The Takeover, page 13
“They sound angry.”
“The ones on the steps do. But most of these people are just sitting around looking lost. Maybe they’ve been pushed out by the domes—or are about to be pushed out.”
“What’s with all the shopping carts?”
Royce shrugged. “Most New Yorkers don’t own cars, so I guess they’re just loading whatever they can onto shopping carts as a way of keeping a few of their belongings.”
“They’re not all sleeping outside, are they? It’s getting seriously cold at night.”
Royce shook his head. “I hope not.”
“I read somewhere the mayor was using convention centers and sporting venues as temporary shelters,” Aubrey remarked. “I wonder why they don’t go there.”
“Maybe they’re full already. Two million people call Manhattan home, but there are ten million in New York City and twenty million in the greater metropolitan area. That’s a whole lot of people to house and feed.”
“If this crowd were to turn ugly…”
“Don’t even think about it. C’mon, let’s go.”
They headed south on Park Row until it merged into Broadway. As its name implied, Broadway was a wide avenue with ample sidewalks, but it felt overcrowded at the moment. Thousands of homeless occupied the sidewalks, sitting with their backs against whatever wall they could find, or in some cases resting on piles of blankets between parked cars. They didn’t look like they were going anywhere anytime soon. Some were preparing meals on cook stoves right out on the streets. Others were scarfing down fast food from whatever joint they could find that was still open. Empty food wrappers, soda cups, and beer cans littered the pavement. Half the stores and businesses along Broadway appeared to have been boarded up and closed for good, the other half were charging exorbitant prices, but from what they could see, people must still be paying those prices with whatever life savings they had left.
Tiny St. Paul’s Chapel was overrun with squatters who had clambered over the fence and claimed it as their own. The steps were jam-packed and the chapel doors locked tight. “That’s the oldest surviving church in Manhattan,” Royce noted, “but I don’t think it’s up to the task of helping this many people. It was built for a different age.”
They continued walking south. No domes threatened this area yet, and a fair number of people were going about their normal business—or as normal as was possible under the circumstances. Men and women in business attire picked their way through crowds of displaced residents, stepping gingerly over arms and legs. Many forsook the sidewalks altogether and walked briskly out in the street, daring taxis and other vehicles to hit them. They seemed determined to carry on with business as usual, ignoring the obvious signs of misery all around them.
To their right they caught occasional glimpses of One World Trade Center, the tallest building in the Western Hemisphere. “That entire building will be inaccessible after the next jump,” Royce remarked. “I mean, not today’s jump—the one after that, if it happens.”
The piles of trash turned into heaps the further south they ventured. The whole street reeked of garbage untended for too long. Boarded-up windows gave way to gaping black holes leading into derelict storefronts.
The skyscraper at One Liberty Plaza, with its imposing black façade, stood stolid and uncaring of the human misery strewn at its feet. Its entrance was being kept clear by a platoon of armed guards. All around the guards were masses of desperate-looking people who appeared ready to storm the gates if the right opportunity presented itself.
A long line of police stood sentry along the stretch of Broadway south of One Liberty Plaza. Aubrey noticed any number of shady characters loitering in nearby alleyways, apparently biding their time until nightfall. “I’m not loving this,” she said.
“We should be okay as long as it’s daylight. Look, plenty of pedestrians are still going about their business.”
“And why are we doing this again?”
“Because this is our last chance to see Rome before the fall.”
They crossed Liberty Street. “This is where the Wall Street Dome is expected to jump to later today,” Royce said. “Liberty Street and everything south of here will be gone by morning: Wall Street, most of the Financial District, and what little is left of Downtown Manhattan.”
Inside the jump zone things instantly felt different. “Can you feel it?” Aubrey asked. “The energy just changed.”
Royce nodded, waggling his hands in eerie fashion. “You are now entering the twilight zone.”
At Zucotti Park, every bench, table, and inch of pavement had been taken up by hordes of the destitute. Some had tents, others huddled under tarps or wrapped themselves in blankets. The omnipresent shopping carts and duffle bags of the dispossessed were strewn everywhere.
“See that bright red seventy-foot-tall sculpture?” Royce said, pointing. “That’s called Joie de Vivre. I used to come here sometimes during my lunch breaks.”
“I’m not feeling much joie de vivre at the moment.”
At Trinity Church, squeezed between skyscrapers, more homeless haunted the premises. Even the small cemetery adjacent to the church was overrun with encampments. A squad of police stood by but made no effort to disperse those who had decided, for whatever reason, to call the cemetery home. “Creepy,” Royce muttered.
“Don’t these people know they’re inside a jump zone?”
“Maybe they want to be inside. Maybe they’re waiting to loot the place after dark.”
“You’re saying they’re here to pick over the bones of Downtown Manhattan?”
Royce nodded.
Across from Trinity Church was Wall Street itself, packed with people, but most of these were in business attire. “Home sweet home,” Royce said with a sigh.
Aubrey stared at the frantic hustle and bustle happening in front of her. The narrow confines of Wall Street were abuzz with activity. “It feels like we’re the only two people standing still on this entire street. Didn’t these people know a jump was coming? Why’d they wait till the last minute?”
Royce shrugged. “Human nature? I can tell you a lot of my fellow brokers have been in a state of denial for weeks. Not here. Not on Wall Street.”
“I never thought you brokers were a very smart lot.”
As if on cue, a man in a business suit carrying a load of boxes tripped on the curb, sending papers flying every which way. People skirted around him, looking annoyed, as he struggled to shovel papers back into the boxes.
All up and down the street they could hear people yelling back and forth, trying to communicate over the rumble of idling trucks.
“Not that truck, you idiot. That one.”
“Where d’ya think it goes dumbass? With the rest of that crap over there.”
Four brawny men staggered out of the gold-and-glass doors of the former Trump Building lugging an enormous mahogany desk that must have graced one of the penthouse suites. Grunting all the way, they hefted it into a moving van whose front half was already piled high with furniture and boxes.
Royce and Aubrey stood still amidst the chaos and watched in fascination as people rushed to do what they should have done weeks ago. “People are idiots,” Aubrey announced as a kind of general verdict on the human race.
“You’re just realizing this now?”
They resumed their walk, following alongside the New York Stock Exchange. “What do you suppose is going on in there?” Aubrey asked.
“Not much—they already cleared out. I read about it in The Wall Street Journal. The article was entitled ‘NYSE to Know You.’”
Aubrey groaned. “You’ve been waiting to say that all morning, haven’t you?”
Royce grinned. “Since last night, actually.”
Straight ahead, near Exchange Place, they finally got their first glimpse of the Wall Street Dome glimmering in the sunlight. They walked straight up to it and watched the soap bubble colors slide up and down its surface.
“It’s disturbingly pretty when seen up close,” Aubrey said. “Too bad it’s such a pain in the ass.” She pretend-caressed the dome. “Hello dome. What are you doing here?”
“I don’t think it can hear you.”
“You never know: maybe it’s tied into the mothership. If you can hear me, alien beings, please go elsewhere and leave us alone.”
“Great job saving the planet, Aubrey. If it weren’t for you, all would have been lost.”
“Hey, just doing my part. How far does this dome extend?”
“All the way down to South Ferry Station. Battery Park is all gone, but they say you can still visit the Statue of Liberty viewpoint at its southernmost tip. But after today the dome’s going to double in size again and extend right out into the water. A whole lot of expensive waterfront real estate is going to get gobbled up.”
“Yikes. These domes are getting big.”
“Each one already covers some sixty city blocks. Assuming they jump again today, it’s going to be more like three hundred acres. I don’t know how many city blocks that is, but it’s a lot. In a city as dense as this, that’s a whole lot of prime real estate going away for good.”
“Don’t I know it,” said Aubrey the real estate agent.
They walked back towards Wall Street. A feeling of imminent doom hung over the district. The jump was coming—people could feel it—and the level of activity was only growing more frantic as the time drew closer. Employees moved boxes from hand to hand out of surrounding buildings and into waiting trucks, like old-fashioned fire brigades passing buckets of water. Trucks already loaded and ready to go blared their horns but remained stuck in traffic, unable to move because of other vehicles idling in front of them. A symphony of horns ensued, impossibly loud, as still more trucks joined in the chorus. A harried U-Haul driver dashed out of a building and started his truck, pulling onto the curb so the angry drivers behind him could pass.
A distant gunshot resounded through the skyscraper canyon that was Wall Street, but it was impossible to tell from which direction it had come. What might have been return fire, equally distant, stuttered then stopped.
Royce and Aubrey looked at each other. “Time to go,” said Royce.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
*****
They retraced their steps, pausing for refreshment at a Shake Shack located right at the edge of the jump zone. As they splurged on hamburgers, fries, and chocolate shakes, they asked the manager if the dome was going to affect his business. “It’s gonna be close,” the manager said. “Depends on which side of Liberty Street the dome lands on.”
At Fulton Street, they peered down the subway stairs and found them crowded with homeless to either side. The station was still open for trains heading uptown but not downtown. It spoke to the piecemeal nature of the subway system these days, where detours and workarounds were fast becoming the norm. To Royce it felt as if the great beating heart of New York City was on life support and fading fast.
They tiptoed down the stairs, picking their way carefully, and found the dimly lit subway platform even more densely packed with the destitute and homeless. The look and smell and feel of the place left something to be desired. They both felt relieved when the train finally came, taking them uptown towards Grand Central at 42nd Street. That subway stop stood just beyond the Rockefeller Dome’s expected jump radius.
Royce consulted his phone as they rode along. “After today’s jump, six of the major north-south avenues in Midtown Manhattan will be blocked: Park, Madison, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth Avenues. It’ll be like someone plopped a mountain down right in the middle of Midtown Manhattan and forced everyone to funnel around it.”
“Traffic’s going to be a nightmare.”
“Nearly every subway line will be affected too.”
“People are going to have to remember how to walk again.”
“My legs are already tired from the walking we’ve done so far, and that’s with taking the subway between points. Manhattan’s big once you have to start hoofing it on foot.”
Aubrey nodded her agreement. “Without a workable transit system, the other four boroughs will be all but cut off from Manhattan.”
“You’re right. One more jump after this and there won’t be a Midtown Manhattan. The only north-south avenues that will still be open at that point will be—let’s see—“ he consulted his phone—“FDR Drive and First Avenue to the east, and West Side Highway and Eleventh Avenue to the west.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Yep. New York Crazy.”
*****
They emerged from Grand Central subway and were surprised to discover a sea of people sitting not only on the pavement but on the avenue itself. “That’s something you don’t see every day,” Aubrey observed. “People camped out in the middle of Park Avenue.”
She asked one fellow sitting atop a throw pillow what was going on. “It’s the dome,” the guy said. “We’re on one of the higher floors of that apartment complex over there. They won’t let us back in until after the dome jumps, since the dome might block our way down the stairs or elevators. Guess they don’t want a million people all calling the fire department at once for rescue. If the dome misses our building, they say we can go back up. Otherwise we’re screwed.”
“Wow, that sucks,” said Aubrey.
“It does. Everything we own is up there.”
They decided to make their way towards Times Square for one last look around. Long before they got there, they could hear a muted roar coming from up ahead. The streets became so congested they could barely move. “I guess we’re not the only ones who thought of this,” Aubrey said.
They inched forward, finally making their way onto the square itself. There they were greeted by what seemed like a million revelers all cheering at the top of their lungs, welcoming in…what? A new year? A new age? The arrival of the aliens? It didn’t seem to matter. They were on Times Square for what might be the last celebration ever to take place here, and they all seemed to know it. They cheered like there was no tomorrow.
Royce and Aubrey grinned at each other and started cheering just as loudly as everyone else. It was crazy, infectious, and the release they all needed. Many wore party hats saying “2042” or glitzy glasses or colorful robes. “I guess we’re celebrating New Year’s Eve on November 19th,” shouted Aubrey.
“Why not?” Royce shouted back. “Nothing else makes sense at this point. Why should New Year’s be any different?”
“Happy New Year!” they shouted to each other and the world.
“Should ooold acquaintance beeeee forgot…” A huge swell gripped the crowd and took them along with it. They all belted out “For Auld Lang Syne” a cappella at the top of their lungs, and it was one of those moments where nothing and everything made sense at once. A huge cheer erupted from the crowd at the end of the song.
“I’ll never forget this moment,” Aubrey shouted, eyes sparkling with joy.
“Me either,” Royce yelled back. He kissed her and she kissed him and it felt like the whole world disappeared for a moment.
It was at that moment that the dome jumped, encompassing them all. Its soap-bubble colors iridesced above their heads, and instead of crying out or lamenting, a huge roar erupted from the crowd and they hollered even louder than before as if something truly wonderful had happened.
Royce took a look at his watch. It was 2:23 pm on November 19th and they had just ushered in the strangest new year of all time.
*****
Throats raw, voices hoarse, emotions spent, they inched their way back out of Times Square, surrounded by throngs of happy well-wishers, and eventually reached 42nd Street. In time they reached the dome wall itself. It cut 42nd Street in half near Park Avenue. It looked like the apartment of the guy who had been sitting on the throw pillow was safe for one more jump.
Staring out at the world from inside the dome, they saw hundreds of people doing an approximation of the chicken dance as they stuck various appendages in and out of the dome wall. Royce and Aubrey joined in, laughing.
“This is ridiculous,” said Aubrey, but she was smiling and her eyes were alight.
“It sure is.”
She kissed him then, half in and half out of the dome wall, and whether some hidden current was running through them or they were just crazy-happy in love, either way it felt electric.
Interlude: Jump 8
November 19
By the eighth jump—dubbed the Times Square jump by some—each dome increased to approximately three quarters of a mile in diameter and some 400 feet tall. All told, the domes now occupied more square miles than the four biggest U.S. states combined—Alaska, Texas, California, and Montana.
As the domes continued to increase in size, clever New Yorkers were finding creative ways to use the top portions of skyscrapers even as their entryways became inaccessible. The one hundred tallest buildings in New York all stood taller than 600 feet (with sixteen taller than 1,000 feet), so a lot of prime real estate was available above the 400-foot mark, if only it could be accessed. One solution was hastily constructed stand-alone elevators that whisked riders upwards to a series of catwalks radiating outwards to surrounding skyscrapers. New entrances were carved into the exteriors of the skyscrapers, new power lines run along the catwalks, and each building’s elevators modified to function only on the floors above the domes’ reach. In such a fashion, diehard New Yorkers were able to continue living and working in the city despite the presence of the domes.
Younger New Yorkers were also finding creative ways to party despite the domes—or rather, because of them. “Oxygen Blasts” were the latest craze. Participants would wait inside a dome until the air ran out, then don lightweight scuba gear and break into the most fantastic places—billionaires’ penthouses, Broadway theaters, even Radio City Music Hall—celebrating with their besties until their oxygen tanks ran low, at which point they would make a mad dash for the exits. It was said to be great fun, right up until the air ran out, at which point it became a little less fun.
