by JJ Pike
Christine’s mouth fell open. She snapped it shut as fast as she was able.
The conversations were lightning fast and white hot. Christine couldn’t track the peaks and valleys, though she knew they passed through many. They were sincerely debating what dollar amount would make taking a possibly fatal journey worth it for them.
“For half a million dollars a head…” Naomi paused, undoubtedly for effect. “For a cool half mill each, are you with me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Captain, chart a course for lower Manhattan. We’re going to find a girl and save thousands, perhaps even hundreds of thousands, of people.”
The captain turned the boat, beckoning Christine over. “Which way?”
Christine pointed downtown. For the first time since she’d set foot in the boat, the blood rushing past her ear drums was louder than the crashing waves. There were nineteen passengers on the boat, including herself. Twenty if she included the captain. Where was she going to get that kind of money?
CHAPTER FIVE
Barb reached into the crib and stroked the baby’s face. It had cried itself out. No one there to feed it, change it, hold it. She needed to find formula and diapers, stat. She didn’t dare pick the baby up until she had everything in place. Its skin had to be raw from lying in its own filth. There was a changing table, diapers, wipes, cream, powder, everything you could want to keep your sweet bundle of love clean and happy. Barb grabbed a cloth from under the bathroom sink and ran it under the tap. The water was brown. No water. This was a high-end apartment. They probably drank bottled or filtered water. Filtered would be no use. She needed to find bottles.
The baby was hiccupping. It was a gentle sound that made her heart ache. The fridge was off, but the top shelf was stacked with water. How soon was that going to run out? If the city’s water was no good, they were all going to need bottled water in order to survive. She didn’t know how lucky she’d been, finding water in the kiosk on the street when they’d stumbled out of the subway. She’d thought it a happy accident, nothing more. Now she saw it for what it was; God’s hand reaching down and protecting her, so she could save this little one.
She stacked her arms full of bottled water. It was going to be rationed eventually, but right now in this minute, she had a baby who deserved a real wash.
The baby was limp in her hands, but not lifeless. She could feel its ribcage moving. The romper was soaked, poop smeared up her back, pressure sores on her precious tush. A little girl. “God is good.” She closed her eyes. “You saved me for this, Lord. I’m so grateful.”
She held the fragile, perfect infant over the sink and wiped her down, then laid her on a towel, with three pillows stacked beneath her, and washed her. “You’re so precious. I know your mama would want you to know that.”
The baby room spoke of parents who’d been excited to welcome their first child into the world. She was their first, no question. There were no other kids’ toys or clothes. The crib was new. The characters that festooned the walls had been stenciled or hand-painted. There were squishy bears and plushy dogs and bright, bold rompers designed to catch a baby’s eye and stimulate their interest. Barb knew all the signs. She’d done the same when she was expecting. She didn’t have the kind of money these folks had, but she’d prepared the perfect space for her perfect little one. It was still there in her apartment, ready for her Julia, the newborn who’d never made it out of the hospital.
Barb sang as she washed and dressed the little girl, searching the room for anything that might have her name stitched or painted or inked on it. She wanted to do right by the parents. They’d longed for this little one. She’d carry the name they’d given her.
Once she was dressed, Barb held her close and, humming the songs she’d never gotten to sing, searched the cupboards for formula. “Please, God, let them have formula. I know you didn’t bring me to this door at this time, with this baby waiting for me, just to leave us hanging.”
She found the formula in the cupboard by the sink. Contrary to popular opinion, formula did not need to be warm. Barb had done her research. She was primed for this moment. She had no way of knowing which bottles had been sterilized but, being that this was their first baby, there was every chance the bottles in the cupboard were germ-free. She made up a bottle, grabbed a burping napkin and put it over her shoulder, then settled into the easy chair and offered the baby the nipple. Nothing. She didn’t take it. Was she too tired? Dehydrated? How long had her mother been dead? Barb waited, then tried again. The baby coughed but didn’t feed.
What would they have done, these parents, to get their baby to drink? Did they have songs they sang to her at feeding time? Was the TV on? No, these didn’t look like “TV on all the time” people. Barb went back to the baby’s room. With no electricity she couldn’t find out what was on the iPod that sat at the head of the changing table. The mobile over the crib, though, would still work. She pulled the cord and watched it spin. Mozart. Of course. They were those kinds of parents. They wanted the baby to be brainy and calm. The giraffe followed the hippo who followed the unicorn who followed the tiger. The tiger had a name on its side. Barb grabbed the animal and read the name out loud, “Charlotte.”
She let go of the tiger and soothing violins filled the room. Charlotte stirred. Amazing. So young, so perfect, and already attuned to her surroundings. Mommy had probably played this to her when she was still in the womb. Barb held the bottle to Charlotte’s lips and let a drip of formula trickle into her mouth. Charlotte latched on and began to feed. Barb couldn’t look away. The moment was incandescent. Her mission was, as it had been for as long as she could remember, to be a mother. Here was a child who’d been orphaned. There was only peace and unalloyed joy.
And hunger. She hadn’t checked in on herself for hours. She walked slowly, carefully, not disturbing the baby in her arms, back to the kitchen. There was a can of ravioli with a pop top. “Thank you, whoever made pop tops. So much easier than a can opener.”
Charlotte stopped sucking. Barb grabbed the can and raced back to the baby’s room, where the music was loudest. Sure enough, Charlotte went back to her formula. Barb balanced the bottle under her chin and ate the ravioli out of the can with her fingers. It was delectable. The can was empty in a couple of lip-smacking minutes.
Barb wandered into the front room. The windows faced north. There were fires burning across the city, filling the sky with black smoke. It didn’t matter. They could burn for days and it wouldn’t matter. She had saved a baby. The ravioli and Mozart had made her sleepy. She nestled herself into the feeding chair, her elbow resting on the luxurious, poofy arm rest. Baby Charlotte had already drunk a fifth of the bottle. That was probably enough for a baby who hadn’t eaten in days. She didn’t want her to have a stomach ache or the squirts.
She lay her on her shoulder and burped her, cradled her, then watched her sleep. Her eyelids were almost transparent, her lashes already heartbreakingly long and curled, her lips pinking up nicely. Her mom couldn’t have been dead for long. This baby was hungry and exhausted, but not faltering or failing.
The dachshund waddled into the room. She hadn’t given him a thought since she’d heard the baby. Had he found food or water? There were no pets in this house. Barb emptied the candy from the dish in the middle of the side table, filled it with water and placed it on the floor for the dog. “What’s your name, then?” she whispered. He had a collar. She’d check it out when Charlotte woke.
“I could stay here forever, Lord. There’s enough formula for us to wait this out. I know I can find more water in other apartments. Do I get Alice and the gang up here? It’s clean. It’s away from the rabble and the robbers and the riff-raff.” She smiled. God didn’t mind a bit of alliteration now and again. “Is this a safe space for us? Tell me what it is you want me to do.” She closed her eyes and waited. Her friends, most of whom didn’t communicate directly with God anymore, wanted flaming bushes and grand gestures and booming voices, but God came to her in quiet ref
lection, breathing gentle ideas that she knew weren’t hers into her otherwise teeming brain.
She gathered up her worries—that Pete would die, that Bill would die, that Alice wouldn’t be able to cope if her husband died, that Manhattan was overrun with criminals, that there wasn’t a way out, that she wouldn’t be able to find food and supplies for all of them—and lay them at God’s feet. He had the capacity to take all her woes and shred them.
The dachshund barked.
Barb grinned.
The dog looked up at Barb, then towards the door. Barb laughed. It was hilarious. She’d asked for a sign and she’d gotten one.
If she was supposed to check out the corridor she needed a baby sling, so her hands were free. The Lillebaby carrier was like a backpack for a baby, even though it went on your front. Charlotte’s mommy and daddy had spared no expense. There was nothing second-hand, no hand-me-downs.
Barb took her time securing Charlotte to her chest, adjusting the straps and testing the panels for maximum comfort and air-flow for both of them. She didn’t want to overheat the child by sweating onto her once they started moving around. She had no clue where God would lead, but she would follow, which meant Charlotte would too.
The stroller was in a cupboard by the front door. That, too, was top of the line. She could only have dreamed of buying an Uppababy Vista for Julia. It had everything: the detachable bassinet, the under-carriage basket, the sun shield. She lifted the little dog and plopped him in the bassinet. She checked his collar. “Aren’t you just the cat’s pajamas. Would you look at that.” His name was spelled out in rhinestones. “Mouse, I’m delighted to meet you. Someone loves you very much. I’m sure they didn’t know they were going to leave you behind.” No one who buys a sparkly collar for their dog is going to willingly leave them behind in an empty apartment. Or a wife and baby. Charlotte’s daddy had to have been injured or killed. He’d never have let his wife and daughter languish without him.
Barb prayed for his soul and the souls of all the dearly departed. There had to have been a lot of deaths, given how much destruction she’d witnessed. The sadness and happiness did their usual dance in her heart. She would never not miss Julia, but she knew her girl had gone to a better place. She’d have gone there herself if it weren’t a sin to take your own life. “Hold them, Lord, in your loving embrace. May they know your love and light.”
She gathered bottles and formula and water and stacked them neatly in the basket. Then came diapers and cream and clothes, but they would all fit in the diaper bag, which she could hang off the back of the stroller. She wanted all the supplies she might need for a two-day trip, just in case they were called to travel.
Though the fridge was full of wilting and spoiled produce, Charlotte’s mom had done a good job of stockpiling cans and jars of heat-and-serve meals, sauces, and toppings. She had spaghetti and meatballs, several kinds of curry, green beans, apple sauce. Barb lifted Mouse out of the bassinet. “You’re going to have to walk like me, buddy. I need the stroller for our supplies.”
Mouse barked at her. She didn’t speak dog, so it took her a minute. They were like little kids, in terms of their needs and wants: play with me, pay attention to me, see how I learned something to please you, feed me. Oh! Feed me. Right. He was a little portly, but he hadn’t eaten for days. Barb dug around until she found a can of Vienna sausages. “Not what I expected from your mom, Charlotte. I was thinking she was more of a Trader Joe shopper than your local five and dime customer.” She popped the top and held a sausage out for Mouse. “You never can tell where people come from, though. For all we know, your mother grew up eating these and they remind her of home. What’s one person’s forbidden food is another’s treasured memory. Never trash anyone’s guilty pleasure, okay? I, for example, like Girl Scout Cookies, though you have to know where to go to find them. Kids here don’t go door to door. I won’t let you go door to door, little Charlotte munchkin. It’s not safe.”
Mouse nudged her leg, ready for another. “Ironic, pup. Wiener dog eats Wiener sausage.” If her phone had worked and she’d been connected, she would have gotten a ton of likes and LOLs for that one. Her online friends were like her: bored at work and in need of a laugh. Mouse ate the entire can of miniature sausages, then trotted back to the water dish Barb had laid down for him and drank his body weight in water.
What had she forgotten? She had food, water, baby clothes, bottles, burping cloths. She opened all the cupboards and drawers, hunting for things that you didn’t need to heat to eat. She tested the stroller after each additional load was added, to make sure she wasn’t straining it past its limits.
She found knives, flashlights, duct tape. All useful. The bathroom was where she hit gold. They had new toothbrushes, still in their wrappers. Toothpaste. Soap, tampons. She didn’t bother with the razors. “You can be clean if you have a beard, boys. We won’t have enough water to let you shave. You’re just going to have to suck it up and be hairy for a day or two.”
Toilet paper. Paper towels. A first aid kit. They all made it into the bassinet. She was getting close to her limit. They had no firearms. It was New York City, most people didn’t own firearms. Their loss. Was there anything that would make her part with her weapon? She didn’t need to give it more than a second’s thought. “Nope. Not even for Girl Scout Cookies.”
Mouse barked, trotted to the door, came back, did it again, waited.
Barb maneuvered the stroller out the door. “Show me the way, Mouse. Let God’s will guide you.”
Mouse checked in with Barb every few steps. He rounded the corner and sat in front of a door. Barb waited. Were there people in the apartment? More babies? Her heart plummeted. How could she leave without unlocking every apartment door? It was shocking to find anyone, dead or alive, but now that she had it was unthinkable that she’d move on. She dug for the master key. “We’re going to do this together, Charlotte. We’re going to liberate this building.”
The door opened. That smell again. The one she’d smelled when she’d found Mouse. The dog bounced through the door, almost knocking her off her feet. It was huge. One hundred and fifty pounds of fluff and slobber. Mouse danced around the new dog’s feet. They were pals.
Barb left the stroller in the corridor to check out the monster-dog’s apartment. There were placards and ribbons and certificates all over the walls. She was in the presence of a show dog. “KC, Best in Class, 2017. Good girl, KC.” Barb read on. “What breed do we think she is, Charlotte?” She ran her finger down the certificate. “I have no clue what this is. She’s a ‘Caucasian Ovcharka,’ whatever that means. I’d have thought she was a Bernese Mountain Dog, apart from her coloring.”
KC was a mountain of fur, topped with darling little cropped ears, and ending in a thick, lush tail. Barb rubbed KC’s bear-like head. One ear was longer than the other. That hadn’t mattered to the judges or perhaps they couldn’t tell under all that fur.
KC leaned on Barb for a while, ignoring Mouse who circled the two of them with a stream of comments that sounded a lot like the comments he’d made earlier, when he’d demanded hot dogs. It didn’t take Barb long to find the dog food. While the dogs were chowing down, she did a check of the apartment. It barely looked like a human lived there. This was a single man, mid-to-late thirties if the photographs were anything to go by, who ate out all the time. There was nothing in his fridge but condiments and nothing in the cupboards but plates and bowls, a bag of pasta, and some Ragu sauce.
In the coat closet she found a doggie saddle bag. “You’re a working dog, KC. Excellent. Let’s see how much we can carry. We’re going to go back to Charlotte’s house because Charlotte’s mommy, unlike your daddy, has things in her cupboards.”
It took a moment to understand how to strap the dog into her doggie backpack, but KC was patient with her new human friend. The huge, brown-eyed, pink-jowled dog licked Charlotte’s head a couple of times.
“Gently, gently.” She didn’t mind Charlotte’s exposure to dog bre
ath or drool. It was good for Charlotte’s immune system, but she wanted to protect the baby’s fontanelle.
When she stood she found a man in a wheelchair staring at her. “Have you come to help with the rescue mission?” he said.
She hadn’t meant to be the rescue party, but what else should she call herself?
“You don’t look like a firefighter or a policeman.”
“No,” said Barb. “I’m from a different organization.” What was she going to call herself? Did she dare say it out loud? That she was on a mission? It sounded so puffed up and self-aggrandizing. She didn’t mean it that way. But she felt called. She was doing God’s work. She was…what was the word? She was…
“Follow me.” The guy in the wheelchair had lost patience while she spun off into her own headspace. “I’ve gotten scores of shut-ins out of the building already, but I’m going to need you to help me with the remaining three.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Go home and get Mimi.” Betsy squeezed Petra’s hand extra hard. “Tell her we’re all leaving. She’ll understand.”
