Year One

  Who was? Arlys wondered. What could be? “Why didn’t he see us, sense us? The symbols?”

  “I think they helped. Let’s hurry, let’s go. I think they helped shield us, and you smell like…”

  “Death.”

  “Yeah. It’s like a shield, too.”

  “Then we keep it. Oh, thank God. The tracks are going down. We’re going under the river.”

  It was steep and tricky, and slowed progress.

  She’d said before they’d gone in they couldn’t know who or what waited in the tunnels. And still, she hadn’t fully believed.

  Now, she feared.

  All that mattered was getting to the end, getting back up into air that didn’t carry the stench of death.

  “We’re close. We’re close now.” Oddly, knowing that, Arlys’s fear doubled. “We’re hitting the big U-turn the tracks make before the Hoboken exit. We double back, see? And we have to start checking the platforms, looking for—”

  They came out of nowhere.

  She heard Fred scream as someone—or something—dragged them apart. Another grabbed Arlys from behind, lifting her off her feet.

  “Bitch stinks! But she’s got a nice rack on her.”

  She held on to the gun with sheer will as a hand squeezed her breast.

  “Let’s get them up, strip them down!”

  Arlys rammed back with an elbow, fought to kick. Then froze when she felt a knife pressed to her throat, felt blood trickle down from where it bit in.

  “Rather fuck you once while you’re still breathing, but I’m not particular. How do you want it, bitch?”

  Arlys closed her eyes. “I can give you a better ride while I’m breathing.”

  He laughed, licked her ear. “Good choice.”

  She let herself go still.

  Fred screamed, a high, bright, somehow musical sound. As it echoed along with the attackers’ laughter, Arlys forced out a little laugh of her own, turned as if into the man’s arms.

  And pressing the gun to his crotch, fired, fired again.

  He shrieked, fell back, and the knife tore down the sleeve of her coat.

  “What the fuck? I’ll kill her. Kill both of you.”

  Arlys swung the gun toward the voice, but feared she’d hit Fred if she shot.

  “I’m hurt, I’m hurt. She shot my fucking balls off! Kill them!”

  Arlys kicked out at the hand that grabbed at her ankle, stomped on it, and filled the tunnels with another shriek.

  “Run, Arlys! Just run!”

  She heard the awful sound of fist striking flesh and bone, Fred’s gasping moan.

  She couldn’t shoot, but she could fight. Even as she gathered herself to leap forward, the tunnel filled with light, blinding and brilliant.

  Arlys whipped a hand in front of her eyes to block it out. Eyes watering from the glare, she saw Fred trying to crawl, and the man looming over her swatting at the air with his hand, with his knife. Reaching for the gun in his belt.

  She didn’t think, simply fired. Again and again and again, even when he fell, even when the gun clicked on empty.

  “Stop, Arlys, stop! You might hurt them. Stop, stop! It hurts me!”

  Face white as bone under a gathering bruise, Fred crawled toward her. “Please help me.”

  That got through. Arlys lowered the gun, rushed toward her friend. “What can I do?”

  “I’m okay. I’m okay. It’s too bright. It’s too bright.”

  As Fred spoke, the light softened. Sweetened, Arlys thought as she saw dozens of tiny flickers of light dancing over them.

  “What … what are they?”

  “Like me. But mini.” Fred slumped against Arlys. “I called them. I didn’t know I could, but I did. They came to help.”

  Behind them, the first man moaned and clawed toward his knife with his uninjured hand. Arlys made herself walk over, pick up the knife, wipe her own blood from the blade.

  She wanted to kill him, and the want of it sickened her. Instead she stomped, without remorse, on his good hand.

  Left him shrieking while she went to his dead companion, took his knife and gun, shoved everything into the side pockets of her backpack.

  “Can you walk?” she asked Fred.

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you run?”

  “It’s my face, not my legs.”

  “There may be more of this kind, or the even worse kind. We don’t have far, but—I think we should jog it. We need the flashlight.”

  Fred picked it up, but stuck it in the side of her pack. “Not right now. They can stay with us.”

  “Even better. Let’s go, fast as we can.”

  Arlys paced herself to Fred’s shorter legs, but they kept up a good speed.

  “You didn’t leave me. You said you would.”

  Locking away the fear, Arlys kept her gaze straight ahead in the faerie light. “I guess you were right. I wasn’t telling the truth.”

  “You saved me. You had to take a life to save me.”

  Arlys kept running and thought of bright, brilliant light over dark, dark deeds.

  At the Hoboken station, Arlys hauled herself up to the platform while Fred floated up.

  Arlys wanted to scrub her hands, her face, strip off her ruined jacket. The sting in her arm told her the knife had done more than tear the material.

  But she wanted to get aboveground again more.

  She heard echoing voices, but couldn’t risk finding out if they were friend or foe. So she hurried Fred up the stairs to the street.

  The dancing lights circled, then whisked away.

  “They’ll come back, or others will,” Fred told her, “if we need them.”

  “Best backup ever.” Then the tears scorched her throat. “I have to get somewhere, somewhere I can wash my hands—my face. My … I have to get somewhere I can fall apart for a few minutes.”

  “We’ll find somewhere. Lean on me now.” Fred circled an arm around Arlys’s waist.

  “You’re hurt. We need to get you some ice or frozen peas or a raw steak. Does that actually work?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody ever punched me in the face before. It really hurts. It really hurts when it happens. It’s not as bad now.”

  They limped along the street, and Arlys prayed they wouldn’t have to fight again. She didn’t know if she had any fight left.

  They stopped in front of a shop, windows boarded, door bolted, called Cassidy’s Closet.

  “I bet there’s a washroom for employees.” Fred studied the door. “Maybe some clothes. Maybe a coat you can change into.”

  “It’s shut up tight. If we had some tools, maybe…”

  “Faeries—experienced ones—can get into locked places. I might be able to. I just have to find it, and hold it, and…”

  Fred shut her eyes, cupped her hands as if about to catch rainwater in her palms. Her wings fluttered out. She began to glow.

  “Find it, inside me,” she murmured, “hold it. Bring it. Offer it. Be with me, children of light and air, of the forests and the flowers. Open locks so we may enter.”

  Nearly numb to it all, Arlys heard locks and bolts click and clank and fall.

  Bruised, filthy, triumphant, Fred fluttered up on her wings to circle in the air.

  “I did it! It’s the first time I did it on my own!”

  “You’re a wonder, Fred. An absolute wonder.” Cautiously, Arlys reached for the door. “But stay behind me, just in case.”

  Arlys led with the gun, and Fred threw in some light.

  No doubt the secondhand clothing store had been picked over, but it didn’t appear to have been looted or vandalized.

  “There’s no one here.” Fred carefully closed the door, locking it again. “I’d know. I didn’t sense the two—the last two—because we, well, smelled, and it made me a little sick. You know?”

  “Yeah, I know. Let’s see if there’s somewhere to wash up.”

  As they wandered through, Fred looked around, stopping herself from touching anyt
hing because her hands were filthy. “Nobody broke in and trashed the place.”

  “Maybe people are more civilized in Hoboken. Or maybe more got out quicker, or are holed up. Chuck must be holed up.”

  “I almost forgot about him.”

  “Let’s hope he didn’t forget to watch tonight’s broadcast. Here! We got a little washroom back here.”

  “Yay! I’ve got to pee so bad.”

  Fred yanked down her pants, dropped down on the toilet.

  Arlys braced herself, walking to the little sink, looking in the fancy little mirror over it.

  Worse, even worse than she’d imagined. Blood on her face, gore in her hair, the jacket covered with both. She gagged again, fought down the bile. Ripped off her backpack, then the jacket.

  “I might be able to fix it.”

  “Even if you could, I…”

  “I get it. I’m going to take it out, find you something warm to wear. I think I can clean myself up without the soap and water. If not, I’ll be back to do that when you’re done. And, um, your pants, too, Arlys.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll take the jacket out so … Arlys, your arm’s bleeding. You’re cut!”

  She made herself look, pulled off her ruined shirt. “It’s not really bad.”

  “I’m not a healer. I mean magickally. But we should find some antiseptic and a bandage.”

  “It’s not bad,” Arlys repeated, and though her chin wobbled, she managed a smile. “I’m going to say it.”

  “It’s just a scratch?”

  “Right. Just a flesh wound.”

  She turned on the sink, relieved when water actually pumped out and, pumping the lemon-scented liquid soap in her hand, started scrubbing.

  She scrubbed her hands, her arms—though it stung the thin slice on her forearm. She stripped down to her underwear, scrubbed at her legs. Then wedged her head into the little sink to wet down her hair, scrub it, rinse, scrub, rinse until she could see it run clean.

  Then she sat on the chilly floor, wet hair dripping, and wept and wept.

  “Sorry it took so long, but I … Oh, Arlys!”

  Clean again, smelling like a forest in spring, Fred dropped the clothes in her hands and knelt down to gather Arlys close.

  “I killed a man. I killed him. Maybe I killed both of them. I—”

  “You saved me. You saved us both.”

  “I don’t know this world. I don’t know how to live in it.”

  “I don’t think anybody does, not really. It’s why we need each other. You’re strong and brave. I think this world needs people like you. And like me.”

  “I’m just tired. I’m so tired.”

  “Me, too. Maybe you can change, and we’ll rest for a while. This feels like a kind of safe zone, and we’ve got plenty of time before three.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But first, I found a first-aid kit, so we can bandage your arm.”

  “You need some ice.”

  “I couldn’t find any, or frozen peas. Maybe Chuck’ll have some. I took some of the Motrin I found in a desk in this tiny office, so that’ll help.”

  With her arm bandaged, Arlys pulled on thick black leggings. She folded the jeans Fred had brought as an alternate into the backpack. It wouldn’t hurt to have a spare.

  She went for a long-sleeved tee and a black hoodie over it.

  Feeling nearly human, she studied the options for coat or jacket.

  “This is really nice. It’s cashmere.” Arlys held up the black peacoat style.

  “It’ll look great on you.”

  “Yeah, I’m really worried about fashion.”

  “When you start reporting, you’ll want to look good.”

  “I love your optimism.” Arlys tried the coat, found it was a good fit. Then she folded it, sat on it, and drank one of the sodas Fred had packed, ate an apple.

  “What are you doing?” she asked Fred.

  “I’m leaving a note for Cassidy, in case she comes back. I’m telling her what we took—leaving the tags here—and how if the world comes back, we’ll pay her. Signed Arlys and Fred, with a whole lot of gratitude.”

  “Yes, you’re a wonder.” After stretching out on the floor, Arlys used the folded coat as a pillow. “Thirty minutes, then we should go.” Arlys set her no-fail internal alarm. “If Chuck doesn’t show, we can come back here, figure out what to do next.”

  “Thirty minutes, check.”

  But Arlys didn’t hear her, as she’d dropped out.

  She woke in thirty, feeling worse than she had before she slept. But in forty, they were outside, following the map she’d drawn.

  “Not completely civilized.” Arlys gestured to a shop, a restaurant, a market—all obviously looted.

  “I don’t think many people are left. You can barely feel the air stir. I hope they got somewhere safe.”

  But Arlys imagined at least some of the homes and apartments—locked and boarded—held the dead.

  They reached the rendezvous point twenty minutes early.

  “I don’t think we should wait in the open,” Arlys began.

  “Too late.”

  At the voice out of the dark, she whirled, dragged the gun out.

  “Whoa, whoa, wait, Annie fricking Oakley. It’s Chuck.”

  She knew the voice now, and he came out of the shadows, hands up, with that silly and wonderfully elastic grin on his face.

  “Chuck.” Arlys lowered the gun, digging deep to hold back fresh tears. “You’re early.”

  “You, too. And you got company.”

  “This is Fred.” Arlys put a protective arm around her. “I couldn’t have gotten out without her.”

  “Yeah, I want to hear about all that. But let’s get inside. It’s been pretty quiet around here the last week, but you never know.”

  “There’s a lot you never know.”

  “It’s really nice to meet you.” Fred offered a hand.

  “You did the weather some these last few weeks. You give good weather. We’re not going all that far.”

  He started to walk, fast on long legs. “I’d have brought you in closer, but I had the Old Blue Eyes moment, and went with it.”

  “It worked.”

  “I knew you’d latch on. Didn’t figure it would all blow up tonight.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Hey, no sweat there. You did what you had to do, and it was real. Jeez, way real. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I like the quiet, but even for me, it’s been too dead around here. Pun sort of intended.”

  “We’ve got to get out, Chuck. I mean away from here. They’re too close. What’s in the tunnels.”

  “You came through the PATH tunnel?” For a moment he had to stop, to gape at them. “Jesus, you’ve got steel, both of you. I don’t think I could’ve handled it.”

  “I’m not sure I would’ve if I’d known, but I know we can’t stay.”

  “Figured it. Been working on a get-out-of-Dodge plan for a while. Few more things to tie up. Probably by tomorrow afternoon. You look like you need some sleep. This is us.”

  He stopped at a corner building, four stories, brick. Old and distinguished.

  “We’ve got the basement.”

  “I just knew you’d live in the basement. Anyone else still here?”

  Chuck shook his head as he pulled out keys, opened a series of locks. Then stepped inside a hallway, keyed a code into a wall panel.

  “Everybody is dead or fled. It’s my uncle’s place—one of his properties. He’s got a big-ass house on Long Island. Or did. He died the end of week one.”

  “I’m sorry.” Fred rubbed Chuck’s arm.

  “Hell of a guy. Lights,” he called and they flashed on. “I like my toys.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Arlys stared. The enormous and well-finished space resembled some sort of high-tech HQ. Computers, monitors, stations, some sort of communication system. Some counters and swivel chairs, the biggest wall screen she’d ever seen, and a leathe
r recliner.

  One corner held a kitchen—stainless-steel appliances, cluttered counters.

  “Bedroom’s through there—haven’t been using it much. You guys can take that. Bathroom’s attached, but I’ve got another one over there.”

  Fred wandered, head clocking back and forth, eyes more than a little dazzled. “You must be really rich.”

  “Well, my uncle was. Who’s rich these days? I guess you are if you’ve got supplies and a roof over your head. So we’re rolling in it. You want eats?”

  “No, not me.” Arlys pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

  “Want a beer, and to talk about it?”

  “Not now. I don’t think I can now. If I could get some sleep first.”

  He gestured toward the bedroom.

  Arlys walked toward it, turned around. “Thank you, Chuck.”

  “Hey, there’s no buds like cyber buds. Go crash, and we’ll talk on the flip side.”

  Fred watched her go. “She needs sleep and some quiet.” Then she smiled at Chuck. “I wouldn’t mind a beer.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “And I can tell you some of it. I can tell you so she doesn’t have to. Unless she wants.”

  “Got my napping couch over there. Have a seat. I’ve got some chips and salsa to go with the beer.”