Benny gives his usual put-upon sigh—everything is a pain in the ass to Benny. I perch on my stool. “Now’s the time to get a new job if you want to stick someone else at your counter.”
“Nope,” he says. “I’ll work here until I die. Or retire.”
“They offering a retirement plan now?” Sharla asks.
“Kitty has one,” Benny says, motioning at where Kitty stands in an aisle. She visits often to see what’s new and bitch about the prices. “Right, Kitty?”
“Goddamn right. I didn’t pay into Social Security all those years to work when I’m eighty.”
“That means I only have about fifty years to go,” I say. “I hope we still have soft toilet paper then, since it’s all the rage with the older set.”
Kitty snorts. “This one,” she says, motioning toward me. “Sylvie, what you are is a piece of work.”
I laugh. Kitty’s dentures click when she offers her teeth-baring version of a smile. She hates everyone, or says she does, but I suspect she likes me. We share the same opinion about large numbers of people.
Indy enters the doors with Jorge, boxes in both their arms. “Kitty, I put some of that toilet paper aside for you,” Jorge says. “Want me to run and get it?”
“Jesus Christ, enough with the toilet paper. I still have the other stuff. You people think I use the john thirty times a day?”
Jorge fights back a grin, and Indy says, “We thought twenty-eight.”
“Wait until you’re old!” Kitty shakes her head, lips compressed to hide her smile. She likes them, too. According to Sharla, Kitty spent more time in her apartment before we started working here. Now, we’re on her daily circuit.
“Kitty,” Indy says, “guess who broke up?”
Kitty puts an elbow on the shelf and leans forward. She’s a gossip hound, like Indy. “Michael and Diane?”
“Yup. Guess who he’s seeing now.”
“Oh, what a bastard! If I were Diane, I’d cut off his balls and then slap Veronica. She thinks her shit’s ice cream, that one.”
We crack up. Kitty has the best insults. “My no-good-son-of-a-bitch husband,” Kitty continues, which is how she always introduces her late husband into conversation, “tried that with me. He didn’t try it a second time.”
“Why’d you stay with him?” Indy asks.
“That’s what you did. He drank like a fish and smacked me around, too. Nowadays, you ladies leave men for looking at you cross-eyed.”
Indy lifts her eyes to the ceiling good-naturedly. “That’s not all they do.”
“Oh, I know. I saw Landon with Lydia the day before he left. I was going to tell you, then I thought, Eh, he’s gone, and good riddance.”
I wish I’d put Landon out of Central Park’s gates myself. He must have known he was leaving, and he planned to take Indy’s credits and sleep with Lydia before he had to answer for any of it.
Indy’s lips tremble before she gets herself under control. “Lydia?”
“Yup.” Kitty pats Indy’s arm, looking remorseful for the first time ever. “I shouldn’t have told you. I thought you wouldn’t care now that you have that big guy.”
“I don’t—” Indy’s words are cut off by a distant gunshot.
I’m just behind Jorge out the door, where we stand on the path in the cool breeze. We can’t see anything from over here, but the emergency horns haven’t gone off. Distant screams come next, then one more shot. It could be people, it could be Lexers, and there’s only one way to know.
Jorge and I rush back inside. “Gunshots,” he says. “People are screaming.”
I grab my messenger bag from under my checkstand, then check my holsters for my gun and chisel. Indy tosses me my leather coat and dons hers. I pull my purple gloves from the pocket. Kitty, Benny, and Sharla watch us with gaping mouths. They haven’t done this before, whereas our memory of a sneak attack is altogether too recent.
“Sharla!” Jorge shouts. “We’re going to the kids.”
She shakes her head, braids flying every which way, then pulls a short, pointed spike from somewhere by her feet and zips her coat, back to the take-no-shit Sharla I know.
“Benny, you take Kitty home,” Jorge commands. “And stay there!”
Benny rushes from his counter to grab Kitty’s arm as we fly out the door. Instead of traveling around the L-shaped building in our way, we cut through the lobby. The Oval is hidden by the buildings in front of us. We step out, guns drawn, and run along the side of the café building.
Jorge curses softly, then motions us into the recessed area between buildings while the early lunch shift is led from the café by armed men. They walk in an orderly line without speaking, rifles urging them toward a mass of people across the Oval. Miss Anabelle stands in the center of the group, where I assume the kids are, though I can’t see them. We don’t want to go out there until we know if Paul has Leo. They could be waiting at the sewer right now.
Across a court that contains rows of pots waiting for next spring, someone moves by the Study building. Kate. I stare until she looks our way, then I wave. She nods once, her face a mask of cool, and slips away. A minute later, she nears us, running low with a gun in her hands. Either she’s watched a lot of action movies or she’s done this before.
“It’s Jeff, Roger’s brother, and some others who left last year,” she whispers when she arrives. She pushes loose blond hair from her face. “Somehow he got in. The people in Quarantine were his, and Jeff brought weapons for them. He said some of us get a truce. Some don’t. I’m one of the don’ts.”
He’d have to make it through the Avenue C gates before he could near Quarantine or the inner gate. Maybe Roger let him in. I search the hundreds of people before us but don’t spot Roger. Eric was in the greenhouse, which sits dark and still. I don’t remember where Paul worked today. Neither of them is in the crowd.
I would give anything to have Leo playing hooky today of all days. What I feared—what he feared—has come to pass.
“I should go,” Kate says. “If you’re with me, they’ll kill you. I’ll try to get to the kids.”
“Leave,” Jorge says. “Take the sewer. We’ll meet you at the High Line.”
“I’ll see what I can do here first.” Kate takes off, away from the Oval, presumably to work her way around.
“Do you see Lucky?” Indy asks.
I shake my head and then gasp when Leo’s blond head appears at the periphery of the crowd. He’s heard us talk about the sewers, where to meet, and I hope he’s not planning to try for it on his own.
From behind, Sharla whispers, “You see my kids?”
Like Sharla, her kids are tall. I point to her daughter and son, who stand a few people deep inside the throng, looking around wildly. Sharla drops her spike and runs for them with her hands in the air. The armed people don’t threaten her with bodily harm, but they do turn toward the source of the noise. A burly man with spiky hair moves toward us, holding a gun in one hand and crooking a finger with the other.
I hold my gun behind my back and drop it into my bag, leaving the flap open so Indy can do the same. Jorge sets his gun on the ground and straightens with his hands in the air, and we march forward behind a group of ten people ushered by two men. April is with them, though she stares straight ahead, and I can’t catch her eye.
The men check Jorge’s holster, then Indy’s and mine, but they don’t search the bag I keep from their view by spinning as we move to where Leo stands. He leaps into my arms. I sink my nose into his sweet-smelling neck to whisper, “It’s okay, squirt. Did you see your dad?”
He shakes his head, face on my collarbone. Indy bunches his coat in her hand as though he might slip away. “Where are the babies?” Jorge asks Debra, who stands beside us ashen-faced.
“They didn’t let them out,” she whispers. “They’re under guard.” If it’s possible for someone to break inside with little outward sign, Jorge does. His eyes dim, his cheeks deflate.
“Did you see Lucky?” Indy
asks. Debra shakes her head.
A man climbs the waist-high wall at the front of the crowd, by building Twelve. I can’t see his face well, but he’s average height, average build, brown hair.
“Stay calm, and you’ll be fine.” His voice is slow and patient, like he’s giving us a chance to listen, but he could just as easily not. “We’re not here to hurt you. I used to live here. Some of you remember me as Jeff.”
There’s a commotion toward the front, then Jeff continues, “Some know me as Walt. We’re one and the same.”
My head whirls. Roger’s brother is Jeff, and he’s also Walt? I look to Jorge, but he appears as bewildered as I am. Leo’s coat bunches tighter in Indy’s hand. People in front of us shift, opening for Paul and Casper to come through. I wait for Eric to follow and do my best not to despair when the people shift back into place.
Paul takes Leo from my arms and leans to my ear. “Eric will shoot from a window in Twelve any minute. Don’t look.” I force my muscles rigid. Keep my head down, though my hand rises to my mouth. “We run for the manhole. Chris and Julie are getting our bags, and he’ll meet us there.”
I swallow a shriek of frustration. They’ll know where Eric is as soon as he fires. Casper has relayed the message to Jorge and Indy, and Jorge answers in a disagreeing murmur. “You have to leave,” Paul mutters. “He’ll kill you if he sees you.”
Indy rises on her toes to search for Lucky. I search, too. For Lucky or anyone else to tell of the coming disturbance. April is too far, standing alone with her head bowed. I catch sight of Micah’s dark hair way at the front. Rissa is beside him, and I can only imagine the expression on her face. The man who killed her mother and brother is only feet away, and she can’t do a thing.
I pull my gun from my bag, then pass Indy hers. “Maybe Lucky’s already there,” I whisper, hoping it’s the truth. He knows where to go and how to leave. He could be waiting in the sewer right now.
The report of a rifle tears through Walt’s speech and ricochets in the open area of the Oval. It’s the impetus the crowd needs to scatter, shocked from their inertia to run screaming from a man in black who’s hit the ground.
“Go!” Paul yells.
He takes off with Leo, his face set in a snarl. Indy and I run alongside with Jorge just behind, our feet pounding the Oval garden past the brown remains of summer plants and the green of fall crops. Before our captors can regroup, a bullet hits a man coming from our right and sends him to the ground with a holler of pain. Another report comes just behind us. Eric is clearing the way. I silently beg him to stop, to run before he’s caught.
We pass our building and race through the lobby of the next, then into the building at 20th. Chris and Julie stand beside a mound of backpacks, sweaty and holding hands. The door to the lobby slams open. I turn, hoping to find Eric, but it’s Kate.
“I couldn’t get to Jin,” she gasps. “They’re locked down.”
Jorge stops, pack half on his back, and then drops it to the floor. I step in front of him. “You have to leave. You’re lucky Walt didn’t see you before. Even if you do make it to Jin, he’ll kill you.”
Jorge’s shoulders collapse. “I can’t leave him.”
“I could see through the glass,” Kate says. “He’s okay, but you won’t be. We’ll have to come back for him somehow.”
I grab my pack when the others do, though I watch them file toward the steps instead of joining them. “I’ll see you there. I’ll get Jin if I can.”
There was never a question in my mind I’d stay for Eric, but their expressions are such that you’d think I’ve announced I’m switching to Walt’s side. “No way, mami,” Jorge says.
He starts toward me but stops at my raised hand. “You’d stay if you could.”
Jorge’s never looked so old or discouraged. He always goes back in—it’s what he does—but this time he can’t. “Eric’ll kill me if you stay,” Paul says. Leo is in his arms, wearing his own pack. He looks so tiny and forlorn that I almost change my mind. “I promised I’d get you out.”
“You need to leave before they catch you.”
“He’ll come,” Paul pleads. “He will.”
It’s taking every bit of strength I have to appear calm when I can barely breathe. I lean against the wall to hide my trembling legs. “Then we’ll both see you in a while.”
Paul grits his teeth. I’m sorry to make him break his word, but I’m not waiting out there for Eric to return. I’m never waiting like that again. Indy moves to my side. “I’ll stay.”
“Me, too,” Casper says.
I thank them both with a whisper. Kate clasps my shoulder and walks toward the exit. Jorge dips his head, and Paul reminds me of Leo when he’s trying not to cry—glossy blue eyes, lashes dampening. “Don’t die, Rossi. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“I won’t.” I look to Leo. “Love you, squirt.”
Leo nods mutely, his tear-stained face a mix of shock and terror, and then Paul is gone with the rest of them. I turn to Indy and Casper. “I can wait by myself.”
“But you’re not going to,” Indy says.
It feels like forever, but it’s been ten minutes. I know because Indy checks her watch every two, and it’s the fifth time she’s raised her wrist. A gunshot came from close by, though we couldn’t see anything with the building in the way. After that, there was silence. No screams, no shooting, no Lexers. So different from our last meeting with Walt.
Walt. Jeff. Roger’s brother. A few minutes of stunned deliberation have brought me no closer to an explanation, except a surety that Roger let him in. Walt wants StuyTown. He wanted Sunset Park. Maybe he wants all of New York City. Maybe the entire world.
Casper peeks out the door with rounded shoulders. I know what he wants to say: Eric’s not coming. Indy checks her watch yet again. She paces from wall to door. “Lucky probably got out,” she says for the third time. “Right?”
I don’t answer; she doesn’t expect me to. “I’m going to the roof,” I say.
I don’t know what I’ll be able to see, but time is running out. It’s not fair to keep them here, possibly trap them here. I find a notepad in my bag, scrawl a note that says ROOF, and leave it on Eric’s BOB before I head to the stairs.
46
Eric
This isn’t what Dad imagined when he taught nine-year-old me to shoot a rifle. But I’ve done it before, at Sunset Park, and I’m sure I’ll have to do it again. Breathe in, breathe out, pull the trigger.
The sound is massive, echoing off brick and concrete, and it knocks the man backward a few feet before he drops. Screaming follows. People begin to move, though some cluster into groups under trees instead of running for cover. More stand frozen. I look for Paul and Sylvie and see them racing straight for the buildings on 20th with Indy, Jorge, and Casper.
I fire at the black-clothed figure moving toward them in an attempt to head them off. He goes down screaming, curled into a ball. I get another just behind them, and he skids to the ground like he’s sliding into home plate. And then Paul and Sylvie are gone from view, along with Indy, Casper, and Jorge. The Oval is in chaos, and the rest of Walt’s people are too busy gathering the scattered residents to notice the few who got away.
Below, more men run for my building. I sling the rifle over my shoulder, leave the apartment, and head upstairs. By the time I reach the roof, my legs are on fire. I pick my way across to the farthest building and check over the ledge. Many men at the first building, maybe one here. I open the roof door and descend as quickly as I dare, counting floors in the dark. My breaths are harsh in the silence. My mouth is a desert.
A door slams below, and I leave the stairwell for an apartment on the sixth floor. I drink from the kitchen faucet, cupping my hands beneath the stream of water, then move for the opposite stairs. Floor by floor, I descend, my heart drumming so loud I can’t hear my boots and fear I won’t hear someone coming.
On the ground level, I enter a rear apartment. The window is a good tw
elve feet high with the way the terrain dips, but it’s clear of people, and that’s all I ask. I slide up the glass, crawl out backwards until I dangle by my arms, and drop. My ankle twists on an old root, and I gasp at the sharp stab of pain. I roll it to find the pain already receding.
Shouting comes from the far end of the building; the sounds of commands and instructions. I take the farthest path, running crouched for the path between our building and the one behind. After that, it’s through the last building to make it to the sewer. They’ll have left already. Paul would’ve insisted the way I would’ve.
Roger hurries from the door of our building, hands raised at my pistol. “Eric!” he whisper-shouts. “Where is everyone?” He’s a sickly color, and he holds the knife I traded him in his hand.
“They left,” I say. “I’m going now.”
“We can stop this,” he says. His eyes shift toward the Oval. “I—I can help.”
“What?” I ask. He opens his mouth, then closes it. We can’t stop anything right now. I push past him, and he grabs my arm. “Roger, what the fuck?”
“Just help me.” He swallows. “I know Walt.”
“What?”
“He’s my brother.”
I stop and stare into his eyes. Light brown eyes, teeming with uncertainty and fear. That’s where I’ve seen them before: on Walt. Roger asked a lot of questions, always bringing it up in a roundabout way. He knew Walt was his brother.
“He said he wanted to talk. He just wanted to talk. Make a truce, like you said. I let him in because—”
I punch him in the gut. He bends over, gasping, his hold on my coat forgotten. If Roger let him in, then Walt knows about the manhole. No doubt he knows everything, including that I’m here. I run three feet before Roger dive-bombs me, and I hit the concrete path, skidding on my side with one-hundred-eighty pounds of Roger on top. My cheek rips on rough surface until I stop face-first in the dirt. My ribs took the brunt of Roger, and they hurt like hell.
“It’s been a while, Eric,” a man says.
The City Series (Book 3): Instauration Page 31
