The City Series (Book 2): Peripeteia by Sarah Lyons Fleming
Indy squeezes my arm. It’s the same promise she made to me. Now it’s our pact.
Paul clears his throat behind us, where he stands with Leo. Leo’s eyes are gigantic, whereas Paul’s are wary. “Hey, squirt,” I say. “Want lunch?”
He nods, and I bring him into the kitchen. Paul follows, pushing back his hair. “You know we can’t take them.”
“I don’t know that,” I say, and rip open a small bag of crackers. I hand it to Leo with a squeezy tube of peanut butter, and he wanders out to the table.
“Well, I do,” Paul says. “There are too many of them. You didn’t see it afterward. I did.”
I set down the water bottle I hold, with which I hoped to make what was left of the coffee while not being told what I can and can’t do. “Then maybe I need to see it for myself.”
Paul crosses his arms. “Good luck with that. We have, what, ten adults, including the teenagers? And Harold is shot—he’s the best out of all of them, except for Micah.”
“Good. He can babysit. All he has to do is watch out a window and shoot anything coming.”
He turns to Indy, now in the doorway. “And you want to go, too?”
She nods like he’d be dumb to think otherwise. “Look, Paul, I know you don’t like me, but imagine it was your brother who was missing. What if it was your wife?”
Paul’s face goes stony and his fingers flex by his sides. I know what he did to the man who stole their food and put Hannah out with the zombies: Paul tied him to a fence and blew a whistle, watched the Lexers eat the man, and then he bashed his head in with a baseball bat. Indy doesn’t know, or I think she might not have mentioned that specific relationship.
Indy rubs at her forehead. “I didn’t mean to bring up—I’m sorry. But I’m going.”
She stalks away. Paul frowns at me. “When did I say I didn’t like her?”
“Maybe one of the four thousand times you’ve made fun of her influenced that idea.”
“It’s what we do. It’s funny.”
I glance through the doorway to where Indy stands at the window. “Maybe it’s not always funny, Paul. Maybe, every once in a while, try not to treat Indy like an annoying little sister. Especially since she’s older than you.”
He opens his mouth to answer when Indy calls, “Eric and Micah are coming.”
I reach the window as their bikes disappear from sight, and two minutes later we hear them hurtling up the stairs. Bad news. Indy and I run to the door, Paul and Leo behind us.
Eric started this morning looking shell-shocked, maybe a bit lost, but now he springs to the top floor with a manic energy. “We have to leave. A mob is coming, about two miles away.”
Paul bangs on doors of the other apartments. Once everyone is present, Eric explains the situation and says, “I know a building where we can go. It has water in the heater—or it did—but no food, so we have to bring everything edible.”
“How about the church?” Brother David asks. “There’s no food, but we have the means to collect water and an outhouse. We can get the vans there.”
We have vehicles in the underground garage, many more than we’ll need for so few people. Barring the presence of Lexers, the streets are clear from when we retrieved Brother David’s people. But it’s so far away. Grace will never find us.
Eric rushes into our apartment, still on his mission, and comes to a halt in front of me and Indy. He touches my arm and his eyes shift between us. “We’ll leave a note for them.”
Indy nods, then walks off with a sniffle. I nod, though I want to shout that I’m not giving another inch. The coming mob wouldn’t matter if we were in SPSZ, but we’ll die trapped in this building for weeks. And the worst part, the absolute kicker, is that the Lexers work to the benefit of Walt and his crew. Not only can they outlast any zombie siege with our supplies, which was precisely our goal, but they can also outlast us.
Chapter 93
Eric
Focusing on something besides sadness or impotent rage is a welcome diversion. We get everything into the vans, including our inadequate food supplies. Found baby bottles have made feeding Jin less of a hassle, but the goat’s milk will be gone by tonight. The plan is to see what we can find on the way. We’ll have to watch our backs, but it seems the majority of Lexers are still closer to Queens.
Brother David dangles Jin in front of Sylvie. “Will you hold him for a minute?”
Sylvie looks around the parking garage for another candidate while I close the van’s back door. Finding no one, she clutches Jin to her chest. He squirms in her awkward grip.
“Hi, baby,” she says. “I know you don’t like this any more than I do.” Jin plants his mouth on her collarbone, and her eyes go round. “Um, he’s sucking on me like a parasite. Are we sure he’s not a zombie?”
“He’s hungry,” Jorge says with a small chuckle. “My son used to try to nurse on my nose. You want to feed him?”
Sylvie shakes her head. May hands Jorge a bottle before she lifts Emily, who is still motherless, into the second van. We could squeeze into one by sitting on laps, but a backup ride is a better idea.
“Just ease him down,” Jorge says, attempting to rearrange Sylvie’s locked arms into a feeding position.
“I’ll drop him,” she says. “You do it. You’re the expert.”
Jorge slides Jin from her grip and tilts him back, elbow cradling his head. Jin eagerly sucks on the bottle while Sylvie shakes out her arms. “I am not a baby person.”
“No shit, mami,” Jorge says.
Sylvie smiles and takes Leo’s hand. “I’m a Leo person, though.”
“I’m a Sylvie person,” Leo says, and admires her through his lashes.
She picks him up, kisses his cheek, and sets him in our van. I open the passenger’s door for her. “It’s a good thing I love the kid,” I say, “because he’s always flirting with my girl.”
She kisses my cheek before she sits. Paul, Indy, and Lucky are next, then Micah and Rissa. Jorge ducks inside with Jin, and I get behind the wheel.
Sylvie holds her gun in her lap as we leave the garage. I can believe she shot Kearney, but I’m still blown away by it, no pun intended. She stood on a stoop and took the time to aim and fire while guns were pointed her way. That takes some moxie. What she did for Maria took more than moxie. She told us she gave Maria the injection, as she’d promised, and she won’t elaborate further. It can’t have been easy. In fact, I’m sure it was more awful than I can imagine. Than I want to imagine.
I crack a window for wind to cool my face and keep my tears at bay. Maria’s last words to me were that she loved me, and that she meant what she said about my father, about me, in her bedroom that day. That he’d be proud; that I’m not a disappointment. Even after Walt. Even after my stupidity handed down her death sentence. I wish I could’ve seen her face while she said it—maybe then I’d believe it.
The streets are drivable, and Brother David uses the second van to lead away the few Lexers outside the Whole Foods we passed last summer. Rissa offers to babysit Jin by silently holding out her arms. She’s not talkative, having lost her mother and brother in the course of three days. I can’t say for sure that Guillermo is dead, but none of us expects to see him again.
Lucky and Micah stay with Rissa while the rest of us go on the hunt inside. “You know how to drive?” I ask Micah.
“Yeah,” he says.
“If we die, you’re in charge.”
His eyes flare with fright before he hops into the driver’s seat, cool as a cucumber. “All right, but please try not to die.”
I pat his shoulder and head inside. It’s a disarray of spoiled food, torn-open food, bodies, and overturned carts. Most of it is gone, but once we’ve searched the store we have a week’s worth. Maybe ten days if we stretch it.
“Organic baby formula,” Sylvie says, holding up two large cans. “I found them on the floor.”
She smiles, though there’s no joy in it. Any jesting from the garage has vanished,
We wheel the cart to the van and load the bagged groceries, then wait for Brother David to return. Maybe it’s the last bit of our luck holding out, or the universe deciding to give us a goddamn break, but we make it to the church with no problems.
***
It’s evening before everyone is settled in rooms. Brother David stops me in the hall on my way to mine. “How are you?”
“Tired.” I’m dragging my ass, and I don’t care if it’s only evening. I’m going to sleep. “Glad we made it here, though.” I hold up my candle—we found a stash Brother David had missed, which means we don’t have to share the few lanterns. “Glad to have light, too.”
“As am I,” he says, “but I’m worried about the food.”
I dig my fingers into my forehead. My brain hurts. Brother David sets a hand on my arm. “Sorry. We’ll talk in the morning. I’m glad we’re here, too, but I don’t think it’s a long-term situation. I only wanted to see if you agree.”
“Agreed. Let’s talk tomorrow, but maybe we should give anyone who might make it to the safe house five days or so to get here?”
His blue eyes are kind. “Of course. Sleep well.”
In our bedroom, Sylvie lies under the covers and stares at the ceiling. I crawl in beside her, my head sinking into the pillow, and wonder what she’s thinking even though sleep is all I want to consider.
She left a note with a subtle yet obvious-to-SPSZ clue about where we were headed. But I’m not optimistic about Grace and Eli coming in the next days, or of recapturing our Safe Zone any time in the foreseeable future. We don’t have the people, the food, or the ammo. And now, with spring in full swing, we have mobs of zombies. I have no idea how we’ll survive the coming months. That’s not true—I have an idea, but Sylvie’s not going to like it.
The deaths of so many, and especially Maria, sit squarely on my head. They load down my thoughts. We fucked up. I fucked up. We were trounced. Sylvie doesn’t want to admit we lost. I’m not used to the feeling, and though I think I can accept it, I don’t want to have to say it aloud. All I want is to sleep, and to hold Sylvie because if everything else has gone to shit, I still have her. And I’m not willing to lose her for a plot of land in Brooklyn, even if it means losing more of my pride in the process.
“Goodnight,” I say. “Love you.”
“I love you,” she whispers, and then her hands are on my face and her breath warm on my lips. “I was so scared you wouldn’t come. But you always do.”
Whatever I may think about myself, it’s not reflected in her earnest gaze. There’s love and empathy and, surprisingly, admiration. As though none of this is my fault. All it would take is a few words to rid her of that belief. I could say them. I should say them, but I kiss her instead.
She melds her body to mine, and desire overtakes weariness. I want to be buried in something besides this grief and gloom. I want to forget everything and everyone else. Her hands pull at my clothes, mirroring my own need, and I lose myself in her soft skin and her heat and her extraordinary but misplaced faith in me.
Chapter 94
Sylvie
Five days here, and with every passing day my hope for Grace or Eli or anyone else ebbs away a little more. I finished the cigarettes, which gave me something to fixate on, but now I’ve returned to fixating on humans. When not doing that, I imagine that Bird will come. That, like in the stories you hear, he’ll follow my scent for miles. I promised I wouldn’t leave again, but I have, and Bird has trust issues. Even if they have no respect for human life, someone might feed him if he hangs around long enough. I hate to think of him as a pet of Sacred Heart, but I would rather that than he starves. Maybe he’s only a cat, but he’s worth more to me than every person now residing in our home.
I go by the kitchen, where Rissa and Micah prepare a lunch of some horrible ancient grain Grace would love. Rissa tries to play games with April, Harold, and Lucky, but I usually find her with Micah, quiet and serious. She no longer gazes at him adoringly while she listens to his descriptions of the few weapons we have, the best way to handle a knife, and the softest places in the hard head of a zombie.
“Thanks for cooking,” I say.
Rissa stirs the pot dejectedly and lifts a shoulder. “It’s the one thing I know how to do.”
“That’s not true,” Micah says.
“It kind of is,” she says, light eyes glossy. “Guillermo told me to enjoy being a grownup, remember? Finding out how much it sucks?” Her laugh is sharp. “It sucks. I wish I could tell him that.”
I wish she could, too. “The secret is to act like one when you have to,” I say, “but to be as immature as possible when you don’t.”
“Totally,” Micah says, his grin making her smile in return.
“See? Micah’s a smart guy.”
Rissa faces the counter, color in her cheeks. “I know.”
Indy and Paul enter, Leo just behind. He doesn’t let us out of his sight. If he’s not with me, he’s with Paul.
“Do you think Stuyvesant Town will be okay?” Micah asks.
“What?” I ask.
“Like, when we go to Stuyvesant Town. I heard Eric and Brother David talking about it.”
I stare at him in disbelief. Stuyvesant Town is across a bridge, and, even if it wasn’t, that means new people, new rules, new everything. It means asking to be taken in. Mainly, it means giving up. It means surrender.
Paul and Indy don’t look surprised, and they watch me like I’m a stick of dynamite. Indy takes my arm. “He said he wanted to tell you.”
“Well, he didn’t, and we’re not going.”
Indy averts her eyes. She’s looked less confident with each passing day, the way I must, but I didn’t think she’d lost hope entirely. I bite my cheek so I don’t yell. We have—or maybe it’s had—a pact. “You want to go? You really want to leave?”
“I know. I know, Sylvie. But the mobs…I have to think about Lucky. We’ll leave another note.”
I’m tired of notes. All they do is stand in testament to another life lost, another heart broken. They don’t lead to reunions. They’re either left for dead people or left by dead people.
“But don’t you think they’ll—” I break off because I don’t want to hear what she thinks. I can see what she thinks in her rounded shoulders and lax jaw. Even her springy hair has been vanquished, flattened.
Indy’s hand rises to her mouth, and she shakes her head while a tear courses down her cheek. I want to hug her, to assuage our shared grief, but that means I’d have to believe it, too. And I refuse. I stir up my anger at Eric for not telling me, at Sacred Heart, at the Lexers, at anything that will keep my eyes dry, and march off to find Eric.
A sob follows me out the door. Walt did this to them, to us, and the damage done is precisely why we can’t give up. I stalk down the hall and into the church. It’s still beautiful, though littered with old mattresses. Eric sits on a pew off to the side, a book in hand, and I stand before him until he looks up.
“When were you going to tell me about Stuyvesant Town?” I ask.
He blinks slowly, lower lip askew. “When the time was right.”
“Was that time going to be when we were crossing the bridge?”
“We can’t stay here, Sylvie. We can’t go back. They—”
“We’re going to let them have it?” My voice is shrill and sharp. I’m taking it out on him, which isn’t fair, but I don’t understand how he thinks I’d leave Grace behind or let Maria’s killers go unpunished. “We’re going to let them have every single thing we grew? The things people died for? We’re going to let them chase us away from our own home?”
His mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Finally, he nods. He fucking nods.
“No,” I hiss. “What are you thinking? Are you even thinking? Grac
Eric gets to his feet reluctantly, sympathy and sorrow etched in every line of his face, and I want to punch him for what he’s about to say. I step back, hands fisted at my sides.
“They would’ve made it by now,” he says in a gentle voice that doesn’t make it any easier to hear. “They’re not coming.”
I don’t want it to be true. I don’t want to imagine that her last moments were scary or painful or lonely. That beautiful Grace, who deserved a long and happy life with those two kids and a dog and someone who loved her sweet spirit, is gone forever.
Eric moves forward, his face tinged pink by weak sunlight through stained glass. “I’m so sorry.”
I swipe at a rogue tear. “They can’t get away with this. They can’t.”
“They already did,” he says, shoulders dropping. “There’s nothing we can do. What do you want us to do?”
“Fight!” I yell. “I want to fight.”
I want to punish them. If you let people get away with things like this, they never stop. They keep killing and taking until there’s nothing left for anyone but them.
“And I don’t?” he asks bitterly. “I’m the one who let them in. I’m sorry I fucked up, and that I was fucking blind, but we’re not going back. And you can hate me all you want for that, but I don’t care as long as you’re alive.”
There’s something broken in the way he waits for me to agree that I will hate him. I stand speechless, stunned we’ve ended up here. He thinks this is his fault. I should’ve known; for all his outward carefree, easygoing ways, Eric carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Eli said Walt was Mr. Jeffrey; Guillermo and Jorge were as duped as he. No one expected Walt and Kearney to kill their own people, to kill babies, or to drop thawed-out zombies in our laps. We were taken by surprise, we repressed our misgivings, because none of us is twisted enough to envision going to those lengths.
Especially not Eric, who wants to save everyone. His finest quality was used against him, and I can imagine how badly that must wound. This is what Maria meant. She knew he’d blame himself. She knew the best parts of Eric make him strong and steadfast and kind, but they also leave him vulnerable. Of course he’s not invincible in every way. He wouldn’t be human if he was, and I wouldn’t love him as much as I do.