SINK - Melt Book 2: (A Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series) Read online

  Aggie turned her head. She didn’t want to think about what kind of injury would prevent Dad from calling but allow Paul to do so.

  “Okay,” said Jim, “let’s go one better. Let’s say neither of them are injured, but they aren’t able to make calls. This has happened. We’ve seen people come out from under a building collapse, days later, with barely a scratch on them. That’s possible, I’ll give you that.”

  Jo nodded. She wasn’t convincing. How was she in the mix? Her parents barely knew her.

  “But the fact is, they aren’t here. And we don’t know when they are going to be here. And they made plans for exactly this happening. Bets and I are too old to be your guardians for long, so Jo here is our back up. If anything happens to us, she’s your guardian.”

  “We don’t need a guardian,” said Aggie. “We’re perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves.”

  “I know that,” said Jim. “But the law is a fickle beast and if you need a signature or an ‘adult’ to say you can do, well, whatever…”

  “Can we get on with it?” said Jo.

  Jim gave her a look. It was sharp, hard. It meant, “shut up and let me handle this.”

  Jo ignored him. “We’ve seen the news. We know it’s bad. What our prediction models show is that there is going to be an exodus. People are going to flee the city by the thousands. We already discussed this in the hospital. It’s not news to Aggie.”

  “Give the kid a second to get her head around the fact that her parents might not come back,” said Jim.

  “She wants to be an adult?” said Jo. “She needs to process that fact as fast as she can and get on board with the plan.”

  Aggie had a hard time believing that her mom and dad would leave them in the care of such hopelessly tactless people. Then again, maybe they thought this would never happen. Dad was always with them. And he was supposed to stay at home. That was the deal. He was there because Mom was away. She had a tiny flicker of anger at him for leaving them with these doofs.

  Betsy was back, pouring coffee for Jim and Jo but serving her with cocoa like she was a kid. It looked good—sweet, hot, sticky—but Aggie pushed it away. They never got hot cocoa at home. It was bad for you. That’s what Mom always said.

  Jo nodded. “We have water on three sides of the compound.” She used her placemat to designate “the compound” and drew her finger around the outside, mimicking the river. “Your property is here.” Jim and Betsy’s home was the turkey-shaped salt shaker. “Mine is over here.” Hers was the Rib-Sticking Barbeque Sauce bottle. “And Bill and Alice’s is here, in the middle.”

  Aggie wanted their house to be the sugar bowl because it was definitely the biggest of the three houses, but Jo had drug the creamer into the middle of the placemat and made that their house marker.

  “Bill and Alice’s is the most easily defensible but your cellars are the best, Jim. I have the high ground.”

  Jim nodded. “We could use your place as the lookout, have Bill’s as the main homestead, and use our place as fallback.”

  Jo considered it for a minute. “That would have worked a week ago. It would even have worked a day ago, but we pulled up the floorboards yesterday, so the place is unlivable.”

  “Whatchado that for?” Jim was smiling and he was trying for a jokey tone, but his eyes were dead-flat steel and utterly serious.

  “Do you want to field this one, Aggie?”

  Not too bad of Jo to invite her into the conversation. “Mom said to remove all plastics.”

  “Okay…” Jim waited. “Don’t see as how floorboards have anything to do with that, but go on.”

  “We have to take the wiring out of the house.” Aggie waited for him to protest. He didn’t. “And the plumbing.”

  Jim nodded. “Has to do with her work, I guess.” He reached into his trousers and pulled out a pipe.

  “Jimbo.” Betsy didn’t need to say more. There was no smoking in the house.

  “You can come out with me onto the back porch,” he said, “or I can stand by the window, if you’d like.”

  Aggie and Jo went directly to the porch. It took Jim a couple of minutes to hobble out there and in that time, they’d found their place on the steps, leaving the chairs for their hosts.

  Jim stuffed his pipe and lit it. The tobacco was sweet rather than gross. He took a couple of puffs and leaned back. Aggie didn’t mind the smell. It wasn’t like cigarettes or a stinky cigar. She almost wanted to ask if she could try some.

  “If Bill’s house is out of bounds, do we stay at yours, Jo?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Jo. “We want enough space between us and anyone coming in to be able to drive them away.”

  “Drive who away?”

  That voice. Aggie leapt to her feet, spun around, and in two leaping steps had her grandmother in her arms. “How did you get here?”

  “I drove.” Grandma Margaret looked so good. She had makeup on, which meant Aggie couldn’t tell how pale she was. But she didn’t have the same gaunt look she’d had when she was in the hospital. “I drove like a demon and, before you ask, yes I used all the back roads and came in a four-wheeler and let those idiots eat my dust.”

  Jim laughed and offered her his seat.

  “But you don’t have a car, Mimi. I didn’t hear you pull up. When did you get here? How did you get here? Are you okay? Have you seen Dad and Paul? Are they with you?” She hadn’t called her grandmother “Mimi” for years, but it felt right to return to her old name. It was soft, warm, comforting. It felt like birthdays and holidays and special dinners around the table, everyone together. Mimi had made it. So would everyone else who was supposed to.

  Betsy was up on her feet, smoothing down her apron, her smile at the ready. “Coffee, Margaret? I’ve just made some fresh. And I have some hazelnut creamer, if you still take it like that.”

  Mimi smiled. “Something a little stronger, if you have it.”

  Betsy nodded and disappeared inside.

  “I borrowed Cecilia’s Jeep. She’s in Jersey with her daughter. She won’t mind.”

  “How did you get out of Manhattan? Why? When? Oh, I have so many questions, Mimi.”

  Grandma Margaret, Mimi to her beloved grandchildren, settled into Mrs. Betsy’s chair, pulling a rug from the basket by the back door and spreading it over her lap. “Bill came to see me.”

  “You saw Dad? How was he? Was that before he and Paul got split up?”

  Grandma Margaret took a deep breath, thanked Betsy for the thimble of plum-red liquor, downed it, and handed it back. “Another, if you don’t mind.”

  If Betsy disapproved, she didn’t let it show.

  “Your father and brother came to see me. Alice’s building had collapsed and they were sure worse was to come. I was being my usual, stubborn self and told them I wanted to stay put. But when more buildings started to collapse and I couldn’t raise your father on his phone, I decided perhaps he’d been right and I’d been wrong.” She held her hand to her side and winced. Aggie didn’t like that. It reminded her of when Mimi had been sick and in the hospital and barely able to talk because of the chemo. “I called Cecilia, who said they were starting to see people coming over on the ferries. And that was when I decided to head up here.”

  “I thought the bridges were on lockdown,” said Jo.

  “Not by the time I got there. When I hit the Cross-Bronx Expressway, there was a steady stream of 90 mph vehicles streaming on by.”

  “Well I never,” said Betsy.

  Margaret reached over and tapped her on the knee. “You remember me, Bets. Always the kidder. We were doing 10 mph when we were lucky. It took me all day. Now I could eat a horse. Though I should be careful what I say because I know you people. You might just serve that up.”

  “I’ve got pie, I’ve got…”

  “You had me at pie,” said Margaret. “Three slices. I know you country folk. You like to skimp.” She winked at Aggie.

  Suddenly the crisis didn’t feel like a cris
is. With Mimi there, they were safe. Okay, not safe but at least cozy. She’d laugh and joke and make terrible puns and they would all eat too much and then Mom and Dad and Paul would show up and everything would go back to normal. Aggie leaned her head on Mimi’s knee and let her stroke her hair. No one else on the planet was allowed to do that.

  Petra raced to the porch, breathless. “He’s tanked. I mean, I can’t feel a pulse. Please come. Please don’t let Sean die.”

  Chapter 17

  Never before had three men loading a Radio Flyer wagon with stolen electrical equipment held such menace. The air around them crackled with it. They were precise, methodical, organized but alert and sharp and ready for action in a way that made Paul duck his head and keep on walking.

  They weren’t just going for the big-box items—the huge-as-your-house TVs and lighter-than-air computers—they had cameras and phones and cords and adapters and all kinds of ancillary equipment piled in their cart.

  Phillip dropped back to watch them as they balanced the billionth box on their already overloaded set of wheels, but Paul walked on. “Keep your eyes on your own paper.” That was Mom’s version. His was, “Not my circus, not my monkeys.” If they were fool enough to loot and pillage when Manhattan was imploding around them, that was their bag. He needed to keep on keeping on. Angelina was getting heavier, not lighter. He was going to need to find a hospital soon or his arms—or his back or his legs or his damned heart—were going to give out.

  “I need a charger.” Phillip trotted alongside Paul, seeking his approval. He wasn’t going to get it. “Because my phone’s gonna be useless in about an hour.”

  Paul didn’t look up. He let the silence do the talking for him. Petra would be proud. She was a big believer in the power of the unsaid. Especially when it was someone else doing the unsaying. Paul smiled on the inside. If he ever made it off this glorified hunk of schist, he was going to mash his brain into hers and do the ultimate mind-meld, so she would know—really, defo, absolutely know—how he felt about her.

  “Don’t you think that’s a good idea?” Phillip was desperate. He probably had the kind of job where someone told him what to do every second of every day. “You can use it, too.”

  They were going to need a phone, but there were other ways, better ways. Like, getting out of Manhattan and leaving this mayhem behind.

  He heard a shout, an angry noise, the kids who were emptying out the storefront were already arguing over who was going to get what. They hadn’t even gotten it home yet and they were fighting over stupid stuff. Their voices rose.

  He edged to the far side of the street, to put a bit of distance between him and their energy. That kind of anger was contagious. He didn’t need their rage sloshing around inside his head.

  “I’m going in while they’re squabbling,” said Phillip. “All I need is a charger.”

  Paul wanted to warn him away because he knew where their “squabble” was headed. There’d be blows, bloody noses, broken bones if they didn’t rein it in. Then again, he reminded himself, he didn’t want that responsibility. Phillip was older than him by at least three or four years. He could make his own decisions. It wasn’t his fault the guy had no spine and, apparently, no moral code.

  In any case, if he did what he said he was going to do and just walked in, got a single phone charger, and walked out and didn’t engage, he’d be fine. Paul could hear Professor Grant rabbiting on about “normative moral relativism” and not judging others. Man, sitting on the grass on the South Lawn at Columbia U., talking about Aristotle and Cicero and how ancient precepts had shaped the Constitution was, like, a million years ago. He didn’t dare let himself think about being there again. That would invite bad things. Keep your eyes on your own paper didn’t just mean don’t compare yourself to others, it meant stay in the present. Especially if your present is a disaster of monumental proportions.

  Paul kept on plodding. The water hadn’t returned. He still had plain, roach-free asphalt under his feet. What a relief to be able to see the road. And no cracks. He paused, to get a better grip of Angelina and have a look around. It looked so like the city he knew. How could they be so close to such an incredible fall-in but look so ordinary? The skyscrapers—chrome and steel and glass reaching up towards the darkening skyline—were interspersed with older, more squat buildings just four or five stories high, jammed together as tight as possible; some of them with fancy brownstone facades and others with cheapo siding, touting their wares. They weren’t covered in dust, or showing any signs of falling in on each other, or threatening to crumble. It was just good old New York: dirty, messy, and full of brawling looters. Not so different from a normal day.

  Even the brainless, greedy, grabby thieves were behaving in an entirely predictable manner. They’d moved on from words and were thumping and slapping and cussing as if that ever made the slightest difference. He felt the old tussle right in the center of his brain. “Violence is never the answer,” was Dad’s old saw. “Until it is,” Mom would add under her breath. “Sometimes we must do the just thing, Paul, rather than the lawful thing.” He had to hope he’d land on the right side of the law, but if he didn’t—if that kind of trouble ever came looking for him—he’d answer to a higher law. He laughed. Out loud. He hadn’t meant to, but somehow—maybe it was the hunger or the dehydration or the fact that three guys were knocking lumps out of each other—he’d just equated Mom with Jefferson. “If a law is unjust…” and all that good stuff. He really did need to hydrate. He was looping again.

  “Hey!” The shout was directed at him. He didn’t turn around. “Man, I’m talking to you.”

  Dagnabbit, he thought. He was so used to not swearing around Midge, he didn’t even do it in his own mind. Were they going to come after him now?

  “You need to see this.” One of the looters was at his side, sweating and huffing.

  “I don’t have anything,” said Paul. “No wallet, no phone, nothing.”

  “No, man, it’s your friend. He fell.”

  “He fell?”

  “Yeah. Inside the store. You have to go and help him. He’s yelling.”

  Paul wasn’t stupid. If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, chances are it’s a duck. They were trying to get him to go with them for some reason. He couldn’t think why. They had to have noticed he was in freaking hospital scrubs Those things didn’t have pockets for crying out loud.

  “I am not kidding, man. The dude sounds like he is in trouble.”

  Paul turned and glanced back at the storefront.

  Phillip staggered out of the store, blood streaming down his face, his chest, and legs.

  Paul couldn’t put Angelina down, but he couldn’t leave Phillip there to bleed out either.

  The boys who’d been punching lumps out of each other had stopped to watch as Phillip fell to the sidewalk in slow motion. Paul hauled butt to get back there. Phillip’s nosedive into the street was elegant and impossible; as if each of his limbs gave way in order, removing his ability to keep himself upright or protect his face from the fall. All the strings that held him together had been cut, one by one, until he was a crunched heap on the grey, dead pavement. His life leaked out of him in long red streaks.

  By the time Paul reached Phillip, the looters had already taken off, their Radio Flyer streaming behind them, dropping a box here and a carton there. Take the stuff, but leave the human. Trash, every last one of them.

  There was no one else around to help. Either Paul stepped up or Phillip lay in the street and suffered alone. But he had no hands free and nowhere to put Angelina. Phillip was still breathing, though the breaths were short and shallow.

  “What happened? Did one of them jump you? Did you get into a fight over a cord?”

  Phillip smiled. “A hole opened up.”

  “A hole?” Paul stepped back involuntarily.

  “I was at the counter.” Phillip coughed and turned onto his side, grimacing. “I was looking at cables. I like the extra-long ones be
cause you can sit on your bed and still be close to your phone when its plugged in. I was only going to take the one. I promise. Just so we could contact our moms and stuff.” He coughed again, this time producing blood.

  Paul wanted to comfort him, to tell him they were close now, that the hospital was nearby; if he’d just get up and walk a few blocks, there was someone who could staunch the flow of blood which snaked towards him.

  “No warning,” said Phillip. “The floor was there one minute and gone the next. It opened and I was up to my armpits in flooring and broken beams, my feet in water.”

  His sides were scored with long, angry cuts and his trainers were dripping with diluted blood. The water was coming. There was no explanation for it, but it was coming. Even if there had been a massive mains break, there was no way enough water could be flowing under Manhattan to undermine buildings. And, in any case, gravity would have taken the water down, not along the streets. Unless. Oh, he didn’t want to let that thought in. Unless MELT had eaten its way out to the Hudson. If the river was flowing through the subway, they were sunk. Completely, utterly sunk.