Kearney, just behind him, pinches his lips together to hide a smile. “I said I’d do it myself.”
Guillermo humphs. “I’m telling you, only a crazy person isn’t afraid to drive that van. Am I right?”
Kearney pats Guillermo’s shoulder and strolls to the van. Guillermo circles a finger by his ear, tilts his head Kearney’s way, and follows.
“Can you believe that?” Jorge asks.
“No,” I say. Kearney still weirds me out. “But yes.”
After another few minutes, we get the okay to leave. I toss my BOB into the van full of food and supplies that Jorge will drive. Indy and Paul roll over, straddling their bikes. “You’re in there, too,” Indy says. “Eric made me promise.”
“This is starting to get ridiculous,” I say. “I’m an actual person with thoughts and desires, not a baby incubator.”
“Paul, tell her to get in.”
“Get in, dipshit,” Paul says.
Jorge laughs from behind the wheel. I push aside my bag, climb into the passenger’s seat, and stick out my tongue. “Fine. It’s warm in here.”
Indy gives me the finger and shuts the door.
Artie is at the townhouse when we arrive. He’s lit a fire in Roger’s masonry heater, though it’ll take a while to warm up. There are four bathrooms from which to choose, and I’m sure I’ll pee in every last one of them in the next hour. It took longer than the book said to come to fruition, but the newest pregnancy symptom is incessant peeing.
A half hour later, I leave the master suite bathroom on the third floor to find Kearney standing at the bedroom windows. Maybe he needed a break—forty-plus people fill a single floor of a townhouse to overflowing. “Hi,” I say.
Kearney nods but says nothing, and I start for the door. “I’m sorry this happened,” his voice comes. He sits on the long window seat. “I should’ve stopped Walt.”
Kearney and I have only spoken in the company of other people, and, though it still feels strange to be in the same room with him, I perch on the edge of the king bed. “It’s his fault.”
“I should’ve told you I didn’t trust him.”
I lift my shoulders. We all should have done a lot of things. “Why didn’t you?”
“I knew you didn’t trust me after the hospital.” Kearney’s head bobs as though mulling something over, then he briefly makes eye contact before he looks away. “No. The truth is I wasn’t proud of the way I acted in there, and I wanted to forget. I don’t come off as the friendliest person sometimes.”
“I noticed that. I have the same problem.”
The corner of Kearney’s mouth lifts. “I liked Maria. She always had a nice word for someone. You could tell she cared.”
I would give anything to have her here, for moral support and for a hug, and possibly for a kick in the pants. I hope we’re doing what she would want us to do. “Yeah,” I whisper.
“I want to say thank you. I should’ve said it a long time ago.”
“For what?”
“For saving my life. You and Jorge, outside the hospital. I know you didn’t like me much, but you did it anyway.”
I recall how I pulled the Lexer off his back when we left by the cafeteria service door. I haven’t thought of it since, but it could be I did help save his life. And then he went on to save Alice and the kids at the monastery. Without Kearney, it’s likely the monastery would have starved, and Eric wouldn’t have been rescued. Maybe Grace was right about karma: what goes around really does come around.
“I’m glad you killed Clark,” I say. I imagine Clark coming home to find Alice and what she might’ve suffered at his hands when there were no repercussions to give him pause.
“He was a bastard,” Kearney says.
“Did someone push Dawn?” I ask the question I’ve wondered since the hospital. “Was that Clark?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“It happened so fast,” he says, shoulders hunched. “They were coming, and she was hanging on me, dragging me down. She wouldn’t run and wouldn’t let go. I wanted to live.”
I consider that for a moment and conclude that I would’ve done the same. “Well, out of all the people left in the hospital, you chose the best two to use as zombie fodder. Dawn was coming around at the end, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if she ended up with Walt.”
Kearney views me from under his brow, sees my smile, and begins to laugh. I giggle until I’m cackling with my old nemesis, which is so bizarre that I laugh harder. Once it tapers off, he rises from the window seat and stands in front of me. “I had a little girl. She died of cancer when she was three. Almost thirty years ago, now.”
His face is expressionless on the surface, but fine muscles jump beneath. It must be why he came for Manny’s dialysis machine in the hospital. Why he saved the kids in the monastery. Why he keeps his emotions under wraps. He’s not indifferent; he’s in pain.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, hoping he can see that I truly am. The thought of Leo gone is indescribably awful, and I’m taken by surprise at a surge of protectiveness for The Parasite.
Kearney gives my shoulder an awkward pat. “Take care of that kid. The world’s going to need people like you and Eric and Guillermo. Like all of you.”
They sound oddly like last words. Though I itched to hear them a year ago, I want him to live. I want everyone who this world has changed for the better to survive. I think, by now, we’ve paid for our past sins. “You’re no slouch yourself.”
Up close, what I thought were cold eyes are a warm bluish gray. He smiles and turns to the doorway at murmuring from downstairs, and I follow him to the foyer where Eric and Farina stand in a ring of silent, shocked people.
I stop on the bottom step and grip the bannister, my hands already cold with dread. “What happened?”
Eric’s eyes are red, swollen. “Kate—” he says before his voice cuts out.
“There were two trucks going to the tracks,” Farina whispers. “We couldn’t stop them in time. She took the bomb to them.”
I shake my head. Farina can’t mean what I think she means. “She carried it…?” I trail off when Farina nods, her arms limp at her sides.
A wave of disbelief weakens my legs. My vision blurs. Kate is dead. Blown up, to save us. I don’t want it to be true, but Eric’s empty stare, his bowed spine, are impossible to disbelieve. I cross the floor and pull him to me, wondering how many more will have to die so we can live. And I think that maybe karma is a fiction after all.
It’s warm in the living room and entertainment room. Less so in the kitchen at the back of the townhouse, where the table has been pushed to the side and Blake tapes large sheets of paper, taken from a child’s easel on the fourth floor, to the taupe wall. One says StuyTown, the other Central Park, another Frequencies, and another Call Signs.
“Blake is organized,” Jerry says.
Blake throws a map of Manhattan up there, followed by a blank sheet of paper. “Normally, we’d each get a file, but today we’re going full-on police procedural.”
“Blake also likes television,” Jerry adds.
I smile though my eyes are tight and grainy from crying. Even people who only knew Kate briefly were stunned to tears. For who she was—because it only took a few minutes for her to make an impression—and for what she did for us. I still can’t quite fathom that she won’t be here to crack a joke or give a hug or help build the future we envisioned. Kind, funny Kate, who was so full of life, deserved that future. I wanted her in it. No matter how bright it is, if indeed we live long enough to make it happen, it’ll be dimmer without her sunny presence.
I cradle my stomach where I lean against the kitchen island. The Parasite is quiet in there, and I send it a wordless apology that it now has acute heartache to add to the mix of emotions in which it stews. Of all the people on this Earth, it’s Kearney who’s made me think a baby might not be the end I thought it was. It could be a beginning.
Julie and Chris hold hands i
n the corner of the kitchen, both devastated by the news of Kate. Casper stands rigid with his hand on his sword. He’s angry enough to heat the room, and Casper pissed beyond belief is something I never thought I’d see.
Eric enters the kitchen, inserts himself behind me, and places his hands over mine. He rests his chin on my shoulder. “Everything okay in there?”
“I think so,” I say, then add, “I hope so.”
He hugs me tighter, his lips on my neck, and I close my eyes at the peace it brings. Within minutes, the kitchen is full. Mo, Farina, Pilar, and some of their people. Jorge, Paul, and Indy. Guillermo and Kearney. Susan and Dennis. Artie, whose face sags beneath his glasses.
“I got through to Carmen,” Farina says. “Used Morse. I told her we were safe and that we’d be at her gate soon. She’s waiting to hear when.”
“Tomorrow?” Mo asks the room.
“Fine by me,” Guillermo says. “I’m done with this shit.”
Everyone nods. In the history of the world, there may not have been a group of people more done with shit than we are. The longer we wait, the more who will die, and, if they come to the townhouse, there’s nowhere left to go.
Jerry could bring us across the water, but we’d have to travel far north, where the zombies might be frozen. With no food, we’d starve long before spring, when the army of Lexers will thaw. That won’t save our people in StuyTown, whom we won’t leave behind. It won’t make Walt and Teddy pay.
No mercy, Brother David said. And I’m not feeling very merciful.
“First, the park.” Blake hovers by the sheet of paper with that heading. “Night, yes?”
“Everyone’s in bed or at home by ten,” Farina says, “except for the guards.”
Blake writes 10 p.m. on the paper. He’s tacked up a drawing of Central Park, and he marks off points while Mo describes the plan to enter. Names go into groups. Eric’s and Jorge’s are with Louis, who has remained uptown to keep watch on the park. He doesn’t know about Kate, and he’ll take the news hard.
If all goes as planned, the trucks will leave for us at StuyTown. Indy, Paul, Micah, and I will get ourselves on watch, which means we four will have weapons. We’ll collect the residents and lead them out. If there’s time, we’ll collect the bombs from Eric and the others, who will help set them in the café building. But, in order to do any of this, we have to open two gates, and Roger’s help will make that easier.
“Did Roger agree?” Jorge asks me.
“He says he’ll do it,” I say. “But we’ll get them open with or without him. If he does help, we have to try to get his insulin out. Elena will have the keys.”
Eric’s arms tense slightly, but neither he nor anyone else disagrees. They might want to. Kate would be here if not for Roger. I won’t die to retrieve his insulin, but I’ll satisfy my end of the bargain if only to ease my own conscience.
“We can take out the guards at the gates easy,” Paul says. “But, if someone on a roof or at Public Safety raises the alarm, they’ll pour out of the café building.”
“We’re thinking about it all wrong,” Eric says. He steps from behind me, watching Blake scribble on a paper. “Maybe everyone should stay inside while we blow the café building. Then we bring our people out when it’s safe.”
He surveys the room and, after a brief hiccup, looks at me. “Would the nitro take out a building?”
He was searching for Kate until he remembered. She’s the one who would know. “You’ve used it more than I have,” I answer. “Enough of it probably would, if placed right.”
“And it takes care of Walt,” Ren says.
Eric nods and runs a hand through his hair. “If I brought it in, Paul and I could plant it in the café building. We set it off, then work on the gates and guards. Once it blows, they’ll be distracted.”
It’s a great plan, and it takes care of Walt quickly, but there’s one problem. “How can we get it in?” I ask.
“I’ll climb it in.”
“Have you forgotten about the zombies outside?” I ask, which is the first issue among many I have with his idea. I’m trying not to go bitchcakes, but I’m teetering on the edge. “You can’t get over the walls between buildings—they’re watched by people or cameras. You’d have to climb to the eighth floor, at a minimum.”
“Someone can distract them while I get over the fence and across the avenue. I can make it to the eighth floor.”
“With bombs on your back?”
Eric pales a little, then shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”
“Which building?” I ask.
“You tell me which one. But why?”
“Because I’m throwing a rope down.” He lifts a brow, and I turn to the rest of the room when they titter. “You think I’m kidding? If I can’t stand in a room full of nitro, he can’t climb eight stories without a rope.”
“I won’t fall.”
He believes it, I’ll give him that, but Eric doesn’t control gravity. “That’s right, you won’t,” I say. “Because I won’t let you fall.”
He’s said the same to me before, and his smile tells me he hasn’t forgotten. “Okay, fine.”
“I’m coming with you,” Casper says.
Eric assesses Casper, who, I will admit, is sleeker and more determined than ever. But Casper climbing a building is not a promising idea. “You sure?” Eric asks. Casper nods. “All right.”
“What?” I ask.
“We’ll have your ropes,” Eric says. “He can do it.”
The rest of the room appears dubious, but they nod when Casper glances their way. The planning continues, and I whisper to Eric, “I don’t want Casper to die.”
“He won’t.”
After more discussion, we have our plan, for better or worse. The kitchen empties of people seeking the warmth of the front rooms, and Jorge comes to my side. “Be careful, mami. I’ll be right on the other side of that gate tomorrow night.”
“I’ll see you there,” I say.
I put my arm around him while we gaze at the wall. It’s plastered with outlines and maps, schematics and numbers. It’s everything we want to happen. Blake has even thrown up a paper that declares us all safe in Central Park by morning of the day after tomorrow.
“Holy shit,” I say.
Indy stops in the doorway. “What?”
“We made a vision board.”
She examines the oversized collage, eyes shining with a little sadness, some amusement, and no small bit of hope. “Hell yes, we did.”
111
Eric
We stand in an outdoor store downtown, where we’ve found climbing gear. Casper wanders the aisles in his new pair of approach shoes. Though I’m not sure his involvement is wise, we’ll need as much nitro as we can carry in the giant packs we’ve also acquired. I’m not taking any chances on using too few bombs, and Farina is back at the townhouse, busy with her battery-operated soldering iron.
“Nice and sticky?” I ask as Casper goes past. He cocks his head. “The shoes. The soles are sticky enough?”
“I guess so,” he says and continues on, bumping his toes on the floor to check them out.
Sylvie, Paul, and Indy watch his back with skepticism. “Don’t tell him you doubt him,” I warn in a low voice, “or he won’t be able to do it.”
“Can he kill you by accident?” Sylvie asks.
“Have you been listening to a word I say?” I ask. I’ve stated very plainly that it’s not possible as long as they fix the ropes correctly.
“Not really,” Indy says. “That’s why we wrote it down.”
Paul pats her shoulder. “I know what to do. Tie the rope to a pipe and hope for the best, right?”
“You guys are a laugh a minute,” I say. “It’s like a comedy club in here.”
We’ve been over anchors and belaying and knots and carabiners. Paul knows some of it from coming on a few climbs, and from his FDNY training, though it’s been years and he’s never belayed from above. I trust them. I trust myself.
I’m not sure I trust Casper to do it without ropes, so they need to be ready to catch a fall.
“You sure you can get the rope inside?” I ask. They’ve hidden the smaller things near various parts of their anatomy and in random pockets of clothing.
Paul flips my worry away with his hand. “They’ll be so busy running from the bomb we bring that they won’t care about some rope.”
They don their bags. Casper and I pick up our gear, and we walk to the store entrance. I say goodbye to Paul and Indy while Sylvie hugs Casper. Then she’s in my arms. I don’t want to let her go, but I’ll be there soon. Thirty-six hours and this will be over, one way or the other. She pushes my hair from my face. “Love you.”
I kiss her soft lips, breathe her in one last time. It’s an effort of will to allow her to walk out that door. “Love you,” I say, and let her go.
Casper and I watch until they turn the corner. He releases a long breath. “We’ve got this,” he says. I’m surprised by his optimism until he adds, “Right?”
I clap him on the back. “For sure.”
It took all yesterday and much of the night, but Farina has outdone herself. All detonators are wired, and she’s included a safety feature: our first transmission, on one frequency, will power on a second receiver set to a different frequency. Our next transmission, on that second frequency, will detonate the explosives.
“It was too sensitive,” she says, “and I didn’t like that.”
“You’re a genius,” I say. “And thank you for not letting an ill-timed signal blow me to smithereens.”
“My pleasure.”
We load our bomb-filled packs into a truck and then ride bikes to the building opposite Central Park. Louis has heard the news about Kate, and he clasps my arm when I enter the room where ammo and weapons are being organized by Mo’s people.
“I can’t believe it.” His face is puffy, his eyes bloodshot. “And I can. It’s just like Kate to throw herself into something because it’ll work, and damn the consequences.”
The City Series (Book 3): Instauration Page 75
