Everyone is protected by masks and gloves and, for Guillermo, the sign of the cross every time I mention a specific part is dangerous. “You really think that’ll help?” I ask him as I drip a small portion of glycerin down the side of a beaker, then tilt and swirl the glass to mix.
“Can’t hurt.”
“True.” I finish the addition of glycerin, give a final swirl, and then point to the droplets suspended in the milky solution. “And that, my friends, is nitro. About twenty minutes from now the reaction will be done and we can purify it. Guillermo, you stir it occasionally, without banging the stirrer on the sides.” He nods, crossing himself, and I cross myself in return. As Guillermo said, it can’t hurt. “Ready to start the nitroglycol?”
Eric stands beside Indy, and he appears impressed behind his mask and goggles. “She can’t cook oatmeal, but she can cook up bombs?”
“I’m sticking out my tongue, you just can’t see,” I say, and ready the materials for the next batch. “You guys got tons of chemicals. You can make enough to blow everything to hell.”
They even found nitrocellulose, though I’m showing them how to make homemade guncotton the way we do. I check where Susan carefully watches the cotton balls and acid bubble in a baking soda solution. “After the nitro is finished, you add it to make the gelatin. I have the ratios written down, since you won’t get to it until after we’re…” I trail off, wondering if Eric heard but too nervous to check. We’ve barely spoken about the plan, though that conversation is coming. It has to come. Indy and I need to catch the early morning high tide to get to the High Line by tomorrow afternoon.
I turn, leaping into the air when Eric is right behind me. “Why are you scaring me in the explosives lab?”
“I wanted to check on your feet. Are they okay?”
“They’re fine. How about your leg? You’re standing too much.”
His eyes smile behind his goggles. “Is this what we’ll be like when we’re eighty?”
“I hope so,” I say. Eric squeezes my rubber-gloved hand, and I lead him to the first station. “You do the nitroglycol now.”
I watch him measure the amounts, hands steady—unlike mine, which shook my first time. When Guillermo’s mixture is ready, I bring him to explain the rest of the process. Eric mans the funnel with ease, separating the nitro into a water bath, and nods at my speech about baking soda.
“It’s like you already know this,” I say.
“I spent a lot of time in science labs, way back when,” he says.
A few hours later, the two batches are left to rest, though I have little doubt Eric will finish the final stage with no problems. We head for the main buildings, faces sweaty from our masks. Guillermo bows his head at the statue of Mary. “Thanks for not letting us get blown up.”
“Amen,” I say.
We eat lunch and watch the thermometer rise. They’re thawing. If we don’t leave tomorrow, we could be trapped here. Indy’s eyes skip from the thermometer on the porch to the windows to her watch. When I leave the bathroom, she waits for me in the hall, and she pulls me into the back parlor, closing the door behind us.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says in a low voice. “I just wanted to say that you don’t have to come. To StuyTown. I know it’s going to be an issue.”
“You didn’t have to come here, but you did.”
Her eyelids lower halfway; Indy has a well-practiced cut the bullshit face. “You know it’s different. Maybe Julie will come with me.”
“Walt knows Julie hates him. And she and Roger aren’t exactly best friends.”
“Maybe someone from Mo’s group can—”
“Stop,” I say, and her lips seal into a line. “I’m coming. We’re going to rescue Lucky, and then we’re going to make Walt pay.”
“It might not be that easy.”
I run Grace’s moonstone along the links of its chain and shake my head. I won’t send Indy in there alone. I won’t lose another friend to Walt. And, though the idea makes me queasy, my presence may encourage Roger to keep his word. For whatever his word is worth—the value of that particular stock has crashed and burned.
“The only easy part is the decision to go,” I say, “and I’m not changing my mind.”
Relief lowers her shoulders. “So, shut up?” she asks.
I smile. “So shut the hell up.”
“If it’ll take a while for you to get into guard,” Guillermo says, “that’ll give us enough time to take out Sunset Park. A bomb or two, and they won’t know what hit them.”
“They’ll know a bomb hit them,” I say, and he grins.
“Walt will have nowhere to run.” Kearney leans back as though savoring that thought. He catches me staring and his cheek twitches. I quickly look away and find Kirk, the gentle giant, watching me with what I’ve come to learn is his standard pleasant expression. I’m not sure how I ever thought he was evil, except that I was blinded by my hate for Kearney.
The discussion commenced with me and Indy stating we plan to leave in the morning. Our first step is to get into Walt’s good graces. Second, figure a way out. Third, get our people out and blow the place to smithereens if necessary. My unspoken fourth is to see how it goes and then decide whether or not to look for Roger’s insulin.
I pet Bird, who sits in my lap, rather than try to hold Eric’s hand. He moved it out of reach fifteen minutes ago and his tension has increased ever since. Heat pours off his body, which he’s made certain to keep at least a few inches away from mine at all times. The battle is yet to be fought, and I’m not looking forward to it.
“Why not wait?” Eric asks. “Just a little while. We’ll get rid of Sunset Park and then we’ll all figure out a way.”
Indy turns a sympathetic smile on Eric. He stiffens more. “If Walt tries anything with Lucky, I have to be there to stop it. It’s already been too long.”
Eric nods and keeps his head down for the remainder of the conversation. When it ends, we stand. Susan crosses the room and takes my and Indy’s hands in hers.
“Thank you so much. I know you’re not doing it only for Emily, but you have no idea…” She clears her throat. “Thank you.”
Indy wraps her free hand around Susan’s. “We are doing it for Emily. She’s just as important, and I promise we’ll do our best for her.”
“I—I know you won’t be able to tell her I’m okay because she’s a blabbermouth,” Susan lets out a half-laugh, half-sob, “but will you give her a hug from me? Don’t tell her it’s from me, just think of me when you do?”
We nod, unable to speak. Susan grabs us both in an asphyxiating hug, then takes Keith and Kenneth by the hands and walks off crying. Dennis gives us a nod of thanks before he follows. Indy’s eyes are puffy and damp, and I sniff. “I’m not crying, you’re crying,” she says, and motions toward the empty couch. “Eric left a minute ago.”
I massage my temples. I don’t want to do this on top of everything else. “I’ll see you at dinner, if we haven’t killed each other.”
“Good luck,” Indy says before I leave.
Eric and I reach his room at the same time. He keeps his face averted as he opens the door for me to pass through. Once inside, he faces the closed door for a moment, shoulders rising with a deep breath. “Don’t do this.”
We’re out of the gate. I take a breath of my own. “I get that it’s not the ideal plan. But it’s the only one that might not get everyone killed.”
“Right. Just you.” He sets his crutches against the dresser and faces me. “Wait a month. I’ll be able to walk, and we’ll find another way.”
I know how much he hates to make that request, thereby admitting he’s not up to the task, but we can’t wait. “They might not have a month. If you’d seen Harold, you’d understand. Walt is brutal—”
“I think I understand how brutal Walt is,” he cuts in.
I nod. This is his vengeance as much as anyone’s, and he has no part in it, which is unbearable to E
ric. “I know you want to help, but there might not be anyone left to help if we wait.” He doesn’t answer, and I add, “Besides, I’ve always said I want to take down the man from the inside.”
Eric shows no amusement at my joke. “We said we’d do it together, remember? You said we’d walk away if we couldn’t do it without losing each other.”
It’s hard to hold his gaze, but I do, if only so he can see how I’d give anything to walk away or have him by my side. I already feel traitorous enough for not vowing to shoot Roger in his face when I see him next. “Of course I remember,” I say. “But that was when Walt didn’t have our people. We had time. We’d do it together if we could, but…”
I glance at his crutches, his leg. I don’t want to have to say it. I hold out a hand, but he backs up a step. “You can’t do this.”
“We have to.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Someone else can. Not you. I’m not letting you do it.”
I almost laugh until I realize he’s not kidding. Irritation and anger rise in my belly, pushing their way to my mouth. I remind myself he’s speaking from a place of love and worry. Someone has to be rational right now, and Eric’s not leaping into that role. I deserve a medal for the calm I’m projecting. “What about everyone in there?”
He shrugs as though it’s not his problem.
“So fuck everyone?” I ask. “Fuck Lucky and Rissa and everyone else? How about Emily?”
The mention of Emily gets him for a moment, but he shakes it off and shrugs again. “If it means losing you, then yes.”
“You don’t mean that.”
Fury hardens his shoulders and makes him stand tall, unaffected by his pain. “I do.”
“I know you don’t.”
“I fucking do!” he yells. I recoil at his booming voice and the two angry spots of color on his cheeks. His hands are fisted. His eyes burn. “Every other fucking person in this world could die and I wouldn’t care as long as you were here.”
Maybe the words are born out of love, but there’s no trace of love in his expression. “That’s not true,” I say. “You’d be the first inside if you could. You know you would. It’s dangerous, but Roger will help—”
Eric cuts me off with a harsh, derisive laugh. “Of course Roger will help. Are you dumb enough to believe he’s helping you out of the goodness of his heart? How long did it take after I was gone for him to try something?”
I grind my teeth. Maybe Eric’s right, but Roger’s our sole option. Though I’m less sure than ever we can trust him, his motives work in our favor, no matter how unwelcome some of them may be. As distasteful as Eric finds the situation, it’s a hundred times worse from where I stand. “Is that what this is about? You think something is going on between me and Roger? Because nothing happened.”
“Not for lack of trying, I’m sure.”
I want to punch him. I don’t recognize this person in front of me, and I don’t like him very much. “Fine, you want to know? He kissed me. I told him no. He apologized and that was the end of it.”
Eric steps back as though I have punched him. He covers his distress with an icy smile. “Are you sure that’s it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Before, nothing happened. Now, you admit he kissed you. What’s next? You slept together, but only because I was dead?”
His words stun me into tears I blink away. I want to scream at him, but hurt has made my legs weak and my lungs tight. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” I manage to say.
“Why? Because I won’t like the answer?”
I stare at him in disbelief. Up until this moment, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind I could trust Eric, but, obviously, he doesn’t trust me. I’m terrified to walk through StuyTown’s gate, and he’s acting like I’m doing this for no good reason. He’s not giving an inch, not seeing my side. Questioning my motives when my only motivation is to keep people alive.
This is worse than I thought it would be. Eric’s different in a way I didn’t imagine possible. “Do you know how much of an asshole you’re being?” I ask quietly. “I came to find you, and I did, but now you’re making me wish I hadn’t.” A flicker of something—remorse or sadness—passes beneath his stony expression. I can get through to him. I need to get through. “You know it’s the right thing to do. It’s what you would do.”
He steps close, his eyes steely and jaw bulging. “You. Are. Not. Fucking. Going.”
Fury swirls to the surface—a knife edge of rage that knows exactly what to say to cut him down and end this conversation. “I wouldn’t have to go if you hadn’t let Walt into Sunset Park in the first place.”
My words drain the blood from his face in a way that would be satisfying if they didn’t slice through me, too. He nods slowly, taking it as his due. And maybe he was being unfair—mean, even—but by laying the deaths of so many people on his head, I’ve upended the scale.
Cold regret follows the heat of anger. “I didn’t mean that,” I whisper.
He limps to sit on the bed. If there was a wall growing between us before, that was the final brick. I move forward and wrap my arms around him. His head sinks into my chest and his arms come around my waist, fingers digging into my hips.
“I swear I didn’t mean it,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
He drops his arms and stands, avoiding eye contact while he collects his crutches. “I’m going for a walk.”
I grab his arm, but he doesn’t turn. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
He nods, then gently pries my hand from his arm and walks out the door.
I don’t see Eric until dinner. He sits at the other end of the table from me. Guillermo watches him for a minute, then raises his eyebrows in question. His room is on the same floor as Eric’s, and I don’t know what he heard, if anything. But, since no one asked me where he was, I assume they know enough.
Eric barely eats. Though before I would’ve said I couldn’t get down a mouthful, I finish every scrap on my plate. I don’t have the luxury of not eating, and therein lies another difference between our realities. He’s had it rough, but he hasn’t blown people up and watched them die. He hasn’t eaten anything he can scrounge. His best friend is alive and well, not discarded like garbage in a pile of bodies.
He disappears after dinner. I check the bedroom and find it empty, so I sit in the parlor and listen to the others plan how they’ll come to the city after they take out Sunset Park and once the Lexers freeze. Indy and I should be well-established by then. They’ll meet us at the High Line, if we can leave StuyTown. If we’re not dead.
“Are you okay?” Susan asks me.
“Fine.”
She pats my hand at the obvious lie. “You two will work it out.”
I nod, though I’m not sure I believe it.
When I go to bed, he’s still missing. I pull up the covers and lie in the moonlight-flooded room with Bird at my feet. I imagine Eric lying here night after night, wondering if I was dead and unable to do a thing about it. He’ll do the same once I’m gone, this time with a fresh wound I’ve supplied added to the ones he already has. I don’t want to leave it like this—with another explosive ending I can’t fix, the way I’ve always done.
It’s hours before Eric enters. He slides under the blankets and stares at the ceiling. The first hot tear rolls down my cheek. I do my best to stay silent, but Eric turns to his side and wipes my face with warm fingers.
“I am sorry,” I say, my voice cracking. “I was angry. You weren’t being fair. But I swear I didn’t mean it. I’ve never thought that, even for a second.”
“I know.” After a long moment, he asks, “Are you leaving in the morning?”
I finger the moonstone. No matter how sorry I am, this is what I need to do. For Grace and Maria and all the lives lost, but, more importantly, for all the lives left. “Yes,” I whisper.
I hear him swallow. Can just make out his nod. “Okay.”
His mouth brushes mine, and relief
rushes through me at the reassurance it brings. I kiss him, running my hands along his strong arms and the lines of his back. I look into his moonlit eyes and touch his cheek. “I love you.”
His smile is soft. Sad. “I love you, too.”
We’re gentle with each other, both afraid to break our truce or accidentally close this welcome breach in the wall. And though I try to tell myself this is a connection, a bridge between us spanning the hurtful things we’ve said, it feels more like a goodbye.
Eric isn’t in bed when I wake before dawn, and he’s absent at our early breakfast. I eat until I’m full, after which Indy and I pack the food they’ve given us. “Where’s Eric?” Guillermo asks.
Sister Frances looks up from her plate. “I saw him go out before morning prayers. He hasn’t returned?” I shake my head. “Check the gardens. He likes it out there.”
Outside, the trees are wrapped in frozen mist, and the dead grass white with frost. I take the paths quickly, but he’s nowhere to be found. Sister Mary Anne meets me at the back porch, hands clasped at her waist. “Eric left the grounds early this morning. When I asked, he said he’d be back later today, maybe this evening.”
“Thanks.” I swallow hard, dig my fingernails into my palms so I don’t cry. Eric told a nun when he’d return but left me to wonder. Left me without a single word. Left me on purpose.
I head to his room for a pad and pen. Bird sits on my lap while I think of what I want to say. I scrawl the words I love you. I add Sorr, and then I stop, pen to my lips. I’m the only one who has apologized. Numerous times. He was a complete asshole, and because I reacted in kind, I’m somehow responsible for all of it. I ball the note in my hand. I’ll leave him with what he’s left me: nothing at all.
I walk downstairs with Bird in my arms and toss the paper in the hall trash, then turn to where everyone waits. My eyes are dry, my head high, and I hope that covers how my heart aches. “Let’s go.”
After a promise to return, I force myself to leave Bird with Sister Frances, who spirits him away so he can’t follow. The canoe waits in the back of a pickup; they brought it to the monastery when they went out for supplies. The drive to the bay is short, and the mist on the water not thick enough to prevent leaving. I hug Guillermo, Susan, and Dennis. Kearney stands back a few feet, and he nods when I wave. Freaking Kearney has come to see us off while Eric has vanished into thin air.
The City Series (Book 3): Instauration Page 55
