The Takeover, page 20
Elsewhere in the park, Royce could see men and women who had passed the point of exhaustion and had simply given up: they lay crumpled in heaps in the park, arms folded over their heads, tattered clothes wrapped around their bodies, as if they were already dead and waiting to be buried.
The street itself looked as if it had been hit by a tornado. Stately trees had been mutilated, debris and broken glass littered the pavement, and one or two buildings further down the block continued to belch black smoke. The remains of mangled doors and splintered window frames blocked sections of the sidewalk. Royce couldn’t see the first-floor units directly below him, but he could imagine their sorry state.
Every parked car lining the one-way street below him had had its windows smashed and its interiors vandalized. The park itself had gaps in its greenery like missing teeth. Burnt tree limbs were strewn about on the grass, some of them still smoking. At least one bonfire must have burnt out of control because he could see trees still on fire in the distance. Seeing all this made Royce realize just how fortunate they’d been to be on the third floor, away from the worst of the mayhem.
Meanwhile, the marathon of the half-dead continued down below. Most appeared ready to faint from a combination of exhaustion, cold, and hunger. They shambled along, heads down, moving towards some unseen goal with dogged determination. Some carried duffels or listlessly dragged suitcases behind them containing the last of their possessions. Others had abandoned their suitcases altogether, too tired to pull them any longer. Most of these had been jimmied open by strangers in the hope of finding treasures within, but for the most part the contents looked pathetic more than prizeworthy: trampled undergarments, odd socks, random toiletries, tchotchkes that held meaning only for the owners—all strewn about for everyone to see.
He wondered why they were all moving towards Manhattan instead of away from it—and then it dawned on him: when the Wall Street Dome jumped last night, it ‘reopened’ the Brooklyn Bridge! Now they and the bridge were all inside the expanded dome together. That meant they could cross back into Manhattan on foot—and then to the mainland itself via the Holland Tunnel or some other means. It seemed so obvious in hindsight that he felt like a fool for not realizing it sooner. Of course the Brooklyn Bridge would be open again. They didn’t need a boat: they could simply walk off the island.
So that explained why all the people were heading towards Manhattan. Well, not all the people. A few were working their way upstream, against the crowd, cradling crowbars or weapons. They dominated the residential side of the street and forced people to scramble out of their way. People gave them a wide berth—even wider than they did the dead bodies.
Here were the predators, the ones who craved chaos the way most craved peace. Royce felt sure these were the ones who were behind the worst of the violence last night, and he sensed they had no intention of leaving until the last of the air had run out and they had done their worst.
Even as he watched, he saw one predator, loitering on a sidewalk with what looked like a bloody mallet in his hand, reach out and grab things he wanted from persons passing by—a purse, a duffel bag, a wedding band—and invariably they let him have it. After last night, they knew that to resist was to die.
Another, a heavily muscled fellow with tattoos running up and down his arms and a thick gold chain dangling from his neck, happened to glance up, as if he sensed he was being watched from above. He stared straight into Royce’s eyes through Aubrey’s third-floor window, then raised his gun and mimicked shooting him.
Royce recoiled from the window as if he had been shot. That didn’t look like the kind of fellow you could reason with about how we should all just get along. The world, he realized, was getting seriously ugly out there. He wondered how ugly he would have to get in order to bring Aubrey and her whole family through this nightmare experience unharmed.
Aubrey joined him at the window, looking deliciously disheveled. Her hair was mussed and she radiated a spirit of well-being—until she looked out the window.
“Ugh. How awful.”
“Don’t look too close. It’s not pleasant.”
“Are those dead bodies?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Jesus. Some of them are police. And National Guard. And women and children. And all those people, they’re just…stepping around them like they’re not there.”
Royce said nothing: there was nothing to say.
After a long pause: “Well, at least the worst of the rioting has stopped.” Her look of well-being was long gone.
Royce nodded. “Maybe everyone’s too exhausted or hoarse to shout any longer. By the way, I think all these people are heading back over the Brooklyn Bridge. It should be open again, now that the dome has jumped.”
Aubrey’s eyes lit up. “That’s right! Why didn’t we think of that last night?”
“I guess we had other things on our minds.”
“I guess we did.” She shook her head. “All those poor people. I wish we could do something for them.”
Royce was silent for a moment. “Maybe we can.”
Ten minutes later, they brought food and bottled water down from their apartment in boxes, watching them disappear so fast that whatever criminal elements were around didn’t have time to react. No doubt most of the baddies were sleeping off their debauchery from last night anyway. Fervent thanks and calls of “bless you” reached their ears as the food and water vanished, followed by hard eyes and frustrated looks from those who had just missed out. Some looked hungry enough to eat Royce and Aubrey themselves if they weren’t careful.
Heading over to the park, they asked if they could help and were put on burial detail. At least that was what the organizers were calling it, even though there were no actual graves being dug. Instead they were simply tasked with removing bodies from the street and lining them up in the park. The first ten minutes were the worst, then they got used to it—or if not used to it, at least able to endure it without retching.
It took about an hour for them and other volunteers to clear the surrounding streets of bodies. By then the park looked like an outdoor morgue. The poor souls who were still clinging to life were already being ministered to by doctors and nurses, so once their work with the bodies was done, they were sent home with thanks. They returned to their apartment and scrubbed off the stench of death, then tried to rest and forget about what had just happened.
*****
“Did we leave any food behind for ourselves?” Royce asked later on.
Aubrey rummaged through her cabinets and came up with two cans of Hormel Chili. “How about this?” she asked, waving the cans in the air like trophies. While she heated the chili up on a portable gas stove meant for camping, Royce set the table and placed a bottle of hot sauce between them.
“Fine dining at its best,” he said.
“Did I mention I have a bottle of red wine stashed away?”
“Did I mention you make everything perfect?”
Within minutes their feast was finished. They poured generous glasses of wine and lounged on their favorite couch for what might be the last time. Aubrey lit some candles as they prepared for what they hoped would be a quieter evening than the last.
In the end, she didn’t light just some candles, she lit her entire remaining supply, until the apartment looked like it belonged in a romance special where the bachelor makes an over-the-top gesture to his beloved. All that was missing were rose petals leading to the bathtub.
Looking impossibly lovely in the soft light, Aubrey turned to him as she lit the last candle and asked with an innocent smile, “Backgammon?”
“Definitely backgammon.”
*****
Early the next morning Royce peered out the window once again. Last night had been quieter; they’d still heard plenty of unpleasant noises from down below, but nothing like the mass hysteria of the night before. He’d kept his gun close at hand on the nightstand, just in case, but had never needed it. Perhaps their location on the third floor was just inconvenient enough to deter most criminals, given the easy pickings on the first and second floors. All of Brooklyn was at their disposal, so why trudge up an extra flight of stairs if you didn’t have to?
What Royce saw this morning was a reduced stream of people heading towards Manhattan. Most appeared weary beyond reckoning. A few with perkier steps looked like they’d spent the night in their own apartment and were now joining the throngs of escapees intent on exiting the dome before the air ran out.
There were still the predators to worry about, of course, lying in wait to pounce on any outliers. They certainly had their pick of prey this morning. They grabbed items off people as they stumbled by, brazenly unconcerned about the consequences. No police were left to stop them, and their ample supply of weaponry and willingness to use them were hard to argue with.
Royce watched as one young fellow tried to remonstrate with one of the criminals and got cold-cocked for his troubles. He went down in a heap. Royce flinched at the sight. Then his heart leapt into his throat and he cried out involuntarily as he watched the same criminal casually drag the guy’s girlfriend off by the arm. The rest of the crowd kept their eyes averted and heads down despite the young woman’s pleas.
Royce shook his head in disgust and considered rushing down the stairs to help—but he knew he’d end up dead for his troubles, and then Aubrey would be left all alone to fend for herself. He couldn’t risk that. He felt sick to his stomach but turned away from the window. Apparently he wasn’t so different from all those other people averting their eyes.
He didn’t tell Aubrey what he’d seen that morning when she joined him at the kitchen table. Instead he said, “I think we should head over to your mom’s and dad’s just as soon as we can. If we wait too much longer, the streets may clear out altogether, and that wouldn’t be good. There are some unsavory types out there, and I wouldn’t want to meet them on a lonely street.”
Aubrey nodded. “Makes sense: safety in numbers and all that. Plus, if we get there today, it gives us a little more cushion before the air runs out.”
“Air is important.”
“It’s settled then; we leave later this morning.”
*****
Royce insisted on using the most beat-up duffel bags they could find. After what he’d just witnessed, he wasn’t about to flaunt any Louis Vuitton luggage for the predators to see. In the end, he found two ratty duffels buried in the back of the closet. “Those are from my college days,” Aubrey confessed. “I should have thrown them out years ago.”
“I’m glad you didn’t: they’re perfect.”
The last hour was a flurry of activity. Aubrey couldn’t bear to leave her apartment behind messy, so they made the bed, emptied the fridge, and piled bags of trash next to the door. “You do realize we’re not coming back, don’t you?” asked Royce.
Aubrey nodded. “It’s because we’re leaving it for good that I want to leave it clean. That way I’ll always remember it that way.”
“That actually makes a weird kind of Aubrey-sense.”
“Aubrey-sense, huh? You’re treading on thin ice there, mister.”
While Aubrey was putting the finishing touches on her packing, Royce searched through her jewelry drawer one last time, looking for anything barter-worthy she might have overlooked. Deep down in the pile of jewelry he found one contender.
Aubrey gasped when he showed it to her. “I can’t believe I missed that! That’s my grandma’s wedding ring. I mean, my other grandma, on my dad’s side—she passed away years ago. She wanted me to have it when I got married.”
“Then we should keep it safe, shouldn’t we?” Royce pocketed the ring, giving her a significant look that didn’t escape her. She was savvy that way.
They packed their smartphones and a few changes of clothing and some toiletries—enough to get them through the next few days—and that was all they had room for. The jewelry and whatever cash Aubrey had lying around got stuffed deep down into the bottom of each bag.
“I’m really going to miss this place,” Royce said. “I think I’ve had some of the most fun of my life on that couch of yours.”
“If you’ve had any more fun anywhere else, I don’t want to know about it.”
“I promise you that would be impossible.”
“My shoes!” Aubrey lamented. “Can’t we bring at least a few of them?”
“Not unless they can walk themselves.”
“Bye shoes, bye wardrobe. I’ll miss you!”
“Bye bed, bye couch! I’ll miss you most of all.”
*****
They locked up behind them and descended the stairs. The sad state of the apartments on the second floor gave them pause. Royce had his gun and other deterrents in his jacket pockets, ready to use if necessary—but he hoped he wouldn’t need them. They were only walking a short distance to her parents’ apartment today, not all the way to Manhattan or the mainland. As they reached the entrance, a blast of cold air hit them. “Jeez, it’s freezing out today. Are you ready for this?” he asked.
“Ready,” she said with a determined look on her face, pulling her cap down lower on her forehead as if she were preparing to head out on a mission.
“Then let’s get going.”
They hurried down the front stairs. The main doors were missing, ripped off their hinges and tossed into some nearby bushes. The first-floor windows were missing too, and every apartment on that floor had been ransacked. After descending to street level, Royce immediately steered them across the street and towards the park, away from the buildings where the worst of the predators lurked.
They skirted the park and turned onto Dekalb Avenue, joining throngs of people moving towards the Brooklyn Bridge. It seemed like all of Long Island was emptying out in the same direction, like water pouring down a drain. Royce hoped their endpoint wasn’t the equivalent of a sewer.
At first they kept their eyes fixed straight ahead, trying to avoid any interaction with the people around them, but eventually Royce realized there was little to fear: these weren’t the predators, they were the prey. Some had babies in their arms, bundled up against the cold. Others had kids beside them. The parents’ faces were suffused with fear, the kids’ with tears. The kids seemed dazed, walking on autopilot or in many cases being carried by their parents.
He found himself walking next to an older man with cracked eyeglasses and what might once have been a nice suit. The man was shivering and hugging himself against the cold. Royce nudged him to get his attention. “Hey, you heading to the Brooklyn Bridge?”
The man seemed startled out of a reverie. He coughed and said with a hoarse voice, “Of course. We all are.” His coat was torn and his hair a mess and his face haggard and unwashed, but somehow the cracked glasses gave him a professorial look. “They’re promising food and water at the bridge.”
“Who’s they?”
“I don’t know. Someone in charge, maybe the military. But I haven’t eaten in three days, so if someone says food, I’m there.”
“Three days? That’s a long time.”
The man nodded.
Royce rummaged in his pockets and came out with a small candy bar, the kind you hand out to kids on Halloween. “Here,” he said, handing it to him.
The man’s eyes opened wide. He tore it open and scarfed it down in one bite before someone else could take it from him. He practically moaned with delight. Once he had finished he said hoarsely, “My God, that was good. Thanks.” Then in a near whisper, “But I wouldn’t let anyone else know you’ve got food in your pockets. Some folks would literally kill for a candy bar right now.”
“These folks seem safe enough,” Royce replied.
The older man looked around and grunted. “Maybe so, but there are others…”
“Yeah, I know the ones you’re talking about. Were you outside the other night?”
“I was,” the man replied grimly.
“We saw some of it from our apartment window. It looked—it sounded—awful.”
It was. Beyond awful,” the man said in his hoarse voice, eyes welling up behind the cracked glasses. “I’ve never seen anything like it, and I never hope to again. Half the folks had just been kicked out of their homes by thugs, the other half were just trying to get out before the dome jumped. That’s what I was trying to do—then things went nuts. Gunfire, stabbings, beatings...” He stopped and just shook his head.
“What happened to your glasses?”
“A punch happened to them. Some guy punched me in the face and stole my bag. I lost all the cash I had left, plus my laptop, my phone, and my last bits of food.”
They shuffled forward, forced to walk at the sluggish pace of the crowd. “You couldn’t find food anywhere else?”
The man’s laugh was strangled. “Scraps. Scraps from trash bins. We were like rats rooting through garbage, but most of it was already picked over. We would’ve eaten the rats themselves if we could’ve caught them. I drank from a puddle in an alleyway; I don’t even know where that water came from, but I drank from it anyway.”
“Yikes.”
“That’s what real thirst will do to you.”
They walked a bit further in silence. “So how’d you hear about the food at the bridge?” Royce asked.
The man shrugged. “Word of mouth. Like you and me talking now. The guy next to me, he says, ‘Hey, did you hear? They got food at the bridge.’ And I say, ‘What bridge?’ And he says, ‘The Brooklyn Bridge: it’s open again.’ So I think to myself, that’s where I’m heading.” He walked a few more paces in silence, then whispered hoarsely, “God, I was getting seriously dizzy before that candy bar. I think you just saved my life.”
