His reluctance to discuss anything of emotional depth is often annoying, but I’ve come to appreciate it in recent days. Leo returns, chomping on gum with my water bottle in hand. “Thanks,” I say. “How about you stick with me today? Your dad has some stuff to do, and I could use the help of a strapping young lad like yourself.”
“Can I use the drill?” he asks.
I’ve seen Leo on the loose with an electric drill, and that results in things being destroyed rather than built. I shake out my wrist and take a slug of water. “This is screwdriver work. The work of real men who sweat and curse and get repetitive stress injuries.” Paul snickers, and I say, “Why are you still here? I heard they need help in Maintenance.”
He appears on the verge of saying something more, but, like good old Paul, he replaces his brooding expression with his standard indifferent one. After a thanks to me and a kiss to Leo, he heads off to freedom.
Leo puts his all into tightening each screw without stripping it, so that I only have to finish them. He’s growing up. I’d looked forward to seeing it happen, though I thought it’d be on holidays and visits and the week in which I planned to invite him camping every summer, once Hannah would let him out of her sight that long. One of the unexpected plusses to this new world is having him around, and Leo—a sweet kid by anyone’s standards—is never a bother. Besides, his constant chatter keeps my mind occupied.
“Why didn’t you want to go to school?” I ask. “Weren’t Emily and Chen there?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you want to play with them?”
“I can play with them whenever I want, and you don’t get to play as much in school, anyway.”
“Good point, but you know you’re going to have to go sometime?”
He tightens his screw with a pout. “I know.”
I tousle his hair and leave it alone. The nice thing about being the uncle-slash-godfather is that I don’t have to do the heavy lifting when it comes to parenting.
“He’s a good worker, maybe he doesn’t need school,” Louis says. “He can work all day, but there’ll be no playing.” Leo’s smirk says he knows exactly what Louis is doing. “Aha, I see you’re too smart for reverse psychology.”
Leo gives a smug nod, though he has no idea what reverse psychology is. He pats the solar panel. “She’s all done, boys.”
“You’re a character,” Louis says.
With the solar finished, we pack up tools and head to where people work in the rows of planters that fill the basketball courts. In Sunset Park, we had trays of robust cool-weather plants ready for the ground. What I’d figured for the yield of potatoes would’ve fed us all, if not this year, then the next. The tomato starts had taken over every available window, and even watermelon was on the menu for the coming summer.
It’s a far cry from the spindly vegetable starts Leo and I plant into the powdery, unhealthy-looking soil of the city, much of which was sourced from outside the buildings and the backyards of surrounding streets. Even with rabbit manure that they sow directly into the soil, and the compost of food waste and chicken manure, they’ll need additional amendments for the plants to do well. Kate thinks so, too, judging by the way she mutters over a planter on the other side of the path.
I pat down the soil around the lettuce and water it with a bucket. The next planter is a plastic tub, and the next a garbage can cut to a two-foot height. Plant, pat, water, repeat. When I’m out of seedlings, I start on seeds. With no greenhouse but one made of transparent plastic, they rely on sowing many of their seeds. Tucked here and there on the grounds, I’ve spotted the lacy tops of carrots and first leaves of cabbage that were sowed in February. Broccoli and peas have taken over part of the Oval, to be harvested before later crops like corn and squash go in.
They may be pushing the frost date a bit, but, from what I’ve seen of the basements beneath the buildings, they need to. That three-year cushion they once had in terms of food storage has been whittled down to eight months, and subsistence is now the name of the game. Not they. We. It doesn’t feel that way—maybe because we just arrived or because of the number of people or the petty tensions I sense here and there.
We could leave if Jersey wasn’t full of zombies. If we had a boat. If Paul and Indy and Jorge and the others agreed. I think they would, since no one seems particularly enamored of StuyTown.
If we take back SPSZ, we could return to whatever’s left of our home, our garden, our stores of food. They can’t have run through it all. The sooner it happens, the more that will remain. I drop chard seeds into the bathtub next in line, then tamp down and wet the few inches of soil.
“Interesting planter, huh?” Kate asks.
“Better than a toilet,” I say.
“True.” She stands and wipes her hands on her pants. A man walks past the courts, calling hello to Kate, who waves in return. “I have no idea what half of their names are anymore. I call most of them Hey, you and Fella. I’m off soon to help in the café and meet Sylvie and Indy. I’ll have cookies for them.”
“Sylvie can’t resist cookies,” I say.
“Who can?” she asks Leo. “I’ll give her one to bring home for you.”
“Thank you,” he says.
Kate pinches his cheek, then turns to me. “Everyone settled so far?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
I give her my brightest smile—what Sylvie might call my Golden Boy smile—but Kate responds with a sympathetic squint like I’ve frowned. Everyone here must know our story by now, even if they don’t know all the details. But Kate and Louis know down to the smallest error because I don’t think Walt will be satisfied with Brooklyn forever. Half of me wants him to try it, just so I can kill him. The other half wants to head back to SPSZ before he can. I’m looking forward to killing Emilio, too. Wiping that ever-present smirk off his face now that I know our gullibility is likely what put it there in the first place.
“I know what you must be thinking,” Kate says. “We have too many people and too little food. Our soil sucks. This place is too spread out to maintain security.”
“Some of that.”
“Those are some of the reasons I was up at Central Park, but they’re not particularly interested in taking on our problems. Anyone’s problems. We found out last month they’ve been funneling all survivors down to us. Except for the folks who floated down the Hudson late winter with their cows, goats, and assorted farm animals. Them they happily absorbed.”
“They have cows in Central Park?”
“They do.” She pushes back her wispy gray-blond bangs, leaving a smear of dirt on her forehead. “Maybe cows are better than rabbits, but I don’t think we’re doing bad there.”
“You’re doing great there.”
The rabbits live in a fenced court between buildings in an assortment of hutches, and the babies are plentiful. Rabbit pellets were one thing people didn’t eat when the world went into the shitter, and between that, leftover birdseed, and the mixture of oats, buckwheat, and barley that have replaced what were once bushes around some the buildings, the rabbits may be the best fed of all.
“I’m so tired of this place and its problems, I could scream. I think, next consensus, they’re going to vote me and Louis out of the head positions. Have you met Bridget? That’s her fondest wish. As far as I’m concerned, it can’t come soon enough.”
I’ve heard of Bridget, one of the council members, though I haven’t met her. “Really?”
“Yes, let someone else deal with Central Park.”
“What else do they have there?”
“What don’t they have? A reservoir, for starters. Land. Animals. They say they’re low on ammo. Some people at the Safe Zone left, and maybe they took it with them. Or maybe they didn’t have much to begin with.”
“Will they trade food for ammo?” I ask.
“Maybe, but we need our ammo for when we take it over.” I glance from my planter to find her grinning, though there’s a hardness behind her teasing e
yes. “Yes, I’m kidding. If this continues and people are hungry, ammo could be used for trade. If they won’t trade, I’d love to say we’d back off, but I’ve never been starving. People do what they need to do when their only other option is death.”
“Would they let you all starve?” As soon as the question leaves my mouth, I laugh at myself. I just survived a situation where someone killed most everyone I knew for a reason I still can’t comprehend, and I’m shocked that people will stand by while others starve. “Forget I asked.”
“It’s a valid question. Honestly, Teddy and Lauren are a mystery yet to be solved. They had a lot of money a year ago and major connections. But the fact they managed to put Central Park together still leaves me speechless.”
“That’s because they didn’t,” Louis says from behind us.
“I was getting to that, but you tell it.”
“These are rumors,” he warns. “But when we first found out about Central Park, we were told the people who began it had left. Built the walls, cleared the park, and brought in supplies. They were forced out for fighting and stealing.” He raises his eyebrows, lips twisted in doubt. “A man named Mo, and a woman, Farina. Supposedly, they and the others went to a Safe Zone off the island, but I think they’re the people on the roofs uptown.”
Kate nods. “When we were just there, we overheard someone talking about how half of their vegetable starts were stolen. Teddy said it was disease. Louis thinks it could be Mo and Farina.”
“Their vegetable starts?” I ask. “That means they’ll be low on food?”
“And seeds, but we don’t have any to spare.”
“What if I do?” I ask. “We saved a lot last fall, and I have a good bit in my bug-out bag.”
“You’d be willing to give those up?”
I don’t want to part with a single seed. However, we can plant all the vegetables in the world, but if they’re in shitty soil, the yields will also be shitty. “Most of them. I’ll replace them in the fall from what we grow, if that’s okay. I like to have them just in case.”
“That’s more than okay. You’d be doing us a huge favor. We’ll have to take a trip up there to see if they’re interested.”
“Just the two of you?”
Kate cocks her head. “Need to get out of here?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
Leo tamps down the dirt in our planter, and the sight of his plump fingers touches something deep inside my chest. If I went to Brooklyn, Paul would follow, and I won’t have another death on my head, too. I run hot and cold on this subject fifty times a day, but the one thing I can’t see doing is letting Walt get away with it. Even if I have to take him out alone. Patience is my strong suit, and getting out of these walls will serve to show me what I’m up against in terms of the likelihood of killing Walt.
“I think we can arrange that.” Kate tousles Leo’s hair. “Don’t let them get away with anything here. You’re in charge.”
Leo’s grin shows off his latest missing front tooth. He’s soaking in all this adult attention, and I mentally wish Paul the best of luck with getting him to school in the near future.
After Kate leaves, we plant down the line until we reach Roger, Julie, and Chris, all of whom I met last year. “I might move into your building,” Roger says to Julie.
Julie blows her dark bangs off her sweaty forehead and rolls her head on her neck. “Please not my floor.”
Not much seems to have changed from the last time I met them: Julie is friendly to everyone except Roger, and Roger is on a mission to annoy the hell out of her.
“Eric, you’re in building Twenty?” Roger asks, and I nod. “What floor?”
“First.”
“You know they called the first two floors Terrace and Main so that the buildings didn’t have thirteen floors? Superstitions are stupid.”
“Stupidstitions,” I say.
Julie laughs, then glares at Roger in case he thought she might be warming to him. “When do we get to meet Sylvie?” she asks me.
She and Chris came to visit the other day while Sylvie was napping. Or that’s what she said she was doing, but she hates naps—the only time she ever willingly took a nap was when she was dying from hypothermia. “Tomorrow, I guess. Or tonight, if we eat dinner with the building.”
“Tell her she can’t hide forever,” Chris says in an ominous voice. “Or is she like that fake Canadian girlfriend I had in seventh grade?”
“She’s real,” Leo says. “She just doesn’t like people. Except for us.”
Julie and Chris crack up. “Interesting,” Chris says. “What else can you tell us?”
He bends his tall frame to Leo’s level. The dark freckles sprinkled on the lighter brown of his nose and cheeks make him look as friendly as he is, and Leo eagerly opens his mouth to spill the beans.
“Leo,” I say, “if you ever want another toy, I suggest you keep your next thought to yourself.”
He zips his lips with dirt-covered fingers. Julie and Chris groan. “Sylvie is Leo’s toy dealer,” I say. “He knows which side his bread is buttered on.”
“You definitely don’t want to mess with that relationship,” Chris says. “To tell you the truth, we don’t like most people, either. But you’re cool.”
“So are you,” Leo says.
He high-fives Chris, then Julie, who winks at me. “Anyway, we buildings have to stick together,” she says. “We’ll give her a week and then we’re coming for her.”
I think Sylvie will like them, as they both seem to be on a personal mission to put people at ease. “I’ll warn her.”
“Buildings have to stick together?” Roger asks. “Isn’t that prejudiced? I’d think you would be more aware of making statements like that.”
Julie acts as if she hasn’t heard him. “I was adopted from China and raised by two moms. A fact which Roger seems unable to deal with.” She turns to Roger with a scowl. “The only person I’m prejudiced against is you. And that’s because you’re a douche.”
Roger grabs his leather jacket from the ground and dons it with a grin, as this is likely the reaction he wanted. “I’d better go. Wouldn’t want to miss lunch with my building.” He starts for the gate, rearranging the bleached hair on the crown of his head.
“I even hate his hair,” Chris says. “How can you hate hair?”
“You can,” Julie says. “You totally can.”
“What’s a douche?” Leo pipes up.
“Oh, shit,” Julie says, and then slaps a hand over her mouth.
Sylvie will like them just fine.
4
Sylvie
The longer I sit at the dining table, the more nervous I become. A starburst of anxiety scatters through my chest at the thought of leaving the building for the first time since we moved in. I’m aware this isn’t healthy behavior, and that it’ll likely be okay, but that first step outside seems insurmountable.
I stare into the herbal concoction my mug holds and decide that whoever thought it a decent substitute for coffee either has no taste buds or takes pleasure in the pain of others. After another vile sip, I dump it down the bathroom sink, wash up with lukewarm water, and inspect myself in the mirror. I look tired, with under-eye circles almost as dark as my hair.
Indy stands in the hall when I come out. She wears boots, jeans, her leather coat, and a smile. The past few days have done wonders for her, or she’s acting her ass off. I tend to think it’s the latter; she was never this perky before.
“We’ll go after I use the bathroom,” she says. “You look like crap.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Maybe I’m sick and can’t go.”
“Nice try.” She closes the door in my face.
While I wait, I watch out the living room window to try to get an idea of what we’ll step into outside. The view is a building, with another behind that one, and no one on the paths below. I open the window and put my ear to the screen.
“What are you doing?” Indy asks.
“See
ing what I could hear.”
Indy exits our apartment, moves down the stairs and through the lobby door, then strides alongside our building. I trot behind her like a little kid trying to keep up with her mother. She stops to wait where the path joins with the one around the Oval. To meet Kate, we’ll travel around the ovular garden to where a café sits at the base of a building.
It seems every last one of the hundreds of residents stands in front of us. A guy wheels a plastic tub filled with dirty laundry past, and he nods to an older woman walking with a clipboard. People call back and forth in the garden, and a few kids yell in a fenced playground across the way.
Indy takes my arm the way Grace used to, and I wonder whether she’s seen her do it or if I inspire supervision. “Walk with your eyes moving like you’re friendly but don’t make eye contact. That way you don’t have to smile. No, smile a little. Then, if you accidentally make eye contact, you don’t look like a bitch.”
“You’re as crazy as I am.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she says.
I laugh and keep my eyes fixed on an indeterminate point in the distance. Some of the buildings that face the Oval have a glass-fronted bottom which houses an amenity of some sort. We pass the bottom-level space that contains about twenty-five school-aged kids lounging in chairs behind the glass. I spot Emily and Chen, but no Leo. Then comes the childcare, followed by Public Safety in the next building cluster, where they keep assorted zombie-killing weapons and ready themselves for guard shifts.
My sweaty hand clutches my bag strap. People eye us as we pass, but I pretend not to notice. Finally, we reach the café—another storefront-type entrance, this one with cream-tiled square pillars set behind the glass. On the patio out front, people eat at tables behind a low stone wall that borders the path. Their hair and jackets blow in the breeze, which has warmed a few degrees from the other day. It must’ve been nice to live in this enclave in the heart of Manhattan before zombies, with the loud city streets a few blocks removed from the park-like grounds.
We walk the flagstone to the glass doors and step inside. Heat blasts from the kitchen area behind rustic wood counters. The walls behind the counter are tiled, and a large chalkboard that once held the day’s specials now says: You get what you get, and you don’t get upset. Bon Appetit!
The City Series (Book 3): Instauration Page 3
