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

  Part of him felt like the world’s greatest coward, walking away from his dad, but he’d be no use as a rescuer if he couldn’t make it through the dark and roiling clouds of poison. Place your own oxygen mask on first; then help those around you. He had to survive if he was going to be any use.

  He turned on to 10th. There was a distinctive, familiar wail close by. A siren. “Thank you, God” he said. “People. At last.” He lengthened his stride, moving as fast as he could without touching anything, towards the noise. The cop car swam into view beyond the grey. Its lights were on, flashing blue and red, blue and red, telling everyone that help was on the way. Paul’s heart pumped harder, the beat catching in his ears like a base drum. Civilization hadn’t ended. The world carried on. There were cops and EMTs and people who were willing to help. He forced himself to walk with steady, long steps, not break out into a run and throw himself into their car and blub all over the back seat like he was 10 years old rather than 19.

  The cops didn’t move as he approached. He held his hands high, hoping they wouldn’t open fire before he reached them. He’d seen two humans in three hours. One had died in his arms and the other had taken off to who-knows-where. Perhaps the cops had taken Michael Rayton down. Perhaps they were ready to take him down too.

  Still, they didn’t move. Like, not at all. Like, not even to look up at him. They were slumped in their seats, their faces pocked and disfigured, blood streaking their shirts. Disgust and despair pooled in his mouth and he had to force himself not to hurl all over the road. They must have been caught in the blast. This thing was huge, much bigger than K&P Headquarters going down. Maybe Michael Rayton was right. Maybe the whole block was in danger of collapse.

  He looked back, then forward. It all looked the same. He had about ten feet of visibility each way. He needed to keep going south, then as soon as he found a crosstown street that was clear enough for him to pass, east. Whatever—east, north, south—he needed to get way from the original explosion site which was due west.

  His toe itched. No, not itched. It was hot. He looked down. His trainers had lost their shape, the logo sliding off the side of his foot and the treads spreading out below him. He wrenched the driver’s side door open and grabbed the cop’s feet, swinging his legs out of the car. “Sorry, bro. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.” He fumbled at the laces, swearing and sweating and willing the man’s shoes to slip off. He needed thick soles and leather uppers and a way out of this hellhole. He leaned all his weight on the car and kicked one trainer off and pulled the first boot on. The boot was heavy, solid, real. Best of all, not plastic. Rubber soles for the win.

  He paused, his mom’s voice blaring in his head. “No person was ever honored for what he received. Honor has been the reward for what he gave.” The police officers weren’t merely convenient clothes horses. They were courageous men who’d charged towards the danger when everyone else was charging away. He needed to pause to thank them. His sleeve puckered and bubbled and burst. Thank yous would have to wait until later. He needed a complete change of outerwear.

  He climbed into the back of the car, slipping off his helmet and outer jacket, checking them for damage. He flung the coat and the misshapen yellow helmet out the door. Michael Rayton had done him a solid, giving him two fire fighter’s jackets to layer on top of one another. He still had an unbroken layer between him and the ash.

  He took a moment to regroup, deliberately slowing his breath. If this was a terrorist attack then he needed to be able to defend himself. He reached into the front seat, grunting and twisting and leaning in low, and helped himself to the cops’ guns. It wasn’t theft if you needed it and they didn’t. He winced. He knew that wasn’t strictly true, but the code they lived by—do unto others and all that good stuff—fell apart when the sky was falling. Mom had been clear on that point. “Survive,” she would say. “Survive so you have the luxury of agonizing over your decisions.”

  He paused for a second. Would he be better off driving? The keys were right there in the ignition. There were fewer obstructions on 10th Avenue than there had been on 38th Street. And he’d be out of the ash. He could drive to safety.

  “Thank you,” he said, pulling the driver from his seat and laying him carefully on the sidewalk. “Thank you for your service and dedication. New Yorkers everywhere thank you.” He ran his hands over the cop’s eyes, making sure they were closed. It was more respectful that way. “Sorry,” he said to the cop who’d been riding shotgun. He couldn’t stand the thought of riding around with a dead body next to him. “I’ll let your families know you both died in the line of duty.”

  He batted himself down with his fat-gloved hands, getting as much ash off his clothing as he could, because if that was what was causing all the corrosion he didn’t want it in the car with him. He slid into the driver’s seat, gave the windshield wipers a go at the encrusted window, then eased his way down 10th Avenue towards 37th Street. He had to drive slowly. He didn’t want to blow the tires out on a piece of metal or a sheet of fallen glass.

  The ash cloud lifted as he progressed south and more and more devastation eased into view. It was unending. Buildings had their windows decimated, their doors shattered, their facades riddled with holes. Storefront mannequins were bent and buckled and bowed, their high-end clothing tattered and smeared with that heavy grey dust. How was that possible? They weren’t even in the path of the blast anymore. And their facades were facing east. It was insane.

  He saw someone, a real-live-human, hobbling down the street holding his briefcase close to his chest. Paul leaned hard on the horn and waved the guy over. “Come on,” he yelled. “Get out of the ash.” The guy kept walking. “Hey!” He pulled the cruiser as close to the sidewalk as he could get it. “Bro, I’ve got a seat for you right here. Jump in. We’re going to get out of here.”

  The man looked over at him but registered no comprehension. He had a massive gash across his forehead that bled freely down his face. He was in shock. Paul couldn’t leave him out there. He pulled his hoodie back up over his head and made a teensy hole for his eyes, then slung his fireman’s jacket over his shoulders. “I’m coming to get you.”

  Paul vaulted out of the cruiser and wrapped his arms around the guy, pulling him towards the car. The man offered no resistance. He only wheezed slightly and let himself fall into Paul’s arms. Paul dragged him to the car, opened up the rear door, and folded him into the back seat. The guy lay there doubled over, with his head on the hard vinyl and his butt in the air. He didn’t even try to right himself. He’d got it bad, whatever it was. Paul leaned in and eased him across the cruiser until he was prone, then raced back around the front of the car and set off again.

  Briefcase guy was just the first. Within a block, the ash cloud had cleared enough that he could see scores of the walking wounded. Why were they silent? Why wasn’t anyone running for help? What had happened to them? Briefcase guy coughed. Paul recognized the sound. Robeson had made that exact noise right before he died. It was their lungs. They weren’t screaming because they couldn’t. The chemical had seeped into their chests and burned them from the inside out.

  Manhattan had become hell.

  Chapter 4

  Aggie couldn’t think about the nuclear option or packing the family up with their bug-out bags and taking refuge with strangers in an abandoned salt mine. They weren’t there yet. And even if they were and Manhattan was under direct attack, she would wait it out because there was no way she was leaving the cabin without her mother and father. They could all hunker down in the root cellar if they needed to. It wasn’t like they’d need to be underground forever.

  She occupied her reeling brain by heading back to the cabin and drawing up a duty roster. It broke the day into sections. Mornings were going to be for building the new plastics-free barn, afternoons for training for those who needed training (she meant Sean, mostly, but she didn’t want to call him out and embarrass him; the guy needed to learn how to shoot a gun if he was going to sta
y with them), and evenings were for unpacking and repacking any food supplies that were still wrapped in plastic. It was amazing how much work that was. Like, a lot.

  The kitchen was empty, the dishes already washed, dried, and put away. Petra and Midge had gone off to feed and exercise the animals, Sean trailing behind like the doe-eyed stray mutt he was. It’d be at least another hour before they’d be back to rustle up some lunch. She could browse the fridge and graze at will; no one to bother her or criticize her for her inordinate love of cheese. She heard the click of Reggie’s toenails on the living room floor before she saw Jo. She stuffed a couple of Baby Bells in her pocket and put on her best “innocent” face, though it was stupid to care what anyone thought. It was her fridge and her cheese and who would even know if she had more than one at a time? Wasn’t like Mom was around to tell her off. The thought was like a kick directly to her gut. What wouldn’t she give to have Mom standing where Jo stood, giving her the stink-eye right now?

  Jo pulled the roster off the fridge. “What’s the deal with ‘no plastics?’”

  Aggie shrugged. “We don’t know any more than what we’ve told you. Mom said get rid of them, so we’re getting rid of them.” Reggie snuffed at her pocket. Even wrapped, the miniature cheese wheels were irresistible.

  “And extending the barn, what’s that all about?”

  “Same deal.” Aggie pushed Reggie away, gently. “We’re not supposed to keep anything around that has plastic in it, so rather than pull this place apart we’re building an annex on the barn.”

  Jo clicked her tongue and called Reggie to her. He lolloped over reluctantly and sat at her feet. She ran her fingers through Reggie’s fur, kneading his ears so he was totally under her spell. “Tell me exactly what Alice said.”

  Aggie shrugged. “I never got to talk to Mom. Dad did. He told us she said to get rid of all the plastics.”

  Jo leaned her elbows on the kitchen counter and rested her head in her hands, Reggie nudging her to come back and continue his head massage. “But that’s not what you’re doing.”

  Aggie knew why her dad had asked Jo to stay with them. It was because Midge was so young and needed someone over 21, just in case there was an emergency. But it irked her to have this stranger get up in her business.

  Jo narrowed her eyes. “I see you’ve got a plan to unwrap all the food. That’s good. But your mom didn’t say, ‘unwrap the food and move the humans a few hundred yards away from the plastic.’ If what you’re telling me is accurate, she said ‘get rid of it all.’”

  Aggie opened her mouth but bit the answer back. Her idea to move from the main cabin to the barn, but make the barn habitable was a good one. It meant they didn’t have to tear the cabin apart. And if they didn’t demolish it, they could move back in when Mom declared the “all clear.” But then it struck her. They were supposed to take the plastic to the dump. Mom had actually told them to do that. “You know…” she spoke slowly. She didn’t want to set something dramatic and irreversible in motion. “Dad told us to take all the plastic we were unwrapping and dismantling to the new dump.”

  “Right,” said Jo. “The plan was pretty radical.”

  Aggie’s stomach did a couple of turns and her pulse jumped a few notches. “Get rid of all the plastic,” echoed in her mind. It wasn’t “move away from the plastic” it was, “get rid of the plastic.” And it meant pulling the cabin apart, plank by plank.

  “Tell me what Alice does at work, exactly. I know the basics, but walk me through it.”

  “She’s a Senior Vice President at K&P.” Aggie was proud of her mother. She’d worked hard to get where she was.

  Jo waved the rank away. “Sure, sure. But what does she do exactly? What does her job entail at the day to day level? Perhaps there’s a clue in that.”

  “She’s the Head of Marketing,” said Aggie. She’d already been through this, mentally, this morning on her own. There were no clues.

  “Hmmm.” Jo didn’t seem at all impressed. She should have been. It was annoying she was so nonchalant and disengaged.

  Reggie ambled back to Aggie’s side, his nose pressed up against her pocket. It was going to be easier just to give in and let the pooch have a bite. She turned the cheese wheel over in her hand. It was so satisfying: the smooth wrapper, the easy-pull tab, the fresh, soft luxury within. She had the first bite, but then broke off a little and let Reggie nibble it from her fingers.

  “Don’t give him too much. He’ll get gassy.”

  Aggie smiled and ruffled Reggie’s head. He was a good boy, not grabby, not presumptuous, not like his human who was frowning and grumbling and making it sound like her mom wasn’t a big deal at K&P. She wanted Jo to go away and leave her alone, but before she did that, Aggie wanted her to understand that her mom’s firm was going to revolutionize the world. “Before the accident they were getting ready to release a new compound.”

  Jo nodded. She was thinking on something else, not paying attention. Tears stung Aggie’s eyes. Her mom had spent so many hours away from them because she believed—passionately, absolutely, down to her core—that what she was doing would make a difference in the world. It wasn’t fair that this nobody, who had no business in their lives, could waltz into their kitchen, make it stink of fish, and dismiss her mother’s work like that.

  “It was top secret.” Reggie bumped her hand, one, two, three times. When she didn’t yield, he ambled back to his bae. Aggie smiled to herself. Jo wouldn’t like being referred to as anyone’s “bae,” not even Reggie’s. She had that hard, no-nonsense attitude that screamed “I’m nobody’s sweetheart.”

  Jo smiled at Reggie and looked directly at Aggie. There was something in that look, but Aggie didn’t know what it was. Curiosity? Indulgence? Pity? She wasn’t having that. She didn’t need Jo’s pity. She needed her respect.

  “The compound is called MELT. It’s a plastic-eating formula, developed from a plastic-eating enzyme that originated and then mutated in a Japanese plastics landfill.”

  Jo stood up. Now she was listening. Good, she should. Mom had worked hard to make this happen. She wasn’t just the mouthpiece of the company. She was a thinker, a planner, someone who had championed the production of MELT from the very beginning. Aggie had heard her dad boast about it time after time. It was the only reason it was okay that Alice was away from home so many hours. Because she was doing this good thing.

  “They succeeded? Because last I heard, it was still ‘on the horizon.’ I didn’t think they were going to do it, to be honest. Not that I’m suggesting your mom was exaggerating. It just all sounded a bit far-fetched: enzymes eating their way through plastic.” She paused, her hands back in Reggie’s fur. Perhaps that was how the woman calmed herself, by massaging her dog? Aggie had seen weirder things. “So, to be clear, your mom’s firm were bringing their plastic-eating compound to market? As in, soon?”

  Aggie nodded furiously. She was burning up with pride and anger and a desire to punch Jo, who wasn’t being anywhere near respectful enough. “Not soon. Now. They are unveiling MELT now. Well, were…two days ago…”

  Jo stared at her, her face hard and serious. “And there was an accident at her workplace? On the day of the unveiling?”

  Aggie’s pride took a hit. Why did she have to say it like that? Like she was banging a gong with every word, hitting hard and loud and making everything all ominous. But it was true, there had been an accident. But that wasn’t her mom’s fault. She nodded, but only once.

  “And she called and told your dad to get rid of all plastics?” She put the emphasis at the end. “All plastics.” Like it was the exclamation point to end all exclamation points.

  It started to sink all the way in; beyond the words, into actual meaning. That was what Mom had said. Dad had watered it down because he was…well…Dad. He hoped for the best. Mom, on the other hand, expected and planned for the worst. Dad was usually right, but what if he wasn’t? What if, in this one case, Mom was right and they had to do something extreme?


  “It’s not my place…” Jo trailed off.

  Aggie waited. They’d only just met, really, but she had a feeling Jo was a bit like her. She was going to speak her mind whether she was invited to or not.

  “But I think we should consider doing exactly what your mom asked you to do.”

  Aggie looked around the kitchen. If they did that, they’d have nothing. No cookware, no oven, no fridge. She’d kind of thought they would be able to come back to the cabin from time to time; store things here, make food when camping out in the barn got a bit rough. She hadn’t thought about being off-grid full time.

  She let her mind expand and roam the property. If they got rid of everything that had plastic in it or on it, there’d be no backhoe, no sump pump, no freaking water pipes, no generator. Dang it. She’d been planning on lighting the new barn with hurricane lamps, but they had some kind of plastic joints in them, didn’t they?