by Tara Brown
I blinked myself out of the haze but continued forcing my eyes to imagine the painting while I stepped back and closed the door. Sealing it back up and leaving her there, swaying with the breeze.
There was no emotion yet. Only a void. A hole. Emptiness.
A sound filled the dark hallway. I jumped, noticing my hands and legs trembling until I realized it was a cat mewing behind a door, clawing at it like in a horror movie.
I stared at the door, contemplating leaving but recalling the face of the older lady who lived there. She had to be sixty. The cat was in there with her. And maybe he wasn't able to make a painting out of the scene.
Certain no one, not even a little cat, deserved that fate, I walked to the door, filled with the strength of my unspent rage. Anger at my friend for leaving me behind to die alone.
Stepping back, I kicked hard. It hurt but it made me feel alive. I kicked again, screaming through tears and pain as the reality of what had happened clicked on inside me. I kicked until the door burst in. The cat came running out, bringing a scent with it. Cat litter, dead lady, and stale food.
I backed up, turning and leaving with the small gray cat on my heels. He didn’t rub against my legs or thank me. He hurried to the door as if late for an appointment. I opened the front door to the building and let him out, watching as he raced down the road, away from this. Wiping my eyes, I realized I needed to do the same thing.
The air was warmer down here, nestled between the buildings and cars. I glanced up, seeing our window and the view of the dead ballerina painting, sickened and yet still numb, I turned away.
My feet began walking before my body was ready for the journey. I had no destination in mind. But my legs knew the way. They walked until I was at the arch into Washington Square Park. There was hardly any traffic, but maybe more police and military presence. Military Hummers rolled by, rumbling the road beneath me.
My feet stopped when I reached the fountain, though it didn’t spray anymore. It was more like a miniature auditorium now, with a hose and a drain.
I slumped down on the concrete stairs and stared at the drain. There was debris, coins, and a condom because it was New York. There was always a condom. We had to be the city with the largest amount of safe sex in the world.
“Celeste?” a voice I recognized said my name.
Not sure I’d heard it or imagined it, I turned, a bit worried I wouldn’t find anyone and I was losing my mind. But Rozzy, a girl I knew from school, was there, crossing the square to me. Her dark hair was wrestled into a struggle bun and she had her signature hoops on, even though she was bundled up in a warm coat. For the first time I realized I was a bit chilly. The weirdly hot summer had shut off the moment it became October.
“What you doing here?” she asked, concerned about me maybe.
“I don’t know.” It was the truth. I didn’t see a point in lying.
“You okay?” She eyed me up a bit, maybe checking for damage.
“Nope.” Again, no point in lying.
“Where’s Julia at?” she asked the question I’d dreaded the moment our eyes met. Rozzy and I had hung out a few times. She and Julia had hit it off. We were acquaintances, and I suspected maybe Julia and Roz could be more than that, if given the time to build something. I wasn’t sure if it would be best friends or soul mates or both, but I sniffed out the connection the moment they met. They locked eyes and laughed at things no one else found funny.
“Dead,” I continued my streak.
“Fuck! What?” Her eyes widened.
“She killed herself a couple of hours ago. I went to find food and when I came back, she was gone.” Why wasn’t I crying? Why wasn’t this destroying me?
“Oh my God!” She covered her mouth with her hands as tears flooded her eyes, spilling over as did her emotions. “Oh man.” She slumped next to me and sobbed.
My hands didn’t lift to comfort her. I couldn’t. My poor heart had finally become overwhelmed with everything and gone offline. It had slipped into survival mode, pumping blood only and feeling nothing. The problem though was the numbness was more painful than the injury.
“I’m sorry, Celeste. I know you guys were tight.” She wiped her eyes and recovered quickly, sniffling a few times.
“My parents are dead too,” I offered, not sure if I was fishing for more than my share of sympathy or if this was my idea of small talk or a conversation.
“I’m sorry. What a shit week. And to make things even better, I heard tonight is going to be the big one. When the fifties go, it’ll tax all our systems. One of my old social workers hunted me down, told me I needed to get out of the city. The police, fire, ambulance, all of it would be overwhelmed and the majority of the peace we’ve been experiencing is because of the people in their fifties and forties. The forties will be unsupported now.”
“What?”
“Yeah, girl. We need to think about leaving here. I’m gonna find a car to steal tonight and get out while the freeways and bridges are clear.”
“Oh my God.” I didn't have a response to that. To any of it. I’d imagined some sort of dramatic death scene for myself, involving Manhattan. I’d lie on the steps to the Met and stare up at the sky, waiting for the moment my breath left me, and my family welcomed me into the afterlife I now prayed was real. Leaving hadn’t been an option for me. “Where will you go?”
“South to stay warm. The weather is going to get colder, we still have weeks to live through,” Roz spoke as though she’d given this a tremendous amount of thought. “Mrs. Horst told me that the power’s going out tonight. The brownouts and the glitchy cell service and all that other shit that’s been going on is because the services are running on skeleton crews. Those crews signed something saying they’d work up to tonight. They’re off after this and the world is sort of on its own. They’re going to shut off the nuclear power plants, so they’re safely turned off and don't melt down.”
“Jesus, what? Why?” For the first time since the world started ending, I began to panic.
“Her husband works for the power company, and they were told their families had a better chance of survival if the services were all still working. People could maintain a semblance of normalcy but also since us dumb asses are so addicted to the power and internet, it would keep us occupied for a few weeks longer. Prevent anarchy.” She exhaled a long, heavy sigh, clearly reliving the conversation with her social worker. “She said when the power goes, there’s a good chance we’ll start to decline.” Her gaze drifted to mine and in her dark stare I saw the worry she was trying to express without causing me to panic. “She said I needed to get out of the city. Come with me.”
I parted my lips to say no, to point out that here we had food and water and shelter, but the shadowy stare in her dark eyes captivated me. She knew something I didn't. “Okay.” I nearly said I had to pack but it seemed pointless. There was nothing I needed beyond the heart-shaped locket hanging from my neck and my cell phone which was fully charged.
The urge to call my parents and tell them I was going on a trip lingered there, an incomplete task I would never accomplish.
“Where will we get a car?”
“I think my neighbor’s car is here. She was one of those old biddies who never drove but still had a car. Her husband used to do the driving, and by the time he’d died, everything had grown so much. And she wasn't comfortable driving around the city anymore.”
“Okay.” I couldn't believe I was agreeing to this. But Roz was one of my few friends I had left in the city and the phones weren’t working consistently. Everyone else had gone on an adventure or home because they lived nearby. My hopes had rested on Julia and I dying together, roommates who had never been as close as we were now.
Her leaving early changed everything.
“Well, let's get going.” Roz stood and wiped her eyes once more.
“How random is it that we ran into each other?” I asked as we started walking.
“I was actually on my way to your
place. I tried calling and texting, but nothing was going through. I was gonna tell you guys I was leaving. I guess I should’ve tried to get there sooner.”
“No.” I grabbed her thin arm. “No. Don't say that. Neither of us was responsible for her. We’re twenty years old, we’re adults. This wasn't your fault or mine. I lived with her and I didn't see any signs, beyond her getting thinner.”
“I just wish one of the calls had gone through. Or texts.” She turned a corner, leading me away from home. Every step I took with her led me further and further away from my sanctuary and safety. But going back there wasn't an option. Seeing the ballerina’s slippers again wasn't an option.
As we hurried closer to the East Village and Alphabet City, the opposite direction of my flat, the differences became more noticeable.
Shops were closed up, windows boarded and barred. Graffiti was worse than ever, but so was the garbage. It was out of control. I’d never seen it like this, and the smell was something else. It was stinky tofu times a thousand.
A small cluster of men stood under a set of stairs, talking aggressively like a group we should avoid. I stepped closer to the edge of the sidewalk, but Roz slipped a clammy hand in mine and squeezed tightly once before letting go. She didn't change a single thing in her gait or direction. A car drove past slowly, the occupants offered us a look as the men from the stairs stood up.
The car stopped, brakes screeching.
Roz grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the road, running and jumping over garbage and streams of leakage as the men rushed the car.
My heart was in my throat already when the gunfire happened. We ran harder and faster.
Tires screeched again, leaving the men behind screaming in pain and fury.
“What the hell?” I asked as we rounded a corner.
“Alphabet City’s got some old grudges apparently.” She glanced behind us, her pace fast enough that I struggled to keep up. Her hands shook as she put her key in the barred door that groaned as if announcing our arrival. She held it open and put a second key into the black old-fashioned door. It opened inward, revealing a small clean hallway with mailboxes and stairs. She closed and locked both doors, sealing us in.
“That was intense,” I whispered, still trembling from it.
“Super intense,” she agreed before turning and beginning the climb up the stairs. She lived on the top floor. The tiny loft was nothing like how I’d imagined she lived. It was neat and pretty with a large rack of clothes and a well-stocked makeup vanity. She had a bistro table and chairs in one corner where the sunlight delicately rested. A single plant with white flowers was there, a lone companion.
Her kitchen was a single wall of cupboards and the smallest appliances I’d ever seen. But it was clean and I imagined all she needed.
And randomly, it smelled nice, fresh and homey. Like lemons and cookies, not together but sort of wafting from different spots.
Her bed was off to one side and a love seat and chair on the other. I could see the whole thing if I stood with my back to the wall with the two windows, the only windows.
She flicked on the bathroom lights, rummaging in the small cupboard under the sink.
I had never seen such a tiny house.
“How did you find this place?” I asked.
“It’s my grandma’s. Was.” She paused, staring at the floor in the bathroom. “She was too old to take me in when my mom died, but she paid for college and she let me live here rent-free.”
“She let you live in foster care?”
“She was blind in one eye and had a stroke. Not even a year after Mom died, she ended up in a home. So we were both sort of in foster care together.” Roz cracked a bitter grin, which suited her dark eyes and pouty lips. “I visited her every week. She was like a nice little vacation from whatever situation I ended up in.”
Her life was so different from mine, and yet here we were.
“She rented the place out for years, couldn't do the stairs. When it was time for me to live here, the second I turned eighteen, she booted the tenants and let me move in. I finished high school, started college, and had a chance.” She began to laugh but it was a mixed sound, blended perhaps with a bit of a sob. “I used to brag about not needing to pay off student loans. No Sallie Mae for my ass. I worked so hard to get into NYU. Grams told me that if I could do the grades, she would foot the bill. And I did.” Her voice cracked as she slumped, still at the bathroom cupboard. She covered her eyes and sobbed silently. She was lost for a moment before she recovered and wiped, again too quickly. Her crying was more akin to a flash flood in the desert. Over and dry again before you even knew it had started.
“I’m so sorry.” I didn't know what else to say. Why was I sorry? I guessed I was sorry for us both.
“This is shit, Celeste. It’s shit. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that you work so hard to make a difference in your life and then the moment you’re on the track, it fucking ends. Ya know?”
“Yeah,” I agreed, wanting to complain but realizing I would be complaining to someone who’d been dealt a shittier blow, from birth. My shit started six weeks ago.
“Okay, we need to focus. Grab food from the fridge and cupboards. Bag it all. There’s reusable bags in the cupboard by the fridge. I’ll grab my first aid kit and some important stuff and go find the keys to the car, and we’ll get the heck outta here.”
“Okay.” I turned to the kitchen and got to work.
She had interesting foods, a lot of healthy choices. I wasn't really sure what you packed for a road trip. We never brought anything with us when we left the house. I grabbed all her fruits and veg, crackers and cheese, and yogurts. She had bottles of water and some frozen burritos. I filled two of the reusable bags and met her at the door. Her cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes swam with emotion.
“Ready?” She sounded funny.
“What’s wrong?” Her hesitant expression made my insides tingle with worry.
“I got the keys, but it was nasty.” She furrowed her brow. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Her body’s swollen and blue. She reminds me of a blueberry, like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.”
“What?” I shuddered.
“The old lady whose keys I was going for, she’s on a leather chair, sitting upright and staring at the wall, but her eyes are glazed over and puffing out and her tongue too. It was freaking gross. And there were flies—” She gagged.
“How old is she?”
“Maybe seventy.”
“So she’s been there for two weeks and you didn't get body removal?”
“Okay, maybe she was in her sixties. I didn't know she was in there,” Roz said defensively. “I assumed she went to the center like the other old people were doing. Passing together so they weren’t alone. And there was no smell in the hallway.”
“No smell?” That couldn’t be right.
“She’s on the first floor by the mail boxes. I should have smelled her. We walked right past her doorway, there’s no smell. When I got inside she smelled, like a little vinegary but nothing crazy. But she’s all bloated and blue. Like somehow the insides of her are rotting and her body is swelling—”
“Okay, I can’t.” I gagged with her this time. “You got the keys?”
“Yeah.” She held them up and slipped her backpack over her shoulders.
“Let’s do this.” I hurried out the door, going faster now that there was a dead lady in the building with us. I’d seen dead people, other than Julia, not before this started, but since it began. A few people jumped, suicides. I saw where the crews were cleaning them up. And I saw body removal taking people out of cars. It was gross. But I hadn’t seen any blueberry people. Or swollen eyes.
When we reached the street, the vulnerability I felt from what had happened before started to creep back in. Roz pushed the unlock button on the fob and the car honked across the road. We ran across, not that there was traffic, and she opened the back door for me to put the food in. There were hardly any
cars anymore. The city was becoming quieter and quieter.
“You know how to drive?” I asked.
“Uhhhhh no.” She tilted her head and pointed her thumb at the car behind her. “I was gonna wing it.”
“I can drive.” I sighed and held my hand out for the keys. I hadn’t driven in this city before, but things were different now. Half the population was dead or dying so the roads weren’t near as congested as they used to be.
We both climbed in, closing our doors at the exact same moment. I put in the key, adjusted the seat, and locked the doors.
“Ready?” I asked, nervously.
“No.”
“Where should we go first?”
“Oh uhm. South. Know any places South?”
“Virginia Beach,” I answered as I typed the name of the town I’d been to once with my parents. I handed my phone to her and prayed for several seconds before a miracle happened and Siri began to give directions.
“All right, it’s working.”
“Head east to Twenty-fifth Street, then turn right toward Twenty-fifth Street.” Siri spoke like she was certain about all the choices we were making.
At least one of us was. I didn't even know which way was east.
8
The Fifties
Zoey
Walking to the library, I noticed the silence in town.
It was new.
Bad new.
I kicked a rock and it sounded lonely. There were no cars or trucks or noises of life. Day-to-day life once had a sound.
I might not have noticed its disappearance had I left the house regularly. But leaving only for work, meant this change was drastic to me.
As were the dead people.
