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

  Aggie shook her head.

  Arthur grinned. “You came along with your dad. You were the belle of the ball.”

  Then it came back to her. Dad had been Arthur’s best man. At Arthur’s fourth wedding. He and Mom had a big fight about it. She said the wedding was meaningless given that it was his fourth, and they should have nothing to do with it. Dad said it was none of their business who Arthur married or divorced and he couldn’t turn Arthur down. Arthur had done him a solid back in the day. They’d closed the door so she couldn’t hear the harsh, cruel words, but the sounds of that fight had gone on long into the night. They slammed that ping-pong argument back and forth until Mom had thrown the towel in and said she wasn’t going. But Aggie had gone because she got a new dress—and flouncy dresses that made her look like a flamenco dancer, back when she was 10, were not a dime a dozen. She searched Arthur’s face for something to remember him by, but drew a blank. He’d been in a fancy suit with a silk vest and a cummerbund. Still, if he said he was that guy, chances were he was that guy. Who else knew how to find them? She nodded at Jim, who eased back into his seat.

  “How can we help you?” Jim was friendly, but not inviting.

  “I had hoped you’d put us up for the night.” Arthur cricked his neck. “We’ve got a long drive ahead and we’d like to bunk down.”

  “Yep, sorry we can’t help,” said Jim.

  Arthur smiled. He was doing his best soft-shoe routine. He wasn’t going to give up. “We could camp out over there.” He pointed to a clearing the other side of the house.

  Aggie shook her head. It was too close to their garden. What little fresh food they had she didn’t want to share.

  Arthur loped back to the car and popped the trunk.

  Jo was right there at his side. She was a jumpy son of a gun. It wasn’t as if an old college buddy was going to pull out a rifle and start shooting. She needed to calm waaaaaaaaaaaay down.

  Again, Arthur raised his hands. “Just wanted to show you we have a cooler with some take out. We’re ready for anything.”

  Aggie had to turn away to hide her smile. He’d walked into a compound with three packed root cellars and he thought “take out” would cut it.

  “We knew we were going to be hoofing it for a while, so we loaded up with Thai and pizza. We’ll share.” Arthur was beaming rays of hope at each of them in turn, his whiter-than-white smile supposed to dazzle and charm them.

  Jim didn’t smile back. “That’s kind of you, Arthur, but like you said, we have our own troubles here. We can’t break for pizza…”

  Midge groaned and buried her head in her sister’s side. Aggie could hear her mumbling “pizza.”

  “If you don’t mind, we’ll have to take a rain check.”

  Arthur’s face fell. “Not what I expected from Bill’s folks.”

  “Another time, maybe,” said Jim.

  Arthur trundled back to the car, arms up and head shaking. His wife pouted in the front seat. Aggie didn’t recognize her either, out of her creamy-white dress and veil. She stared harder. That wasn’t it. Even if she’d been in her wedding dress it couldn’t be the same woman. Wife number four had definitely been Caucasian and this woman was Eurasian.

  Arthur slammed the door and backed out without saying goodbye.

  “Call me old fashioned,” said Aggie, “but I’m with Mom on this one.”

  “Sorry?” said Jo.

  “We should have nothing to do with him.” Aggie picked up her pail and went back to the pump. “I think that was wife number five in the front seat.”

  Jo nodded. “Not sure what your mom had to say about that, but as someone who’s never been married, I believe five is a bit excessive.”

  Jim laughed. “One was enough for me.”

  Jo and Aggie looked up at him. Had he really just made a joke about Betsy? That would be way uncool. Betsy had saved Sean’s life. And Midge was fine in spite of giving half her bodyweight in blood. He shouldn’t have one bad word to say about Betsy.

  “I meant it the other way, ladies. Trust me. There’s not another woman in the world who could’ve put up with me and made me as happy as I am.” He smiled. It was broad and warm and intimate. He still loved his wife after all this time.

  Aggie was glad. Perhaps now was a good time to hit him with a request. “Jim…?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I want to go down to the house. I need to find Floofy.”

  “This the alpaca you were talking about?”

  Aggie nodded.

  Jim pushed his cap back on his head. “I don’t get it. Tell me why it matters. As I see it, it’s a waste of gas and manpower.”

  “She’s almost like Reggie.” She petted Reggie for good measure. “She’s part pet.”

  “If she’s that domesticated, she’ll find her way to some good people or they will find their way to her and she’ll be fed and watered. She’ll do just fine.”

  “If things do go sideways, like you guys were saying, we’re going to need luxury items to barter with.” She was recycling Sean’s argument, but they didn’t need to know that. “Her hair will be a high-end luxury item…”

  Jo shrugged. Was she agreeing it was a good idea? Was she shooting it down? What did it mean?

  “Take Jo with you,” said Jim.

  Aggie stepped forward. “I don’t need her. I’ve done the trip a hundred times with Dad.”

  Jim squinted at her. “How old are you? Do you even have a permit?”

  Aggie sighed. Not this old chestnut. She was going to lose the argument. Didn’t matter you could get your license at 15 in a handful of states. She and Dad had gone over it a million times. You couldn’t drive in New York until you were 16. Being 15 was so stupid.

  “I’m happy to drive you,” said Jo.

  Aggie nodded. “No talking.”

  Chapter 21

  Deciding how much medication to give Angelina and when was nerve wracking. Paul stopped often so they both could rest. He let her wake up a little, just so he knew he wasn’t putting her under too deep, but not so much that she did more than moan. Whatever the Professor had set him up with had worked well. She was a sack of spuds over his shoulder, though whether he was doing her any damage was anyone’s guess.

  The streets leading to the South Street Ferry Terminal were crammed. There were no lollygaggers. They were all moving at breakneck speed. They might have come to the Big Apple as a New Englander or a Texan or an Australian, but they were all New Yorkers now. There was a shared agreement that everyone was to move together; a stream of people pushing their way downtown. There wasn’t a lot of talk, but what Paul could hear was centered around the ferries. They were still making runs to New Jersey and Staten Island. The Ellis Island Ferry had been re-routed. Good sign. Meant Emergency Services were doing their job, even though the message wasn’t making it to the people on the ground.

  Paul kept his distance from his fellow travelers. Angelina might still be contagious. There was no way of knowing. He didn’t want more deaths on his conscience. The closer they got to the Terminal, the harder it was to keep her isolated. He was going to need to find a more reliable way to keep her covered. The sheet wasn’t going to cut it. It could flap open or get pulled off her. He’d been to his share of concerts at Madison Square Garden. Try to make it to the front, if you dare. The crowd had that kind of excitable energy. Paul eyed the shops, hoping for a Bed, Bath & Beyond.

  The sky was impossibly blue and clear. The water reflected it right back, making it a picture-perfect day in Manhattan. The river looked so calm, lapping at the seawall. But it was a different story on land. South Street Seaport was a zoo. Paul could see the ferries lining up on the East River, ready to transport people to safety, but everyone wanted to be first. People were trying to fight their way to the front. Did it break down this fast? Had Mom been right all along? “The demon lives inside us all. Scratch the surface and he will appear. There is no Devil so evil as Man.”

  “Paul! Paul!” Who was
shouting his name? He recognized the voice. “Over here!”

  He swung around to see the Professor and Fran waving at him from the far side of the crowd. His heart lifted, just a little, at the sight of people he knew. They would have to come to him, though. There was no way he could make it across the flow of human traffic as it swarmed towards the ferry. They would understand. All he had to do was stay still. They’d get the message.

  It took them longer to get to him than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t until they had almost caught up to him that he realized why. They had a wheelchair. Well, glory be. His arms would finally get a rest. They’d brought more sheets, too. And a hula hoop which they’d wrapped in bandages.

  “You still have her. Good man.” Christine beamed at him.

  Was it that impressive to carry a young girl a third of the way down Manhattan? Maybe it was. It had been slow going and walking at night, with most of the lights out of commission, had been a true test of his nerve. But it had never occurred to him to leave her behind.

  Christine shook a sheet out, then lay it over the chair. “Lower her in. Good. Good.”

  Once she was securely seated, Christine took a quick look under the sheet. “Incredible. I would never have believed it. Utterly incredible. That fish skin saved her life.” She draped another sheet over the girl, then lowered the hula hoop over her head and balanced it on the arms of the chair. “It’s like a white cane, but round. It’ll stop people from bumping into her.”

  Angelina really was that important, then. When they should have been running to save their lives, they’d been plotting to save hers, relying on the fact that they’d find him, working on a way to transport her without putting anyone else in danger.

  It was the first time his arms had been free in hours. He snuck a hand around the back of his head. The cut was still there. No better, but no worse. Don’t think about luck. Don’t think about it. Don’t think…

  Fran held out her fist and they bumped knuckles. She wasn’t as chipper as the Professor, but that was to be expected. They were all tired.

  Christine squeezed him. “Your mom would be so proud of you.”

  The mere mention of his mom was like a knife to the gut. He forced a smile. He had nothing to say.

  “I see six boats out there. We’re good.” Christine stood up straighter, smoothing her hands down her white coat, now grey with streaks of rust-colored smudge. “Now we just need to get people to remain calm and board in an orderly fashion.”

  “Make an announcement,” said Fran. “People like it when someone takes charge.”

  Paul stifled a laugh. She was joking, right?

  The Professor nodded at Fran—like she thought this was going to end well or something—and jogged backwards, rounding the back of the unrelenting herd. She stopped to talk to a couple of guys and then the three of them proceeded to one of the cement bollards that were dotted around the seaport’s entrance. Christine used the guys as her stabilizers and climbed on top of the bollard.

  “If I could have your attention, please.” She had a set of lungs on her and could project. At least the last two layers of people turned their heads to see if there was news or another way out or something that would help them. “There are boats coming. We’re all going to be fine. Please, no pushing or shoving. If we remain calm, we’re all going to make it out.”

  “Who made her boss?” The woman beside them was in a house coat and cat slippers. She looked like she’d barely rolled out of bed. She was in no mood to be told what to do.

  Paul felt the collective energy of the crowd turn. It wasn’t the Professor, who carried on exhorting people to remain calm, make lines, wait their turn. Everything she said made perfect sense. Nor was it the sound of the ferry bumping up against the dock or the man on the ferry with a bullhorn or the woman beside him who complained to anyone who’d listen or the hundreds of people who were desperate to get off the island. It was all of it.

  All of it, rolled together, made for an explosion unlike anything he’d ever seen before. There was a push. It came from the left and right and behind. He clutched the handlebars of Angelina’s wheelchair, pulling backwards in order to get away from the pull of hundreds of people pressing to one, single point.

  He couldn’t see ahead, but he could hear the man with the bullhorn asking for calm, just as Christine had done. But the crowd had a life of its own. He felt the violent suck of the undertow and the primal roar of the crowd. If he didn’t get out, they were going to get trammeled and flattened. He looked around for Fran but couldn’t find her. With any luck she’d already made it out. He heard a crack. The sound of splitting plastic. It was the circle they’d jury-rigged around Angelina. It was crumbled on one side. Angelina screamed.

  A man hoisted his kid onto his shoulders. Probably a good idea. She’d be hamburger in no time if she went down. But it wasn’t enough. The kid was leaning, falling, not able to stay upright. He shouted her name over and over as she was handed off from one person to the next. It was an adaptation of crowd surfing, but with a ten-year-old rather than a teenager.

  Paul pulled back while he had the chance, but the wheelchair was stuck. The bandages around the hula hoop had unraveled and the plastic had gotten caught in the wheel. Paul pulled the wheelchair back with all his might. Angelina screamed. Dear god, had the hula hoop touched her? If she died now he’d never forgive himself. Her screams scattered more people. More space for us, he thought and elbowed his way through the wall of stinking, sweating humans towards the street. A few more feet and they’d be fine.

  There were people on the upper level of the boat, so they were boarding successfully from the front. A man on the upper level, in a loud Hawaiian shirt, was waving both arms over his head. His mouth was moving but Paul couldn’t hear a thing. Then the woman beside him joined in. They were pointing and shouting, moving to the starboard side of the boat. They were desperate to get the attention of the ferry captain.

  There wasn’t one splash, but a group of them coming fast on top of each other. The crowd surged and returned, surged and returned, like the relentless tide pounding the shore.

  Paul was clear of the crowd now, Angelina still safely in her chair and the Professor at his side.

  Hawaiian guy was flapping and screaming, everyone around him doing the same. Then Paul realized why. People were falling off the front of the pier. Not into the boat, but into the water. If the ferry bumped up against the dock they’d be mincemeat.

  Again, the crowd surged, but this time it didn’t return. Instead, it kept moving forward.

  “Lemmings.” The word rose up and was out before he could stop it. It wasn’t kind or unkind, it was merely a fact. They were rushing to their deaths.

  He turned and walked away. He couldn’t watch. The ferry sounded its horn and backed up. There was a skipper up there losing his mind as his boat crushed the life out of people who only wanted to make it to their families. He would never sleep a full night again without thrashing nightmares.

  Paul didn’t want to see the bodies or the survivors or the people flailing around in the water. He wanted to stay focused on his goal. Get Angelina to safety, go back to find his mom. “Where to, now?” said Paul. “Where’s the nearest dock?”

  Christine shook her head. “This is Manhattan. There’s one up on 79th Street and Riverside Drive.”

  “Too far, we’d never make it,” said Paul.

  “The only other one I know of is at Inwood Park, which is even further.”

  “Look out there.” Paul pointed at the water. “All those small boats, they’re waiting to help. Where can they come in?”

  Christine looked lost. According to his mother she was one of the smartest women on the planet. But faced with a simple problem—where can a boat land?—she was entirely out to sea.

  A couple of F-22 Raptors roared overhead, making them all duck. Paul sheltered Angelina with his body. She groaned. He could feel the heat coming off her in waves. Her breath was sweet, but not in a good way.
Her breaths were faster now, more shallow. “Hang on,” he whispered. “Help is on the way.”

  Finally. The rescue mission had begun.

  Chapter 22

  “Who the heck are you?” The last thing Aggie had expected was to find a stranger in their New Paltz house.

  Jo was at her side, hand on her sidearm.

  Whoever this guy was, he’d made himself at home. He had a plate of spaghetti, complete with a side of Dad’s eggplant parmesan—which meant he’d gone into the freezer and selected a dish and stolen actual food out of their mouths.

  He smiled. He didn’t look in the least phased. “I’m Michael Rayton. I work with Alice. I mean, your mom.”

  Aggie did her best not to react, but even Jo took a step back. He was on “the list” of possible industrial saboteurs that Jo had been grilling her about back when they were in the hospital. Was she supposed to say something or nothing?