by HJ Lawson
He smiles as he collects the tickets and change. “Madam,” Brandon hands me the ticket. “How long until it leaves?”
I glance at the stub, then at the clock on the wall. “Thirty minutes.”
“Perfect. Let’s get some food.” Brandon wraps his arm around me, and my stomach lets out a loud, embarrassing growl.
“I will take that as a yes!” He laughs. Even with his face all cut up after the fight with Troy, he’s still pretty funny, and easy on the eyes!
“Come on… I spotted a hot dog stand over there while you were daydreaming about how handsome I am.”
Damn… Am I that obvious?
“You wish! You look like you’ve been in a Rocky movie."
“What… you like the Rocky movies?” Brandon gives me an incredulous look.
I shrug. “Sure. I used to watch them with my dad when I was a kid… it was kind of our thing.” Dad used to pretend he was Rocky, dancing around the living room preparing to get in the ring, with me and Mama cheering him on.
“Me too.” Brandon smiles. It’s silly, the little things you remember from your childhood. Most of it I try to block out… all the bad crap. I’ve locked away so much, it's almost as if the good stuff is gone as well. There are whole years of my life I can’t remember; I think it’s probably for the best.
We stop at one of those old-fashioned wooden carts with big wheels on the sides. “Two hot dogs, please,” Brandon says to the vendor. He looks young… a teenager. I wonder why he isn’t in school.
The kid places the hot dogs on the grill, staring at them with no emotions, as if his life is over before it’s even started.
“How much for the hot dogs, mate?”
“Eighteen dollars, please,” the kid says.
“Bloody hell, eighteen dollars! What are they made out of… cocaine?”
“Not my fault. You want to blame someone, blame the government. All the prices have gone up since everyone started going crazy over food and storing it up!”
“Yeah… sorry, mate, it's been a long day,” Brandon apologizes.
“Yeah, you two do look like you’ve had a rough go of it so far.”
Next to the cart I see a fridge full of ice cubes, and the old traditional glass bottles of Coca-Cola. “How much for a Coke?”
“Four dollars each.”
Brandon rolls his eyes. “Screw it.” Brandon hands the kid some bills. “Keep the change.”
“Are you crazy?” I snap at Brandon, as we walk toward the line waiting for the boat on the pier. “You gave that guy thirty dollars. Why are you throwing away what little money we have?”
“Ahh, I’m sorry, Annabel. It’s just... for a moment there, it felt like…”
“Like what?”
“Like we were… on… a date.” Brandon's cheeks glow a little red, and I realize he’s kind of right.
Standing on my toes, I kiss him on his cheek. “Thank you for buying my lunch.”
“This is a day for firsts… our first date, first kiss.” Brandon smiles, and it warms my insides.
“I was thinking we could take the boat up to 34th and 1st street, and then head over to Penn Station. I have some friends who live up there, and we could hang out with them until the trains are running again.”
“Perfect… sounds like a good plan to me.”
“There’s just one thing, though…” He gets a sheepish look on his face. “They live under Penn Station.”
“What? I thought the police kicked everyone out.” I’d heard about people living under the train stations before, in the tunnels and old work roads from the years when the tracks were built.
“Yeah, they threw people out years ago, but some moved back in. It’s pretty dark down there… well, that’s a bit of an understatement… it's pitch black! We’ll have to get some flashlights.” We continue to move closer to the boat. I wish the line would hurry up; I want to sit down and enjoy my food.
“And just one more thing…” Brandon adds. “There’s a bit of a rat problem down there as well.”
“Hell no! A rat problem? Gee, this is turning out to be a really great date!”
“Tickets please.” Finally we are at the front of the line. Brandon passes the boatman our tickets.
“Come on, let’s go upstairs and pretend we are on a date again.”
Brandon smirks, and my insides warm up.
Most romantic date ever!
*****
“So, tell me more about this beautiful home you want to take me to,” I tease, as we climb the boat stairs. The soft breeze brushes against my face, as if it's trying to take my worries away with it.
“It’s not that bad, and to be honest, I haven’t got any other ideas. I think we’ll be safer down there, away from the prisoners and the cops.”
Never in my life have I thought that hiding out with rats would sound like a good option. A shudder crosses over my body.
“Do you trust your friends that live down there? We don’t want to go from one nightmare to the next.”
“I trust them as much as you can trust anyone on the streets. Let me rephrase that… I trust them more than Troy.”
Not exactly the reassurance I am looking for.
“Don’t leave my side down there, okay?” I beg.
“As if I would.” He holds out his hand and smiles. “Window seat, m’lady?”
I roll my eyes, and he laughs. We are on a boat… they are all window seats, because there are no windows!
“Thank you, kind sir.” I take a seat next to the handrail and finish my hot dog. Man, which was salty, but good! I open my Coke bottle and hold it up.
“Cheers.”
We clink them together, and I take several large gulps. I have to force myself to slow down so I can savor the taste. It’s funny that drinking out of a glass bottle makes it taste even better.
Brandon places his arm around me, and I snuggle up under his arm while he softly strokes my hair.
I lose myself in the sound of the waves and the gentle motion of the boat as it rocks backwards and forwards. Staring at the city on one side and Brooklyn on the other, I realize just how tiny we really are.
The city is huge, with skyscrapers filling the skylines and the sun bouncing off the windows. I stare out at the magnificent view and think about the last 24 hours. I’ve killed a man, stabbed a friend in the back and left her with the devil.
Sickness fills my stomach at the thought of what Troy would have done to me if Brandon hadn’t beaten him up. Would I have ended up like Jamie? Relying on Troy and his drugs pumping into my veins?
I lean into Brandon and give him a gentle squeeze. Thank God he was there.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. You know, just thinking about everything that’s happened. And Jamie…”
“Annabel, it’s not your fault; she chose him.”
I know he’s right, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. He kisses me on the top of the head.
“Where do you think they’ll send us for the safe house?” Brandon asks me.
“Mmm…. not really thought about it. I need to come up with a plan for that, I’m not leaving it up to-”
BANG!
An explosion fills the sky, forcefully rocking the boat with the blast. Brandon wraps his arms and body around me.
BANG! BANG!
Explosion after explosion sounds. Everyone starts screaming and running around in a panic.
“What’s happening?” I shriek.
“I don’t know… stay down!” Brandon looks toward the explosions. “It’s on Brooklyn Bridge… looks like a car crash.”
I’m squinting my eyes for a better look, and I see there are multiple cars in flames. Black smoke billows high into the sky.
BANG… BANG! I flinch with each new, terrifying sound of another explosion.
And the sky falls silent. Slowly I raise my head off my knees. Brandon loosens his hold of me, and other people begin to look up.
A section of the bridge i
s alight with roaring flames, about a third of the way in from the Brooklyn side.
Staring at the horrific scene, I know one thing for certain –
This was no accident. This was planned.
Chapter 21
The Day Has Not Yet Shown All Of Its Cards.
JADA
I swiftly place my hands over my ears to block out the high-pitched ringing, but it sounds like hundreds of bees are in my eardrums. The noise is unbearable.
I begin to cough uncontrollably; my lungs feel like they’re being crushed. Have I been hit by a car? Spitting as I cough, I cannot catch my breath, but I can taste smoke.
“Jada, where are you?” Cough, cough. It sounds like Haytham, but his voice is muffled.
My head is spinning. Cautiously, I begin to open my eyelids and try to gather up my wits.
“Jada, stay calm, observe the situation quickly, and then get out of here,” my father’s voice rings through my head.
Steadying my breath, I place my hand firmly over my mouth and slowly stand up from the ground. Whatever hit me, it was strong enough to knock me down.
I scan the scene in front of me.
Smoke is billowing into the sky, blocking out the sunlight. Cars are on fire, with flames roaring from them.
Car bombs?!
I’d witnessed a lot of these before I met up with Zak in Syria. They are deadly, and the metal fragments from the car rip through your skin.
As the wind blows through the smoke, taking my breath with it, I can see the mayhem unfolding in front of me. People are stumbling around in shock; there’s a mixture of smoke and the road blending together, creating a blackish-brown cloud.
On the bridge, there are two lines of traffic each way, with a walkway high up in the middle. The blast must’ve thrown me down. Judging from the other bodies strewn about, I wasn’t the only one.
High-pitched screams of someone crying for help fill the air. The sound is suffocating, and I can make out the silhouette of a body in a car. Oh God, no… someone is still trapped in their car, and they are burning to death. I just stand there, horrified.
And then the screams stop.
“Help me!” another person behind me cries out. Looking over, I see a young girl, around my age, hanging from the edge of the walkway, her summer dress floating in the breeze.
People run past me to try to help. “I’ll catch you,” someone yells to her.
The girl drops down to the waiting crowd. I don’t see if she is caught or not.
“Get off the bridge, kid!” a man yells at me as he runs by me. “It’s going to fall into the river any minute!”
My body trembles. I cannot stop shaking. Looking down toward my feet, I notice that it is not me trembling… it is the bridge. Fragments of the ground are moving up and down, like waves on an ocean.
Panicked, I spin around to get my bearings… which way am I meant to run? Stay calm, my father’s voice rings through my head again.
That’s it! I remember! I’m on Brooklyn Bridge, trying to get into the city.
Looking down at the waiting river, I see that there are boats. I squint my eyes for a better look —one is a tourist boat, and people are gathering around the top deck, eager to see what is happening up here. At the side of the boat, it looks like workers and a few passengers are pulling people out of the water. The blast must have knocked them overboard.
“Jada, where are you?” Haytham’s voice is filled with panic, as he calls out for me once more. It sounds like he is above me. He must still be on the walkway.
“Haytham, I’m down here on the road. Can you hear me? Follow the sound of my voice,” I yell.
I see a shadow appearing in the smoke; it’s him. “Oh, Haytham!” I run toward him and he wraps his arms around me. I’m not sure who needed the hug more.
“Jada, we have to get over the bridge before there are any more attacks,” Haytham states quickly. “Where is everyone else?”
“Zak!” I yell at the top of my voice. “Gérard!” Jesus, where are they?
I turn back to Haytham. “What happened before the attack?”
“Kyra was helping Victoria, because she refused to take off her stupid high heels. You hung back with them. I was taking photos and we kind of fell behind the others,” he answers softly.
“Oh my God… Kyra! Victoria! Where are you?” Now I remember that Zak, Ali, and Gérard were way ahead of us when the explosion happened.
“Help me,” a woman cries, startling me. Blood is dripping down her face, and she has a horrified look in her eyes. I see the source of her true pain – bloody flesh and bone hang from her arm where her hand should be.
“Help me,” she begs again.
“Get off the bridge before there is another attack, and get to a hospital,” I shout at her. “Run! Go now!” I wish I could help her, but I can’t. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what is going on!
“Jada, I’ve found Kyra,” Haytham yells. “We need your help.”
Quickly, I run toward the sound of his voice. Oh, Jesus, no! Kyra is laid out on the ground with her head resting on Victoria’s lap. Victoria is rocking backwards and forwards, sobbing.
“Victoria, where is she hurt?” I calmly ask. Kyra looks like she’s just sleeping; her eyes are flitting as if she’s having a dream, but there’s not a drop of blood on her. Unlike Victoria, who has a nasty cut on her head.
“She’s gone into shock. Her sugar levels must have dropped. I cannot find her bag, and she will die without a shot.” Victoria looks terrified, and with good reason.
“Haytham, we have to find the bag. And see if you can find the others at the same time – we need their help!”
Lord, please don’t take Kyra away from me as well, I beg, praying that He is listening.
Haytham runs off, searching, calling out the rest of our friends’ names, and I do the same. It's almost impossible to see, with the cloud of black smoke billowing in and out with the breeze.
The sounds of people screaming in pain are once again ripping my soul in half. How can God just stand by and watch this? Is there even really a God?
“Jada… Jada.” Gérard’s and Zak’s voices travel along the smoke cloud, and my heart soars.
“I’m here!”
Gérard comes running towards me and quickly grabs hold of me, taking me by surprise. He’s never shown that kind of affection before, it's almost like a father would do. He is my father. I feel safe in his arms.
“Are you hurt?” Gérard releases me and looks me up and down. “Jada, are you hurt?” he repeats frantically, before I even have the chance to answer.
I quickly scan over my body. There are a few cuts, but nothing too bad.
“I’m okay, Gérard.”
“Jesus, Jada, I thought I’d lost you the same way I lost your mother,” he says softly.
“I know.”
Gérard stares into my eyes, searching for indications that what he heard me whisper was correct.
“We have to find Kyra’s bag; she’s gone into shock, and we need her insulin!” Haytham yells, interrupting our moment.
“Jada, are you okay?” Zak is staring at me awkwardly; he must’ve seen how Gérard was holding me.
“Oh, Zak, are you okay?” I run into his arms.
“Yes, just a few cuts and bruises. Kind of normal for us now.” Zak smiles down as he kisses me on the head. “Don’t let go of my hand anymore!” he orders, holding me tight.
“Hey… I think I found it! Haytham yells out. He passes the bag to Gérard. “Here you go.”
Gérard rummages through Kyra’s bag and pulls out the insulin injections. Kyra showed me how to use it one day; it's just a large syringe, it goes into her muscles and then diffuses into her bloodstream.
We all rush over to Kyra. “You found it?” Victoria asks, as she looks up at Gérard.
“Haytham did,” Gérard explains as he gives Kyra the injection, holding it in place for a few seconds.
“Thank you, Haytham�
�� Thank you.” Victoria’s voice cracks with emotions; maybe she’s not made out of stone, after all.
“Victoria, we have to go,” Gérard says. The panic in his voice is unmistakable. He sweeps Kyra’s tiny, motionless body into his arms. It will take a few moments for the insulin to take effect.
Zak and Haytham help Victoria to her feet.
“Come on then, let’s get the hell out of here. Sweetie, you will be okay.” Victoria kisses Kyra’s forehead.
“Mother, mother… what happened?” Kyra mumbles.
Oh, thank God, she’s okay!
“Don’t worry, Kyra, Gérard is going to get you out of here.” Victoria smiles up at him.
“Jada, we have to find Ali,” Zak whispers to me, trying to stop Kyra from hearing.
“We’ll find him,” I say.
“Kids, we have to get off the bridge. We need to hurry!” Gérard orders.
I know Gérard is right… the day has not yet shown all its cards.
We take off running, even Victoria. She is quite fast for an older woman; guess it's from being in the gym all the time, or from the fact that she is as terrified as the rest of us.
*****
Looking around as we run, I see bodies on the ground, covered in blood. The sound of screaming children rips through my soul. It looks like Syria. I cannot believe I’m going through this again.
“Ali… Ali! Zak yells out. The smoke is getting thinner, making it a bit easier to see.
“Help me, Zak,” Ali’s voice rings out.
“Zak, Ali is over there!” Victoria yells. We all run over in his direction.
“Oh, no,” Gérard moans when he sees him.
“What is it?” Kyra asks weakly.
“It’s Ali.” Gérard places Kyra down on the ground, and she sees the situation.
“Oh, no… Gérard, help him,” she pleads.
A car has flipped over from the blast and landed on top of Ali, pinning him down. He is trapped. The only way we can get him out is by lifting the car.
Zak runs over to him. “Ali… Ali, are you okay?”
“Hey, little bro… I’m okay. Just need to get this hunk of metal off me!” Ali says with bravado, probably for Zak’s sake.
