Everyone was antsy to talk, and we’ve settled in the first-floor parlor area. Every now and again, a nun or a stranger passes through, but mainly it’s those of us from Sunset Park, Kearney, and Kirk. I sneak glances at Kearney in an attempt to separate this guy from the Kearney in my mind. Same gray hair and mustache, same frown, and completely different backstory—the most significant plot twist being bad-cop Clark. I’ve mentally reviewed many of our past encounters, and, though I wouldn’t label him as gregarious or even mildly hospitable at times, he was most often brusque, not malicious. In order to keep my head from exploding, I’ve decided to go with an evil twin plotline for the moment.
Bird watches from the corner of the room, holding to his grudge with all four paws. Every time I go near, he runs away. I have to do my penance, and any breach in cat etiquette will set us back an hour. I try again, rubbing my fingers together and making a psss sound, then sigh when Bird chooses the riveting view of a blank wall.
“He’ll get over it,” Eric says.
“I know.” What I can’t get over is Guillermo, and I can’t wait to tell Rissa her brother is alive and well. We haven’t yet told them our plan, as it’s been mostly catching up thus far.
Guillermo leans forward in his chair. “We found—We found bodies.” He tugs at his chin, looking toward the same wall as Bird. “Eli and Grace were there.”
I thought I was ready to hear absolute confirmation, but it turns out there was more grief waiting to pummel my heart. I still had hope, however small, and now it’s gone. She’s gone. My throat is so clogged that I can’t speak without crying, especially to ask the question whose answer I both want to know and to avoid forever.
Indy uses the sleeve of her cotton pajama shirt to wipe her face. Susan hands her a handkerchief and gives her shoulders a squeeze. “Were they turned?” Indy asks softly.
Guillermo shakes his head. “Shot.”
It shouldn’t matter, but it does. If they were eaten by zombies, I wouldn’t have to envision a person, a living human being, murdering two good-hearted people. Possibly lining them up, or chasing them, or something more horrifying I don’t want to imagine.
Indy blows her nose, then focuses furious eyes on me. I nod. We’re going to settle this score. “We have a plan,” I say slowly. “Or the beginning of one. Indy and I are supposed to go to StuyTown on Friday. Roger’s going to let us in, bring us to Quarantine, and then we’ll figure a way to get everyone out.”
Eric’s head spins my way. “This Friday?”
I nod, lips clamped, and wait for the rebuttal I see brewing in his tight face. I’ve just found Eric, and the thought of leaving him for StuyTown makes my throat even tighter, but we can’t put this off. He’s out of harm’s way for now. They aren’t.
Susan jumps in before Eric can reply, asking, “Is it safe for you to go in there?”
“Roger says so. Walt doesn’t know us, and Brother David is fine so far. Roger thinks he can get us on guard eventually. We might be able to get them out that way.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I imagine Leo in there, out of reach. Grace dead in a pile of bodies. And though I can’t muster up a smile, I’m filled with conviction that this is the one thing, the only thing, to do. Walt hasn’t snapped and murdered everyone, but he could at any minute.
“Why so much trust in Roger?” Eric asks. “He let Walt in.”
His expression is too calm—eye of the hurricane calm—and I look to Indy for support. “He says he didn’t know what was going to happen,” she says. “We don’t totally trust him, but he’s been helping us so far.”
“He wishes he’d let you leave before Walt found you,” I add. “He told us how he asked Walt to let you go.”
Eric exhales and smiles—a small, hard smile I’ve never seen before. “That’s a nice story. Did he say if that happened before or after he stabbed me?”
My hands grow cold. Eric’s been waiting to drop this information when the time was right, and it hits like a bomb. “Roger stabbed you?”
“I don’t know if he meant to,” Eric says, voice taut, “but he tackled me and stabbed me in the process. I told Walt I wouldn’t fight him if he let me leave. He asked Roger if he could trust me.” Eric flexes his jaw. “Roger said no.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. Roger’s tears, his apologies, all based on lies. And I fell for it. Starting with Kearney, today has kicked the ass of what I thought was reality, and now the entire house of cards comes tumbling down. Not only did Roger stab Eric, but he also sent him to die. And then he came to me for absolution. Motherfucker.
Rage propels me to my feet. “That fucking liar! And then he tried to—” Indy shakes her head quickly, almost imperceptibly. Eric does not need to know Roger kissed me. “Pretend to be our friend,” I finish lamely.
“That liar is who you plan to trust,” Eric says. “Walt said something about how Roger would only be safe if he was safe. So why would Roger protect you?”
I have no answer for that. As much as I’d like to shoot him in his face, Roger claims to be on our side, and we need to use it to our advantage. “I know what Walt meant. He’s holding Roger’s insulin hostage. Roger doesn’t know where it is. If Walt dies, so does Roger.”
Eric blinks, surprised, and then shrugs. “Then why would he help you if it came down to it?”
I sit and take Eric’s hand. It’s hard to see him injured. Not because of his injuries, but because it’s obvious how hard this is for him. Eric doesn’t sit still, Eric does. And he can’t do anything. “Part of the deal is we find his insulin. After that, we get Walt.”
“So, he’s using you?” Eric’s laugh is bitter.
“We’re using him,” I say, my irritation mounting. Every time I see Roger I’ll have to smile and joke when I want to stab him, and Eric is making it harder. I understand how frustrating and unfair it must feel that we’re cozying up to his would-be killer, but he has to see it’s our only choice.
“Is there another way?” Kearney asks.
“If there is, we can’t find it,” Indy says. “There’s only one exit, and we need to leave through there. If you’d seen Harold…we don’t have months to wait. I’m not leaving Lucky in there any longer than I have to.”
“If we can’t find his insulin by the time we get them out, then too bad for him.” I wouldn’t have said it ten minutes ago, back when Roger was a possible friend, who, though culpable, wasn’t a bald-faced liar. A bald-faced liar who kissed me.
Eric is slightly appeased by my remark, though I suspect this will be an ongoing battle. I only hope I can win with little to no casualties.
“We’ll think about it some more,” Guillermo says. “Tell us what’s been happening with you.”
Indy begins with The Standard, then moves on to Mo and Central Park. While she talks, I squeeze Eric’s hand and whisper, “We’ll figure it out, okay?”
He brings my hand to his cheek. At last, the ire leaves his face. I don’t want our limited time to be spent fighting. We have only two nights before we need to return to the High Line and prepare for StuyTown the next day.
Indy recounts our pushing of zombies off the balcony, explaining that it worked thanks to Artie’s calculations, and gets a good laugh. “I love it,” Guillermo says. “I should’ve paid attention in math.”
“Denise is gone,” I say, and notice Kearney smiling. Kearney smiling is really fucking weird.
“No shit?” Guillermo asks.
“We blew up a couple of their trucks, and she was one of the people inside.”
“Blew up, like you took them out, or blew up, like a bomb?”
“Like a bomb,” I say. “Kate knows how to make explosives.”
Guillermo shoves Kearney’s shoulder. “What the fuck is going on over there, right?” Kearney mumbles in agreement. Guillermo rubs his chin thoughtfully. “We could use some explosives. Can you teach us?”
“Sylvie knows it better than I do,” Indy says. “I just started to learn.�
��
“I can try,” I say. “We’ll need a lot of ingredients, though. College and high school chemistry labs are good places to find some of them.”
“Make a list.” Guillermo crosses the floor to an old-fashioned writing desk and grabs a pad and pen, which he hands to me. “We can go out this afternoon while they’re frozen.”
“I’ll sketch you some of the glassware, so you know what to look for. If you can tell what my horrible drawings are, that is.” I begin a list. I’d offer to go, but my feet need a break after a night of freezing followed by a dip in ice water.
“I’ll come,” Indy says. “I know what we’d need.”
“Cool.” Guillermo looks from me to Indy, shaking his head with a happy type of disbelief. “It’s good to see you guys.”
I blow him a kiss. “It’s great to see you, Willie.”
There are so few faces left from Sunset Park, and I cherish every last one. I listen as Indy continues telling stories and allow myself to relax. I breathe in Eric’s scent, relish the feel of his hand on my leg, and move my hand to his hip. He shifts in his seat, palm creeping up my thigh. Still entirely proper, yet that propriety heightens the awareness of everywhere his hand isn’t touching.
After ten minutes of virtuous contact, I’ve stopped listening. I don’t care what they’re saying. If it meant they’d shut up and let Eric and me be alone, I’d agree to pretty much anything. A blond woman enters the room, wringing her hands. “Lunch in about thirty minutes.”
Sister Frances follows her in with her gentle smile. “Thank you, Alice. Indy, let me show you to your room.” She doesn’t say a word about where I’ll sleep. Either the nuns are cool with unmarried cohabitation or playing dumb. “You can meet back here for lunch.”
I stand and hold out my hand to Eric. “Show me to my room?”
He allows me to pull him to his feet, where he gets his crutches under him. “Another week, and I can walk on it. Finally.”
“You want it to heal right. Don’t push it.”
“I know,” he says, voice laced with resignation. “We’re on the third floor.”
He climbs the stairs faster than I expected, possibly because he wants to be upstairs as badly as I do. At the top of the third flight, he’s slightly winded when he motions down the hall. “Fourth door down.”
I walk through the arched hall, admiring the wooden windows and built-in shutters, then wait against the plaster wall beside his door. I tug his shirt when he nears. “Hey.”
Eric leans forward and meets my lips, which is all it takes for every lonely day without him to kick in. I pull him closer. His crutches hit the floor. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think we should pick them up, but his fingers have slipped between the buttons of my crazy-ass nightdress, and I need that to continue.
I groan at his warm palm moving down my belly. Lift his shirt and gently stroke his abdomen, afraid I’ll hurt him if I’m too rough. His hips grind against mine and his teeth nip my neck. His breath is heated and uneven. He’s feeling no pain.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he growls.
“It’s the nightgown,” I whisper.
He laughs and swings open his door. I get a glimpse of a bed, dresser, and desk before I turn to him for more. The door slams shut as he presses me against his dresser. I lift his shirt over his head, then drop it on the floor.
“Your boot thing,” I say between hungry kisses. “How do we get it off?”
He lifts me to his dresser in answer, yanking up my nightgown as I undo his jeans. I hear the pings of buttons hitting the floor before the nightgown slips off my shoulders. We meet again, this time without the interference of clothing, and I moan as we move together.
“Shh,” he whispers. “The nuns.”
“Fuck the nuns,” I gasp.
I bring his body, his tongue, deeper into me. His breathing suggests he won’t last long, but I’m way ahead of him, and I bite his shoulder rather than scream and scar the nuns for life—the banging of the dresser against the wall is likely enough for that. He grips my hips, catching up, and collapses against me. We pant in the silence, both still shuddering. That was most definitely better than a Snickers bar.
“So,” I say, “what’re we going to do with the other twenty-nine minutes and thirty seconds before lunch?”
Eric huffs into my neck and kisses me before he raises himself to standing. “You mean twenty-eight minutes and thirty seconds.”
I laugh as he pulls me up by my waist, his other hand planted on the dresser and his shoulders hunched with pain. “Shit, your crutches,” I say, and hop to the floor.
Before I can open the door, he says, “Leave them.”
“But you’re not supposed—”
“I’m fine.”
Eric fastens his jeans and limp-walks to the bed, where he drops on the edge. He doesn’t want sympathy, and he doesn’t want me to pester him, but I can’t pretend he’s fine.
My attempt to close my nightgown fails, as many buttons are missing in the worst places imaginable. I walk to the bed and nudge his knees open, then kneel on the floor between his legs. “Let me see,” I say about his ribs. He straightens, and I trace my fingers along the scar I only briefly saw earlier. It’s pink and raised, a thick straight line that widens into a jagged two inches of tissue. “It’s bigger than I thought.”
“They had to debride it when the skin died.”
“Good word,” I say. “Your point. Also, ouch.”
He smiles down at me, though there’s a sadness in the curve of his lips and the way his shoulders are weighted under an invisible burden. He’s not thin like I am, but he seems less present somehow. Less full of life.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see your flare,” I say. “If I had…”
“I’m glad you didn’t. I was a mess.”
“Like I’d care about that.” I take a deep breath. “I have to tell you something.”
Worry inches into his expression. “What?”
“This spring, Mo spoke to Cassie by radio. She called from the Vermont Safe Zone and asked about Maria. Ana and Penny were with her. I don’t know much more, except that Quebec radioed other Safe Zones to warn them about the mob, and they said some people from Vermont escaped and were headed for Alaska.”
We told everyone downstairs about the giant mob, fallen Safe Zones, and overwhelming silence from the radios. At this additional news, any happiness that Cassie’s name conjured up dissolves into a vacant expression.
I touch Eric’s cheek, and he closes his eyes as if it’s too much to bear. “Talk to me,” I say.
He shrugs, jaw working. “There’s nothing to say.”
I wait a few minutes, but he doesn’t speak. This is how it feels to be on the other side of the emotional wall. It’s every bit as frustrating as I’ve been told.
“Talk to me about something, then,” I say. “I’m kneeling on the floor in a nun’s nightgown, wondering how to explain losing half the buttons without mentioning sex, after I canoed across garbage to reach my favorite person in the whole world. And I have chilblains. It’s the least you can do.”
“Half the buttons?”
“Look.”
He opens his eyes. I flash him, and he says, “Do that again.”
The next time, he reaches in and pulls me onto his lap. I rest my head on his shoulder, savoring the feel of his arms, the nearness of him. “I’m sorry about Cassie.”
He nods and circles his fingers around my wrist. “You’re too skinny.”
“You’re too far away,” I say.
“How am I too far? You’re on me.”
I peer into his guarded expression. “I don’t know, but you are.”
“I don’t mean to be.” He holds me by my waist as he leans to his nightstand, opens the small drawer, and gathers something in his fist. “Guillermo gave me this to give to you.”
He opens his hand. Grace’s necklace sits coiled in his palm, the moonstone and silver chain reflecting the light from the window.
I touch it with my index finger. It’s warm, just like her. Just like the tears I didn’t know were coming until they hit my lips at the sight of all that’s left of my friend. I hope she wasn’t too scared at the end, that it happened quickly, and that she and Eli were together. It’s the only way I can bear to envision it.
I open the clasp and fasten it around my neck. It’ll be my reminder of why Walt needs to be punished, but also my reminder that love is the reason I do it. Love for the people inside, love for Grace and Maria and Eli, and love for the people I don’t know but whom he would hurt if given the chance. He’ll never stop if we don’t stop him.
I turn at a scratch at the door. “What’s that?”
“Open it and see.”
I find Bird in the hall. He traipses in and hops on the bed beside Eric, where he settles down with his paws curled beneath his chest. I retrieve Eric’s crutches and set them nearby, then kneel in front of Bird.
“Hi.” I tentatively touch his head. He allows me to smooth the tufts of fur that inspired his name, then bonks his head against my cheek. “I’m sorry I left you.”
He lets out a purr-filled meow, then stands to rub against my face properly. Cat hair sticks to my nose and mouth, but I let him parade back and forth to claim me as his again. Eric takes my hand, and I smile up at him between flashes of cat body.
“I love you so much,” I say.
He smiles his Eric smile, twinkly eyes and all. “We love you, too.”
80
Yesterday afternoon, they found supplies to make a shit-ton of explosives. There was a chemical supplier in an industrial area, and once again high schools provided the glassware needed. I ate two meals’ worth of dinner and fell asleep in Eric’s arms, where I woke up early this morning. And though we had to drag ourselves from bed, we ate breakfast and went to the small house that sits across the grounds from the church, where the nuns have quarantined our chemicals.
The City Series (Book 3): Instauration Page 54
