The City Series (Book 3): Instauration

by Lyons Fleming, Sarah

  Casper and Jorge arrive on the landing. Jorge’s posture is stooped, his arm curled at his waist. “You okay?” I ask.

  Jorge nods, though he grimaces. A shout comes from the terrace. “Go!” Jorge says.

  I race upstairs. Teddy stands outside the castle’s double doors, his gun pointed at Louis fifteen feet away. Louis has his aimed at Teddy, and they watch each other in the dim light of the lamppost.

  The door beside Teddy creaks open partway. Lauren’s head comes through the crack. “Teddy?” she asks in a tremulous voice.

  “Go inside, Lauren. Louis and I are working something out.”

  His voice is calm and commanding, holding nowhere near as much fear as it should. He thinks he’ll avoid this reckoning, but I wouldn’t put all my eggs in that basket. Guillermo stands off to the left with his gun on Teddy. I move to the right and add mine to the mix.

  “You die if you shoot him,” I say to Teddy.

  “You die anyway,” Louis says.

  Teddy blinks. “Why?” he asks, and now alarm creeps into his voice.

  “You know I lived uptown. My wife and son were there when you bombed.”

  Teddy’s mouth works silently, until he finally gets out, “I didn’t know that when it happened. How could I have known your family was there?”

  “Other people’s wives and sons were there, too. Not just mine.”

  Teddy shifts my way, looking for assistance he doesn’t find. He gives a desperate glance to the castle door. Lauren hasn’t moved except to close the door most of the way, and it doesn’t open any wider. “Louis, I’ll help you. You want help with Walt, I can do that.”

  Louis shakes his head. His gun doesn’t tremble the way Teddy’s does. His anger seems to have vanished, leaving behind the Louis I’ve known all this time—forthright, calm, honorable. “It’s too late. I only wanted you to know why you’re dying.”

  The wind whips Teddy’s thin pajamas and gray hair. He looks pitiful, nothing like the man who orders bombs dropped and sends people in need away, but that’s exactly who he is. His face tightens with the knowledge he’s a dead man, and his pistol rises.

  Guillermo and I pull our triggers at the same time as the two of them do. Teddy hits the ground gasping, and I hear Louis go down behind me. The door opens and Lauren trots toward Teddy, barefoot on the stone with her robe flapping around her.

  “Get his gun,” I call to Guillermo.

  I run to where Louis shivers on cold stone. Blood leaks from under his left shoulder, inching forward with every beat of his heart. I don’t tell him to hang on because I know he’s had enough of this world. It wasn’t long ago I felt the same way, but, unlike him, I had Sylvie to bring me back.

  I pick up his icy hand. He squeezes weakly. “Is he dead?” he whispers.

  “Yes,” I say. If Teddy’s not dead, he will be. I’ll do it myself.

  “Okay.” Louis closes his eyes and exhales. “Okay.” It could be a trick of the light, but I think I see him smile before his mouth slackens along with his hand.

  “Eric!” Casper yells. “I need some help here!”

  I set Louis’ hand on his chest and race across the terrace. Jorge sits propped against the stone wall at the top of the stairs. Casper kneels beside him, bug-eyed with alarm in his flashlight’s beam. “It’s much worse than he said.”

  Jorge clutches his middle, and his temples are beaded with sweat despite the cold air. “Where?” I ask, and pry his hands away. I unzip his coat to find blood. A lot of blood. It stinks like iron and shit. “Fuck.”

  “Yeah,” Jorge says with a faint laugh. A few pops of gunfire come from below, and he turns his face that way. “Get down there. See what’s happening.”

  I shake my head. That’s their battle. My battle is keeping Jorge alive. I know how hopeless an abdominal injury is, and his is worse than mine. The infection alone will be deadly, never mind the bleeding. I press on the wound with my hands and with all the willpower in my mind. There’s only one way to save Jorge. It’s another long shot, but she saved me, a similar hopeless case. She planned to find surgical equipment during the freeze. If she did, she’s the one person who could pull it off.

  “Anaya,” I say to Casper. “He needs Anaya. Where’s Jerry now?”

  “The bay, I think.”

  “Call him. Tell him we have a new plan—he’s taking Jorge to Anaya. We’ll meet him anywhere along the FDR.”

  “The radios don’t work,” Casper says.

  “Fuck!” I shout. If I didn’t have my hands in Jorge’s guts, I’d punch something. Someone. Anything.

  “Eric,” Jorge says, “go down. Finish this.”

  “Jorge,” I lean near his face, which has grown a shade paler, “I mean this in the nicest possible way, but shut the fuck up.”

  Jorge’s stomach bucks beneath my hands. He’s laughing. Jorge is laughing, and he can’t die. I don’t care if he’s ready, or if he doesn’t mind. I mind. Sylvie minds.

  “We have two nurses,” Lauren’s voice comes from behind me. “But we can get you to the FDR in a few minutes if you have someone who can help.”

  I glance over my shoulder. She stands beside Guillermo, her light blue bathrobe smeared with blood. I don’t know why she’d offer, but I won’t discourage her. “Thank you,” I say. “Casper, get a truck and see if Farina can stop jamming the radios.”

  That won’t be easy. She has solar-powered jammers hidden around the outskirts of Central Park, and a few inside, since she wanted to cover the frequencies most radios use. But it’s worth a try. Lauren and Casper hurry down the steps while Guillermo drops to his knees and sets a hand on Jorge’s arm.

  Jorge breathes shallowly and lets out a moan. “Shit, that hurts,” he gasps.

  “Yes, it does.” I keep my eyes on his. I refuse to let him fade away. “Jin needs you, so does Sylvie. I’ll never hear the end of it if you die.”

  “Tell Sylvie I love her.”

  “Nope. I’ll tell her you gave up.”

  Jorge growls through clenched teeth. He’s fighting, and that’s all I ask.

  “Just one more day,” I say. “Remember? Just one more day with Jin, with us. You make it to tomorrow, and then we’ll tackle the next one.”

  “Are. You.” Jorge’s voice comes in spurts. “Holding a. Meeting?”

  “One day at a time, right?” I ask. “My mom used to say Put some gratitude in your attitude.”

  “I’ve…heard that…one.”

  “And my dad would say Every cloud has a silver lining, and It’s always darkest before the dawn. And then Mom would say It’s always darkest before it turns pitch black.”

  Guillermo’s laugh is muffled by distress. Jorge summons the trace of a smile. But he’s staying with me in this endless, eternal wait for someone who can help.

  “Then there’s The light at the end of the tunnel is a train.”

  Jorge grabs hold of my forearm. He’s trying to stop me, to say goodbye, but I’m not letting him go. “Eric—”

  “How about If at first you don’t succeed, give up?”

  Tires hum on the path below the stairs, and then the bottom of the staircase is lit by headlights. A man and woman race to where we sit. “He was shot in the stomach,” I say.

  The man, an older guy with a bald head and glasses, crouches beside me. “Keep that pressure.”

  “Gurney!” the woman yells.

  It clatters and bangs up to us, carried by two girls in their teens. They set it down, legs still folded, and the four move Jorge to his back while I keep my hands on his abdomen. On the count of three, they lift him the few inches to the gurney.

  “I have it now,” the female nurse says, nudging my hands. She takes my place immediately.

  We help carry Jorge down the steps and into the bed of a Parks Department pickup. Casper runs up the hill, hardly short of breath when he reaches us. “It’s over.”

  It’s been silent, for how long I’m not sure. I want to ask more, but I jump in the truck’s bed, stay
ing out of the female nurse’s way, and squeeze Jorge’s hand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I say to Casper and Guillermo.

  The truck swerves backward, knocking down a thin wire fence, and then we race downhill. Farina waits with Carmen at the bottom by the theater. “I can’t get you on Jerry’s frequency quickly,” Farina says, hands clasped by her chest. “By the time I did, you’d be on the FDR. I’m sorry.”

  Carmen ousts the male nurse from the driver’s seat. “I’ll drive. You get in back. Kieran, you get the gates.”

  People have gathered to watch the spectacle, but I pay them no mind as we pull away and through the gate. Jorge’s eyes are closed tight. He looks like shit—pale, tired, fading. The gunfire has drawn some Lexers, and Kieran hops out at every intersection, unlocking the gates at an impressive speed and then jumping in for the ride to the next. By the time we reach the FDR, my radio works again. “Jerry?” I call.

  Something garbled comes through. Before I can curse, he says, “We’re here.”

  “We have a patient for you to bring to Anaya. Where’s the best place to meet?”

  “Thirty-Fourth Street Ferry,” he says immediately. “We’ll be waiting.”

  Carmen takes the FDR to the next entrance and then flies down the city streets, swerving when she needs to, but the lack of Lexers south of Central Park works in our favor. She has us at the ferry entrance in minutes, where the boat waits with a single light burning.

  We run Jorge’s gurney in. Jerry, Ren, and Blake slide it onto the rear seats, and the female nurse follows, keeping pressure on Jorge’s abdomen. “I’ll go with him and do my best to keep him stable on the way.”

  “Thank you,” I say. I don’t know her name, and it’s a strange time to ask. She offers me a grandmotherly smile, which is impressive, seeing as how she’s wrist-deep in blood. They don’t come tougher than nurses—I know this from Maria.

  “We might not be back in time,” Jerry warns. They planned to be on the river outside StuyTown, and Ren planned to come in. After Jorge, after Louis, I think it better that he doesn’t. I’ve had enough senseless death for one night, and Ren was bound to be another.

  “We’ll be fine.” I lean into the boat and take Jorge’s hand. He seems so old suddenly, as though the years are flipping by, fast-forwarding to his death. “One more day?”

  “Tell Sylvie and Jin I love them,” he whispers.

  It’s not the answer I want, but we’ve delivered him into their care alive, and now it’s up to Jerry and Anaya. “They know,” I say, “but I’ll tell them again.”

  I watch the boat pull away. He understands why I can’t go with him, though it doesn’t alleviate the guilt.

  In Central Park, lights blaze in the windows of almost every structure on both sides of the lawn. People are out. Tensions are elevated but not astronomical, and they’ve been inching down in the few minutes I’ve been back, as Carmen makes the rounds with the true story of Central Park. A cow lows somewhere in the dark and is answered by another. The tranquility jars against my amped-up nervous system. I can’t think of any of this as my future when my future waits on top of a building in StuyTown.

  “What happened?” I ask Casper. “How did it end?”

  “Like Carmen said, most of them didn’t like Teddy anymore. When Lauren and I came down, she told the guards to stop fighting.”

  “Really?” I was surprised by her offer of assistance, but that detail is downright astounding.

  “She wasn’t upset about Teddy,” Guillermo says. “You know what she said when he was dying? Serves you right.”

  “Damn,” I say. “No love lost there.” I won’t let myself hope StuyTown will be this easy. I’ll only hope we can pull it off.

  Casper kicks at the dead grass. “It’s my fault.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “When the guard started shooting, Jorge pushed me out of the way. It would’ve been me. I bet he wishes he hadn’t done that.”

  I finally find a reason to smile. “If you think that, then you don’t know Jorge. He’s saved Sylvie’s life a couple of times, at least.”

  “Really?”

  I think of how he went to the animal hospital when I was sick, how he returned to Sunset Park during the fight for no reason other than to help. “And mine, and a dozen others. That’s what he does. Welcome to, as Sylvie calls it, The Jorge Rivera Fan Club.”

  Casper sniffs. “A proud member. Are you ready? I have on my sticky shoes.”

  The trucks are heading down the FDR to wait while Casper and I collect the nitro and climb a building. “I’m ready,” I say.

  114

  Sylvie

  Sharla and Kitty have done their part to alert everyone, and they wait on the second floor for a person, or an explosion, to tell them it’s time. Indy and I collect our weapons—one knife, one pistol, and one rifle each—from Regina at Public Safety before we head to our shift.

  “I thought you were going to get some sleep,” I say.

  “Leaving any minute.” Regina checks her watch. “Waiting on Ginger. Have a good night ladies, and sleep in tomorrow. I gave you the day off.”

  “Thanks for that,” Indy says. “Sleep tight.”

  We walk out into the night. Indy sighs as we head toward the café. “I can’t believe I feel even the littlest bit bad. How stupid is that?”

  “Then I’m a moron, too,” I say. Indy may be the only person who understands how knowing it’ll be the last time we see Regina—praying it will be—is laced with remorse. As much as I don’t want to feel this way, I think Brother David would approve. “Brother David would say we still have our humanity, the part that wants to love our fellow man even when they act unlovable. I guess I’m okay with that.” Indy kisses my cheek. “What was that for?”

  “I don’t know. I must be losing my mind.”

  I elbow her as we pass the café. Elena steps from the dark on the other side of the building. Walt’s keyring dangles from her index finger, glinting silver and gold. The keys to the kingdom. “He’s asleep,” she says. “I made sure he drank a lot.”

  “Where are the kids?” I ask.

  “Sleepover with Chen and Emily. I told him I wanted time alone.”

  “You’re heading home now?” Indy asks.

  “Yeah.” Elena grimaces over her shoulder at Walt’s building. “That was the last time I’ll have to do that.” She turns to us with the lighthearted smile of the woman she might’ve been before zombies and then disappears into the dark. It makes me think she’ll be okay, that we’ll all recover from the things we’ve had to do. Unbeaten, as Grace once said.

  Indy and I reach our watch building with over an hour until Eric and Casper will appear. We start up the stairs with our flashlights. By the second flight, the beam of another light flares behind us. “What a great view,” Ed calls. “And I get it the whole way.”

  “Shut up, Ed,” Indy says, and he chortles.

  When we reach the roof, the two previous guards head down. The three of us drink water, then refill our bottles from the cooler they replenish every day. They leave snacks up here, too, though I can barely swallow liquid.

  There’s nothing from the direction of Central Park. We stand at the roof ledge and look into the night, where buildings loom dark against the stars. Five minutes into our shift, the roof door opens. April exits and tugs at her hair. “Oh, hey, Sylvie and Indy. I was wondering if I could borrow Ed for a minute.”

  “Why?” Indy asks.

  “I promised him something.”

  “Seriously?” I ask, though none of this is a surprise. It was April’s idea. “We’ll be off in four hours.”

  Ed grins in the light of our lantern. “You can’t wait when you have a craving for Ed.”

  “Whatever.” Indy makes a gagging sound. “I don’t want to know about it.”

  He heads for April, who giggles when he grabs her and does something lecherous. The roof door closes behind them. After a full minute, Indy says, “Now.”
>
  We head for the door with our knives out. Indy opens it silently. April’s flashlight illuminates her up against the wall, fully clothed, though Ed’s pants are around his ankles. He runs his mouth up her neck. April moans like she’s enjoying it, but her nose wrinkles in disgust as she watches us near.

  We tiptoe closer. My knife arm feels weak, my breathing labored. When we’re two feet away, April shoves Ed toward us. He hollers, “What the f—”

  I ram the blade into the base of his neck between thick muscles and corded tendons. Indy grunts as her knife connects with his back. Ed yells in surprise and whips around, tripping on his lowered pants. He’s stunned, dying, but he’s huge and he’s strong. We grab him by whatever we can clutch—hair, clothing, flesh—and drag him to the floor. He kicks his legs and bats at us while he chokes on blood bubbling from his lips.

  I yank my knife from his neck, sending a spray of blood through the flashlight’s beam. Indy plunges Eli’s knife into Ed’s chest, then grimaces and does it again. Ed catches my arm with a feeble hand. I push it away and bury my blade below his sternum two-handed. It takes more effort than I expected to plunge through tensed muscle before it slides easily through whatever’s beneath. I pull it out, ready for another, and then pause with my knife raised. My breath is ragged, but his is nonexistent.

  Indy removes her blade with a rasping noise against rib bone and sits back on her butt, wheezing. We’ve killed people, but not like this. Her eyes reflect my awe that we took him out this brutally, and the resolve that we’ll do the same to anyone else who tries to stop us. I’m not sure Brother David would approve, though maybe he’d understand.

  Indy turns to the wall. “You okay?” she asks April.

  April nods, her face waxen in the dim light. She recovers quickly and points to the far corner of the landing. “Move him over there?”

  I get to my feet and extend a hand to haul Indy up. April comes forward, but Indy shakes her head. “You’ll get blood on you. Someone might see.”

  We drag Ed’s dead weight to the corner. His eyes, which I always thought beady, are circles of surprise like a kid on Christmas morning. He was someone’s baby. He was a real, live person. Part of me is sorry, though most of me isn’t. It’s his own damn fault.