Harry Styles and the New York Apocalypse (15 page)

Mr Manning went fishing from the stern of the
Maria
while they were at anchor, under a causeway off the coast of Long Island. Mrs Manning, Liam and Sabrina happily sat in the shade and watched him, while Allison attempted to salvage her nails with a file she had found in the cabin. Watching Allison, Liam took hold of Sabrina’s hands and examined her nails, giving her an expression of mock-horror, before pronouncing his love for them. She giggled at him.

‘Liam, do you think I’m pretty?’ Sabrina whispered.

Liam smiled, his heart swelling at the vision of the cute face by his side.

‘I think you are very pretty. I can’t wait for a time when we can be together normally and I can express how much I care about you. I want to be intimate with you so much. Not just sexually, but in other ways, such as, well, while we lounge around I could file your nails for you. And you could trim my armpit hair for me.’ He laughed uproariously, so she was left in no way unsure that he had made a joke.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, hugging her, as she pulled a moody face. ‘I couldn’t resist that. I promise you we’ll be great together.’

‘I want that so much. I love you, Liam.’

‘I love you, too.’

Mrs Manning came up with the idea of playing
Trivial Pursuit
, while they lounged on the deck. She dug the old box out of a cupboard in the cabin and set it up. She would move her husband’s counter while he remained at his station. Sabrina was happy to play, even though she had never heard of the game. Her first question to Liam was, ‘What do Australians call Austria?’

‘Eh?’ asked Liam.

‘Oh, sorry. What do Austrians call Austria.’

They all laughed.

‘Osterreich,’ answered Liam, impressing Sabrina.

Next time round, she asked, ‘Ian Gresham wrote the lyrics to Porgy and…?’

‘Ian Gresham?’ asked Liam. She showed him the question card. ‘Oh, Ira Gershwin.’

More hilarity. Sabrina was not embarrassed. Her leg was touching Liam’s, and she was enjoying the strange quiz.

Her third question to Liam was, ‘Who wrote the classic novel, Worthington Heights?’

During the hour of the game, Mr Manning managed to catch a couple of sea bass and a flounder, which Mrs Manning prepared and grilled. It was such a fantastic meal for people in their particular state of extremis, and Liam told Mr Manning that, when the world returned to normal, he would be hiring the
Maria
for a long, Summer vacation.

‘You mean a holiday,’ corrected Allison. ‘No need to bloody Americanise everything, you know.’

‘For a holiday, Mr Manning,’ Liam corrected himself. ‘Without Allison.’

Allison shrugged and returned to her plate.

Liam cuddled Sabrina, who was picking happily at her fish.

‘This is better sailing than the cruise liner,’ he said to her.

She mumbled her agreement.

Mr Manning stood, looking to the shore. He had talked at great length with the woman known as Onesie, back in the New York hotel, and seemed to know where he was, which pleased Liam. They were in the general location for the address found in his sister’s room. Mr Manning pointed, for Liam’s benefit.

‘That’s the way we will go, Liam. We’ll hide
Maria
under the end of the causeway. I remember there being big houses there, mansions, but we should be covered from view. We head inland, once we meet the highway it’s left towards West Islip.’

‘Pretty name,’ said Allison, which made everyone look at her in surprise. ‘
What?
’

‘Are we all to go, Mr Manning?’ asked Sabrina.

‘Yes, honey, we stay together. Always together. Okay, finish up eating. It still might be a bit of a walk.’

They left the
Maria
and came up onto a deserted road which was devoid even of cars. Through high security fences they could see mansions, set well back in their grounds. Perhaps they were under observation from families who were hunkering down, but all seemed quiet, so they set off towards the highway, passing smaller, but no less attractive, detached houses. Towards the end of the long straight road they started to see residents outside their houses. A few had cooking fires on their front lawns. Liam’s group were watched intently as they passed by, but nobody spoke to them.

‘Folks are home now,’ said Mr Manning. ‘Making the best of things. We might get some conflict on our way to the location.’

‘Why’s that?’ asked Allison, concerned.

‘Well, if you were going through this at your house, how would you feel about strangers passing by?’

They found the expected chaos of abandoned vehicles on the highway. Several people were walking eastward, but Mr Manning led their group west. They didn’t see any buildings on fire, which Liam and Mr Manning concluded must mean that some kind of order had been kept from the start.

‘That’s ironic,’ said Allison.

‘What is?’ asked Liam.

‘The power wires overhead. They don’t have them underground like they do in England. Now they hang there, completely useless.’

It was a good point, but Liam saw no reason to discuss it further. He watched Allison as she walked, amazed that this woman he disliked had been with him all the way from the ship. Not once had she talked about home or family  just plodded along, mostly unhappily, sometimes making a humorous comment. She was nice eye candy, however, despite looking like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. What would he do with her if the Long Island expedition was a false trail? He didn’t want to think about that, just kept hold of Sabrina’s hand and focused on the road up ahead.

They were into the leafy suburbs when they saw the first fire - a house about to become a smouldering heap. Mr Manning consulted his written directions and announced that they were near to their destination. They walked through an abandoned set of road-workings, with the red cones laid out across the road. Next, they saw a Dodge pick-up truck on its roof.

‘That’s not right,’ said Allison, almost childishly.

There were blood stains dried black on the concrete and used shell casings scattered all about, so here had been some major trouble. On they pressed, grateful for a cool day and that feeling of achievement at being so close to their goal.

Liam noticed for the first time the number of American flags flying in front of houses. It seemed to be the standard American response to wars and catastrophes. All the houses had sweeping front lawns. On one of them there was an impromptu football game, comprising about twelve adults and children, which paused briefly as the strangers went by. Liam couldn’t resist waving for a pass and pretending to run.

‘Liam,’ warned Mr Manning.

Liam went into a trot, side on to where the people were watching them. Then the Quarterback dad sent up a tight spiral for Liam to go after. He watched it come over his right shoulder and caught it to his chest - beginner’s luck - never having played American football in his life before. Laughing, smiling at the delighted Sabrina and the stern Mr Manning, who was worried that he might injure himself, Liam jogged onto the lawn and gave the football to a wide-eyed boy.

‘There you go, mate,’ said Liam, in his best Cockney accent.

They next came upon a crane on the back of a wagon, outside a house construction site. The crane was partially extended, at an angle about ten feet off the ground, as if it had actually stopped at the exact time of the event beginning. Because he was excited from the football incident, and also at the possibility of being near to his sister, Liam saw the crane as another moment of fun to be had. He put his gun down on the sidewalk and prepared to leap up onto one of the diagonal rungs, despite Sabrina trying to stop him.

‘There’s that craze at the moment,’ said Liam, ‘where lads climb cranes and hang off them without any safety rope.’ Up he went, swinging like a chimpanzee. It amused Allison, who was laughing for probably the first time. The Mannings watched on like impatient parents. Liam hopped a few rungs, smiling at Sabrina, perhaps hoping to impress her a little bit with his macho side. ‘I may not be five hundred feet up and risking certain death, but I can pretend.’

Then he was grateful he wasn’t five hundred feet high as his left hand slipped and he dropped to the ground, landing awkwardly, before performing a forward roll with a yelp. Sabrina squealed and ran to Liam, who was grasping his left ankle. He was more embarrassed than hurt. Mr Manning squatted down to check on him, hiding his annoyance. The ankle had swelled up instantly. Liam cursed as the pain finally hit him, as well as the anger at his own stupidity.

‘Do it,’ said Taylor. ‘You’re going to have to do it. They’ve sent Mrs Jefferson to check it’s been done.’

Michael stared at Taylor, not even blinking his eyes. Then he ran a hand over his face and looked away, around Taylor’s room. He found her to be quite neutral about it all - no defiant hate or miserable acceptance on her face, just matter-of-fact over it. He thought of old Mrs Jefferson, that harmless American lady, sitting in the laundry drinking coffee with Jane Flynn. Only a few weeks ago the woman, who he believed came from Pittsburgh, would have been thinking about her grandchildren and doing whatever hobby she liked to do in her retirement. Now she was there to check that he followed a directive, passed down the chain of command, that he was to cane Taylor for her outburst at the disciplinary meeting. Twelve strokes which were to leave significant marks.

He wanted to run. Yet it was exactly the wrong time to run. He was in the spotlight. Could they pretend? Would Mrs Jefferson agree to lie? Could he put her in that position? Perhaps Ferguson was twisted enough to have a check himself in the next couple of days.

‘Can we just do it, already,’ said Taylor, with just a hint of petulant teenager.

Mrs Jefferson had actually brought the cane. How did she feel about having to do that? Michael picked the thing up.

‘Lie on your bed,’ he said to Taylor. ‘Face down.’

She rolled her eyes at the face down instruction, which was a fairly obvious requirement. Michael frowned heavily as he watched Taylor get on the bed and lift her white shirt. He had once spanked a girlfriend, in consensual fun - which one was it? Oh, the current one. And it had been fun. But this was appalling for him. He was starting to sweat. He made as if to pull down Taylor’s white panties, but she did it for him - of course, he thought, no need to lay hands on her. It was impossible not to consider her butt as very firm and cute.

Michael paced about the room, tapping the cane on the palm of his left hand, until he realised that was too much like a headmaster. He must play his part, he told himself. He must do it properly. Get this over with, then run at the earliest opportunity.

‘Ready, Taylor?’

‘Yes, sir!’

Michael lined up the first stroke, indenting the cane across both cheeks. He had to leave a mark. Christ, he thought, shouldn’t she have something to bite down on? He raised his arm and caned Taylor as hard as he could, making her scream with pain and arch her back. She brought her hands round to hold her backside. Michael swore in his mind. He would have to tie her hands. He did that with her own belt, to the bedstead. Looking down, he saw a faint red mark across both buttocks - a few of those would not be enough, so at least he knew what was required now. Desperate to get it over with quickly he proceeded to thrash Taylor’s ass with all his might, until his arm actually ached. She was in terrible pain, thrashing about. He checked his handiwork; heavy marks, one of which had broken the skin and was bleeding. He then stormed down to the laundry, only at the last second composing himself, acting as if he was not horrified by what he had had to do, and looked in on Jane Flynn and Mrs Jefferson, who both got to their feet immediately.

‘That’s been dealt with,’ he said. ‘Go in and tend to her.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Jane Flynn.

***

At the Ivanovic compound on Long Island, Steven Ziegler found, that on most days, he liked to wander down to his old guard post, to be reminded of when things were normal - not necessarily better - just normal. He liked being Ivanovic’s deputy, although the people in the group, which had since been boosted by the arrival of another homecoming couple, Mr and Mrs Martinson, were no trouble at all. Ziegler kept a good watch on the area, always armed. He liked the way his food was provided for him on time, and his room was much better than at home. Occasionally, he thought of his family, but managed to shake it from his mind.

There was constant activity by then, on the main road, with people coming and going with firewood and items they had scavenged for their homes. On one particularly pleasant day he walked out of the estate, glanced over at his booth, then stood to allow the sun to warm his face. He heard someone speak. A small woman, with red hair and red glasses which were too big for her, was passing by, talking to herself. As Ziegler watched her, she stopped, had a furious row with an imaginary companion, then carried on her way. Another sound to his left provided a more enjoyable sight, as Kat and Danielle came by on bicycles, as leisurely as could be. Both women were in shorts and tee-shirts, laughing to each other. They were circling around the bottom of the drive, with no intention of leaving the estate. They were unaware of Ziegler watching them lecherously as he leant on his booth.

Something new took Ziegler’s attention. Approaching, was a small group of people. Ziegler altered the position of his machine gun, ready for if they turned out to be hostile. A young man was being given a piggy-back by an older man, which was the most immediate thing he noticed, with three tired-looking women walking behind. He liked the look of the younger women, as they got nearer.

Danielle saw Ziegler and stopped her giddiness with Kat.

‘Let’s go back,’ she said.

Kat spotted Ziegler then too and started to turn her bike around, but she was quite awkward on it, having not ridden since being a child. Danielle continued to circle around her friend, waiting for her to get her feet coordinated. Danielle stopped cycling as she noticed the strangers passing by. She had to shade her eyes. She wondered why the younger man was being carried by the older one. Then the head of the man being carried moved into shade.

‘Liam!’ screamed Danielle. She dropped the bike between her legs. ‘Liam!’ She set off running towards this group.

‘Danielle!?’ shouted Liam.

The females in the group, Mrs Manning, Allison and Sabrina, had to move aside as  brother and sister, Liam and Danielle, were finally reunited. Completely ignoring the fact that Liam was on another man’s back, she leapt delighted into his arms, bringing the three of them crashing to the ground.

‘How did you find me!?’ laughed Danielle, not letting him go.

‘It’s a long story. Are you all right?’

‘Did you find the message I left you?’

‘No, I found this address in your luggage.’

Zahira Manning helped her husband up, and he seemed more concerned with watching the reunion than whether he was hurt at all. It was amazing that they had actually succeeded. Allison and Sabrina watched on, equally fascinated. Sabrina was in tears, wringing her hands, delighted that Liam had found his sister. Liam and Danielle were laughing so much as to almost go into hysterics.

Allison couldn’t take her eyes off Danielle - she really could not stop looking at the woman they had been searching for, assessing her from head to toe. It was as though she was seeing if she had been worth it all.