by James Phelan
The fresh food we liked we bagged and then later carried up to the roof, letting the snow and cold winter air keep it chilled. The garbage and stuff going rancid we launched off one side of the building. That was more fun than it should have been. I joked that a cabbage hurled from this height would build up enough terminal velocity to go through a car’s roof. We laughed and decided to try it out, craning our necks to see what happened seventy stories below.
We talked about checking out every level in the building, but ended up stopping at the 60th floor. We already had enough food and stuff to keep us occupied for ages and besides, we’d had enough of other people’s things.
Check it out, Mini said. Her hair was disheveled and she was wearing clothes she’d found in one of the abandoned apartments, only she’d tailored them to make the previously conservative gear more cutting edge.
Nice look, Min, I said. Taylor Swift meets Amy Winehouse.
Anna was swanning around in a formal dress and fur coat; I didn’t have the guts to ask her how that fit in with the vegetarian thing. Dave had changed into an American football jersey, headband and Kevlar vest that he’d come across somewhere.
I tried on an Armani suit because I knew it would have been expensive but then realized I was swimming in it. I’d also found a Spiderman suit in an office boardroom. It was preserved behind glass and mounted on a wall so I figured it was probably an original from the movie. I’d felt a bit guilty about smashing the glass, but told myself I could always return the suit after I’d tried it on. It fit pretty well, so I showed it off to the others, parading around the Rainbow Room until Anna rolled her eyes at me and I took it off.
We had found a massive plasma TV and DVD player in what looked like a TV studio, with props and lots of American football gear, and we set them up on the stage at the end of the restaurant. We’d also dragged mattresses up the stairs. I chose a queen size and arranged it on the restaurant’s dance floor. Mini was just beyond my feet on a single mattress, and Anna was way off to our right on the carpeted area with two single mattresses stacked one on top of the other. She’d also stacked a wall of paperback books around her as a screen. Dave was near the windows on a roll-away bed.
As the room got darker, I lay on my makeshift bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to Anna play Clair de Lune on the Rainbow Room’s grand piano. It was so beautiful it had made me forget myself and the world. After a while I wandered over and stood behind her. She must have sensed me there because she stopped playing and turned around.
I could teach you, she said.
I don’t think so . . .
It’s not as hard as it looks; the start’s pretty easy.
I’ll just watch and listen, I said.
She nodded and slid over so I could join her on the piano stool. I sat there with her for a while, stealing glances at her dark eyes and long eyelashes as she played.
That evening we ate a box of donuts we’d found, of all places, in someone’s wardrobe, and watched an episode of Arrested Development. We’d each brought up DVDs that we wanted to see and they seemed to fall into three neat groups: comedies; real-life stuff like documentaries and concerts; and a stack of post-apocalyptic and war movies. We talked about the last group at length because, apart from Anna, we’d seen almost all of them. We didn’t put one on to watch, but we talked about the plots and tried to remember anything useful.
We should have a plan in case any Chasers get up here, Dave said.
Mini went pale. You think they’ll come up?
It’s just a precaution, Min, I said.
You guys don’t need to worry, Dave said. I found a gun this afternoon, a Glock.
Where? I said.
Under some guy’s bed.
Do you know how to use it?
Yeah, my uncle went to Iraq and he taught me how to shoot.
I wasn’t sure I believed him. Who teaches a sixteen year-old how to use a firearm?
I’ll teach you guys if you like, Dave said. How to load it too. We should work out some strategies tomorrow, find a couple of positions to defend ourselves from. If any Chasers do make it up here we should stick together.
We started talking about the number of scary movies we’d all seen where the characters would have been fine if only they’d stuck together. I guess that’s what you wanted in a movie—lots of drama and conflict and crap. In real life I wanted none of that.
We left the television on and I drifted off in front of its blue-green glow. I dreamed I woke up in the Rainbow Room and found myself alone, only to wake for real in a sweat and call out my father’s name. Mini answered back sleepily and told me I’d be all right.
I got up and switched off the generator, lit a few candles, then sat back down and ate some M&Ms.
Generator will be out of gas tomorrow, Dave said. His voice wasn’t any louder than normal, but he was lying on his bed and his words seemed to echo around the near-empty room. Maybe it was also what he’d said that caused the echo; when I thought about what it meant I felt like I was going to choke.
We’ll go in the morning and get some more gas, Anna said. After breakfast. All of us. Look around a bit.
No one replied, but it seemed like everyone silently agreed. We needed the generator to keep sane, to provide a sense of normalcy.
We should run it for just three hours a day, I said. One of us can search the TV channels.
And just watch static? Anna said.
That might change, I replied. Check phone lines and the Internet and other people’s mobiles too.
All the things you think will offer salvation, Anna said, but we’ll probably be disappointed.
Have to try though, right? Dave said.
We’re better off just watching the view out the windows, Anna said.
We can charge up a laptop and batteries for our torches, I said, ignoring Anna’s comment. Running the generator for short bursts is a good idea.
And the iPods, Mini said. We can’t forget to charge the iPods.
We’d found about thirty iPods and iPhones. Mini and I had made a game where we listened to people’s playlists and then tried to imagine the person who’d created it.
You should take the gun, I called out to Dave. Tomorrow, when we go to get gas.
Yeah, he said quickly, as if it was something he’d already decided on.
I’ll take one too, I said, trying to sound casual.
I thought I heard Mini make a sound, but it was Dave who spoke:
You found a gun as well?
I was silent for a few seconds, thinking about how to reply.
Why didn’t you say anything sooner? Dave asked. By the sound of his voice, I could tell that he’d rolled onto his side and was facing me in the dark.
I don’t know, I said, which was a lie. I hadn’t told them because I was in two minds about taking it and I knew Dave would want me to.
What is it? he asked me. Pistol?
Yeah, I replied. It’s a Glock like yours, I think. I left it where I found it, in an office drawer on the 63rd floor.
I heard him grunt and then roll back over to his sleeping position, his back to us and his face to the windows. For a while I thought I might hear him get up and go downstairs to find the pistol but he didn’t, and within an hour he was snoring. He sounded like a big animal and the noise never faltered. The previous night Dave’s snoring had been accompanied by Anna talking to herself in her sleep. I’d tried to make sense of what she was saying—baloo, mowgli—but it was all gibberish to me.
I felt my bed move, so slightly that at first I thought I’d imagined it.
Why didn’t you tell us earlier about the gun? Mini whispered into my ear. Her voice, even at a whisper, had a faint wheezy sound and I remembered her asthma. Why didn’t you tell us? she asked again.
I don’t know, I replied, and then I felt her get under the quilts beside me. I rolled over and saw the shine of her dark eyes.
I guess I didn’t want it . . . Didn’t want to take it, I said.
>
But you’re going to.
Yeah.
Why?
I don’t know. I know the reason I didn’t want it, but things aren’t so clear anymore.
Mini was silent for a moment, then whispered: Can I stay here for a bit?
Yeah, sure, I said.
We lay on our backs, staring up at the chandelier above my bed. It was made of thousands of crystals, and despite there being almost no light, every now and then one would flicker, sparkling momentarily like we were beneath our own Milky Way.
We’d been on our own for three days already and seen no sign of salvation and I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this was all that was left. The thought made me lonely and I cried for a while and I know Mini noticed but she didn’t make a sound.
8
Dave had his backpack ready on his bed by the time I woke. Mini was still asleep, but Anna had wheeled out a trolley of hot oatmeal with tea and coffee for her and Dave, and juice for Mini and me. Her eyes were clear and bright and I wondered if I’d ever feel as well rested as she looked.
The day was sunny and the sky seemed bluer than it had been for the past few days. We could see clearly to the east, and I walked over to the window and watched the city with my orange juice under my nose. There were no surprises that I could see. No alarms and no surprises.
Stairway’s clear, Dave said as he dumped himself down at the table and got stuck into breakfast. I walked over and sat opposite him. When I saw the sweat on his face I realized he must have moved our barricade on the main stairs by himself while I was asleep. I felt bad for not waking sooner, but I was tired and my body ached.
I’ve thought about it, Dave said in between big mouthfuls, and I reckon we should carry a load of gas cans up. And some ropes—fire trucks will have them—as many as we can.
Ropes? Anna said.
We’ll join them up and make ’em real long, tie them to something up here, then drop them down the elevator shaft to hoist stuff up. More gas—whatever. We can prop the elevator doors open downstairs.
Beats lugging it up the stairs, Anna said. That’s a good idea, really good.
I still felt half asleep. Didn’t these guys need sleep like me and Min?
What if the lift blocks the shaft? I asked. I mean, if the lifts are between us and the ground floor, which is fairly likely, they’ll be like corks in a bottle. What if you can’t get past them?
Dave and Anna looked at me like I’d conspired to ruin their plan.
We should still try it, Dave said. He motioned to a table near us and I saw the pistol I’d told him about last night.
I loaded it, he said. Couldn’t find any bullets in that office, but it’s the same caliber as mine. I’ll show you how to work it before we go down.
I nodded and ate my oatmeal. Anna beamed at Dave. I noticed the look he gave her and wondered what else he’d been up to that morning.
I got up from the table, walked over to the pistol and picked it up. It was much heavier than I’d imagined; I doubted I’d be able to hold it in my outstretched arm for long. I pulled back the slide and looked into the little rectangular space from where the spent bullet casing would spit out when fired, and I saw there was nothing in the chamber.
You don’t chamber a bullet until you’re going to fire it, just in case, Dave said.
I know, I replied, annoyed.
There’s no safety on yours, said Dave. It’s a triple-stage trigger, so basically you chamber a round, point and shoot. It’s got fifteen rounds in the mag.
I nodded and tucked the Glock in the back of my jeans, which I made a little tighter at the belt. I remembered that Dave’s pistol held seventeen rounds.
Aren’t you going to finish your breakfast? Anna asked me. Dave had eaten all of his.
I shook my head and pulled on my jacket and boots.
Let’s get a start on this, I said. I went over to Mini and gently shook her awake. Min, we’re gonna head downstairs soon. Have something to eat.
She grumbled something funny and rude in reply and I grinned. I loved how she was like a nocturnal creature, the type of person who could quite happily invert their body clock and sleep by day. Part of me understood the desire to be alert against the darkness and asleep when I knew my friends were there to watch over me.
Mini quickly ate some oatmeal while Dave had seconds and Anna sat at the table drinking her tea.
I got my backpack ready, and when the others were finished I led the way downstairs, my friends falling in step behind me.
The darkness of the enclosed stairwell conjured up frightening ideas of what might lurk in the shadows, but we all had flashlights and Dave held his Glock out in front of him. Several times we stopped, my heart beating hard in my chest as I listened for foreign sounds, each time thinking maybe we should head back. Each time we continued on. As scary as it was, it was also exciting to be doing something new. We talked about the possibility of seeing other survivors, and before I knew it we were in the empty lobby and I wasn’t so afraid anymore.
We exited onto Rockefeller Plaza. The open expanse, devoid of people, made me feel as though I was standing in an empty cathedral. It had snowed the previous night and there was a good covering of powder that was just starting to turn to slush under the winter sun.
There are footprints in the street, Dave said.
I followed his gaze and saw a single track of prints along the center of snow-covered 49th Street. Not much else had changed since we were here last. The fire engines were exactly as I remembered them. The cargo doors of the FDNY bus were still open, as Dave had left them, and we carried the nine remaining gas bottles into the lobby of 30 Rock. The girls decided to stay there with them while Dave and I did a last-minute check for anything useful. We walked up to the two police cars that were parked nose to nose across 49th.
Try starting that up, Dave said, pointing to one while he got into the other.
My car had its driver’s window open and the seat was wet, so without sitting down I turned the key in the ignition. After a few seconds it started up with a loud roar.
All right! Dave said, coming over to me. The other one’s battery is dead.
I smiled. Let’s let it run for a couple minutes, I said, remembering the first time I’d ever driven a car. Dad had taken me out to a vacant lot in our ancient Ford, but I’d hit a fence post because I could hardly turn the old beast. Three years later Dad would still tell the story with a laugh: the only obstacle for miles and I’d hit it. Dave probably wouldn’t have had any trouble turning a heavy steering wheel like that, but in a cop car like this I reckoned I’d be a better driver than him.
Hey, what about cruise ships? I said to Dave.
What about ’em? he asked. He was sitting in the police car as he scanned the radio bands.
We could go to one if we get sick of 30 Rock. It’d be easy to defend—we could just raise the gangplank and—
I stopped cold.
A man was walking down the street towards us, along Sixth Avenue. Behind him there was nothing—at least four blocks of desolate nothing until a massive pile of rubble. Beyond that, I could just see the tops of the trees in Central Park.
Dave! I whispered urgently.
He killed the engine and got out of the car, his hand reaching up under his parka.
The man continued to walk towards us. He was on the sidewalk and he walked in a straight line. I think he was looking at us, but I couldn’t be sure—he was still about 120 feet away. His clothes draped down like they were soaking wet and too big for him. As he got closer I realized he was gaunt, his eyes sunk back in his head, his skin pale.
Stop there! Dave commanded him. He lifted up the gun and pointed it at him. Stop!
The man continued to walk towards us in a straight line.
He’s doesn’t look right, Dave said to me out of the side of his mouth, and he shouted again: Stop there! Stop!
He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop for Dave and I didn’t shout out and I don’t know w
hy.
Despite the gun pointed his way and Dave moving a couple of steps towards him, the guy kept walking.
He’s a Chaser! I said, watching him as he passed our corner at 49th. He was now twenty paces away and had a wide-open, crazed look in his eyes as he came towards us.
Please stop! I willed him and motioned with my arms outstretched and my palms facing towards him in case he was deaf. I was standing next to Dave and he yelled again: Stop! Stop!
The last ten steps, the Chaser suddenly changed. If he’d appeared a weak, incapable man from a distance, that facade shattered when he neared us. His eyes become deranged, intent, hungry. He launched himself at us, running the last few steps—
The noise of the gun going off seemed too loud and it echoed around the empty streets of Midtown Manhattan. I realized that Dave had turned his head away at the last minute and fired at the guy blind. I saw the bullet hit the Chaser, saw him drop to the ground. Dave and I took a few steps closer and watched as he did the most desperate thing: he touched the wound in his stomach, then looked at the blood on his hand and licked it. He was silent and so were we, but he was helpless. Didn’t we warn him? Didn’t he hear us say stop? Didn’t he see the gun? He touched the bullet wound again and brought his hand up to his mouth. He didn’t seem to be in pain, but as we stood there a couple of feet away Dave aimed the gun and shot him three more times.
He was dead. I looked at the Chaser and at the gun still smoking in the breeze, then behind us, to where Mini and Anna were standing on the street. I realized they must have seen the whole thing, or at least the final act. I ran to the gutter and threw up, then slowly walked over to Dave and took the gun from my friend. We went back inside 30 Rock, and I knew nothing would ever be the same.
