The City Series (Book 3): Instauration

by Lyons Fleming, Sarah

Roger doesn’t answer. I want to shake him, but I hold him until he pushes away and walks to the window. I’m not sure my encouragement will be enough.

  “Elena knows where your insulin is,” I say. “Tenth floor, apartment F. She says she can take your brother’s keys.” Roger nods disinterestedly. “Did you hear me? We can get it and go.”

  “Go where?” he asks.

  “Anywhere.”

  “He’ll come after us. He doesn’t take losing well.”

  “He won’t be able to come after us.”

  Roger slumps, blinking quickly. After all of this, he’s hesitant to see Walt dead. Their relationship is sick, and I’m sick of it. If there was ever any humanity left in Walt, it’s been strung up on the fence with Brother David.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. And I am. Not for Walt, but for Roger, who thinks he’ll be lost without his brother instead of better off. “We can’t do it without your help. We need to know if we can count on you.”

  By some miracle, I manage to keep frustration from my voice. He’s said he wants to make it right, but he’s not moving full steam ahead with that mission.

  “I meant what I said about helping you.” He meets my eyes, and the intensity in his makes my skin prickle with unease. “With the baby, too. I’m looking forward to it.”

  He wants someone to fill his brother’s place, and that someone isn’t me or this kid. But we need Roger. If he won’t do it because it’s the right thing, I’ll let him do it for his reason, however flawed it may be of him. However fucked up it may be of me. Lives hang in the balance, and I’ll do whatever is necessary to save them.

  Since I already hate myself, I say, “Me, too.”

  Indy, Paul, and I wait for dark and then skulk through the shadows where cameras won’t pick us up. I expected they’d think I was crazy when I shared my plan, but they didn’t just approve—they wanted in. Fifty feet away, two people sit at the inner gate under the light, which will make seeing us difficult. Paul stops to keep watch on them, motioning me and Indy ahead.

  At the fence, the shape of Brother David snuffles and grunts above us, dark except for the light reflecting off his silvery eyes. I know he isn’t in there—he can’t be—but I whisper, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus…”

  I stop to regain my composure before I continue. I’d never forgotten the prayer; I didn’t want to say it when it held no meaning for me. But this is for Brother David, and I mean every word. When I finish, Indy whispers, “Amen.”

  He senses us below and lets out a quiet hiss. We raise our broomsticks, which we sharpened with flimsy steak knives from our kitchen drawers, and we shove them through his eye sockets until his body sags in what almost seems release.

  107

  Eric

  As soon as the people on the StuyTown shift told us about Brother David, Guillermo and I came to the high-rise across First Avenue. If they try anything like that with Sylvie or the others, I’ll have my rifle on them so fast they won’t have time to blink.

  Guillermo stands beside me, watching the Oval through binoculars. “What the fuck?”

  “What?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and continues watching. His chest rises and falls unevenly. After another minute, he drops the binoculars and walks the roof while rubbing his chin. On the return trip, he moves his hands around like he’s having a silent argument with someone invisible.

  “Guillermo, what’s wrong?”

  “Elena and Walt?” he asks. “What the fuck did I just see?”

  “Shit,” I say. I wasn’t allowed to tell Guillermo, but no one considered the possibility he’d find out for himself.

  “You knew?” He raises his hands, face reddening. “What the fuck, man?”

  He’s pissed. I don’t blame him. He and Elena were fairly new, but he’d had a crush on her for years. Having been pissed about a fictional thing between Roger and Sylvie, I imagine seeing the real thing for yourself is a hell of a lot worse. His jaw ripples as he gazes out over the city. I hear his teeth grind four feet away.

  “Do you want to know the story?” I ask. He breathes in through his nose and doesn’t speak, which, in this state, means yes. “She went a little crazy and was trying to escape. Sylvie and Micah stopped her from killing herself and the kids, then Walt showed up, and he…was interested. What’s she going to say? He’s pretending they’re a family. She hates him, but she wants to live.”

  Guillermo nods broodingly then lets loose with a string of Spanish, in which I hear puñeta and bicho and something about mothers. He kicks a water bottle across the roof before he finally calms down. “It’s not her I’m mad at.”

  “Good. She doesn’t want you to know.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. Sylvie told me Elena wants to forget this after it’s done. She thinks Elena will tell you herself eventually, but it’s her choice to make.”

  Guillermo’s head hangs. “Can it get more fucked?” he asks. “Really, man, can it?”

  I put a hand on his shoulder and look him in the eyes. Tears wait behind his, and I know he’s trying not to let on how much it hurts. “Guillermo,” I say, “it can always, always get more fucked.”

  He laughs and runs a hand down his face. “I need a minute. You okay up here?”

  “Take as many as you need. I’m fine.”

  Guillermo sniffs and trudges to the roof door. I turn to the ledge. It’s freezing this high and only marginally warmer in the apartment below, where one room has a kerosene heater we use sparingly, although the window doesn’t provide as wide a view.

  I pick up the binoculars. They’ve changed shifts across the street, and Sylvie stands on a roof with Indy and Roger. I focus on her face. She’s tired, with eyes that roam the street listlessly. I want to hug her and say I’m sorry about Brother David. I know how special he was to her. How special he was in general.

  I pick up the radio with which we listen to their chatter, and I press the speaker button. Two dots. Dot-dash-dot-dot. Dash-dash-dash.

  I wait long enough between letters that it sounds like interference and not the frenetic pulse of Morse code. It’s the first time I’ve been here that she’s been on watch in my view, and I’m not sure it’ll work. After the letter O, Roger lifts the radio to investigate. Sylvie cocks her head, listening, and a smile works its way across her face. She doesn’t dare look up, but she knows I’m watching, and her hand comes to her heart, where her finger traces an X.

  For the next hours, I observe everywhere, but I return to Sylvie more often than not. Come out, I want to tell her. Let’s finish this. Every minute she’s in there is another minute I worry. She says something to Roger and Indy, then leaves the roof. I’ve ignored Roger this entire time, but now I focus on him. If Sylvie was tired and sad, he’s exhausted and miserable, with lines cut deep in his face. Besides the fact I want to give him the beatdown he was once spared, I’m not feeling too good about betting this operation on him.

  He and Indy begin to pack their things for the end of their shift. Sylvie comes out the door. On her way to them, she nods at Indy, who drops her unzippered backpack. The contents fall and roll across the roof, and Roger bends to help collect Indy’s belongings.

  Sylvie quickly holds up a sheet of white paper. TWO DAYS is written in thick black marker. She flips it around. TO YOU. She crumples it, sticks it in her coat pocket, and bends for a spare pair of gloves.

  OK, I click into the radio. She doesn’t know what it means, but she knows I saw, and she blows a kiss into the air before she disappears through the roof door.

  The decrease in Lexers has made traveling around the city easier, though that holds true for everyone, Teddy included. We’ve just finished hiding from a convoy that might be out searching for us, and we quickly take the streets to the building across from Central Park. The hotel stairs have conditioned me for the climb to the top of the building, and I no longer feel like I’
m dying. I do limp, however, which brings to mind Anaya’s warning that if I push myself too hard, I might limp forever. If that’s the way it has to be to get Sylvie and my unborn child to safety, it’s a trade-off I can live with.

  Carmen and Kieran wait for us in the tower room with Louis, Chris, and Julie. Kieran makes for Casper when we enter. “Greetings and well met! I hoped you’d come. Fancy some practice?”

  “Sure,” Casper says. “Downstairs?”

  “Please downstairs, for the love of God,” Carmen says.

  “Yes, m’lady.” Kieran bows. Casper shrugs and follows suit.

  “I can’t believe there are two of them,” Carmen says after they’ve left.

  Mo, Kearney, Guillermo, Kate, and I walk to the windows. A hand-drawn map of Central Park sits on the wide windowsill. Carmen points to a gate. “I’ll be here every night for the next two weeks. I know Sylvie and the others will be to you tomorrow. Choose any night, signal me, and the gates will open.”

  She points into the park, then down at the paper. “This building cluster, by the theater, is the group we want to keep unarmed. Teddy and Lauren are in the castle. Once I let you in, some of you will need to head to the other gates.” She picks out the three points with a gloved finger. “Try to capture them, if you can, but protect yourselves. Most of them are just doing their jobs. I’ll know who’s who, depending on the night, and we’ll plan accordingly. But the two at the castle will definitely be expendable. He rotates his lackeys up there. After we’re done, we’ll take the trucks down the FDR and be waiting for StuyTown to leave the gates. What will you do with Walt after they’re out?”

  No one wants him alive. If he’s allowed to stay in StuyTown with his weapons, we’ll be fighting a protracted battle. In a perfect world, the Lexers would enter once we’re out. But, aside from the ones he keeps by the gates, there aren’t many down there. Never thought I’d wish for more zombies.

  “We didn’t make all those bombs for nothing, did we?” Kate asks. “If we can get them in when we get our people out, we only have to figure out how to detonate them remotely.”

  Farina’s plan didn’t work as well as she’d wanted, and she’s developing a fix. But it’s not ready. Batteries and tripwires will take too long to set up, and they’ll be conspicuous. Timers might not allow us time to leave or might be discovered before they count down. In that case, we will have given them more bombs than just the two.

  “Farina will figure it out,” Mo says with no trace of doubt.

  Carmen nods. “She will.” The two sometimes disagree, but they’re united in their love for his sister and their faith in her abilities.

  We view the park and discuss the plan for a while longer, then collect Casper from the floor below. He’s soaked with sweat, as is Kieran, who says, “He bested me, two out of three.”

  “The second was a draw,” Casper says.

  “That’s because you were being kind.” Kieran bows to Casper, then raises his head, his face serious. “In sparring, of course, it’s permitted, but there’s no room to be kind from today on. Remember that.”

  Casper nods and sets his sword in his sheath. We say our goodbyes, and I shake Louis’ hand. “We’ll see you soon?”

  “You’ll see me in Central Park,” he says. “The sooner the better.”

  108

  Sylvie

  I’m so tired, and there’s no time for a nap. Whereas before I had only partially thrown myself into my role, I eat, breathe, and sleep StuyTown Sylvie, and that bitch hates naps. I’ve taken up medihation, and it keeps me focused on what’s important. I joke with Walt, shoot the shit with my fellow guards, and do my two watch shifts per day without complaint.

  There was a lockdown after Brother David, but Indy, Paul, and I have permission to leave tomorrow. We’re picking up more bombs, as Walt doesn’t think two is enough for his purposes, whatever those may be. Even Roger doesn’t know. He’s been clingier recently, more eager to please, and, though it drives me insane, I think he’d tell me if he knew.

  After signing out from my watch shift in Public Safety, I pick up my bag and head for the door. I realize I still wear my gun, and I quickly remove my holster before I’m accused of an over-the-fence-worthy crime. “Shit, almost forgot.”

  Regina stops watching the monitors to take it from me, then locks it in a desk drawer. “When are you moving to our building?”

  “What?”

  “You should be in our building. It’s why Walt won’t let you three carry weapons. Too many people in yours might like to get their hands on them.”

  “I thought it was because we’d go rogue,” I joke. She smiles her odd frown-smile, waiting for my real response. “I don’t know. I hate moving, but it’d be cool.”

  “Good. We’ll do it soon.”

  I nod and leave the office. The thought of living with them is appalling for reasons ranging from how much I dislike them to never feeling safe enough to let down my guard in my own home. I can’t wait to leave tomorrow, all the more so because of Eric’s Morse code message yesterday. It was a reminder there are places where people are normal and good. It’s easy to forget that in here.

  Bridget was sent over the fence the day after Brother David. It was done quietly, and people were told she tried to escape, though Walt didn’t attempt any clever warnings with her corpse except to leave it wandering the gated area. No one knows who put Brother David out of his misery, and Walt has let the matter go. Or pretended to. The same way the StuyTown residents pretend Brother David didn’t exist. His fear of dying in vain has come to pass.

  I’ve tried to talk to people, to gauge their willingness to escape. Everyone—including Sharla—has remained closemouthed. Even Kitty won’t look me in the eye. The virus of fear runs rampant again, and I’ve given up. We’ll take our people and leave the others to their fates, since it’s clear they don’t want a hand in shaping them.

  It’s morning, and I head to our usual tables after I get my breakfast. Indy pats the empty seat beside her. “Tired?”

  “Dying. The only thing keeping me awake is how hungry I am.” I shovel my breakfast scramble into my mouth, grateful it bears no resemblance to snot. “When are you on today?”

  “Nine, with Paul and Tai.”

  “Wake me when you’re off?”

  She nods. It’s socially acceptable to nap when you’ve been up since three in the morning, and that’s my plan. I focus on my food, if only so I can get to sleep faster. A load of eggs tumbles onto my plate. I look up to find Paul my benefactor.

  “Just eat them,” he says when I try to argue. “Remember when you gave me half your Pop-Tart?”

  “I only gave you a quarter. It was half of the half I had left.”

  “Well, that’s half of the eggs I have left.” My eyes sting, and he says, “God, Rossi, it’s not worth crying over.”

  “What’s that about a Pop-Tart?” Indy asks.

  “Paul was a jerk to me when we first met,” I say.

  Indy glares at Paul. “Why?”

  “Are you really getting mad at me now?” he asks. “I just gave her my breakfast!”

  She crosses her arms, though her lips quirk. “Sisters before misters.”

  “Chicks before dicks,” I agree. “He was going through some shit. It’s fine. Anyway, the day we made up, we found food, and we each had a Pop-Tart. But he looked so hungry that I gave him some of mine. And thus began a beautiful friendship.”

  “See?” Paul asks Indy. “Beautiful friendship. So quick to judge.”

  Indy blows him a kiss, which he catches in his hand and mimes eating. I say, “That’s worse than Micah and Rissa’s heart thing, I hope you know that.”

  Paul swallows her kiss, washing it down with his water, and Indy laughs. “I don’t care.”

  “What’s wrong with our heart thing?” Micah asks from down the table.

  “Nothing. I said it was adorable.”

  Indy is the picture of innocence. “I think it’s cute.”

&n
bsp; I plop some of Paul’s eggs in front of Jin, who gobbles them down two-fisted, then I finish the remainder. Our return to our building is curtailed by a crowd of people blocking the path, and we skirt around to see what’s so interesting. On the brick of our building, in white spray paint, someone has written: Deliver him who is oppressed.

  I turn to Micah and Rissa, then eye April and Lucky, but all four are as shocked as I am. May has gasped, and the kids couldn’t reach that high or get their hands on a can of spray paint, much less spell oppressed.

  “We should tell someone,” Paul mutters, as reluctant to do so as the rest of us. I want to take a picture and frame it. I want to write the same on every building until people can’t not see it.

  Indy sighs. “Fine.”

  We head for Public Safety, stopping when we see a truck is already on its way. Ed winks at April as he drives past, and the crowd parts for the vehicle to roll through. He stands in the pickup’s bed with a paint can and uses a brush to slap paint over the words. But the paint is white too, and it can’t hide the fact that something was there.

  It’s only in the stairwell of our building that we smile, but no one says a word before we head into our apartments to get ready for the day.

  I’m deep asleep when knocking wakes me. I fumble for my watch. It’s only been two hours, and Indy and Paul aren’t off yet. The knocking continues as I drag myself from bed. We don’t lock our doors here, and, at this point, I’d rather someone rob me of my possessions than rob me of my precious sleep.

  I peek out the peephole and open the door to Sharla and Kitty, making my Go Away yawn very obvious. “What’s going on?” They enter the foyer without answering, and I close the door behind them as they seat themselves in the living room. “Make yourselves at home, don’t be shy.”

  Sharla hands me a note. Is your apartment bugged?

  “No,” I say aloud. “All the cameras are outside.”