“She’s at school. Is that a real American Girl?”
“We passed the store, and I thought she’d like it.”
May smiles as if I have a lot to learn. “Yeah, she’ll like it. My daughter loved hers. She saved up birthday and New Year’s money to buy as many as she could. Her room was a U.N. convention of American Girl dolls.”
There’s no missing the pain in her eyes, but her smile stays put. “I didn’t know you had a daughter,” I say.
“She and my husband…” She shakes her head. “Emily will love it. She looks through a catalog we found all the time.”
“I’ll just leave it here for—”
“Will you do me a favor?” she interrupts. “Take it to school and give it to her. There are some kids who, well, they rub their toys in the others’ faces. I’d like for her to get in a good one, and something new from outside the gates is perfect.”
I laugh at her slightly wicked expression. “My pleasure. Thanks for taking care of Emily. If you need anything, I’m happy to help.”
She throws open the door. “Want to change a high lightbulb?”
Fifteen minutes later, I head for the school after changing that lightbulb and fixing a toilet seat. May told me little kids are hell on toilet seats. She also told me she was an accountant and her husband a middle school teacher, that they met in graduate school, and that while Chen has adjusted well, Emily is plagued by nightmares. May misses Susan, who’d become a friend, and she has every intention of raising Emily as her own if Susan never shows.
I open the door to the lower school, which is a blend of first through sixth grade that spends the day in what was once called Oval Studio. Desks taken from a school sit in clusters in one corner. The other side of the room is low bookshelves and comfortable seats, in which kids sit or lounge on the rug. Leo is not counted among them, since he’s still into his truant act.
A woman in her early forties greets me at the front of the room with a smile and a swirl of her long skirt. Her Lego earrings leave no doubt she’s the teacher. “Can I help you?”
“I have something for Emily. May wanted me to drop it off.”
Emily hears her name and rises from the rug, worriedly pushing back her blond hair. The skin under her eyes is tinged purple. She looks worse than the day I found her and her family on the elevated tracks, and she wasn’t looking great then.
“Hey, Emily,” I say with the box behind my back. “I have a surprise for you.”
Her expression turns wary; her life hasn’t brimmed with happy surprises recently. I’d planned to amp her up about it, maybe even tease her a little by making her guess what it is, but I’m not sure she could take it. Instead, I crouch to her level and hold out the dented box.
She grips it and stares through the plastic window on the front, nowhere near as excited as May predicted. Though I felt a bit like Santa a minute ago, I feel stupid for thinking a doll would work magic on a little girl who’s lost everything. I remember Susan’s anguish when she left Emily in the greenhouse, and how I promised myself I’d remind Emily how loved she was if Susan never returned. I will one day, if I have to. For now, I want her to know others care about her, too.
“I thought of you when I saw the blond hair,” I say, then stand when she doesn’t respond. “Well, there you have it. I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Her hair’s pretty,” she says.
“Like yours.”
“Can you help open it?”
“Sure.” I take the box and head for the desks. Once the lid is off, I use my knife to cut the band around the doll’s neck that holds her in place. “It’s a good thing we saved her from the store. That must’ve been uncomfortable.”
Emily’s giggle is cute and quiet. I’m used to Leo, and I’m not sure how to connect with her the way I do him. Emily lifts the doll from the box, strips off its hairnet to release its blond locks, and then sits it on the desk.
“You could be twins,” I say. “What’s her name?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“How about Mario?” I ask.
She puts her hands on her hips. “You can’t name a girl Mario!”
“Tony? Butch?” She shakes her head, giggling, and I raise my hands. “That’s all I’ve got. I’m sure you’re better at this than I am. I have to leave for the garden, but I hope you like what’s-her-name.”
Emily nods. The way her eyes shine makes me wish I’d brought home two dolls and that kitchen set, too. “May told me some kids are real jerks about toys, so let’s hope this makes them jealous,” I say with a wink.
She throws her arms around me. She’s smaller than Leo, frailer, all skinny limbs and sticky hands on my neck. The world must seem huge to such a tiny person, and huge can be scary. Hell, the immensity of the city scared me only days ago. I give her a gentle squeeze before she drops her arms and grabs her doll. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
I leave her heading back to the other kids to show off her new toy. Maybe it wasn’t magic, but it wasn’t nothing, either. I guess sometimes that’s the most you can hope for.
Predictably, the plants haven’t grown into a jungle in the day since the fertilizer was spread. I wish there were some sign the loss of those seeds will work in our favor, but the rich, dark soil into which I plant seedlings is definitely an improvement, and our planters are now full.
“They could’ve gotten everyone killed,” a woman whispers. “Before, and now again.”
I peer over my shoulder at two women sitting on a bench with their backs to me. One older, one younger, and both leaning conspiratorially. The second, younger one, nods. “Bridget says she knew about Mo months ago, but no one believed her.”
I can call bullshit on that, and I’ve only been here two weeks. Kate and Louis kept an eye out for Mo in the winter and had no luck. It was Bridget who argued that he was a phantom, and, anyway, why would they want to make nice with people who obviously couldn’t hold their own Safe Zone? She said they’d have nothing to offer.
Maybe because I was here last year, those of us from Sunset Park have been accepted into Kate’s inner circle, though it’s an inner circle that seems increasingly on the outs. The council consists of seven people, including Kate, Louis, Artie, and Bridget, and Bridget has it in for Kate for reasons known only to her.
My suspicion is she can’t stand that people naturally gravitate toward Kate. Bridget was here at the beginning, was one of the dissenters of the council system, and was put on the council to shut her up. It’s not working anymore, if it ever did.
“…vote her off,” the older one says. “She can go back to the garden full-time.”
I finish the last of the seedlings and find Kate in the main garden, where I think she’d rather be anyway. Declan mentioned her green thumb, and to see it in practice is a thing of beauty. She sows things too closely, grows horizontal things vertically, and makes it all work. My mom was the same. I like to think I know what I’m doing, but I aspire to be like them one day. I plot and plan while their gardening appears effortless.
I brief her on the conversation I heard. Kate scratches at her cheek, leaving a smear of dirt. “You know what I feel worst about? Louis. He gets punished along with me. I told him a while ago to distance himself, but, being Louis, of course he wouldn’t.”
“Loyalty is an admirable quality,” I say.
“But not to his detriment. I’m sorry they won’t consider your request.”
I shrug, though the fact that the council voted against our request for a consensus still stings. We asked to be apportioned ammo and weapons to fight Walt. Louis, Artie, and Kate were the three, out of seven, who okayed bringing the request to consensus, where all of StuyTown would get a chance to weigh in. If ninety-percent of the residents agreed, we’d have enough weapons, if not the boats or number of people we also need.
“Bridget likes to bitch about the rules, not make them.” Kate fingers a pea plant that’s wound its way up six feet of string. �
��The world is so small now that you can’t escape the small minds. Sometimes I hate it. And then I wonder why I bother when I could go for one last stroll and it’d all be over.”
I’m composing a pep talk when Kate looks up from her plant with a grin. “You should see your face! I’m being dramatic. A touch of Irish gallows humor for you.”
“You had me for a minute,” I say. “But you’re right—there’s no escaping small minds. Why is it that they grow large enough to take over?”
“I wish I knew. We could debate that all day, but it’s almost lunchtime, and I should eat up in case I’m tossed out on my rear.”
I’ve promised to meet Sylvie at the store before lunch. On my way, I ponder what Kate said. The world is small, yes, but Sunset Park wasn’t full of small minds. It was a third the size of this place and felt ten times as large. It might not be a bad thing to return to the High Line and check the Jersey shore in case we find a boat. Sylvie once mentioned living in the elevated park. While I’m not sure it can be done, we might have to live elsewhere if we want to amass enough of an armory to go after Walt.
I stand in the store entrance, watching Sylvie count up purchases and send people on their way, much friendlier than she likes to make out. The final person in line, an older woman, clasps her hand. Sylvie puts one over hers before she says something that sends the woman away with a smile.
God, I love Sylvie. From her dark hair to her boots. From her cheekiness to her kindheartedness. I sneak behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, and whisper in her ear, “Run away with me.”
“Sure,” she says, “but we have to leave posthaste. My boyfriend will be here any minute.”
“You haven’t ditched him yet?”
She spins to face me, still in my arms. “Soon.”
“Good.” I notice Indy at the other end of the store with a guy I’ve seen around. “Who’s that?”
“Don’t get me started,” Sylvie says.
“That’s a long name. Does everyone call him Don’t for short?”
Sylvie drops her head back. “You’re such a dork. How are you already cracking dad jokes at twenty-seven?”
“It’s a gift. Who is he?”
“Landon Mann. An actor. He’s started coming by for his daily dose of adulation from Indy.” She looks in time to see Landon run a hand down Indy’s arm. Indy’s laugh tinkles, and Sylvie makes an annoyed noise.
“Paul mentioned a jerkoff named Landon the other day.” I take her shoulders. “I’m serious, though. Run away with me.”
“To where?”
“I’ll show you, but first you have to Qualify.”
16
Sylvie
The first step of Qualifying is guns. Pistols are easy, and I managed to shoot a rifle right-eyed and hit the target. It was a fluke, but I didn’t mention that to Louis. Now, for the first time since we arrived, I stand at the Avenue C gate. Roger rolls open the inner gate, then the outer, and Paul steps into the gated area between StuyTown and the East River. It runs under the blown overpass of the FDR and opens up to five hundred gated feet of riverbank. If riverbank is what you call a concrete path with a railing.
The safe space runs to the northbound FDR entrance. But it ends here, at the southeast corner of StuyTown, the barrier made of the thick plywood they erect to keep you out of construction sites, which is reinforced with metal and attached to posts sunk into the asphalt. The wall is double-gated to allow people and vehicles through.
“Ready?” Louis asks Paul and Eric.
Eric gives a thumbs up from where he sits on a viewing platform and sights down a rifle. Paul, who donned the required protective gear under duress, nods his helmeted head. Louis opens the gate and allows a zombie in.
Paul walks forward with his axe and slams the Lexer in its head. Brown gore splatters ground. He turns and bows at where the rest of us stand on the sidewalk, then removes his helmet and hands it to Micah.
“Trying again?” Roger asks Casper. “What’s this? Number fifteen?”
Casper, decked out in some fairly fierce, if loose, black composite body armor, studies his boots. “Six.”
“Sixth time’s the charm.” Roger’s smile is mocking. “Using the sword?”
Casper nods. I hate the doubt on his face, but I hate Roger more for putting it there. “I like your sword,” I say. “Tell me about it.”
Casper extends it for me to see. It’s a genuine sword, not too long and shiny silver, with a leather-wrapped handle. “A half sword,” he says. “I had it made a long time ago.”
“For zombies?”
“No, for the SCA.”
I watch Micah ram a knife through the head of the zombie Louis provides. “Oh, that’s that organization, right? Where you dress in costume and fight like knights?”
“The Society for Creative Anachronism, yeah. That’s part of what they do. I didn’t have much practice with—”
“Try any,” Roger interjects. I give him a dirty look.
“Well, it’s practice time now,” I say. “Good luck. Maybe you can show me some sword moves one day.”
“I don’t know much, but I’ve been working with the books I have. I could show you.”
Roger sniffs loudly, to let us know he’d like to laugh.
“I would love that,” I say, and pull my chisel from the holster Eli made. “I’d teach you chisel-fighting, but it’s pretty self-explanatory.”
“What kind of weapon is that?” Roger asks me.
“One that kills zombies.”
He wears the same smile he wore for Casper. I take the helmet from Indy after she finishes off a body with her long knife. A helmet is great and all, in a case like this, but impractical on the streets. Sound is muffled, peripheral vision sucks, and my head is already sweating.
Louis opens the gate. Two zombies shove their way in, which isn’t surprising, since the groans outside have risen in volume. He steps forward, but I wave him back. If Roger wants to know what kind of weapon this is, I’ll show him.
I move quickly for the first and smaller of the two, put my gloved hand on its shoulder, and shove my chisel through its eye. The next is taller, a man wearing pants that have worn to shorts, and a shirt that’s disintegrated to nothing but a collar around his neck. You have to let them touch you at times, which goes against what every molecule in your body wants. Once his hands grab my waist, I push the chisel under his chin. Right in the soft spot and angled toward the back of the skull.
He drops. I curtsy at the round of applause, then hand the helmet to Casper. He’s pale, his brown hair already wet with sweat. “You can do this,” I say.
He shuffles forward. When the zombie enters, he walks to meet it, sword lifted. It grabs at the metal, slicing off two rotted fingers when Casper pulls it free. Roger makes a satisfied sound. I beg Casper to get it this time, and I tense as he jabs the sword through its cheek. It falls to the ground.
“I must be seeing things,” Roger says.
I ignore him and clap for Casper. After that, most of Sunset Park takes their turn—all the teenagers, Brother David, and Jorge pass. Rissa yells triumphantly and hugs Micah, who hugs her back. After she’s turned to squeal with April, I raise my brows at Micah.
“Don’t even,” he says.
“Don’t even what?”
“Don’t even anything.”
Eric hops down from his perch and puts his arm around my shoulders. “I thought about shooting one of yours, but I knew you could do it. Ready for the next part?”
“Yes, but you’re not watching me run.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not.”
“All right, I’ll be off smoking a cigarette while you run.”
“There aren’t any.”
“Since you managed to polish off an entire carton in five minutes, I got a pack to celebrate you Qualifying. Because how else do you celebrate running a mile?”
“I think you may not be a social smoker anymore.”
“I can stop any
time I want,” he says. “So, there.”
I laugh, remove my coat for the run through Stuyvesant Town, and place it in his arms. “Make yourself useful. I’ll see you in a little while.”
Eric stays at the outside gate to talk to Kate while we walk the loop to the inner gate. We have ten minutes for a mile, which we’ll run on a route through the buildings. Roger follows, murmuring to Casper, “This is it, big fella. Your downfall. I can feel it.”
My anger swells at his straight-up cruelty. Fuck his insulin-needing self. I don’t care if he’s going to die next week, I refuse to tiptoe around him the way everyone else seems to. I take in his leather coat, his smirk, and the ridiculous hair he’s managed to bleach through the apocalypse.
“Hey, Roger,” I say. He turns to me, along with everyone else. “1998 called. It wants its hair back.”
Julie and Chris, standing at the gate, fall out. Indy and Paul stare before Paul coughs into his hand, and Indy’s head drops to hide her laugh. Roger narrows his eyes. “That all? What else you got?”
“I’m sure I could think of plenty, but I have a mile to run. Maybe another time.”
Julie’s face is shiny with joy. “On your mark,” she yells. “Get set! Go!”
A quarter-mile in, Casper is red-faced. I pace myself to him and check my watch. At this rate, he’ll just make it. By a half-mile, he’s puffing and everyone else has gone ahead. We weave our way between buildings on the marked path.
“Roger’s right,” Casper gasps.
“No, he’s not. His hair is stupid and he’s an asshole. He was trying to psych you out.”
Casper stumbles. “Why are you staying with me?”
“Because I want to.” We pass the fountain and run around the Oval. “We’re almost there. You just have to speed it up a tiny bit.”
Casper picks up his pace. Our feet slam the concrete in time. We have two minutes to close this oval and make it back to the inner gate. Someone yells out, “Go, Casper!” as we pass.
Where the path splits for the gate, Casper staggers and clutches his side. “I can’t.”
I stop, bouncing on my toes. “You can. It’s so close. You can.”
The City Series (Book 3): Instauration Page 11
