The City Series (Book 1): Mordacious (61 page)

Hi everyone,

I went to Brooklyn Heights. I promise if they’re there I’ll bring them back. Or I’ll be back myself. I hope you’re not too mad. I’m sorry I did it this way, but I don’t want anyone to die because of me.

Love, Grace

Down in the bottom corner, scrawled so quickly it’s almost illegible, is:

She’s leaving now. Had to go. –S

Just once, I want a note to give me good news. I sit in a chair to reread it, my brain trying to work its way around the words and my chest already pained at their meaning. Sylvie didn’t want this—her relief when I agreed to go was plain to see—but Sylvie would never let Grace go alone. It’s one of the things I admire about her.

I trudge to Maria’s bedroom and slide open a pocket door. Maria sits up in the dim light, blankets clutched in her hands, and takes in my face. “What? What happened?”

“They’re gone,” I say. She flips on her lantern and reads the note. Her face drains of color.

“Everything all right?” Jorge asks from the sofa bed.

The bedsprings creak and then he’s at the door. Maria hands him the paper and runs a hand through her hair. “They’ll be back. Tonight or tomorrow,” she says, but the worry on her face is at odds with her words.

“Maybe we should go…” I don’t know where to go. I don’t have an address. “Do you know where Grace lives?”

“They wrote down the addresses when they went the first time, but it’s gone.” Maria’s eyes move in concentration beneath her closed lids. “I know I looked at it, but I can’t remember what it said.”

Jorge sets the note on Maria’s bed. “Grace wasn’t looking so good the last few days. I didn’t think she’d do this, though. Not after we said we’d go with her.”

“Why didn’t Sylvie wake us?” Maria asks.

“It looks like she caught Grace leaving and there wasn’t time.” Jorge puts a hand on her shoulder, and she blinks up at him. They could be two anxious parents discussing their children’s whereabouts. “They’re smart girls. They know what they’re doing. I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”

At breakfast, I say, “We should go. They might hear us if we ride around the neighborhood and call for them.”

Paul drops his fork with a piece of pancake still attached. “Bro, that’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. Let’s scream while we travel through zombies? Brooklyn Heights is too big for that. We’ll end up killing ourselves
and
them.”

He’s willing to go. In fact, the minute he heard they were gone, he asked when we were leaving. Even though I want do something, anything, instead of sit and wait, I have to admit that that plan is all kinds of stupid. Waiting is smartest for now.

We get the last of the plants out of their pots and into the ground before dinner. And now I should start packing my bag to leave for upstate. I want to go, but—and I can barely admit this to myself—I’m not as gung-ho as I was. I want to find Cassie, but I’m worried I won’t make it back. Before, I had nothing to lose. Now I’m afraid I’ll be lost in the void again, and leaving all of this behind makes the void seem that much darker.

It’s only been a day. Last time they were gone overnight. They could be with Brother David. Sylvie and Grace seemed to like him and, judging by the picture he sent, he likes them back. I think Sylvie’s problem isn’t that she can’t make people like her; it’s that she automatically thinks no one will, so she doesn’t give them the chance. If she could see how we barely eat and sit glumly until the sun goes down with no sign of them, she’d know how wrong she is. Jorge, Maria and I stay on the couch after Paul takes Leo to bed, the only sound the winding of the lantern every fifteen minutes.

“They’re waiting for tomorrow,” Jorge says confidently. “They won’t come in the dark.”

I hope he’s right.

Chapter 76

Distant gunshots wake me and I sit up, heart racing, and then jump from bed to peer into the pre-dawn gloom. It couldn’t be Sylvie and Grace, since they left Rachel’s .22 here, but it could be someone shooting
at
them. The shots don’t come again, though I sit with Jorge on the parlor floor until dawn, all the while silently cursing zombies and firearms. I might never have met Sylvie if the world hadn’t ended, but now it’s the very thing that keeps me from finding her.

Later in the morning, Guillermo stops by. When we tell him they’re gone, he sighs. “You should’ve seen Grace when they got to my place after that other time they went. I thought she would’ve gone back by now, even if it was crazy down there, but I didn’t want to bring it up.”

Neither did we. We should’ve offered sooner. Made it a priority. Maria must feel the same because she dips her head at his words.

“They’ll be back,” Guillermo says, and pats her arm. “Did you hear those gunshots earlier?”

Jorge nods. “They shot at you again?”

“Nah, over a few blocks, but we went out after them. Found some people and followed them to that church by 60
th
Street.”

On another day, the news would be disturbing, but it’s more than distressing today. Sylvie and Grace are out there with murderous people, though they traveled in the other direction. I remember the big church I rode by on my way to Paul’s.

“Sacred Heart of Christ Church?” I ask, and Guillermo nods. “There were zombies out front when I passed a while ago.”

“Still there,” he says. “They went into the side entrance. We found the ones who got shot on the way back. All in the chest, no bite marks. Don’t know who attacked who, or if they had anything to do with it. Eli, Indy and I are going up to talk to them. I came by to see if any of you want to come.”

“I’ll go,” Paul says.

Jorge puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll go, or I’ll stay with Maria while you go. You decide.”

Guillermo, for all his residents, doesn’t have a lot of people who are comfortable on the street. People to man the roofs and follow directions, sure, but not people he trusts to be self-sufficient. Plus, there’s always the chance the group at the church might have seen Sylvie and Grace. There’s always the chance they’ve hurt them, and I want to see their faces when I ask.

“Let me get changed,” I say.

***

We take a route through the houses and then walk the final block to the stone church. It’s as large and imposing as I remember. The two front staircases that ascend to a wide stone landing are still gated and now locked with chains, with Lexers roaming behind them.

Guillermo points down the block at the side entrance—a stone staircase to a second story walkway and arched wooden door. A few bodies meander on the grassy area beside the church, kept in by a low iron fence, and even if we wanted to sneak past, between the ones in front and these, they’ll clamor until we’re noticed.

“We walk out like we’re friendly and want to pay a visit,” Guillermo says.

“Are we not friendly?” Indy asks.

“We’re as friendly as they allow us to be,” Eli says. Indy nods, mouth set. With that expression, she and Eli couldn’t be taken for anything but twins.

Everyone I’ve met along the way has been friendly, but it can’t last. New York has a lot of assholes, and even if only thousands of people remain out of millions, the ratio of assholes to decent people means we probably have more than our fair share.

We turn the corner. The tall gate at the base of the side stairs is latched but unlocked. Guillermo knocks on the door several times, but there’s no answer. The zombies on the grass are now at the stairs. They don’t have a chance in hell of climbing up, but they’re making a lot of noise. We head back to the sidewalk and pass the rectory set back behind a small lawn, all window blinds drawn.

The next building is newer brick, with a tall fence that encloses each bank of first floor windows in a gated rectangle. It would keep zombies away from the windows and offer some protection to the occupants, except for the half dozen Lexers that occupy the spaces and reach for us through the bars. It can’t be coincidence, and I don’t see how they could’ve wandered in there themselves. It could be they were put here to stop people entering those windows, or to alert those inside, or both.

I hold my pistol, as do the others. A muffled bang comes from around the building’s corner. Sacred Heart Elementary School sits at the top of the block, and its rear connects to this newer brick building. The whole block must be church property, and likely all connected inside.

The fence becomes a gate, behind which a tree-lined concrete walkway leads to glass doors at the junction of the buildings. The entry gate is wrapped with chains and locked. Paul wiggles the metal. “Go over?” he asks.

Another thump comes from inside. It could be zombies or it could be people, and there’s only one way to find out. Eli answers by jumping the fence in a swift motion. Guillermo shrugs and the rest of us follow. As we near, one door opens and a man exits, followed by two men with rifles. We come to a halt five feet away.

He’s in his fifties, with gray hair and a gray mustache, and dressed in a blue polo shirt and jeans. A cop’s belt and holster is threaded through the loops, same as Paul wears. “Help you?” he asks in a strong Brooklyn accent. His expression is one of someone who’s just tasted something terrible.

“Name’s Guillermo. We’re from Sunset Park. Thought there was someone over here and wanted to introduce ourselves.”

The man waves at the two men, and they lower their weapons. Guillermo holsters his and we follow suit. The man’s cool blue eyes move across our faces, down to our feet and then back up. The fine lines around his eyes tighten and his lips pucker under the mustache.

“Joe,” he says. He points his thumb at the two men behind him. “Emilio. Kirk.”

When it becomes clear that’s all Joe is planning to give us, Guillermo says, “We heard some shooting real early this morning. Found five people dead, two of them teenagers. And someone’s shot at us a couple times. You know anything about that?”

“Nope. Don’t know anything about that.”

More thumping noises come from inside, along with voices. It’s a lobby, but it’s dim inside and impossible to see anything while standing in the sunshine. I edge to the shade for a better look.

“Who’s in charge?” Paul asks. “Is there someone who
would
know?”

“The Reverend’s in charge,” Emilio says, and grins under his dark, bushy beard. Joe glowers and Emilio’s smile shuts down fast, though he smirks when Joe turns back to us.

“You have a priest here?” Guillermo asks. “We know of another in Brooklyn Heights.”

“No, there’s no priest,” Joe says. “We’re all in charge. And we didn’t shoot any teenagers or anyone else. Heard the shots, that’s all, didn’t see who did it.”

From my new angle, I get a glimpse into the lobby. To the left is the wide entrance to a school gymnasium, in which people cart boxes around. Plastic-wrapped pallets sit in front of closed bleachers, waiting to be unwrapped. In the lobby, stacked boxes are printed with their contents: cereal, energy bars, and canned goods, to name a few. Another large stack is printed with Chinese characters, making their contents a mystery, and other boxes are an open jumble of items that must have been cleared from houses and stores.

Guillermo moves for a better look inside and then frowns. A man comes from the right, rolling a hand truck of boxes. He nods at us and continues on his way. The garage I passed on my way to Paul’s would be underneath the buildings to our right, which means what I heard from inside could’ve been them.

“How long have you been here?” I ask.

“Not long,” Joe says. “There were people here before us. Don’t know where they went.”

“How many people do you have?” Guillermo asks, obviously as frustrated with Joe’s terse replies as I am. I can hear Paul’s teeth grind beside me.

“Couple dozen.”

“That’s a lot of food for a couple dozen people.”

Joe shrugs. “It’ll last a while. I have things to do, so if that’s all…”

“Why the bodies out front?” Eli asks.

“Keeps more zombies away.”

I have a feeling it’s to keep people away, or to announce their arrival, and Eli looks skeptical as well. Joe’s eyes narrow, but he shrugs. Either he has something to hide or he couldn’t give a shit whether or not we’re on good terms. Both options make him dangerous.

“Did you see two women yesterday or last night?” I ask, though I’m not banking on a truthful answer. “Late twenties, one with short dark hair and the other long and blond.”

Joe shakes his head. “Nope.”

Emilio watches me for a long moment, and I think I see a small bit of sympathy in his eyes. He lifts his chin. “What are their names? If we see them, we’ll tell them you’re looking.”

“Sylvie and Grace.” Joe’s head swings my way as if startled, but, when I meet his eyes, he wears the same hostile expression. “I don’t think they came this way, but I figured I’d ask.”

Joe folds his arms across his chest. “Like I said, we didn’t see them.” I search his face. I don’t think he’s lying, but I do think he doesn’t care enough to even feign sympathy the way any normal person would.

“We didn’t say you did,” Eli says in a quiet but menacing tone. “We only asked a question that needed answering.”

“And I answered.” Joe draws himself to full height, which is still inches shorter than Eli, but his stance says he’s used to people backing down. “I hope you find your friends,” he says to me tonelessly.

Maybe it’s his complete lack of concern, but I’m filled with the desire to rip into his face and stomp his torso until he gasps for air. Paul steps up, shoulder barely brushing mine and jaw tight. He doesn’t need to know my reasoning—he’ll help pound the shit out of Joe if I say the word. I fucking love Paul.

Joe’s hand grazes his holster. My hand moves to my side and the others do the same, eyes skimming our surroundings. The barrels of Emilio’s and Kirk’s rifles rise a few inches. The people in the gym continue with their work, but we’re seriously outnumbered if they decide to jump in.

Eli has been shielding Indy with his body this whole time, much to her obvious annoyance, and now she pushes past him with a small laugh. “Relax, little brother. I’m sorry, Joe. I think we forgot our manners back at the park.”