6th Horseman, Extremist Edge Series: Part 1 (19 page)

And in that small circle of light I see metal
rod samples for gates and balconies. Without a moment’s hesitation
I grab the black, metal bar and return to the door. I open it
carefully. My lungs are tight and I can’t breathe well, but some
air gets in, enough to keep me from blacking out.

The guy straddles Hana and tries to get her
pants undone while cramming his gun into her cheek. “I’ve got a
bullet with your name on it, cop, unless you stay nice and
still.”

I run at him and plunge the metal bar into
the back of his head. The bar pushes into the brain surprisingly
easy. “Ahhhh!” I back off. The guy twitches and drops the gun. Hana
pushes off the ground and the guy falls. She takes one look at him,
then me, and runs to me.

“Can’t, breathe.” I fall to the floor and
curl into a ball.

Hana finds my stuff, rifles through it until
she finds my inhaler. I take a few puffs and feel the air fill my
body. She pulls me onto her lap and hugs me hard. “It’s okay. You
did good. You did what you had to. You saved me, twice. You can
stop now. How about I save you next time? ”

I chuckle weakly. “I couldn’t let him do that
to you.”

“We’re all predators. Only, some of us are
cannibals, too. Those are the ones we have to watch out for.” From
the inside of her boot she pulls out a four inch fixed blade, sharp
on both sides. “Don’t think for a second I was going down without a
fight. I was just waiting for my moment.” She winks at me.

“I . . . never killed anyone before.” I wipe
blood splatters from my face and feel dizzy.

“I’m glad. But don’t worry, self defense
doesn’t make you a monster. It only makes you stronger.” She helps
me clean my face and hands with water from my bag.

I know she’s right. I saved her, and I saved
myself.

We sit in silence for a while. Hana keeps
looking toward the door. “We have to move. This is not safe. Those
guys might come looking for their friend.”

I nod in agreement.

“We need to get across the river,” Hana says.
“That means if we don’t want to swim it, we need to find a
boat.”

“I think I’d rather find a boat,” I say.

Hana nods. She snaps her fingers, looking
excited. “I know where there’s a boat.”

“Hudson River has docks,” I interrupt.

She shakes her head. “Too big. Those boats
are electronic. Dead in the water. Plus, there was so much panic,
we’d probably have a hard time finding a boat left on our side of
the Hudson. No, there’s a nice boathouse just north of here in a
place called Swindler’s Cove. It’s gotta have a row boat.”

“We’re gonna have to row?” I complain.

“Either that or swim,” Hana repeats. “It’s
only four hundred feet or so.” She stands and shuffles over to the
small window on the garage door and looks out. “I think we can find
a boat. I’ve seen Columbia University rowboats on the river
hundreds of times, and I think they dock those boats at Swindler’s
Cove. It’s worth a shot anyway.”

We head out. It shouldn’t take us more than a
few hours to get there. It’s hot again like yesterday. The sun
burns my neck, and it’s bright. More and more I want out of this
city. The air smells foul. The bodies we pass are swelling with
stink and they look weird. Some even look like roots are covering
them. I feel wound up and on the verge of freaking out the whole
morning. I’m hungry and sick to my stomach at the same time. I just
want to go home.

The highway is empty now, exposed, like bones
after vultures pick off the meat. Up ahead is a plane crash. It is
a huge passenger plane half buried in the asphalt. Concrete Jersey
barriers ripped off one wing. Stillness surrounds the plane,
forgotten, along with everything else. As we get closer I expect to
see the emergency hatches open and slides inflated on either side,
but there are no open doors. No slides. No one got out alive. Maybe
they didn’t let themselves out. If they knew they were all sick
maybe they tried to contain the bug inside the plane as an attempt
to save everyone else. Maybe. It must have been hard to do. I would
have wanted to throw the doors open and hit pavement.

We get closer and I see blood splattered in
the cockpit windows. I can’t think about it anymore. I’m fucking
sick. The road is barren, empty. These roads were filled
twenty-four hours a day. It’s so quiet I can’t stand it. It makes
me nervous and jumpy. There’s smoke in the sky from colossal fires
gorging themselves on overflowing platters of empty buildings. No
one’s around to stop them.

We cut across a parking lot to an apartment
complex. We pass clusters of dead bodies, like everyone huddled
before they died. It’s like those holocaust videos they made us
watch in history class. It makes my stomach grind on itself. When I
see the blank faces of the dead I want to freak out, to run
somewhere dark and quiet. I want to climb into a CAT5 Ethernet
cable and find the nearest server. Then I’d cozy up to some funny
YouTube vids. Yesterday seemed easier than today. Being stuck
inside that duct seems easier. I can’t even wish I was somewhere
else. That would take some kind of clarity, which I don’t have at
all. My head tumbles on itself and feels heavy. My eyes burn. I’m
firmly stuck in that Blue Screen of Death error mode PC’s find
themselves in. I grab Hana’s hand and hold it.

That’s when I notice something strange. There
are bodies on the rooftops of the buildings and they’re hanging out
of windows. Why go to the roof if you’re sick? Or hang out your
window? It doesn’t make sense. They’re clustered in dog piles,
frozen, but not quite still. Tears roll down my cheeks. This is a
lot of dead people. When will the death stop? Did my Ma make it?
Are people dying outside of New York Island too? I’m glad sweat is
pouring from my forehead so that Hana can’t see my tears.

We follow Harlem River Drive because it
parallels the River. We pass the Kennedy Bridge. It’s blown to
pieces. All the bridges, 3rd, 138th, 145th, Alexander Hamilton and
the George Washington Bridge. My feet hurt badly. Hana says we’ve
walked over ten miles. I can’t remember when I’ve walked so far.
The river is narrow here, but I can’t swim it. It freaks me out
thinking about jumping in. Aren’t there mutant river monsters in
there waiting for me?

Finally, we reach Swindler’s Cove. We follow
the road that leads to a security gate. Beyond the gate is a shiny
new aluminum bridge that leads to a floating pier and a much larger
boathouse. The boathouse is two stories, freshly painted blue with
yellow trim, and has bright red doors. It looks nice and new. Hana
checks the security gate. It swings open.

After we pass through the security gate, Hana
closes it and ties it shut with a wire. “If there are looters, this
might slow them down,” she says.

We continue down the aluminum walkway and
then move onto the wood dock.

“What happened to all the boats?” I ask.

Hana points to the other side of the river.
“Looks like people took them in the panic before everyone started
dying.”

There are ten or so boats clustered on the
opposite shore from the boathouse. Hana moves to the boathouse at
the end of the pier. She breaks the window to the main office and
enters the building. The house is floating on the water and moves
after every step. The bottom of the building is a storehouse for
the boats, and the top floor is a lobby or something. There’s only
one boat inside the storehouse. It’s a wooden boat sitting upside
down on construction A-frames.

Hana eyes the boat for a while. “Damn.” She
moves around the suspended vessel. “If we take this boat out it’ll
sink. There’s a hole the size of my fist.”

“Can we patch it?”

“Epoxy should seal it. But we’d have to stay
an extra day or so until the glue dries.”

“Fine by me.” It feels good to get out from
under the sun. I find a towel in a locker and dry the sweat off my
forehead. We spend the rest of the afternoon patching the hole with
this putty stuff Hana found in a locker. After a couple hours we
paint the patch with a blue epoxy sealant.

Hana inspects the work while eating M&Ms
and then gets the idea to make a smiley face with the candy in
thick sealant. She pushes the last M&M into the smile. “That
should do it. Give us a little good luck.” She winks at me.

I laugh and add crazy eyebrows to the smiley
face. She elbows me lightly. Hana is a cool chick and funny too.
Which is weird for a girl — I mean, a woman. Even weirder for a
cop.

We walk upstairs to check out the building.
There’s a meeting room, a bathroom, and two other rooms that are
locked. I guess they’re storerooms or something. Hana bashes the
handle off one door and peeks inside. It’s a room with a couch and
a TV. It must be a lounge or a waiting room. The other room is
locked with a deadbolt. She gives up trying to force it open.
Probably has something of value, like life-vests or keys or a motor
or something. No big deal. We’re gonna be out tomorrow anyway.

“I got the couch,” I declare, as though I’m
staking out a room in a new house.

Hana gives me a crooked look. “You’re gonna
let the lady sleep on the floor? Some gentleman you are.”

I chuckle, feeling hot in my face. “Sorry, I
guess you can have the couch.”

She walks by and pushes me. “I’m kidding. You
take the couch. You’re a kid, and that beats the woman trump card.”
She looks me up and down for a second. “What are you, like ten?”
She laughs.

“I’m fifteen.” My face burns. “I’m short.
That’s all. I haven’t hit my growth spurt yet.”

She laughs then winks at me. I’ll forgive her
for that one. The sun sets behind dark storm clouds, as dark as
fire’s smoke. A storm is coming from the sea. It’s going to get
really dark soon. I’m glad we’re inside.

Hana snoops around while I sit on the couch,
wishing I had my laptop or a tablet. Later, she starts cheering in
the back room. I run to her.

She’s head first in a crawl space in the back
of the closet. “They got an old generator in here! If this thing is
properly grounded it should have survived the EMP blast. It’s just
a simple diesel engine.” She removes a case cover on the front of
the generator and hands it to me. “See these wires?”

I get on all fours and tuck myself as close
to her as possible.

“They run down the inner walls to the frame
of the boathouse.”

“A ground wire?” I clarify.

“Yes. Good,” she says. “Plus, this cage is
lined with insulation that keeps the sound down. Perfect insulation
from the EMP.” She flicks a fuel line switch and then the starter
switch. The motor fires up. She cheers again like a little
girl.

We have electricity! She’s still paranoid
about looters, so we shut the blinds tight and only keep one light
on. She dims the lamp by hanging a towel over it.