The City Series (Book 3): Instauration

by Lyons Fleming, Sarah

  I set a bottle of formula into a container of warm water on the kitchen counter. We’re not sure if Jin is just under or just over a year, when he could go off formula, but there’s no goat’s or cow’s milk to give him. We need a wet nurse.

  Eric and Jin watch from the doorway. “Why don’t you just mix the formula with warm water?”

  “Because…I don’t know. But you’re not supposed to.”

  Eric nods like that’s as good an answer as any. “I told Kate about Roger’s escape route this morning.”

  Everyone from Sunset Park was given clear instructions on how to find and use the escape hatch last night. We would’ve told Kate in any event, but the news about Mo needed to be passed on, and there was no way to do that without explaining how we saw Charlie. The news of the three men Charlie ran off made Eric’s jaw tighten and face lose color. Getting him to leave my side again will be impossible, and I’m not sure I mind.

  “What’d Kate say?” I ask.

  “She was going to check it out right away and not tell Roger she knew. She wasn’t mad at him. More like quietly disappointed.”

  “Quiet disappointment is the worst.”

  “My parents were great at it. So was Maria.”

  Maria could say everything with one look that made you loath to fail her. Fighting Walt won’t get her back, but I hope she would approve of our plan. If there is an afterlife, I don’t want to be greeted with one of her trademark stares after Walt kills me.

  What the hell, mamita? Of course, you couldn’t just stay alive.

  I face the cabinets while I blink away tears. Eric’s arm circles my shoulders, and I lean into him with a sniffle. He presses his lips to the crown of my head, which is comforting, although the sharp little teeth that sink into my forehead are not.

  I leap back with a yelp. Jin screeches only inches away, his mouth wide for a kiss. “Look at that,” Eric says. “No one can get close and resist kissing you.”

  I laugh, tears gone for now. “You need some kissing lessons, baby.”

  Jin closes his mouth, dark eyes bright and inquisitive. I lean forward, lips puckered, and he opens wide again. I back off—closed. Lean forward—open. Jin squeals, and I hand Eric the bottle. “Plug him up, will you?”

  Jin grabs the bottle two-handed and plugs himself while he leans against Eric’s shoulder in ecstasy. I reach to take him, but Eric shakes his head and wanders into the living room speaking in a soft voice.

  I dump the water into a bottle to drink later. At times, I think StuyTown doesn’t understand the value of water. It magically comes from the taps, as it did before zombies, and they seem to think it will forever. The aqueducts lead from reservoirs in upstate New York, traveling hundreds of feet below ground to the city water tunnels, which branch off to water mains. We don’t know how the reservoirs in upstate New York work, but they must need someone to operate them. When the water in the aqueducts runs out, we might be very thirsty. It wasn’t so long ago that I was thirsty. But I know how to capture rain. How to make water last. How to filter it in any number of ways. I’m glad I do.

  Eric isn’t in the living room when I enter. The faint whiff of baby poop is a clue to where he’s gone, and I love Jin a little more for saving that job for Eric. I sit on the couch and read a book I found in the Study—survival, of course—and listen to happy squawks from down the hall. A few minutes later, the two appear, Jin resting in the crook of Eric’s arm.

  Eric lowers himself to the couch, hand spanning Jin’s chest to gently rock him. Jin fights to stay awake, though each blink is longer than the last, until he suddenly flails and struggles to sit up.

  “Oh, no.” Eric’s voice is quiet, and his hand settles Jin with a soft jiggle. “You were sleeping, remember? Time to sleep.”

  The sight of Eric with this tiny infant is the most tender thing I’ve ever seen. And sexy. I’m aware it’s some primitive response—Look at strong man take care of baby, I have baby with him—but, damn, it’s working. There’s no chance of that, thanks to modern medicine, but the biological drive doesn’t mind that little detail.

  Eric wanted kids once, and I can see it here. I see it in the way he is with Leo and Emily, for whom he always has a question or a joke or a piece of gum. I saw it in the pleasure he took giving Emily that bed. I’d ask if he regrets changing his mind, but I’m afraid of his answer. I don’t want Eric disappointed, yet I don’t want to be disappointed, either.

  In this quiet room, with soft lights and Jin’s deep breaths, I can imagine a little Jin or Leo or Emily, all ours to make into someone loving and kind. But then there’s the screaming and the poop and the reality of never having a moment alone.

  Eric smiles, the shadows of the dim light emphasizing the planes of his face—cheekbones, soft lips, and eyes that shine with a devotion I’m not sure I deserve. I’ve come to accept it, though, because I feel that same mixture of wonder and gratitude that someone so perfect for me is one of the few people left alive.

  Jin’s head lolls and his rosebud lips nurse on something in his dreams. Paul says Eric was the baby whisperer with Leo, and he hasn’t lost his touch. “You’re magic,” I whisper.

  Eric shifts Jin to his shoulder, and I rest my feet in his lap. He squeezes them with one hand, then catches on to what I’m doing with my heel. “Yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I say. “No one’s home for at least half an hour.”

  He’s on his feet and heading to put Jin down a moment later.

  44

  Eric

  Maybe it was the fear of a bad harvest, followed by a harvest that was not only better than predicted but good by any gauge, but there’s a burgeoning spirit of camaraderie around here. We haven’t abandoned the plan of the High Line in spring, but we’ve shelved it for many reasons, not the least of which is the possibility of recovering Sunset Park.

  In the newly completed greenhouse, which shares a space with the Court of Cuteness, I check on fall and winter seedlings before I sit at a potting bench to organize seeds. We’re flush with vegetable seeds and seed potatoes for the spring, and the rabbits and chickens are doing well. As with last winter, if we can find more food when it freezes to tide us over to the next harvest, we’ll live another year.

  I’m putting the last of the Roma seeds into a paper envelope when Roger comes through the back door. “Hey. You’re working in here today?”

  “Yeah, why?” I ask. “You need me? This can wait.”

  “No, I’m on watch and helping Kate with the quarantined people. We’re letting them out in an hour or two.” He thrusts his dark hair out of his face with a shaky hand.

  “You feeling okay?” I ask.

  “What?” He inspects the hand at which I point. It tremors in midair. “Oh, yeah. I guess I’ve been hitting the bottle a little too hard.”

  “You should watch that. If you need to rest, I can help Kate.”

  Maybe it’s what Paul said, or last night’s memory of Sylvie’s liquid eyes and absolute contentment, that I have compassion to spare for Roger. He’s been on his best behavior, even backed off some in the last week, though if it’s because he’s been drinking more, I’m not glad for that.

  “I’m okay,” he says.

  The longer I stare, the worse he looks. He’s slick with sweat. “You sure? I don’t mind.”

  “Jesus, I’m fine!”

  “Just trying to help.” I pick up another envelope. “I’m here if anyone needs me.”

  Roger will not put me out of my good mood. I’ve given him far too much of my energy recently, and I have enough to mull over with our upcoming stakeout in Brooklyn.

  A moment later, Roger says, “Sorry.”

  He watches me with anxious eyes that remind me of someone or something I can’t quite place. I’ve never seen Roger so out of sorts, even when drunkenly crying. “It’s fine,” I say. “I didn’t mean anything by my offer. Sorry if it came across that way.”

  Roger laughs, but the pitch is all wrong. “I know you didn’t. See y
ou later.”

  I watch him go, then focus on the seeds. I want to have it all done before we leave.

  A couple of hours later, I pack up the last of the Brandywine tomato seeds. They were our highest producers, and we took these from the best plants of the bunch. I give the final envelope a pat, then scrawl Brandywine on the outside. As per Kate’s orders, I take one small envelope as the first step of replenishing the seeds I gave away and tuck it in my jacket to put in my BOB later.

  The distant murmur of voices comes through the glass, and I look out to see the new folks from Quarantine grouped diagonally across the Oval from the greenhouse. Already, the residents who stroll the paths slow to check them out. I’m sure they did the same when we arrived, though we were too shell-shocked to notice.

  I’ll have plenty of time in which to meet them. I return to my bench to clean up before lunch and jump at a gunshot that rattles a loose pane of glass. Every now and again someone fires at a Lexer or takes a test shot, but never near the Oval. Screams come from the direction of Avenue C Loop. I pull my pistol and rush to the end of the greenhouse.

  The group of quarantined has grown in number, and they’ve acquired weapons they point at the residents gathered on that side of the Oval. A few figures in black move between buildings, guns out. The glass door to Leo’s school opens and the kids and Miss Anabelle are herded into the people already gathered. I search in vain for Leo’s head in the crowd, hoping today was a hooky day—he takes one every now and again. Another shot is fired into the air by a woman in everyday clothes, who stands beside the kids and shouts something I can’t hear. It’s clearly a warning.

  My heart thuds everywhere at once. I think it’s Walt. In truth, I can’t think clearly, but I know it’s him, though I don’t know why they’ve come now or how the fuck they got in. Walt’s men fan out toward the residents on the paths, many of whom stand curiously immobile and watch the hubbub.

  “Run,” I whisper.

  They don’t. Three hundred feet away, where the path curves, Noli appears paralyzed with her hand on a bench. She moves only when a man with a rifle nears, and then she runs for the huddle of residents across the way. The path floods with those who’ve come to check out the noise, who are forced to give up their weapons and join the fray.

  There must be two hundred-fifty there by now, which leaves close to that unaccounted for. My mind races, touching on everything I need to do: retrieve Leo, go to the store for Sylvie and Indy, then find Paul and Jorge. Everyone knows to get what they can at the apartments and meet at the manhole, but not a single one of us will leave without Leo. My heart stills—Jin. The toddlers must still be in the preschool. Then there’s Emily. Chen. Lincoln. We’ll never get them all out of that crowd.

  The rear door of the greenhouse slams open. I aim my gun at Paul and lower it again. He comes alongside me, breathing hard. “Leo?”

  “They brought them outside. Is he in school today?”

  Paul nods tightly, and I curse. The mass of people is joined by fifty more who are steered their way by armed men. We’re far enough that it’s difficult to make out individuals, though one figure is the height, the frame, of Walt. If I had a rifle, maybe I could take him out. But revenge doesn’t matter right now. I don’t give a fuck, as long as I can save my people.

  It’s a shit time to learn Brother David was right.

  “We go out the back,” I say. “Go around the buildings and try to come up behind them. I cover you while you find Leo, grab him, and go.”

  Paul breathes deep, nodding, as the stragglers in the Oval are rounded up and led over to the others. They’ll start with buildings next. The store is far enough away that Sylvie and Indy might have had time to hide or reach our building.

  We leave out the back entrance, staying low so no one will catch our movement, then move along the 20th Street Loop wall and arc around our building. If we had everyone, we could get our bags and go. We could be in the sewer.

  Casper races along the path from the outer corner of StuyTown, with Julie and Chris just behind. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes terrified, but he’s running toward the Oval, not away. “What’s happening?” he asks. “We were on the roof at twentieth.”

  Julie and Chris arrive. “There was a call on the radio that people were at the gate, then nothing,” Julie says, panting.

  “We think Walt and his people got in somehow,” I say. StuyTown is raised back here, and, so far, no one’s come to check it out. There are hiding spots, like this corner where we’re tucked under the trees.

  “Why isn’t anyone fighting?” Chris asks. He holds a pistol in his slim hand and has a rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “They have the kids.”

  He pushes his hair back. “Fuck.”

  “Chris, give me your rifle?” I ask. He hands it to me. “I’ll get upstairs in building Twelve and pull off a few shots. It’ll take them a minute to figure out where I am. Enough time for Paul to get Leo and run.”

  I point to Casper, Chris, and Julie. “You grab your bags. Ours, too, if you can. The door’s unlocked, and they’re in the hall closet. Bring them to building 610 and wait by the side steps to 20th Loop. Did Kate tell you about the manhole?” They nod. “We can take the sewers all the way crosstown. Paul will show you where to go if I’m held up.”

  Julie absorbs the information without blinking. Casper shakes his head. “Chris, go with Julie. I’ll help Eric.”

  Paul is already edging away. Julie and Chris run for our building as we ease into the lobby of building Sixteen, which is attached but not connected to Twelve through the laundry room or basement the way some buildings are—during the first days of the virus, many were barricaded against zombies and never reopened.

  We enter an unlocked ground-level apartment and head for a window. The crowd stands at the Oval outside buildings Six and Twelve. There’s the occasional distressed groan, and the sound of a few people crying. From this vantage point alone, I count at least thirty armed men on the outskirts of the residents. I strain my eyes through the glass and the spaces between trees. A man’s head moves, and I catch sight of shoulder-length straight dark hair and a cloud of dark curls by the corner of building Six.

  Any hope Sylvie and Indy made it out is gone, along with my ability to catch my breath. I wait for another shift of people and this time spot Leo’s blond head in Sylvie’s arms. I point them out to Paul, whose jaw tightens.

  “Stay calm, and you’ll be fine,” a man’s voice projects over the crowd, its tone reasonable, even friendly. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

  I need to be in the end building, but it’s also the closest to that voice. I’ll never get inside without being seen. “Change of plans,” I say to Paul. “You have to let them see you and put you in with everyone else. I’ll get upstairs while you distract them. When I see you with Leo, I’ll shoot and you all run.”

  Paul nods, assessing the situation, then turns my way, eyebrows drawn. “How are you getting out?”

  “You know me. I have a plan.”

  Paul sniffs. I can’t tell if he knows I’m lying. My only plan is Run Like Hell, though they’ll be at the building doors in seconds, and there aren’t many places to run.

  He shakes his head. “Bro—”

  “Don’t worry about me. Just get them out. Leave your weapons here so you can grab them on your way.”

  “I’ll get them out,” he says, his voice like stone. I nod. If he doesn’t, he’ll die trying.

  Casper and Paul remove their pistols from their holsters and set them by the elevator before they leave. I wait for the man to speak again and slip out the opposite side of the building. The most maddening thing about StuyTown will work in my favor—the sameness. I don’t need to know these buildings to know where the doors or stairs will be.

  I keep my back to the brick, moving slowly, until I hear a yell that tells me Paul and Casper have neared the crowd. While eyes are on them, I run. I don’t look, only pray that no one sees me enter Twelve. I r
un for the staircase, waiting for telltale shouts and bullets, but they don’t come. Sweat streams down my back and legs. My coat is good for cold, not running up flights of stairs two at a time, but I leave it on. On the fifth floor, I come out to apartments and head for one that faces the Oval. It smells faintly of zombie, with a large brown stain on the carpet by the couch.

  I search the crowd outside the window. Paul and Casper have made their way to Sylvie and Indy. Paul holds Leo against his chest. Jorge stands a foot away, though Jin is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Emily. Casper leans close to Jorge and Indy while Paul speaks into Sylvie’s ear. She stiffens, hand to her mouth, and I want to reassure her that I’ll be right behind.

  Micah and Rissa are at the front of the crowd. I wish there were a way to signal them, but maybe they’ll take advantage of the distraction when it comes. I ease the window up slowly to keep down on noise and eye-catching movement.

  The voice still rises from below, though its owner is out of sight beneath the building. I can’t lean out or risk being seen, but it has Walt’s timbre with none of the hesitancy. I lift the rifle scope to my eye, looking for a target. Looking for Emilio. When I don’t see him, I aim through the screen at another man in black at the perimeter of the crowd, holding a rifle with his finger off the trigger. I may as well take one out.

  45

  Sylvie

  I look at my watch for the tenth time in ten minutes. I’m hungry and lunch can’t come soon enough. Sharla, two checkstands over, says, “We’re going to have some of those new people in here later, I’ll bet.”

  “Quarantine getting out?” Benny asks. “Where’d they come from?”

  “Somewhere downtown.”

  “I thought there was nothing downtown, now suddenly we get two groups from there? Where the hell have they been living for over a year?”

  “I could be wrong. All I know is they’re here.”