Kate
“Feels like we’re being watched. There’s got to be millions of eyes on us,” my father hisses as he pulls a long sliver of foil from the front pocket of his jeans. He lifts it up over his head and wraps it around, making a bizarre cone-shaped hat. “We’re going to need forks,” he whispers with a grim twist to his mouth.
“Right. I’ll keep an eye out. Foil and forks,” I mumble, trying not to lose my patience or my sanity. I tug on Claire’s hand and start leading them down the street. My eyes dart everywhere, watching, waiting for something—anything—to move. She’s almost impossible to make walk, dragging her feet and trying to tug me back home. I keep moving, though, and speak in soft tones about what we need to do.I wish this were easier.
I wish I wasn’t so damn scared.
We walk slowly past boarded-up buildings stained with graffiti. Solid blue flags flap out of windows and off the roofs of abandoned cars. Broken bottles and shattered glass crunch under our boots, and on the corner, an enormous billboard hangs dangerously off the side of a building. The wordsGO HOMEare splashed in drippy red paint across the front of it.
My father hums louder the farther we walk down the street and he’s somehow managed to wrap foil across his chest and midsection within the last few feet we’ve moved. “Foil, forks, and Frisbees,” he sings quietly.
Somewhere far off in the distance, a quick round of gunfire explodes through the silent streets. A burst of raw, hot fear spreads down my body and I pull them both closer to me, wishing they could walk faster. Or that my father could, for just one minute, shut the hell up with his stupid, off-key singing so I couldfreakingthink.
I don’t even have a solid plan as to where to go. My only thought was to walk up Seventh Avenue toward Times Square and try to find help. There have to be safe places to go. Someplace with food and medicine. Someplace with hope.
It’s too absurd to think that we’re the only ones left in a city that once held eight million people. I just have to find out where everyone went—where they all evacuated to—then everything will be fine again. I need to focus and look for help.There’s got to be help here somewhere.
We’re in New York Freaking City, for God’s sake.
We stay close to the buildings as the sky slowly darkens—only moving a few feet at a time—scanning the streets for danger. But of course, when the sun fully sets and just a violet glow peeks out over the horizon, we lose my father. “Dad?” I whisper as loud as I think I should.
There’s no answer.
Cursing out a low continuous loop of swear words, Claire leans her back against a small storefront, which once sold antique furniture. Its walls are now charred black and it smells of burnt wood and filth. She’s breathing heavily and slowly sliding down toward the ground. There’s a jerky twitch to her head every time she grunts out a curse. I need to get her somewhere she can’t feel all this stress.I need help.
“Okay, just sit here for a few minutes,” I say, sweeping the sweat-soaked hair from her cheeks. I yank the last bottle of water from my pack and twist off the top. “Drink some,” I say in a calm, steady voice. Inside my head, I’m panicking.
She looks up with bloodshot eyes and my body tightens, fighting the urge to cringe from just looking at her. I’m not even sure if she has the energy to lift her hand to reach for the bottle so I place it against her lips and let her sip slowly.
When I think she’s had enough, I sit down next to her and let her slump against me. She exhales a trembling breath and it’s so shallow and raspy that for a moment, I think it might be her last. I twist her face toward mine, clutching her chin in my hand. Her face is so sunken in—her lips so blue—my heart feels as if it’s plummeting into my stomach. “Stay with me, Claire. Don’t you give up on me,” I beg.
After a few beats she takes a deep inhale and tries to smile through horribly chapped lips. “Kay, kay,” she whispers. Her voice is my favorite sound in the world.
I pull her closer and hold her against my chest. I don’t know what else to do; a hug is the only thing I have to offer her right now. A hug and a steady, confident voice, because if she even got a small whiff of how terrified I really was, there would be no calming her down. She needs to think that everything is going to be okay and that we’ll be fine. So I sit with her, stroking her hair softly, and lie about how funny this all really is. All the while biting my own tongue until it bleeds the color of my fear and anxiety. How am I supposed to make her understand?This is too damn scary to understand. None of it even seems possible.
Across the street, a shadow moves along the ground and I strain to listen. The streetlights have long been destroyed, and in such utter darkness all you can do is rely on your ears and your instincts. I lean a little forward, concentrating on the break in silence.
Humming. It sounds like a person humming.
“Dad?” I call out in a low whisper.
The shadow pauses for a moment and what sounds like the bottom of boots scrapes noisily over glass. The silhouette of a man comes into focus as it crosses the long expanse of the street. The humming gets louder.
It’s too loud.Someone will hear it.
A flare of white-hot adrenaline spikes across my chest and I gulp back a cry for him to stay quiet. Quickly, I scan the skies—sweep my eyes along the darkness of the streets—pleading with whatever gods are left for his silence.
“I found foil and forks,” he cheers loudly. The sound of his voice echoes off the abandoned buildings, slicing violently through the night. Claire gasps out a painful whimper next to me.
That’s when we first hear it.
Faint whispers, no louder than a purr. White noise. Static.
I flatten my back against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut. This can’t happen right now—not when we are out in the open. I choke back a shaky breath.I should have never made them leave the apartment. I should have gone by myself.
Shifting closer to Claire, I lay my hands flat against the cold stone of the building just as my father reaches us. He’s smiling like a fool. Arms full of aluminum foil packs and a fistful of bent-pronged forks.
I lean my head back and breathe deeply, looking up into the night sky. Just above us the moon hovers low, small, pale, and crescent-shaped. There’s nothing else there. Nothing but the moon and puffs of dark gray clouds that are fighting to hide it.
