The City Series (Book 3): Instauration

by Lyons Fleming, Sarah

  “Go back and stay safe,” I say to April. “We’ll see you soon.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers, and jogs down the stairs.

  Out on the roof, we wipe ourselves down with an old towel someone’s left in the bin of random watch supplies. There’s no turning back now, not with the body in the corner. If Casper and Eric don’t make it here, the new plan is to take out the guards and run. With two hundred people. Which means we’re dead.

  Paul exits the roof door. “What the hell did you do to Ed? I said I’d help.”

  “We took care of it,” Indy says.

  “Remind me never to piss you off. I was going to shove him off the roof.” He pulls out a bag he has hidden in his coat, and I grab the rope from my messenger bag. “It’ll be a while before I’m ready for that.”

  Paul kneels at the bulkhead and pulls a cordless drill from the bag. He sets it to the brick and very slowly begins to drill. I know he’s being as quiet as possible, but it sounds like he’s jackhammering the brick. He does it two times, at angles that will keep the bolts from slipping out when pulled from below, while Indy and I pace the roof. After a million years, he sets down the drill.

  “Thank God,” I say.

  “That was the quiet part,” he says. Indy drops her head in her hands.

  Paul sets out two bolts, which resemble a regular long bolt with a thick bent metal washer attached. He places one in a pre-drilled hole and raises his hammer. I wince at the metallic clank that echoes through the land, inviting everyone to punish us for our misdeeds. Three more times he bangs, and three more times I wince, until he picks up a wrench and tightens the nut.

  I clutch Indy’s arm while he bangs the second bolt in. The radio crackles. “Fourteenth and First, you hear that?” Tai asks.

  Indy and I freeze. She moves first, lifting the radio from the card table and clearing her throat. “Yeah, it was Lexers clanging on the fence,” she says in a voice so perfectly modulated she should win a Tony and an Oscar. “One was stuck.”

  “Idiots.”

  “Seriously,” Indy replies with a light laugh. “Out.”

  She drops the radio with a low groan. “You’re amazing,” I say, and she groans again.

  I help thread the shorter ropes through the bolts and knot them to make the anchor points. I hand Paul carabiners and clips, doing my best to get it right, and the entire time I wonder why Eric would ever entrust his life to these things for fun.

  Finally, we sling the long ropes over the side of the building. Paul has stepped into the harness he’ll wear to belay, and now he looks at his watch. “They should be here soon.”

  115

  Eric

  We stop the truck a block before StuyTown and walk the rest of the way. Casper and I walk a good bit behind Guillermo, Chris, and Julie, who make no complaint about their distance from our explosives.

  “You good?” I ask Casper. He nods. A minute ago, in the truck’s dome light, a fair amount of sweat worked its way down his face. “You sure?”

  “Please stop asking,” he mumbles. “Or I won’t be.”

  I shut my mouth. Casper and I will split off from the others at the intersection ahead. When we reach it, Julie whispers, “I’d hug you, but…” Chris makes a bomb sound, and she says, “Exactly.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying.” Guillermo grins at us. “See you at the gate.”

  They leave to work their way around the block, where they’ll hit the fence on the south side of 14th Street. Once they’ve attracted the Lexers there, Casper and I will run across the avenue to the ropes that should be waiting. If they aren’t, it’ll be a free solo climb, and Casper will be shit out of luck.

  We move through the broken side windows of a hot dog restaurant chain before zombie sentries spot us. Little moonlight reaches inside, and we shuffle through discarded paper cups and other garbage. My foot hits a body and I step over, feeling with my toes until I find solid ground.

  The stores were boarded on First Avenue to keep Lexers and people trapped in Walt’s zombie moat. Casper helps me pry the wood from the door by the light of a flashlight we’ve shaded until it’s almost useless. When we have enough room to squeeze through, we watch as one and then two Lexers stagger to the far end of the intersection. Fifty more follow, until we have a clear lane in which to cross. There are still plenty of bodies down First Avenue, but they can’t call every Lexer this way without alerting the guards down the avenue, too.

  I’m out first, and I’m very aware I carry nitro on my back. Hyperaware. This would be a hell of a lot easier had StuyTown not bricked over the outer buildings to keep out bad guys, now that the bad guys are inside.

  We make it to the bus stop shelter two-thirds of the way across the street. Only the service road is left to travel. I tap Casper and point to the outer corner of the complex, where the building cuts in at a ninety-degree angle. The waist-high fence out front once protected the landscaping, and now it’ll give us the time we need to tie in.

  I tap him again, and we run for the spot. I’m over the fence when I hear a thump and a soft oof. Casper appears a moment later, his sword in hand, and jumps the metal. I find the ropes against the brick. Green for me, blue for Casper. I tie him in, making sure his harness is double-backed. “Remember,” I whisper, “arms straight, use your toes. Find your center of gravity and try to find your flow.”

  He nods and takes a shaky breath. We practiced last night, in the yards behind the townhouse, and he did fine. “You got up four flights,” I say. “Only four more than that and you’re good. It’s the same thing, only higher.”

  “With explosives,” he mutters.

  I pull three times on his rope. A moment later, someone on the roof yanks twice. “I’ll catch up,” I say.

  He begins the climb while I check my harness and tie in, though it seems ridiculous to do so when the first window is in front of me and it’s an effortless ascent to the next. A promise is a promise, however, and I don’t plan to break one again.

  I start up. They used bricks and cinderblocks to seal the windows, in some cases knocking out the glass, and it’s practically like climbing stairs. At the fourth floor, I wait on the small lip of a windowsill for Casper. Sylvie would say I’m insane, but it feels good to climb again, even with the dull pain in my side, my leg’s unsubtle reminder that it isn’t on board with this amount of exertion, and with bombs on my back.

  Casper is a floor below, working his way up. Now that we’ve left the deep shadows of the lower floors, I can make out the concentration on his face as he searches for his next handhold. Arms straight, his body not hugging the wall for dear life. I’m impressed—the kid’s been listening.

  He reaches my level and gives me a thumbs up. I continue on. Fifth floor. Sixth. Paul’s belaying from the roof, since it was a structure we knew to be solid, but we only need to make it to the eighth-floor windows, which should be open to receive us.

  I stop again on the seventh floor while Casper reaches the sixth. The unmistakable clatter of stone giving way rises from below, and he drops, swinging out a few feet and then back toward the building. I shut my eyes because there’s absolutely nothing I can do. If he explodes on impact with the brick, not only is the jig up, but we’re blown up, and likely Sylvie, Indy, and Paul are dead along with us.

  There’s a thunk, then a scuffle, and I open my eyes to find him nearing the window to my right. “Sorry,” he whispers.

  I raise a thumb and climb the rest of the way, then ease myself into a dark apartment.

  “Hi,” Sylvie whispers from the shadows, scaring the shit out of me. Her laugh is soft. “Sorry, I thought you knew I’d be in here.”

  She hugs me while Casper makes his way through his window. Once he’s on solid ground, I flash the light three times to let Guillermo know we made it, then I remove my harness and help Casper with his. “You did great,” I say.

  “Except for that one part.”

  “That’s why we have ropes.”

  �
��What happened at Central Park?” Sylvie asks.

  I consider omitting the worst news, just for now, but she’ll know if I am. “After a little fighting, no one cared we were there. Louis shot Teddy, but Teddy hit him, too. Louis…didn’t make it.”

  She sniffs. The only sound is her breathing. “What else? There’s something else.”

  “The rest went okay, except Jorge got hurt.”

  “How bad?” she asks.

  “Pretty bad,” I admit, though I wish with all my heart I didn’t have to. “I sent him to Anaya in the boat. They might be working on him now.”

  “They’re working on him?” Her voice is reedy, and she comes near enough in the dim light to see her sheen of tears. “What does that mean?”

  “He was shot in the stomach. It’s not good.” I take her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “He was saving me,” Casper says.

  Sylvie squeezes my hand and steadies her breath. “Jorge likes to do that.”

  I know she wants to ask more, to cry, but she leads us to the roof, where Paul has disconnected all climbing gear. Casper and I stay inside the door with the beat-up body of someone named Ed, so that anyone looking will only see three figures. It’s odd to stand on this side of StuyTown after months away.

  “Almost time for check-in,” Indy says.

  Two minutes later, the radio buzzes to life. Every gate and rooftop announce that all is well. Indy lifts the radio. “Fourteenth and First, fine over here.” She sets it down again. “Okay, we’re good for an hour.”

  We distribute the guns we brought in, which Sylvie and Indy will take to building Eleven on their way to Eighteen. Paul begins to move Casper’s explosives to his empty pack. “I can do some,” Casper says.

  Paul lifts an eyebrow my way, and I shrug. “He knows what to do.”

  “All right,” Paul says, and leaves some in Casper’s bag. “You’re with us. Sylvie and Indy will be in Eighteen, waiting for us to leave the café building. If we get split up, you head for Eleven.”

  “We’ll be watching, too,” Sylvie says, then holds out a set of keys. “Roger said he’d clear the gates after check-in, so he’s around somewhere. Someone has to get his insulin.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, I take the keys and stifle the urge to lob them over the side of the building, never to be seen again. “I’ve got it,” I say, and shove them in my pocket.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. A deal is a deal, right?”

  “Thank you.”

  I shrug. Being the bigger man sucks, though Roger is still in for a beatdown when all is said and done. A moment later, Sylvie’s breath is in my ear. “I’ll make it up to you a-sap, so don’t get yourself killed.”

  “I’m holding you to that.”

  “Deal,” she says.

  We move down the stairs while we go over frequencies. One to switch on the second receiver, the second frequency to detonate. There’s a separate radio and frequency for communication with us and Guillermo outside the gates. Sylvie tucks the transceivers in her messenger bag at the downstairs door.

  “Go to Eighteen and don’t come out until it’s done,” I say. “If shit goes wrong, leave however you can and go to Central Park. Don’t wait for us.”

  “Both of you,” Paul says to Indy. “Leo will be there when it’s safe to come over on the boat.”

  They nod agreeably, which makes me certain they have no intention of listening. I bite my cheek to hold back every other warning and protective impulse I have in me, and there are plenty.

  Paul, Casper, and I head out first, working our way around the back court by the store and then through the building that sits between us and the café. After this, the streetlamps and cameras will make things trickier. Paul points out the route across various paths and through bushes, then leaves and walks that route to the lobby door of the café building. He grabs the 12-volt battery he hid in the bushes earlier today and tilts his head for us to follow.

  I haven’t been warm in hours and hours, yet sweat moves down my back. Casper and I follow in his footsteps to avoid the places where a camera would give us away. After we pile into the lobby, I glance over my shoulder and catch sight of someone walking with his back to us a couple hundred feet away. The dark makes it impossible to say for sure, but it looked like Roger. Heading to C Loop, no doubt.

  “Was that Roger?” I whisper. “Do you think he saw us?”

  Paul shakes his head. “So what if he did? He knows what’s happening.” I point to myself, and Paul grimaces. “He was far. He wouldn’t know it was you.”

  I’m not so sure about that, and it bothers me all the way to the basement. We set a few bombs in place between support columns, and one in the storage room, where it’ll ignite the ammo and three bombs Walt already has, then move upstairs. At voices from above, we press as close to the wall as we dare with explosives on our backs.

  It’s two guys bullshitting about someone named Ginger. Apparently, she’s on tonight, and she’s hot. Paul leans against the wall, eyes closed. This is the kind of conversation that could go on for hours.

  I recall Roger’s retreating figure. He hadn’t been there a minute ago, and I don’t know where he came from. Obviously, he hasn’t warned Walt, or the building would be in chaos, so it’s probably safe to assume he didn’t see me. I want to check on Sylvie anyway, but they aren’t in place yet and I can’t radio with the guys up there.

  After what seems like forever, both guys have agreed they’d like to screw Ginger, and they head to their apartments. We creep to the empty hall of the second floor and set two packages in dark corners where the dim lights don’t reach, then retreat to the stairwell, where we wedge short wooden shims into the doorframe to prevent escape. Walt’s people live on the second floor and higher, for fear that a first-story window would allow a resident to murder them in their sleep, and we’re using their mistrust against them. The shims won’t hold forever, but we’ll gain precious time if people try to escape via the stairwells. With no fire escapes in StuyTown, the only other exit is a window.

  We do the same on the next floors, leaving an extra package hidden in a discarded box by Walt’s door. I resist the urge to pay him a visit and take him out myself. Murdering Walt in his sleep isn’t the way I saw my revenge plan going, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t anticlimactic.

  In a perfect world, Walt would know he’s about to die the same way Teddy did. He would know he didn’t get me after all. That he lost. The end result will be the same, however. When it comes down to it, once I take my pride and personal satisfaction out of the equation, that’s what matters most.

  Back in the stairwell, I point upstairs. “I have to get this fucking insulin on the tenth floor. You coming?”

  Paul pulls back his sleeve to view his watch, then shakes his head. “Two a.m. check-in isn’t that far away. We need to get this done. I’ll hook up that amplifier and get rid of the rest of these around the café.”

  I don’t want to split up, but we’re running out of time and need the amplifier. When connected to the battery Paul liberated from a StuyTown garage earlier today, Farina says it will ensure our radio signals reach the basement and other out-of-the-way areas. “Meet you outside the Study?” I ask.

  “See you there.”

  Paul heads down, and Casper and I trot upstairs, stopping to plant the last of the bombs on occupied floors. Roger’s presence nags at my mind again. “Casper,” I whisper on the sixth-floor landing, “will you check on Sylvie and Indy and stay with them?”

  “Of course,” Casper says. “Be careful.” He turns on his heel, rests his hand on his sword hilt, and disappears down the stairs without asking why. I love that kid.

  I reach the tenth floor and head for apartment F with the keys Walt was kind enough to label for me. A small refrigerator hums in the living room. I open the door and blink in the bright light while I remove packages of insulin bottles and insulin pens. Once they’re in my pack, I take the second stairwell a
nd shim the doors at each floor on my way down.

  As I hit the bottom stair on the second floor, the door opens. A big man with spiky brown hair enters the landing, scratching at his stomach that strains the seams of his stained white t-shirt. He stops in surprise. My muscles tighten. There’s no time to run.

  “Who’re you?” he asks.

  I pull my knife and barrel toward him before I consciously think to do it, then ram the blade into his round gut and tear it to the side. Warm, wet innards cascade onto my hand. They slop on my feet. His fist connects with my side as he goes down, and a gut-wrenching pain flowers, rendering the rest of me inoperable for a few moments.

  A hand grips my ankle as I stumble. He’s inched his way over, but his guts stretch all the way back to the door and glisten in the LED light. I twist to break his handhold and another ripple of pain takes my breath away. He drags himself closer. I slam my foot in his face, though my climbing shoe inflicts nowhere near the damage my boot would. I slam it again, and again, until blood leaks from the back of his head and his nose is almost flat.

  I wedge the remainder of my shims in the door and hold the bannister to ease down the stairs. My ribs hurt. Not as bad as they could, but not good, either. Our radios have VOX, meaning they work without pressing a button to speak, but I’ve heard nothing since my earpiece fell out in the tussle. I return it to my ear.

  “Paul? You out? I just ran into someone in the stairs.” I’m answered by static, which could be bad reception due to the stairwell. The amplifier only works on the detonation frequencies. “Sylvie? Is Paul out?”

  The entire world is silent. I reach the lobby and slink low between the larger planters of the courts-turned-garden, then drop into the bushes outside Eleven and try again. “Paul? Sylvie? Indy, are you there? Sylvie?”

  The radio snaps to life. “Eric, what’s going on?” Guillermo asks. He’s been silent outside the gates, though he’s listening in.