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After watching the broadcast, I felt numb. We were being called survivors, but I didn’t feel like one. Maybe if I made it home, I would, but not yet. I sat back on the couch and went over the speech again, but the words held no weight. The idea that the government would abandon us had definitely crossed my mind. I knew they couldn’t leave the electricity and water on indefinitely. I’d assumed a cutoff date would cause me to panic, but instead, it just felt as though the inevitable had happened. I had a deadline, three months to make my escape. I called my parents to see if they’d watched the speech.
“We saw it,” my mom said as a hello. “For you that’s good, right? You have us to host you, so that’s one problem down.” I could hear the hope in her voice.
“Yes, that’s true, but I still don’t know how I’m going to get there.”
My mom sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
“I’ve been looking for caravans leaving somewhere close to New York, but so far, there are none. A guy from New Jersey is offering to take as many people as he can fit in his van, but he’s also posting paranoid, crazy rants. I don’t think he’s a safe bet.”
“No, that doesn’t sound good. Besides all that, how are you doing?” I was startled by her question. I worried that she could sense that mentally, I was barely hanging on.
My lower lip quivered. I was trying to push my emotions back, but it was my mom. “I’m restless most of the time. I don’t know if I can do this, Mom.”
“Honey, you’ve done so well this far. You can do this. I know you. You are stronger than you think.” She paused, allowing me to cry. “I know you think it’s silly, but you know those self-affirmation stickers I use from time to time?”
I snorted a laugh, smiling through my tears. “Yeah.”
“Don’t laugh. They help. I know you don’t believe in that stuff, but it can’t hurt.”
“I’ll try just about anything right now.” My tears were unstoppable. Something about my mom’s voice was causing all my emotions to force their way out, and for once, I let them. “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“How do you know I can do this?”
Her voice softened. “Because you’re the best of your dad and me. I don’t know how you managed that, but you did. I admire you, you know? I fought you when you wanted to move so far away, but that came from the weakest part of me, a part you don’t seem to have. And I’m sorry I didn’t encourage you more. I was scared, but I shouldn’t have put that on you. It was selfish. You had the strength to know what was right for you then to go out and get it. Not many people have that kind of courage. No one helped you. You did it all on your own. That’s how I know. You just have to know it yourself. It’s there inside you. Go and find it.”
Her words were rebuilding my weakened confidence. “Okay, you’re right. I can do this. I will do this.”
“Good. That’s my girl.”
My tears slowed, and I felt determination sprout inside me. I sat up straight on the couch and took a deep breath. “I’m glad I called you.”
“I’m always here for you. You know that. So how are you spending your time?”
“Exercising, catching up on my movie watching, and reading.”
I could hear the smile in her voice. “This would be a great time to read War and Peace.”
I groaned. “No, thanks!”
I was supposed to have read the book in high school. I tried and tried, and even though I was an avid reader, I just couldn’t get into it. I made it about a third of the way through before I gave up and ended up taking a D on the book report. My teacher said it read like the CliffsNotes version of a paper, which was probably because I’d only skimmed the CliffsNotes version of the book. I’d never gotten anything less than a B before, so I told my mom the truth. As punishment for not doing the assignment, I had to read the book. I faked it for a month before finally confessing that I’d barely read two chapters in that time. At that point, she admitted defeat and told me I had to do the dinner dishes for a week instead. I was happy to accept the punishment if it meant I no longer had to look at that book.
Later, I went up to the roof with my winter gear on and a thermos of hot chocolate in hand. Zeke ran around again—being half American Eskimo meant he loved the snow and adorably mushed through it. The girls came to the window, no doubt having been alerted by Zeke’s excited barking. They were laughing and cheering him on.
Emma was wearing white-nubby footy pajamas with ears on the hood. She’d drawn black circles around her eyes and nose with eyeliner. “I’m Amanda the Panda!”
They’d brought a bucket with them and began piling the snow from the windowsill into it.
Julia told me, “We’ve already added the snow from the other windowsills. We almost have a full bucket!”
“Oh no! I better watch out, then!” I started making my arsenal of snowballs. Once I had a pretty good batch, I looked over and saw they were poised to start hurling. I shouted, “Ready! Set! Go!” and let one fly.
It hit the window next to them, and the girls screamed excitedly. They both started throwing some back at me. I let half of them hit me, and Zeke ran around trying to catch the other half. He was barking and having more fun than all of us. I didn’t want to hit the girls, considering they were sick, but I did land a few right at the edge of the window and sprayed some snow onto them, which they loved. They were ducking and swerving around their apartment to avoid any snowballs they anticipated coming through the window. I threw a couple through when they weren’t nearby. The whole game was fun for all. When our snowball stash was completely depleted, we sat and drank our hot chocolate. While they drank, I took a few more candid photos.
“That was fun!” said Emma.
“Yeah, it was. I think we all needed that.”
Julia was nodding while she sipped her hot chocolate, and I noticed her wince as she swallowed. “Are you using the Chloraseptic and cough syrup?”
She looked down. “I don’t need it as much as they do.”
“Julia, you need to use it. It will help. If you run out, I’ll go into another apartment and find more.”
She looked up at me. “Okay, but I’m really fine.”
“I know you are trying to be strong, but you have to take care of yourself too. Promise me you’ll take some tonight.”
Reluctantly, she said, “I promise.”
“How is your mom?” I didn’t want to ask, but I needed to know.
Emma looked at Julia, who was looking toward their mom’s bedroom. Julia finally responded, “She hasn’t woken up today. Her fever is up to one-oh-five, but we checked, and she’s still breathing.”
Emma started crying, causing the black makeup to run like fingers down her cheeks.
Julia pulled her into a hug and cried too. “What are we going to do if she dies?”
I noticed that she said “if,” even though we all knew it was inevitable. “I’m sorry. I’ll help you as much as I can.” I pointed downstairs to some windows. “See those two windows there and the one next to the pulley?”
They both nodded.
“If something happens and you need help, throw something at it. Nothing big or heavy but maybe buttons or something like that, okay? That one’s my bedroom, and the other is the hallway.”
“Okay,” they said in unison.
“You are not alone. I’ll be here with you no matter what happens,” I told them.
They seemed relieved.
Emma began coughing, and when she stopped, she looked up at Julia, alarmed. She brought her hand up, and blood was sprayed all over it. I winced at the sight.
Julia looked at me and said, “Oh my god!”
I swallowed, trying to force back the lump that was stopping me from talking. “It’s okay, Emma. Just wash your hands and rinse your mouth.”
Emma began to whimper while Julia cleaned her hand with a towel. I told Julia to give her some Theraflu, and we adjourned for the day. Emma was coughing a lot more, and her breathing was a bit ragged. It scared me. Plus, I only had maybe two days of food left, so I decided it was time to try to get into the basement.
I grabbed the crowbar, which was still in my apartment from when the landlord had new hardwood floors installed a few years back. My building was pre-war and had a lot of issues, mainly that the whole place tilted slightly to the left. It didn’t offer laundry, garbage disposals, or even closets. There were fireplaces in the living room and dining room, but they had been bricked up, and only the mantels remained.
Over time, I’d grown to love all my apartment’s quirks. I didn’t mind the lopsided doorframes, the TV stand that needed to be propped up on one side to make it level, or the creaky hallway floorboards. The character of the building was one of the things I loved most about it. But the floors had been by far the worst. They didn’t have character. They were just badly deteriorated. I actually got splinters in my feet from walking on them.
After years of my complaining, the landlord finally broke down and said he’d have them redone. Once the contractor saw the state of the wood, he advised the landlord to rip most of it up and put in new wood. The landlord had almost blown a gasket at that one, but the contractor said the condition of the wood was unsafe, and he was required by law to replace it. Score one for tenants!
Once I got to the basement door, I realized I had no idea how to pry it open. I stuck the slanted edge into the space between the door and the frame and pulled back with as much strength as I could muster. The door creaked a little but didn’t budge. It wasn’t going to work. I pulled out my phone and dialed my dad’s number.
“Hi. How do you open a locked door with a crowbar?”
“Ask it nicely?” he replied with a chuckle. My dad, I swear. He was a man of very few words that almost always fell into one of two categories: useful or funny.
“Always joking. Can you walk me through it? I need to get into the basement of the building. Don’t ask why.”
“Well, what kind of lock are we talking about here? Is there just one lock?”
I inspected the lock before saying, “Only one lock. I think it’s a standard lock. It doesn’t look heavy duty.”
“In that case, wedge the crowbar into a spot where it will push the lock out toward you. Then push as hard as you can toward the door. That should put enough pressure on the lock to break it.”
“So I’m pushing against the lock, not the door?”
“Yes, correct.”
I’d been doing it all wrong. “I’ll try it now. Hold on.”
I set the phone on the windowsill and faced the door. I wedged the crowbar into the crevice and pushed with all my might. The doorframe groaned, and the lock buckled slightly but held. I let go and took a few deep breaths. Trying again, I pushed so hard that I yelled along with it. Slowly, the frame splintered, then the lock snapped, and pieces went flying across the lobby area as I stumbled toward the vestibule door. I looked back, and the basement door was wide open.
I grabbed my phone, feeling triumphant. “It worked!” One less obstacle was in my way. “Thanks. I’ll call you guys in a little bit.”
“Glad to help! Don’t do anything stupid!”
A rush of love for my dad filled my heart. “I won’t. Bye.”
With the door open, I could smell a musty odor coming from below. I covered my mouth and nose with my shirt and walked down. I pulled the string to turn on the light and saw tools, buckets, and a box full of pieces of wood. Along the wall was the key rack. I grabbed all the keys and ran out of there.
I started with Mr. Tablock’s solitary first-floor apartment. I found the key and unlocked the door. I pulled my shirt up over my mouth and nose again to avoid taking any chances. I reached for the knob but pulled my hand back. I was nervous about going into the apartments. What if someone is sick in there? Or worse, dead? The thought of seeing a dead body forced me to take a step back. I rubbed my sweaty palms over my pants and pressed my lips together. I pulled my shoulders back, took a step forward, and turned the knob. The door squeaked open, and I paused, listening for movement. The apartment smelled stale but clean with a slight antiseptic odor. I walked slowly down the hall, peeking into the empty bedroom along the way, then spotted a hospital bed facing the television in the living room. I checked the bedroom off the living room. The apartment was empty.
Exhaling, I went back down the hall to the kitchen and searched under the sink for cleaning supplies. I found Clorox Wipes and rubbed down the cabinets and drawers in all the rooms, then took the wipes with me. I went back to the bathroom and scoured the seventies-style medicine cabinet. Since he was elderly, Mr. Tablock had prescriptions for just about everything. Jackpot! I threw them all in a trash bag and contemplated taking his toothpaste too. I’d run out and had been using baking soda. But if he’d been sick... I wasn’t sure I wanted to take that chance. I left the toothpaste behind but took his pack of toilet paper from under the sink since I’d run out the day before and was using my last roll of paper towels instead. Then I headed to the kitchen. I found cookies and a box of Nips caramels that I took for the girls. I threw all his canned and dry goods into the bag. The fridge was bare, containing only a spoiled carton of milk and two moldy tomatoes.
I climbed the steps to the second floor and opened Barb’s door first since I knew she was no longer there. But I also knew she’d been sick. I wiped everything down, including the windowsills and doorknobs, twice. After filling a bag with more supplies and food, I closed the door and walked to the apartment across from hers. I opened the door and crept in slowly, my heartbeat fluttering. After checking all the rooms, I began to loosen up, feeling more confident there was no one else in the building. I paused between floors to store the goods in my extra room and use hand sanitizer. I repeated the process at the other three apartments and found they were all clear of dead bodies.
There wasn’t as much food as I’d hoped for—New Yorkers usually bought food on a daily basis rather than weekly. But I scored some DVDs of movies I hadn’t seen and a good supply of toilet paper. Tom had a bike on a rack in his second bedroom, and I thought about my idea to ride a bike to the border. If I gathered up enough courage, the bike could work, although I doubted I would be able to reach the pedals while seated. Tom was over six feet tall.
From Barb’s apartment, I took an unopened bottle of wine and a really nice leather-bound journal. I flipped through the first few pages, and it appeared to be empty, so I took it to make notes—it would be handy to have. I should have done this long ago. I wasn’t sure what had stopped me. Maybe some misguided notion of respecting privacy.
I heard a loud, piercing scream when I was in apartment seven, directly across from mine. I’d just started loading up my loot. I froze. It was definitely a woman. I waited a few seconds and heard it again, followed by a few cracks that sounded like gunshots. It seemed to be coming from outside and maybe down the street. The bangs escalated the horror in my head tenfold, and my thoughts darted to the couple with the baby in the Ecksteins’ house. Fear crept up my spine as the screaming went on, and my muscles tightened and trembled when I heard her yell something like “Please!” Fear overcame me, so I grabbed the bag and ran to my apartment.
Once in, I locked the door and tried to slow my breathing. I peeked out the window in the hall at the girls’ window and saw them looking in the direction of the scream. I waved my arms to get their attention, and they looked down at me, their eyes wide and unblinking. I put my finger up to my lips and pointed to the far side of their apartment. They nodded their heads and walked away from the window. That was a close one kept repeating in my head as I leaned against the wall, shaking. The screaming went on for another minute, and then it was quiet again. I could only imagine what that woman was going through. Was she raped? Beaten? Or was that a wail of grief?