Last Man Standing Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 8

  At first it was all a little lighthearted, believe it or not. A couple of people were making dark jokes about... I don’t know, something about the Merrill Lynch annual company barbecue. I don’t want to make these people sound awful, but you have to understand they didn’t have a clue what was going on. Of course they wouldn’t have cracked wise if they’d understood what was happening. And again, these were New Yorkers. You don’t last long in the city without developing a strong grasp of gallows humor

  The jokes stopped when the south tower was hit.

  I couldn’t see much from where I was standing. The Hilton blocked my view of the south tower, but everyone on the street heard the impact even if they couldn’t see it. We suddenly knew that this wasn’t a regular fire. This wasn’t just some how was your day, honey? story people would be telling over the dinner table. This was serious.

  Whispers started to pass back through the crowd. Some people nearby said they’d seen a plane through a gap in the buildings, and a couple of minutes later a cab driver said the radio was reporting that a light aircraft had hit the north tower. Those around him corrected him at first, telling him he must be confused. The guys on the ground were saying they’d just now seen a plane, right before the south tower erupted in smoke and flame, but the radio seemed to be talking about the first explosion. There can’t have been two planes, right? Right?

  That’s the way it went for the next hour or so. It was just a huge game of Telephone, rumors passing through the crowd as we all watched the towers burn. After a half hour of confusion and fear news of the Pentagon attack rippled down the street. That one came straight from the radio and the TVs playing in the cafes and delis along Fulton, so we assumed it was legit, but other rumors couldn’t be so quickly confirmed. There were whispers of an explosion outside the White House, and another at Sears Tower. Someone mentioned something about an attack in London, or maybe Paris. A woman beside me managed to get through to her sister on the phone, and she said there were more planes in the air headed for the city. It was just endless. Rumor upon rumor, rippling through the crowd and carrying waves of fear and confusion along with them.

  That’s just how I’m feeling now, almost two decades later, standing in the middle of a crowd of thousands in Prospect Park, clutching Kate’s hand for dear life. Nobody has any solid information, but in a situation like this rumors flood in to fill the vacuum.

  A guy in a torn suit in front of me waves his phone in the air. “I’ve got no bars, is anyone getting any bars?” A few around him shake their heads, frowning with concern at their useless phones as if the lack of signal is a greater tragedy than the hordes of murderous creatures roaming the city.

  “My sister said the army’s taken back Manhattan up to Central Park,” a woman claims, waving her phone in the air as if it amounted to proof. “I just got through to her before the signal died.”

  “Bullshit,” grumbles a wiry old man, pointing his cane at the woman. “My son was on the payphone, and he says the news said there’s nobody left alive in the city.”

  The guy in the torn suit takes a knee in front of the old man. “When was this, sir?”

  “Just now!” he proclaims. “Ask him yourself, he’s right there. Hey, Ron! Ron! Come over here and tell ‘em what you told me.”

  The old man’s overweight son looks up from a conversation with a young woman and turns in our direction, then slowly makes his way over to us, red faced, overexerted by the short walk.

  “Umm,” he says, catching his breath. “Yeah, so Fox says they lost contact with D.C. about a half hour ago. They don’t know where the President is.”

  “No, you idiot,” the guy’s dad scolds, “tell them what’s goin’ on here.”

  “Oh right, right,” he replies, ignoring the insult. “New York is gone.” He waves a hand in a slicing motion. “Just... gone, all the way up to, like, Yankee Stadium or something. They sent a traffic chopper over the city and it’s just overrun. Corpse city.” He lets out a nervous laugh and a woman beside him gasps, reaches out and claps her hands over her kid’s ears.

  “Jesus,” she sobs tearfully. “My husband’s in Manhattan. Can you show some damned respect?”

  “Umm, sorry ma’am,” the guy replies, cowed.

  The first woman waves her phone again. “That’s not true. My sister just said the army’s at Central Park, pushing north.”

  “What, your sister told you?” the fat guy snorts. “Who are you gonna believe, your sister or Fox News?”

  “Duh. My sister. Those assholes at Fox are probably just trying to get a bump in the ratings. They’d love it if New York was ruined. I bet—” Her voice is drowned out by a painfully loud high pitched squeal as someone switches on the PA system. The sound continues for a solid five seconds before someone pulls the plug and the agonizing feedback cuts out.

  I pull Kate away from the group by the hand and lower my voice as we pass through the muttering, gossiping crowd. “OK, we need to get the fuck out of here right now. Let’s go.”

  She tugs back on my hand, drawing to a halt. “What? Why? We’re safe here, right? Why the hell would we go back out there?”

  I shake my head and lean in closer. “Look... OK, you can’t react to what I’m about to say, OK? I don’t want to panic people.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “That kid back there, the soldier? His gun was loaded with blanks. He said they don’t have enough ammo to go around. These people can’t protect us.”

  Kate shakes her head in disbelief. “What are you talking about? Who told you that?”

  “He did. Karl, the kid. He said there’s supposed to be an army unit coming up from Fort Dix to secure the safe zone, but they never showed. All they’ve got is a few reservists and a couple of cadets. This isn’t a safe zone. It’s all just...” I wave my hand around, searching for the right word. “Theater. It’s a fucking buffet. Just a few old guys and kids playing soldiers, trying to keep people calm. They can’t keep us safe.” I look across the field at the thronged crowd. “And look at these people. Look how unprepared they are.”

  Kate looks around and shrugs her shoulders. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean look at these guys.” I point to a young family sitting in the shade of a tree nearby. They have a suitcase open before them, their hastily grabbed belongings piled inside. “Look at their stuff. There must be a dozen pairs of heels in that bag. And what’s that, an Xbox? Seriously? No food. No water. No weapons. No warm clothes. Just... stuff. Random crap they don’t want to get looted. They think they’re going straight home once this all blows over, but they’re not. Those things are coming, soon, and even if they don’t find us this bunch of morons will tear itself to pieces when they realize there’s nothing to eat. If FEMA doesn’t arrive with water purifiers there’ll be nothing to drink, either. They’re not prepared for this. Hell, neither are we, but at least we understand how deep in the shit we are.”

  I nod my head towards a skinny, tearful hipster kid sitting cross legged on his own, clutching a cotton Whole Foods grocery bag to his chest. Peeking from the top I can see dozens of vinyl sleeves.

  “Jesus, look at this asshole. Does he thinks he’s gonna fight off a bunch of infected with his limited edition Smiths album? Where are all the fucking guns?”

  Kate stays silent. We’ve often argued about the need for stricter gun control – her for, me against. I agreed with her that it was pretty pointless to keep one for home protection, but even though I’m one of those knock-kneed lefty wimps the NRA people laugh at I always insisted they were necessary for just this kind of situation, when the shit hits the fan and law enforcement collapses.

  Kate thought that was a crazy idea. Her late father had been a cop, and she couldn’t wrap her head around the concept of a world in which he and his kind wouldn’t be there to protect us, or might even work against us. A cop had tucked her in every night as a kid, and the idea that the uniform meant anything other than absolute safety just didn’t fit with her world view. I could never figure
out a way to convince her that the society we knew might not last forever.

  It didn’t help matters that her dad had been shot and killed in the line of duty when she was twelve. A bodega robbery gone bad. Wrong place at the wrong time. Her opinion on guns was fixed for life on that day.

  Just a few months ago, a couple of weeks after she moved into my apartment, I told her we should buy a handgun just in case. Just as last ditch insurance, to be kept locked securely in a glass case marked break only in the event of the apocalypse. I told her we could keep the ammo right on the other side of the house. Hell, we could keep the gun in pieces, scattered around the apartment like a damned jigsaw puzzle so it was impossible it could ever be used by accident. She gave me an ultimatum: I could live with her or I could live with a gun, but not both.

  I chose her, like an idiot.

  I get the feeling now wouldn’t be a great time to say I told her so.

  “OK, so where do you wanna go?” Kate finally asks. “I’ll follow your lead, but I don’t want to go back out there without a plan, OK?”

  “Agreed,” I reply, resisting the urge to rub her nose in it. The last thing I want is to have to face the apocalypse with a girlfriend in a bad mood. “We need information. Real information, not this rumor mill crap. Karl told me there was some colonel running the show.”

  “Babe?”

  “If we can find out where he is maybe we can pin him down and get some intel.”

  “Babe.”

  “OK, so keep your eye out for one of the soldiers. They must know where to look.”

  “Tom!”

  I finally realize she’s tugging on my sleeve. “What is it?”

  “Follow my finger, genius,” she replies, exasperated. “Doesn’t that look like somewhere a colonel might hang out?”

  I look over in the direction she’s pointing, out at the edge of the field. It’s the park administration office, a squat gray concrete building with a cell tower climbing from its roof. The front door is wide open, and beside it a soldier stands guard, his M16 slung over his shoulder.

  “OK, yeah, that looks like a good place to start,” I grudgingly concede, and start walking towards the building. I know it’s dumb but my injured pride forces me to open my mouth again. “You were still wrong about gun control, though.”

  Kate slaps me lightly on the back of my head. “Whatever, babe. Keep walkin’.”

  ΅

  :::9:::

  “WHOA WHOA WHOA, hold it, guys. The building is off limits.” The soldier sidesteps to block the door as we approach, and reaches behind him to pull it closed.

  I take a couple of steps back. I’m in no mood to have an M16 pointed at me again today, even if there’s a good chance it might be loaded with blanks. “Is the lieutenant colonel inside? We just need to get some information.”

  “That’s affirmative,” replies the soldier, hiking his gun up against his chest and staring straight ahead. “And he’s far too busy to deal with civilians. What do you need, kid?”

  I bristle a little at the word ‘kid.’ This guy may not be a young cadet like Karl, but he’s not all that much older than I am. Maybe mid-thirties, well built with a close cropped head of salt and pepper hair. I check the insignia on his chest and dig through my memory for his rank. “We need to know which direction is safe to get the fuck out of here, Sergeant. We want to get out of the city.”

  The sergeant shakes his head. “Negative. Orders are to keep civilians within the safe zone perimeter until reinforcements arrive. We need to sweep the whole area before we release anyone. Can’t have folks running around the streets while we work. Just relax, OK? You’re perfectly safe.”

  I feel my hands ball into fists at the thought of being detained. “Safe? You know this area isn’t secure, right? We just came from the roadblock at 9th Street, and I can tell you it’s been compromised. At least one of those things is on this side of the barrier. It killed one of your guys. Karl. You know him, Sergeant? He was sent out there with fucking blanks in his gun.”

  The sergeant’s stern expression softens a little, and his shoulders slump from attention. “Karl? Jesus. He was a good kid.” He tugs his radio up to his mouth. “Kilo Six, this is Alpha Niner. I have critical intel, copy? Over.”

  A tinny voice comes back a few seconds later. “Alpha Niner, copy. Send it.”

  “We have a potential breach at—” He turns to me. “You said 9th Street?” Back to the radio. “9th Street roadblock. Possible man down, possible hostiles within perimeter. Over.”

  “Roger that, Alpha. I’m aware of the situation. I have two friendlies down, and multiple hostiles have been taken out. Roadblock was breached, but has now been secured. Over.”

  “Kilo, acknowledged. Alpha out.” The sergeant lowers the radio. “See? Nothing to worry about, guys. We got this. Now, I’m going to have to ask you to—”

  “Negative, Command! We have multiple civilians on site. Confirm your last!” An angry male voice booms through the wooden door, and the sergeant falls silent and turns his head to listen.

  “Request recall on those bombers, Command. I got more’n three thousand healthy, uninfected civilians here waiting for an evac route. You have to give them at least some chance.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  The sergeant holds up his hand to silence me. “Shhh. Hang on.” He turns and pushes open the door a couple of inches with his foot, careful not to make any sound, and tilts his head to hear more clearly.

  “Sergeant, what’s going on?” I insist.

  He waves me away and hisses impatiently. “Will you shut the fuck up for a minute?”

  When I hear the voice through the door again it’s much quieter. The anger seems to have vanished, replaced with a dejected acceptance. “Understood, Command,” the man sighs. I hear the faint, tinny response, too quiet to make out the words. “No, I’ll do my duty.” Those last words are spat out, a hint of the anger returning. “May God have mercy on you all. Out.”

  “Fuck.” The sergeant pulls his foot back and lets the door swing closed, and when he turns back to us his face has lost all color He grabs his radio and raises it to his mouth, but seems to reconsider before he holds down the button.

  “What is it?” Kate demands. “What’s going on?”

  The sergeant ignores her, takes a deep breath and finally clicks the send button.

  “Kilo Six,” he mumbles. “Operation Clean Sweep is a go. Repeat: Operation Clean Sweep is a go.” He closes his eyes tight and presses the radio against his forehead for a moment before continuing. “Sal, I’m bugging out. You’re with me, right?”

  The sergeant keeps his eyes tightly closed, as if he’s silently praying until the response comes a few seconds later. “That’s affirm, Alpha Niner. Will rendezvous at 5th and Prospect. Maintain radio silence. Out.” He sighs with relief.

  “Sergeant,” I insist, “what the fuck is going on?”

  The sergeant swings his rifle up to his shoulder, takes a brief look behind him at the closed door and starts to jog towards the trees, calling back over his shoulder. “If you want to live, follow me.”

  “What are you talking about?” I continue. “Hey, stop!”

  The soldier doesn’t break stride. “Come or stay, guys, it’s all the same to me. I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  I turn to Kate and shrug my shoulders. “What the fuck? What do you wanna do?”

  Kate chews her thumbnail for a moment, deep in thought. “I don’t know,” she finally replies, “but I think it might be a good idea to follow the guy with the gun.”

  I nod in agreement. Something about this sergeant rubs me the wrong way. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, but the ashen look on his face makes me think that sticking around here to wait for help might be a bad career move.

  “OK, sergeant, we’re with you.” We run to catch up with him as he vanishes into the trees, and both of us struggle to keep pace with his stride. “Now what the hell’s going on?”
<
br />   “What’s going on, son,” he says darkly, keeping up his steady pace, “is that an hour from now New York is going to have a sudden heatwave. Now keep up. There’s a damned good reason I’m moving quickly.”

  ΅

  :::10:::

  ARNOLD SEES THE trees ahead of him. He’s lost the trail. The sound stopped a while ago and he can’t track down the source, but the gentle movement of the trees draws him in. Behind him the streets are silent and still. Up ahead the branches sway and rustle in the breeze, and that’s enough to urge him forward. Movement means life. Life means food.

  He stumbles across a low chain blocking the entrance to the park, almost losing his footing, but he manages to plant his broken stump down on the other side and stay on his feet. He looks around. The others are still behind him. They don’t seem quite as smart as he is. They move with less purpose, and they don’t seem as driven. Maybe it’s because Arnold has already taken lives. Maybe he’s got more of a taste for it. Maybe he’s just a little more hungry than the others. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care.

  He drags his ruined leg across the silent car park and out onto a patch of grass. Ahead of him he sees trees and bushes, but none of that interests him. His senses are tuned to something else, and something tells him he’s not too far now. Soon he’ll get to eat.

  As he stumbles through the bushes and emerges onto a broad field of baseball diamonds a dim memory sparks in the slurry that used to be his mind. He remembers... something right on the edge of his memory, fighting its way through. Something about noise. Cheering. People. Right here. Something about this place means people. Maybe there are some still here, hiding somewhere.

  He stumbles towards a row of white wooden bleachers. This is the place. This is where the people come, but there’s nobody here. It doesn’t make sense. This is where the people come, so why aren’t they here?