Survivor (12 page)

T
hey passed our store, crossed West 49th, and went north. The big-wheeled truck rumbled over the debris of the collapsed building opposite us, its facade reduced to rubble that lay spewed across Sixth Avenue, the stenciled lettering on the cabin's door clear as it trundled by: USAMRIID.

“US Army!” Felicity said into my ear. “Medical Research Institute—they're like the military version of the CDC.”

“They're the guys I saw the other day,” I said, keeping low, peering out from the storefront as the truck climbed over the wreckage, two guys in the cabin and another couple sitting in the covered cargo area near the big container I'd noticed last time.

“Let's go and talk to them.”

“No, wait!” I said, examining the soldiers more closely. My guy wasn't among them. “They weren't that friendly.”

“But you spoke to them,” she said. “Anyway, they're
US military,
Jesse. My brother has worked with them, they're good people: we've got nothing to worry about.”

“Only one guy was all right, though. The other two wanted me gone.”

“This is silly.”

“Felicity, wait!” I said again, this time putting a hand on her arm to stop her leaving the store. “Please, let's follow them for a bit first, okay? If you're right, awesome. But let's just see to be sure.”

She looked at me, then back out the windows to the truck as it wove its way through crashed vehicles, then back to me. “Okay.”

Outside, I zipped up my coat as we ran to make up some distance. They were just over a block ahead, out in front of the Radio City Music Hall, when Felicity pulled me to a stop against an overturned bus.

“What?”

“Listen!” she said, a hand pointing up to the sky.

All I could hear was the sound of the diesel engine, reverberating off the buildings around us.

“Hear it?”

I was about to say “no,” when I heard it too. A high-pitched sound, like a mosquito, and getting louder.

“What the hell is that?” I asked, scanning around, trying to work out what could be causing the noise.

“I saw one yesterday,” she said, pointing up and to the south. There, flying at a height about forty stories above street level, was an aircraft. Long skinny wings and no canopy for a pilot. It was aimed straight for us. It looked like the glider that my dad had sent me up in for my sixteenth birthday, only this one was
sans
cockpit and had a motor of some sort, whirring away, growing in intensity, traveling fast, four blocks out, and then—

“Down!” I yelled, pulling Felicity to the ground.

An orange flash from under a wing pylon of the aircraft as a black cylinder broke free and streamed through the air, its heat palpable as it flashed over us and—

KLAPBOOM!

The shockwave shifted us on the ground, then the burning heat of a fireball and the concussive sound of windows blasting out and debris flying through the air hit us, in the same moment the aircraft buzzed loud overhead.

I looked up, coughing against the dust and rock fragments falling with the snow. What remained of the military truck was smoldering wreckage. The cargo area was gone and the cabin was a ripped-open shell burning bright with fire and making popping sounds. Black smoke plumed skyward. No one could be alive in that mess. The buzz of the attacking aircraft was fading, the smoke from the explosion now rising in two twisting vortices from where it had flown through the mushrooming plume—and then the noise changed as the aircraft ascended again, a fast buzzing gnat, soaring high over Sixth Avenue in what was apparently a huge loop.

“It's coming back!” Felicity yelled, her hand reaching out to mine. I was already on my feet.

“Come on!” I said, pulling her up and we ran east along 49th. The last thing I saw as we raced around the corner was a group of Chasers, the fronts of their jackets covered with blood spatters, in a crouched run: they were heading
towards
the wrecked truck.

We ran up Fifth towards the zoo. I constantly looked back over my shoulder, checking out Sixth Avenue, half-expecting to see that aircraft make a sweeping turn from a side street and zero in on us. I didn't see it, didn't hear it, and—perhaps more important—I could see no Chasers back there either.

We were silent, just the sounds of our shoes on the snow and our heavy breathing in sync and then a sound like a pop and everything went black.

 

Then all I could see was gray. I blinked my eyes clear. The sky. Clouds low, clouds high—smoke. Smoke wisped and I felt heat and I turned my head to the side and a car next to me was on fire.

I turned my head, felt the cold snow on my cheek and the heat from the flames radiating to my face.

Felicity was there, between me and the burning car. Motionless. I scrambled over, pulled her towards me and her face moved a little, her eyes blinking.

“Felicity!” I said. She didn't change expression. I looked at her body, everything seemed fine but until she started moving, I couldn't be sure. I had an image of my friends in the wrecked subway carriage. I swallowed it down and looked around us.

Three other vehicles were on fire. Crackling and smoking, bright and dark. The street seemed deserted.

I looked down into Felicity's eyes, took her hands in mine. I touched her face, the back of my fingers down her soft cheek.

“Jesse?”

“Yes?” I said hopefully.

“I can't move.”

I imagined her not moving at all, never again. I thought how I'd drag her to safety, to a building or the zoo if her legs didn't work, and then about whether I should even drag her if that were the case—I mean, if it was some kind of spinal injury . . .

“Wait,” she said, her leg shaking. “See?”

“Are you doing that?” I asked, looking at her foot going side to side, then her knee bending.

“Not sure.”

Her hands were heavy in mine, and I had them pressed against my chest as I knelt next to her.

“Try to—”

She squeezed my hands.

“That's it!”

I heard a noise—a whoosh of air—and a fireball erupted from a car nestled in among the wrecks. It lifted up from the rear as if the trunk had exploded and the sounds and percussion wave knocked me onto my back. I coughed and scrambled towards Felicity, who was rolling onto her side to face me.

“Can you move now?”

“I think so,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow. I took her gloved hands in mine and she squeezed on tight, harder this time. I pulled her to her feet. She stood, unsteady, arms around me.

“I think I'm okay,” she said. “Just a sec.”

She leaned back and took a step down the road, unsure, a toddler taking baby steps. One foot in front of the other, a hand tight in mine, faster and surer as we inched away from the cars.

Another gas tank exploded, the sound of shattering glass from a building's facade as the fire belched and caught in the lobby, the force of the blast knocking us over. Plenty more to burn around here, and all this chaos sure to lure the Chasers. And just as I thought that, there they were.

Chasers.
At least a dozen of them, headed straight for us, the burning mess between us and them, their forms shimmering in the heat haze.

“We have to hurry,” I said. Even with her arm over my shoulders we were going too slowly.

“What is it?” Felicity asked, still looking dead ahead, stumbling, trying to figure out how to walk let alone run. She reminded me of seeing football players being knocked out and then trying to get up, all groggy on their feet at best—often they needed to be stretchered off. No time for that here. We had to
move
.

“The commotion's attracted the predators,” I said, half-dragging her towards the next intersection. The smoke was carried with the breeze and followed us as we ran north.

She looked back.

“Just keep moving as fast as you can,” I said, and we started what was a medium jog. She was making whimpering sounds.

“Come on, around this corner,” I said, checking behind us as we turned again and rounded back onto Fifth Avenue.

“Where are they now?”

“They're at the burning cars.” They'd just passed them. I could see glimpses of them through the smoke.

“In here,” I said, dragging her into a clothes store. It was a big open space with a long curved ramp and white waist-high walls, twisting up a couple of levels. “Keep moving.”

We made it up to the first level and I guided her down to the rear of the floor, navigating in the darkness. Through racks of clothes to a row of storerooms, change rooms, and a bathroom. I ushered her into the bathroom and locked the door behind us, which felt solid enough. It was pitch black in here and I could hear our breathing, so loud, and feel my heart racing. The dimmest glow of light under the door illuminated our feet and not much else.

“Do—”

“Shh!” I said. I helped her to sit on the tiled floor and lean against the wall. Another door in here led to a toilet. It was the same kind of door as the one I'd just locked, with the same kind of lock on it. If it came to it, if they found us and got through this first door, I'd put Felicity in there and make her lock the door and I'd fight it out.

Her hands found mine in the darkness and I sat next to her. Her hands shaking, mine sweating inside gloves. Bile rose in my throat, so bitter and sharp against my dry mouth. Her head rested on my shoulder and we sat in silence. If this is it, I thought, I hope it's quick.

 

At least two hours passed, seated on the floor of the dark bathroom, Felicity's warm body leaning against mine. I can pinpoint the moment that her heart rate calmed. Two hours in the dark, in silence, listening, before we ventured out.

A
s we rounded the arsenal building, I took the walkie-talkie from my backpack's side pocket, turning it on despite its being a half-hour before my scheduled check-in time with Rachel. Just as I flicked the switch and toggled the talk button, I saw her heading towards us from the equipment room, moving quickly as she always did, as if keeping busy would make time move faster.

“Rachel, this is—” I started to make the introductions, but then I noticed that something was wrong, something had happened. Rachel looked at me, worried, panicked; didn't even double-take at the sight of Felicity.

“Jesse,” she said, jogging over and unlocking the gates. Close up I could make out there was blood down the front of her red polar-fleece jumper.

“The snow leopards,” she said, tears in her eyes.

 

The snow leopards had been attacked some time overnight and Rachel had found them during her morning rounds, just after I had left. One was dead, the other was now sedated. Some heavy cut wounds down its side and back flank had been stitched up, the smell of antiseptic hanging in the air of the dimly lit veterinary room. Still, it was the most beautiful animal I'd ever seen.

Felicity stroked the cat's tail and turned to Rachel. “Who could do this?”

Rachel looked like she herself was feeling the pain of this leopard.

“Those
Chasers,
as Jesse calls them.” She looked at me, hatred in her eyes.

“You're sure it was them?” I said, but I knew the answer.

“I found footprints in their enclosure. Man-sized footprints, four sets. They went into the pen last night or early this morning. I found some torn clothing and . . . this.” Rachel held up a bloodied butcher's knife.

That was it, then. The zoo was no longer safe, no longer the fortress that Rachel needed it to be. She would
have
to leave now; if they had jumped the wall once, they could do it again. But I couldn't say that aloud, not yet. “I don't think Chasers use weapons,” was all I said.

“But it had to be them—the Chasers—didn't it?” Felicity said. “Survivors like us wouldn't do this—I mean, what for? Food? There's food everywhere. Sport, for fun? No . . . Going up against these big cats with a
knife
? No way.”

Rachel nodded. She'd already thought all that through, but I still hoped the two girls would bond over Felicity's words.

“What can we do to help?” I asked.

Rachel stroked the animal's neck, its breathing shallow as it lay there on the cold table. She looked up at me.

“I'll need to care for her right through the night,” she said. “Maybe do some X-rays to see what's broken, if I can.”

“Anything you need, or I can do, I'll do it,” I said. I wanted to tell her about the soldiers, about the attack, but this was her world and it was falling apart fast.

She looked at me as if she were trying not to cry. She seemed to hesitate, as if unsure of what she was about to ask. “What I really need,” she said, “is a generator.”

Suddenly, I saw the perfect way to bring Caleb here. I knew Caleb had a generator to spare. I also knew I'd need his help to heft it all the way up here. At last, the four of us would be together.

“That's easy,” I said. “I can get one—I'll get it now.”

Felicity said, “It's crazy out there, Jesse. Besides, we've only just got here.” As if she was concerned about being left alone with Rachel.

“You've only just got back,” said Rachel. As if Felicity wasn't even there. “You can't keep going, you've been up all night; you look exhausted.”

I couldn't be annoyed with her. I didn't mean to exploit this situation, but perhaps the attack on her precious animals made Rachel realize that we were all in danger—that she couldn't go on for much longer without help. Her resolve was finally deserting her.

I shouldn't feel guilty, I tried to tell myself. I was doing the right thing. I could have stayed to help, to protect them, but then this was helping too. I hoped I was doing the right thing.

 

I said good-bye to Rachel, reassuring her that I would be back as soon as possible.

Felicity followed me out.

“Be careful,” she said.

“I'll be fine. Just . . . just see where she's at.”

“With what?”

“With leaving,” I said, then felt guilty again. Was it cruel to make Felicity chip away at Rachel? But there was no judgment there in Felicity's eyes.

“I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Felicity squeezed my hand through the bars of the tall gate. She'd watch over the wounded snow leopard while Rachel no doubt frantically fed and tended to the other animals. I made them load the zoo's rifle and have it ready, easily to hand. It was powerful enough to euthanize the polar bears if it came to it, so it would be more than capable of dropping a Chaser or two if they climbed the walls again.

What about four? What then? What if a whole pack of them attacked the zoo?

But it was Felicity who said, “Be careful,” as she locked the gate behind me.

I went up the stairs to Fifth Avenue. No backpack, just me and my coat and the pistol in my pocket as I jogged south towards Caleb's.

My feet dragged in the snow. Were the Chasers as well organized as Caleb made out? Did they really hunt like that? Traveling in packs, with scouting parties out there? Could they communicate, call in their buddies when they found a decent feed? Maybe only at night, and that was why I hadn't seen that behavior myself. I'd seen them chase, but
hunting
people?
Planning?

As I neared 57th and approached the bookstore, I saw more footprints, including some around Caleb's front door. I felt bile rise in my throat. Then I saw the blood.