in his voice.

  “Told us what?” Alex said, already knowing how much he was going to hate the answer.

  “New York City is under quarantine because of the flu,” the cop said. “No one allowed in or out of the city.”

  “Until when?” Alex asked. “For how long?”

  The cop shrugged. “Until it runs its course,” he said. “Or until everyone in the country gets it so it won’t matter anymore. Or until we all die. Take your pick.”

  “Do you know about the convoys?” Alex asked. “Will they start running again? Will they let us on if they do?”

  “I know all about the convoys,” the cop said. “I know all about the lucky people who get to go on them. Yeah, there’ll be another one. They run every two weeks, and if that one can’t go out, then the one after that will take care of you and your family. If you hear the quarantine’s been lifted, come back in two weeks. If it hasn’t by then, come back in four. For people like you, there’s always a way out.”

  Alex would have laughed, except if he did, he wouldn’t have been able to stop. Instead he thought about the next convoy. Two weeks was December 26. Christ was certainly too merciful to have them die before Christmas. Alex would keep his sisters alive for two more weeks and the convoys would be running again. He’d be eighteen and wouldn’t be allowed to go with them, but that would be all right. The buses would be filled with women and children, and one of the women would certainly volunteer to look after Bri and Julie until they got settled in. Someone would be kind.

  “Thank you,” he said to the cop.

  “Good luck, kid,” the cop said. “Tough break. You have far to go?”

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “But if we made it here, we can make it back home.”

  Tuesday, December 13

  Alex and Julie walked to Vincent de Paul hardly saying a word. None of them had talked much since the nightmare walk back from Port Authority. All Alex told his sisters was that the city was under a quarantine and once that ended, the convoys would be running again. They’d see how things were in two weeks.

  He wouldn’t tell them he couldn’t go along with them until they were safely on the bus. But what was one more secret.

  There was a big, handwritten sign on the front door of the school: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE DUE TO QUARANTINE

  “How long do you think ‘further notice’ is?” Julie asked.

  Alex shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe just a week if we’re lucky.”

  “Do you think Harvey still has food?” Julie asked as they began their walk home.

  “Yeah, I’m sure he does,” Alex said. “I don’t know what I have left I can barter with, though.”

  “Maybe you could bring him the sled,” Julie said. “I bet he’d give you lots of food for that.”

  “We’ll need the sled in two weeks,” Alex said. “I can’t carry Bri all the way to Port Authority.”

  “She’ll die anyway if we don’t get food,” Julie said.

  “Harvey won’t want the sled back,” Alex said. “We’re the only people who’d want it. Think, Julie. Is there any food left at all?”

  Julie nodded. “I left twelve B a can of beans,” she said. “It seemed wrong to leave nothing in case they ever came back. And there’s a canister of macaroni we never used because it had things in it.”

  “Things?” Alex said.

  “Bugs,” Julie replied. “I thought it would be wrong to throw it out, so I never did.”

  “We can eat that,” Alex said. “People eat bugs all the time.”

  “Yuck,” Julie said.

  “It’s better than starving,” Alex said. “Besides, it’s only until Friday. We’ll get our bags of food then. And maybe Vincent de Paul will open again by Monday. We really just have to get through today, tomorrow, and Thursday and we’ll be all right.”

  “We still have to cook the macaroni,” Julie said.

  “Oh,” Alex said. “How do you do that?”

  Julie shook her head. “You’re totally useless,” she said. “Even Carlos knows how to boil water.”

  “So you boil water and you cook the macaroni in that?” Alex asked. “That doesn’t sound too hard.”

  “It isn’t,” Julie replied. “Except the stove hasn’t worked in weeks. Bri’s done all the cooking in the microwave when there’s been electricity. Which there isn’t anymore, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “It’s not my fault there hasn’t been electricity since the storm and the stove doesn’t work and I don’t know how to cook,” Alex said. “How long will the can of beans last us?”

  “Depends whether we eat it or just look at it,” Julie said.

  “You boil water in a pot, right?” Alex said. “Over a flame.”

  “Yeah,” Julie said.

  “Well, we have the pot,” Alex said. “And we still have running water. So the only thing we don’t have is the flame.”

  “We could set fire to the apartment,” Julie said. “Then we’d have the flame and we’d be warm for a change.”

  “Fire,” Alex said. “We’ll make a fire.”

  “Inside the apartment?” Julie asked. “Like a campfire?”

  Alex shook his head. “We can’t expose Bri to the smoke,” he said. “We’ll build the fire in one of the other apartments. In the sink. And we’ll put the pot on top of it and the water’ll boil and we’ll have macaroni and beans.”

  “And bugs,” Julie said, but Alex could hear the excitement and relief in her voice. “We don’t have any firewood, though. What can we burn?”

  “Magazines,” Alex replied. “There are plenty of those left behind.”

  “We’d better boil lots of water,” Julie said. “We’re almost out of the water Bri boiled in the microwave. She boiled lots every afternoon, so we’d have it for an emergency, but we’ve pretty much used it all.”

  “You and Bri have taken really good care of me, haven’t you,” Alex said.

  “It wasn’t so bad before the snowstorm,” Julie replied. “Bri used to thaw our suppers in the microwave when we were in school. Now we keep the cans in our sleeping bag.”

  Alex thought about how often he’d felt burdened by his sisters. But he’d been as dependent on them for survival as they were on him. “It’s only for a couple more weeks,” he said. “We’ll get on the next convoy. And Friday there’ll be food. Until then, we’ll eat macaroni and beans.”

  “And bugs,” Julie said. “Oh well. It’s better than nothing.”

  Friday, December 16

  Alex would have preferred to keep Julie home on Friday, but they needed the two bags of food. They’d finished the macaroni and beans by lunchtime the day before, and with the minimal amount of food in each bag, there was no way they could survive on what he alone would bring home.

  There was nothing in any of the apartments left to barter. Alex had searched carefully at first and then frantically all Wednesday and Thursday. He’d done it by candlelight since all the flashlight batteries had burned out. They still had two candles left and half a box of matches.

  Mostly they slept. Alex wasn’t sure whether that was good for them or not, but there was nothing else to do, and he figured t
hey probably burned fewer calories that way. He saw to it that Julie prayed during her waking moments. Prayer came naturally to Bri, so that was no problem.

  Everything was gone, used over months of bartering for cans of beans and bags of rice. The only things Alex could think of to bring to Harvey were the coat he was wearing and a bottle of aspirin he’d insisted on holding on to.

  That wasn’t true and he knew it. While he’d traded practically everything he’d found in the medicine cabinets, he’d kept a half dozen prescription sleeping pills, so if he ever had to, he could drug Bri and Julie and smother them while they were sleeping. He was sure they’d be in a state of grace when they died and that was what mattered.

  He told himself not to go crazy, that Julie could figure out how to stretch two bags of food for ten days, or maybe the quarantine would be over and Vincent de Paul would reopen. If they could just make it to December 26, they had a chance.

  He hated seeing how weak Julie had gotten. He knew she’d been taking less food for herself so that Bri could have a little more. Silently he begged her forgiveness for ever complaining about her.

  There was no one on line when they got to the school. They both knew what that meant, but they walked up to the door anyway.

  FOOD DELIVERIES SUSPENDED INDEFINITELY

  Alex stared at the sign. What did “indefinitely” mean? Was it just until the quarantine ended? Or had the plug been pulled on the city? And if the city had been left to die, did that mean the convoys had stopped altogether? He willed Julie to start crying. Maybe if he had to comfort her, he wouldn’t feel so helpless, so terrified, himself.

  But Julie never did what he wanted her to, and this time was no exception. “It doesn’t matter,” she said instead. “It wouldn’t have been enough.”