The City Series (Book 3): Instauration

by Lyons Fleming, Sarah

  Eventually, they could only move on freezing days, and only on foot, since the frozen Lexer corpses filled the paths between vehicles. Hunger, cold, and Ren’s injury took their toll—some days they covered only a few miles. Some days, the hunt for food took up every minute.

  They’d thought the attack was meant only to steal the boats, and that they’d arrive at Wadsworth eventually to find everyone worried, yet safe and sound. On those final frozen days of the winter, they found a boat.

  “Last goddamn boat on all of Long Island,” Jerry says. “Nice little speedboat, full of fuel. We had to move most of a collapsed boathouse to get her out. We took it straight to Wadsworth, and you know what we found. At first, we thought they’d been overrun, but the fences were good. One had come down, but it fell in a way nothing could get in.”

  That might’ve been what Eli, Paul, and I heard as we left the grounds that day, and I can attest to the fact that the gates were up and the Lexers inside when we arrived.

  “They were still frozen,” Jerry continues. “Thawing, but frozen, and we got a look around. Most of them were ours. A few people had run to the fort and locked themselves in. We had supplies down there, but there was no heat and no running water. Eventually, they tried to make a run for it through the Lexers.”

  He shakes his head to inform us that it was a lost cause. “They left a log book telling us what happened, in case we ever arrived. The men who took the boats in Long Island went there. Pulled right up to the docks. Said we’d run into trouble and needed help. It was the perfect way to get in. Before our folks knew it, they’d killed most of the guards and made the survivors clean out the place under gunpoint. After that, they brought in a couple dozen zombies to cause chaos. You can’t fight men if you’re being attacked by Lexers.”

  We learned that lesson all too well, and the story sounds more than a little familiar. Jerry finishes his drink, and I jump to refill it. He offers me a worn-out smile—with the telling of this story, his big smile has taken a beating. “Thanks, son. This was right around what happened in Sunset Park. We were on our way to you, scoping out the place and listening to their radio chatter, when we heard the name Emilio. It was one of the names in the log book. Once we realized, we turned around. Been bouncing between the coast and here ever since, keeping a low profile until we saw the fire at the park. Can’t say I was upset by that.”

  I look to Ren. Jerry and Blake were single, but he had a family. A wife and daughter who lived at the base. His eyes are black as pitch and just as heated. His jaw works. I’d feel for him anyway, but now I think of how that could be me at some point in the future, and my stomach twists.

  “Emilio’s dead,” I say. “And we’re working on Walt.”

  Ren’s lips flick upward in approval. I catch Paul watching me, though he turns before I get a read. I’m sure Guillermo told him how it went down with Emilio. Seeing as how Paul tied the man who killed Hannah to a fence and sicced zombies on him, I think he would’ve done the same.

  We tell them our plans, the details of which we won’t know until we reach the city. “We can get you to the High Line,” Jerry says. “We’ve been waiting for this chance. We’re ready for anything.”

  “Semper Paratus,” I say.

  “Semper Paratus,” Jerry replies. Blake and Ren echo him, voices solemn.

  The Coast Guard men are exhausted. Jerry hangs back as we watch Ren limp up the stairs to rest, though he moves fast for all that. “He’s in a remarkable amount of pain,” Anaya says. “I’m sorry I can’t do much for his foot. I’m surprised he can walk on it at all.”

  “I know.” Jerry strokes his beard. “Getting to Wadsworth kept him going. Now he’s running on revenge.”

  “I think amputation and a prosthetic would be the best outcome for him. I’ll gather surgical supplies during the next freeze and read up on it, then perform the surgery after. I’m sure he won’t agree to it at present.”

  Jerry’s nod is sober. “I’d appreciate if you did that, but I can’t say there’ll be a reason to. He isn’t planning on an after.”

  I’ve walked Paul and Jorge to where they hid the canoe, then hug Jorge before he moves to the boat. Kearney’s going with them, and he follows Jorge to give me and Paul a minute to say goodbye. We stand at the edge of the bay, surveying the distance they have to paddle. It won’t be hard with the clear water and high tide to push them along, but it seems so far away.

  “You okay, bro?” Paul asks.

  “Yeah, I just wish I was going.”

  “You’ll be there soon. Thanks for taking care of Leo.”

  “Anytime. Thanks for taking care of Sylvie. But don’t tell her that’s why you’re there. She might punch you.”

  “Indy would, too.”

  He hasn’t said much about Indy, and I haven’t pried, though I did notice his ring is absent. “Things are good with that?”

  “Yeah.” Paul keeps his eyes on the water. “All I did for a year was think about how different things would’ve gone if I’d been there with Hannah. I’m not doing that again.”

  “How are you getting in?”

  “Figured I’d just show up. The story is they left me notes everywhere, so I can ask for Indy. But it’ll take me a while to get on guard, if I can.”

  “If you could figure out a way to rescue Walt’s guys or something, you might have an instant in,” I say. He rolls that over in his mind, nodding a few times. “That was me thinking out loud and probably a dumb idea. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Forrest, when do I do anything stupid?”

  “Two, three times a day.”

  He gives me a hug. “All right, bro. See you soon?”

  I nod and let him go, then pull a letter from my coat pocket. I pored over it half the night. It’s not the same as looking her in the eye, but it’s better than the silence I left her with. “This is for Sylvie. I know you can’t bring it in, but will you see she gets it if she’s out before I’m there?”

  “Sure.” He tucks it in his bag. “How much groveling did you do in this letter?”

  “A fair bit of groveling. An embarrassing amount, actually.”

  Paul’s laugh is knowing. “Sometimes it’s the only way.”

  “Maybe it’ll work.”

  “I think her sun still rises and sets on Golden Boy, even if she says it doesn’t.”

  His words fill me with hope despite the Golden Boy reminder. I don’t feel much like Golden Boy these days, if I ever did. I watch them paddle out, then I run home and complete fifteen laps before I call it a day.

  94

  Sylvie

  If I take several naps per day, I can drag my ass through life. At the store, lunchtime has become naptime. On watch, it’s more difficult, though we work in four-hour shifts due to the cold and I schedule rest time before and after. I try not to eat more than my allotment, though I want to eat everything until they serve something that smells terrible, and then I want to eat nothing.

  There’s another pregnant woman here, Miranda, who’s something like six months along. She gets extra food. Sometimes, when I see her eating, I want to whack her over the head. It doesn’t help that she’s happy and glowing and rubs her stomach constantly. There is nothing happy or glowing about having your body hijacked by a parasite. There’s clothing that’s already snug, sleepiness, grouchiness, and heartburn. I’m no longer pretending I’m not pregnant, but I’m not exactly embracing it.

  I walk into the apartment for an after-watch nap before dinner. Indy shoves something under the couch pillows and gets to her feet. “Hi. I thought you were on until five.”

  “Four. We’re on longer shifts tomorrow, when they go to Central Park.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she says, distracted.

  “What were you doing when I came in?”

  She wears an innocent expression. “Nothing.”

  “That face would work if I hadn’t seen you put whatever that was in the couch. What’s in there?”

  “Don’t get mad?”
she asks.

  “I told you I hate that question. How can you promise not to get mad before you know what you’re not getting mad about?”

  “Fine.” She reaches under the cushions and holds up a pregnancy book, which the cover promises will inform you about the current development of the parasite sucking away your lifeblood. “I stole it from the Study. No one saw.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Don’t you want to know what’s going on in there?”

  I drop my coat to the floor and sit on the couch. Part of me does want to know. The other part wants to stick its head in the sand. I hope fetuses thrive on ambivalence. “I thought you didn’t like kids.”

  “I love kids and babies. I just don’t want one to come out of me.”

  “Yeah, me neither,” I say. It’s no surprise she likes kids—she did volunteer at a teen center and rescued a gaggle of teenage boys.

  “It’s fascinating, though. Did you know you have fifty percent more blood in your body now? And your heart is bigger.”

  “That’s funny because it feels smaller.”

  Indy lets out her breath with a slight shake of her head. “Sorry for caring. Don’t you want to know when you’re due?”

  “I know when. The summer.”

  She ignores me and sits on the couch, book open on her knees. “For some reason, they count the two weeks before you got pregnant, which means you’re due around the first week of August.”

  I picture a New York City summer with me overheated and giant as a sow. Of course I couldn’t have a winter birth. But I see myself in Central Park, too, with a field full of food and all bad guys erased. That part would be nice, though I refuse to picture beyond that. Specifically, who’s there with me.

  “Okay, good to know. I’m taking a nap.”

  “You could have morning sickness, bloating, and tiredness.”

  “Two out of three,” I say. There are no words to describe my joy that I’m not nauseous. If Grace had a hand in this, she knew where to draw the line. I place a throw pillow under my cheek and close my eyes. “Napping now.”

  “Sylvie, you should know this stuff. Maybe it’ll help.”

  I raise my eyelids. She holds the book eagerly, as though it contains all the mysteries of life, which I suppose it does. It can’t hurt to know what indignities I’m going to suffer, but it makes it real in a way for which I’m not ready. “I can’t read it,” I whisper, and shut my eyes again.

  “How about I tell you what you need to know?” she asks gently, and I nod. “Okay, so it’s the size of a pea. Wait, no, a blueberry. And next week it’ll be a grape. Right now, it doubles in size every week.”

  “What’s with all the produce?”

  “I don’t know,” Indy says. “Maybe because produce comes in so many sizes? What else should it be?”

  “How about venomous animals? Like, this week, your fetus is the size of an irukandji jellyfish, which is a cubic centimeter and one hundred times more poisonous than a cobra.”

  “Most people don’t want to think of their babies as venomous animals.”

  “Their loss. What else?”

  “It has a beating heart. And you can’t eat sushi.”

  “Where the hell am I getting sushi?”

  “I don’t know! Just in case. Also, it has hands that look like paddles and a small tail.”

  “A tail? That’s freaky.”

  “That’s what it says.” The book closes with a whump. “There. Now I won’t bother you until next week. Enjoy your nap.”

  “Indy…” I pause and then say, “Thank you.”

  “I’m here until week forty. Or maybe forty-two. It says most first babies are overdue.”

  “You could’ve saved that information for week thirty-eight.”

  “Just keeping it real. I’m here after that, too, you know. For whatever you need.” I nod at her words, tears leaking between my eyelids. “Don’t start crying, dumbass. If I were pregnant, you’d be scraping me off the floor every morning and learning how to perform a C-section.”

  I laugh and open my eyes. Indy’s horrified expression transforms into a warm smile before she squeezes my arm. There are self-pitying moments where I feel like the unluckiest person alive, but then there are moments I know how lucky I am to have someone like her, who cares enough to pilfer books, call me dumbass, and make me feel a little less alone.

  Indy and I weren’t asked to go to Central Park, though Micah will report back with anything important. We’re at the inner gate when they leave, being babysat by Wyatt, who might shoot us in the head if we try anything but prefers to keep watch from the comfort of a bench twenty feet away. Micah waves as he passes with Lori hot on his tail. She’d better stay clear, though—on the other side of the fence, the tilt of Rissa’s head, along with her pursed lips, say she’s ready to go Brooklyn on Lori if necessary.

  Micah turns on his heel once he’s through, sidestepping Lori without so much as a glance, and uses his index finger to make a small X over his heart. Rissa does the same, with a smile that stays in place until he’s rounded the curve of the loop.

  Indy makes a puking noise loud enough for Rissa to hear. Rissa flips her the bird and then asks, “See you at dinner?”

  “See you there,” I sing, making a tiny X over my heart.

  Rissa gives us the double bird and walks toward the Oval. “It’s adorable, though,” I say to Indy.

  “Whatever,” she says.

  “Did I not hear the word love bandied about recently? I thought I might’ve heard that between a certain two people who I knew should hook up but were too stubborn to do it.”

  Indy pulls a curl and lets it spring into place. “What are you supposed to say when someone says that? Thank you?”

  “I’ve said thank you.”

  “Of course you have.”

  “If I could shoot you right now, I would,” I say. “Honestly, I would. Why won’t you admit you even like him?”

  She doesn’t answer. Walt appears with Roger, and he tsks at Wyatt, who’s leapt to his feet too late to appear useful. Walt gives him a cold stare of which I would not want to be on the receiving end and then asks us, “How goes it?”

  I put on the devil-may-care attitude he seems to enjoy. “Living the dream, boss. Living the dream.”

  He chuckles. “You may need to watch Wyatt rather than the other way around. Will you keep an eye on Elena while we’re gone? She’s…delicate.”

  “Of course.”

  Elena’s coming over tonight anyway. I want to ask her a million questions, the first being how she deals with Walt for so many hours without losing her mind, but her time has been monopolized since he took an interest in her. Brother David told me Walt came by the other night and spirited Elena away until morning. When she returned, she went directly into the shower before she spoke to anyone.

  “I appreciate it,” he says. “See you later.”

  He leaves through the gate. Roger loiters a moment, then follows me as I stroll to the table where we log people in and out. “Hey,” he says. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s going.” I pick up the pen and write the names of the people leaving for Central Park. Fifteen people gone means fewer eyes on us, though, without weapons, it’s basically the same as with the fifteen people. “What’s with your brother and Elena?”

  “The more helpless, the better,” he says. “He’s got a thing for saving women.” I lift an eyebrow. He acknowledges my unsaid retort with a slight nod. “Some women. One woman. At a time.”

  He smells of alcohol, as he has since we returned. The old wagon has trundled out of town without Roger aboard, and my belief in Roger’s possible redemption has hitched a ride with it. “What happens once he saves them?”

  “He doesn’t get that far. He usually gets angry and leaves them when it doesn’t work. He’s picked some real winners.”

  I tamp down my impulse to snap at Roger. Elena doesn’t deserve to be lumped in with women who were looking to be saved—maybe
she went a little crackers, but she was attempting to save her own damn self. I scan the surrounding area. No one except Indy is near enough to hear. “That was before, when there were rules. What does he do now?”

  Roger pushes a lock of dark hair off his forehead. “I don’t know.”

  “Then what’s the best way for her to play this?”

  “Play this? That’s what it is?”

  I draw back from his scowl. I can’t ever forget that he loves his brother, no matter how much I may despise him. “He’s the one who started it. She has two little kids. They need her.”

  “He likes Felix and Aurelia. He wouldn’t let anything happen to them. I bet he’d take them in as his own.”

  Roger says this as if it’s normal, even admirable, to take in the children of the woman you murder. I will raise those two kids myself before I let that happen. I’ll add them to my freaking brood along with The Parasite. Roger’s perception is skewed beyond belief, and Walt only had him for eight years.

  I’m about to go Brooklyn on Roger, and only a small scrap of sanity stops me. He thinks I’m still upset about Eric, and it’s given me the opportunity to get my shit together, but we have to get on friendly terms again.

  “But that won’t happen because we won’t let it happen, right?” I ask. “I’m sorry I’ve been…” I shrug. “You did drop a bomb on me.”

  I’ve played to his guilt, as evidenced by the way he draws his shoulders up and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I know. Does this mean we’re talking again?”

  “We weren’t ever not talking. I needed time. Can you blame me?”

  He shakes his head, then holds my gaze. I don’t look away, but I want to, especially since his eyes are the same as Walt’s. But where his brother’s attempt to gauge your truthfulness, Roger’s want so badly to believe. He swallows and breaks our staring match first. A small, duplicitous part of me cheers in victory.

  “Be careful out there,” I say. “Don’t do anything idiotic.”

  He turns sideways with a sniff, jutting out his elbow to bonk my arm. “Behave yourself in here. You need any smokes?”