The Takeover, page 21
“It was just a candy bar. Not even a big one.”
The man shrugged again, gave him a final nod of thanks, then continued on towards the nirvana of food awaiting him up ahead.
“Did you catch all that?” Royce asked.
Aubrey nodded. “Promises of food and water.”
It took them three times longer than usual to reach her parents’ home. People were shuffling along so slowly, it felt like they were in line at an amusement park. Finally they reached the turnoff for her parents’ apartment and broke off from the crowd, turning left onto quieter Portland Avenue. Her parents’ apartment was in a three-story brownstone halfway down the street. A short set of stairs led up to the entryway door. Aubrey had a key for the door but didn’t need it—the door was torn off its hinges.
“Uh-oh,” she said.
They hurried up two flights of stairs. The ground-floor apartments had all been broken into and looted. Whatever had happened to their occupants, they were long gone. On the second floor they saw a mix of intact and demolished doorways. Maybe the criminals had begun to lose steam by that point. On the third floor they found all the doors intact. “Thank God,” Aubrey breathed.
She knocked and heard her Dad yell, “Don’t answer it!”
An eye at the peephole, a gasp, and then “Aubrey!” as the door opened wide. “We weren’t expecting you yet!” Her mom hugged her so hard Aubrey grunted. “And who is this strapping young fellow?”
“Mom,” Aubrey said. “You already know Royce.”
“Of course I do, I’m just kidding, Royce. Thanks for keeping my daughter safe. These are dangerous times for anyone to be out walking alone.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Powell.”
“Call me Trish—I told you that last time, remember?” she said with a fierce expression. She had iron-gray hair and stern features offset by a warm smile that reached all the way up to her eyes.
“Okay, Trish, I’ll try to remember this time.” He and Aubrey had been dating for well over a year now, but Royce had only met her parents once or twice before.
“Is that Aubrey?” a gruff male voice asked.
“Dad,” Aubrey said, getting another big bear hug. “You remember Royce, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. Hello there, Royce,” he said, shaking hands. He had a bushy mustache and bushy eyebrows and a handsome, wrinkled face. It took Royce a moment to remember his first name: Tony. Trish and Tony. “Strange times we’re living in, aren’t they?”
“They sure are.”
“Come on into the living room and meet the rest of the gang.” Tony led the way, limping.
“Dad,” Aubrey exclaimed, “why are you limping?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, waving off her concern.
“Dad. What happened?”
He seemed loathe to answer. “Just a little encounter with some troublemakers at the door the other night.”
“They tried to storm the apartment,” Trish said by way of interpretation.
“Storm the apartment,” scoffed Tony. “They knocked was all.”
“If that was a knock, then I’m the Pope.”
He mock-bowed to her. “Your Holiness.”
“They practically beat down the door until your father opened it for them, brandishing that ridiculous pistol of his. Someone took a swipe at his leg with a crowbar, and that’s when your father nearly shot the guy’s head off.”
“You’re kidding,” said Aubrey.
“There’s the bullet hole to prove it,” Trish said, pointing across the hallway.
“That’s a pretty big bullet hole,” Royce observed. “What kind of gun do you have?”
“A Magnum revolver,” Tony whispered with mock confidentiality. “Forty-four caliber. I call it my Clint Special. Just the sight of it scares most people away. Not these fellas, though: they needed a bit more convincing. So I sent a shot over their bow, so to speak.”
“I’d love to see it.” Royce started pulling out his own collection of deterrents, and before long the two of them were huddled over in a corner of the living room comparing notes.
Aubrey, meanwhile, entered the living room with her mom and was enveloped in a conga line of hugs.
“And who’s this?” Aubrey asked at the sight of a newborn baby she’d never met before.
“We’re calling her Dominique,” said her cousin Dana. “Get it? Dome? Dominique?”
“I’ve got it now,” laughed Aubrey, “and I’ll never forget it. Well, hello there, Dominique. When did you arrive?”
“About two weeks ago,” said Dana. They had the ‘D’ thing going like Trish and Tony had the ‘T’ thing going; Dana’s husband’s name was Daniel.
“Well aren’t you just the cutest thing,” Aubrey said, tickling Dominique into a smile.
“Who’s that?” came a papery voice from one of the bedrooms. “Is that who I think it is?”
“Grandma,” cried Aubrey, rushing over to give her a gentle hug. It had to be gentle, because she was so small and bent with age she looked like a white-haired hobbit.
“Hello, little peanut,” she said, which was funny coming from her.
“It’s so good to see you, Grandma. And here’s Grandpa too! You’re all here. Are we the last ones to arrive, then?”
“You are,” said her mother. “Fashionably late, as always.”
“Don’t you listen to her,” said her grandpa with obvious delight at seeing his youngest granddaughter. He was a thin rail of a man who didn’t look like he had an ounce of fat left on him. A wisp of wind might blow him away. Even his voice felt like it might disappear if you didn’t listen carefully. “You’re the star of the show, Aubrey: you’re supposed to make a grand entrance.”
Aubrey struck a diva-like pose and everyone laughed.
“If it weren’t for what’s going on outside,” said her mother, “this would be a wonderful reunion, wouldn’t it? I can’t remember the last time we were all together.”
“I can,” said Dana. “It was back on the Fourth of July, before the domes. I remember because I was four months pregnant. Nothing like being pregnant to help you keep track of time.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” laughed Trish. “Why, I remember when I was pregnant with Aubrey—“
“Not that story again,” Aubrey moaned.
“Well then, let’s just say I’m the only one in the family who can say they survived a ten-month pregnancy and leave it at that.”
“I was worth the wait,” said Aubrey, striking an even sillier diva pose. “Wasn’t I, mother?” she said with some of her mother’s own fierceness.
“Yes you were, dear.”
“The Fourth of July,” said Royce from the far corner. He and Tony were apparently done comparing weaponry for the time being. “That’s when this whole mess began.”
“Say what?” asked Trish.
“That’s when the domes first arrived in seed form, according to the scientists—back around the Fourth of July. I guess you could say they fertilized the Earth at that point, and here we are today with a whole lot of big fat dome babies no one wants.”
“Big fat dome babies,” said Trish. “That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say, Royce, and I love you for it. You just keep plotting over there in your corner with Tony.”
Royce laughed along with everyone else. “It’s just—I can’t believe it was such a short time ago. Less than six months, and look where the world is now. Unbelievable.”
“Those babies have grown up fast,” said Grandpa in his reedy voice. “They’re as big as North America if you put ‘em all together. Bigger than Russia.”
“That’s one big baby,” said Trish.
Aubrey’s two older sisters, Christy and Beth, smuggled Aubrey into one of the bedrooms for a private chat. Judging from the amount of giggling going on in there, Royce guessed he might be a topic of conversation. Christy and Beth were both married, and they seemed to think it was Aubrey’s turn next.
Aubrey’s mom and dad motioned for him to come to the kitchen table for a little chat of their own. Trish got right to the point. “I’m worried about my parents—Aubrey’s grandparents,” she said. “You’ve seen them: they can’t walk five or six miles in a day, if that’s what it’s going to take to get them out of the dome and off the island.”
“Do they have wheelchairs? We could push them.”
“Grandma has one, thank goodness,” said Tony, “but Grandpa doesn’t and insists he can walk himself. But he might slow us down quite a bit.”
“What do you propose, then?”
“We could leave today; that would give us more time.”
Royce looked out the window; it was already getting towards dark. “I don’t know…Nighttime is when all the crazies come out.”
They both nodded as if they’d already come to the same conclusion. “Or we could leave first thing tomorrow morning,” said Trish.
“I like that idea a lot better.”
Tony and Trish both nodded again. “All right, then, next question: where do we go from here?”
Royce related to them what they’d learned during their walk. “It sounds like we can just walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. After that, I’m not sure what to expect, but if nothing else, the Holland Tunnel might offer a way across. Or better yet, there may be people at the bridge who can help us. If they have food and water, they may also have transport.”
“That’s a comforting thought,” said Trish, “but I’m afraid to count on it too much.”
“Well, if it comes to it, we can always carry your father on our backs. He can’t weigh all that much from the looks of him. I’d be happy to take a turn, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.”
“That’s kind of you, Royce,” Tony said. “You’re a good man. If we all take turns, I’m sure we can find a way to make it work.” He patted Royce on the shoulder and started to stand up, anticipating Trish’s next words.
“Now, you boys get out of the kitchen and let me cook,” she commanded. “I’m preparing a last supper of sorts, and no, I don’t need any help from the likes of you. Now shoo.”
An hour later they were all enjoying a fine feast, so rich and plentiful that Royce almost felt guilty, given how many people were starving down below, but it didn’t stop him from having seconds. It might be the last good meal he had for some time.
There were too many of them to fit around the dining room table, so they spread out into the living room and kitchen, sitting randomly on couches and chairs and even the floor. They were a happy, rowdy lot, the Powells, and Royce was glad to be a part of them. There really were fifteen of them, just like Aubrey said—sixteen if you counted the baby. Besides her grandparents and parents, he counted their son Patrick (the eldest), along with his wife Angela and their four-year-old daughter Sara; Christy (Aubrey’s oldest sister) and her husband Nick; Beth (the middle sister) and her husband Stuart; Aunt Rita and Uncle Joe; and finally, Cousin Dana and her husband Daniel and their newborn Dominique.
He counted six men besides himself who looked like they could hold their own in a fight: Aubrey’s dad Tony, brother Patrick, brothers-in-law Nick and Stuart, Uncle Joe, and cousin Daniel. That was a pretty good crew; he hoped it would be enough to dissuade any hoodlums from messing with them during their escape from Brooklyn. Nick and Stuart in particular looked like firefighter types who could handle themselves in a fight—and might even welcome one. As for the rest, Aubrey’s older brother Patrick was calm and serious—and seriously obese. Uncle Joe was beefy and boisterous and laughed like a backfiring pickup truck. Cousin Daniel was as thin as a strand of uncooked spaghetti and the only quiet one in the bunch.
Aubrey joined him halfway through the meal; she sounded a little hoarse from all the talking she’d been doing with the members of her extended family. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Everything’s fine,” Royce assured her. “I had a nice chat with your mom and dad earlier, and it sounds like we’ll be heading for the bridge first thing tomorrow.”
“Good. That means one more evening at the old homestead before all this goes away forever.”
The whole Powell clan finished their packing immediately after dinner, under strict orders from Tony and Trish, then went to bed early in anticipation of an early wakeup call. Some of the younger members of the clan, including Royce and Aubrey, were relegated to couches or air mattresses or sleeping bags on the floor, as there simply weren’t enough beds to go around.
*****
The morning dawned drizzly and cold inside the dome. “I guess the aliens welcome all sorts of weather,” Aubrey muttered as she looked out the window, stretching herself awake.
They were up by five and ready to go by seven—even Aunt Rita and Uncle Joe, the sleepiest outliers in the group. They chowed down on a quick breakfast—nothing like the feast from the night before, but enough to nourish them. Then they said their goodbyes to their family home, locked the door behind them for old time’s sake, and headed downstairs. Brother-in-law Stuart carried Grandma down the three flights of stairs like it was nothing, while brother-in-law Nick brought the folded wheelchair. Tony guided Grandpa down the stairs one careful step at a time.
At that early hour of the morning, and on that quiet side street, there were no predators waiting to jump them, but Royce kept his hand near his gun just the same, especially for that first minute as they all stood together on the steps getting their bearings. The missing front door was the first thing Grandpa and Grandma noticed. “When did that happen?” Grandpa asked in his reedy voice.
“Two nights ago,” Trish replied.
“Isn’t someone going to fix it?”
Trish shook her head. “I doubt it, Pops.”
Stuart carried Grandma down the outside steps and settled her into her wheelchair, and then they were on their way. They headed north along Portland before turning left onto Dekalb and right onto Flatbush. Now all they had to do was walk straight along Flatbush until the turn for Tillary Street and Brooklyn Bridge Boulevard.
It was cold, but not as bitterly cold as it had been the past two days. They huddled together near the center of the wide avenue. One or two vehicles passed them along the way, but most people were on foot.
The walk to the Brooklyn Bridge normally would have taken Royce and Aubrey less than half an hour, but with Grandma and Grandpa accompanying them, Royce could see it was going to take a lot longer than that. Grandpa’s steps were slow and careful, and Grandma’s wheelchair skewed to the left like an errant shopping cart. Tony was already huffing and puffing from trying to keep it straight.
The streets were emptier than they had been the day before; you could walk normally instead of shuffling along. But Royce felt like they were too exposed at the pace they were going—like wounded prey animals separated from the herd. Unfortunately they made for easy targets for any predators out there.
After fifteen minutes of slow progress, they reached a stretch of Flatbush that felt dodgy. Devil’s Tattoos and Red Cat Lounge stood on one side of the street, and a boarded-up fish and chips shop and a graffitied pizza joint stood on the other. Construction scaffolding covered both sides of the sidewalk just beyond. Small groups huddled together for safety as they hurried down the middle of the street, keeping their heads down. Most tried to keep as far away from the buildings as they could. Royce found himself wishing his group could walk a little faster. Their slow pace was just asking for trouble.
As if to prove his point, a soft voice said from behind them, “Yo, bro’, where ya headin’?”
Royce and the entire Powell clan turned around and saw two men standing in front of a boarded-up bar called Vinnie’s. Some of the boards had been ripped away, and the two men appeared to have emerged from within its dark confines. They were smiling thin smiles that looked anything but friendly. Each cradled a semi-automatic weapon (banned in the state of New York, but obviously these guys didn’t care). They were heavily muscled and heavily tattooed and had shaved heads. Royce thought they looked like skinheads on steroids.
One guy’s mouth was scarred into a permanent sneer. He was apparently the spokesman for the two. “Yo, I asked ya, where ya headin’?”
“To the bridge, obviously,” Aubrey’s father Tony replied for the group.
“Without payin’ a toll? You hear that, Ronnie?”
Royce could see other groups coming up from behind, but they quickly detoured to a side street and went around to avoid the confrontation. He could hardly blame them.
“That’s, like, highway robbery,” the sneering guy said.
“It sure is,” his pal Ronnie replied. “There are penalties for things like that.” He was eyeing Aubrey in a way Royce didn’t like.
“Ya gotta pay the toll,” Permanent Sneer said.
“Okay,” Tony said. “So whaddaya want?”
“That bag you got on your shoulder, for starters.”
Tony shrugged and tossed him the bag. “Hope you like old-guy clothes.”
“We’re just gettin’ started, old man. This is a serious toll. One bag a clothes ain’t gonna cover it.”
“Uh-uh,” said his partner. “Not even close.” He was still eyeing Aubrey.
“Toss all your bags over here,” Permanent Sneer said. “We’ll take what we’re owed.”
They tossed their bags over. With two semi-automatics trained on them, there wasn’t much else they could do.
Permanent Sneer started rummaging through the bags while Ronnie kept his weapon trained on them. “There ain’t jack shit in here,” Permanent Sneer complained. “Just old clothes and crap. Where’s the good stuff?” he demanded, looking up at them.
The good stuff was in fact under the wheelchair cushion beneath Grandma’s butt, but they weren’t about to tell him that.
“That’s all we got,” said Tony. “Hey, whaddaya want from us? We’re just tryin’ to get outta here like everyone else. Give us a break, why don’t you?”
“You mouthin’ off to me?” Permanent Sneer swung his rifle around and pointed it straight at Tony, looking ready to shoot him on the spot.
“I’ve got the good stuff,” Royce said, holding his hands up in the air—anything to get the gun off Tony. Permanent Sneer spun around and pointed his weapon at Royce instead.
