Quarantine (13 page)

T
he bottom of Central Park's recreation reserve was a near-endless white blanket, easily the size of several football fields. It definitely was more vast than I'd given it credit for from up high in 30 Rock. I ran for the far northern tree line, where I was due to rendezvous with the group. Beyond that, another smaller park and then, over 86th, the reservoir and our way out of this city—so close.

I checked behind me. The Chasers were a way off but the distance between them and me was narrowing. I could outrun them. And maybe the size of our group might scare them off. The worst-case scenario would be we'd have to fight. I turned and checked again—still a way off, maybe even falling a little behind.

I ran hard.

I was crash-tackled to the ground, a hard and terminal stop, like a truck had hit me. I got to my hands and knees, spluttered for breath, heaving. I was kicked in the ribs, knocked onto my side, winded. Above me, a boot came crashing down towards my head. I ducked aside but felt it graze my nose and tasted blood in an eruption of pain.

As the Chaser above me moved in for another attack, he came into focus.

I knew him.

“Caleb!” I yelled at him with everything I had.
“Caleb!”

There was no recognition in his eyes. Had he stalked me from his bookstore?

“Caleb, no—”

My infected friend lunged at me, and I shuffled backwards in the snow, my backpack pulling me down. Before I could make another move he was on me. I went with his momentum and by shifting my weight sideways I flipped him over my leg. I got my arms out of the straps of my pack and felt instantly lighter. I stood as Caleb got to his feet, too. I wiped my bloody nose with the back of my hand.

“Caleb! It's me! Stop!”

His expression remained vacant, his gaze fixed on my streaming bloody nose. I had no idea if he recognized me or not, if he cared.

Over his shoulder I could see the other Chasers were only maybe sixty seconds away.

He made a move and so did I. I pulled the pistol from my coat pocket and brought it around to fire above him. Caleb smashed into me. The gun fired high into the air and fell from my grip into the snow.

“No, stop!”

All his weight crushed into my chest via his knees and I tried to wriggle free but it was useless; his strong hands pinned down both my wrists. His face closed onto mine and I lifted my head, quick as a flash: my forehead hit him squarely between the eyes and he rolled off me, hands at his face, stunned.

But not for long.

I rolled over and scrambled on hands and knees towards the pistol, a black angle in the ankle-deep snow. I reached out for it . . .

The weight of Caleb crashed into me again. We tumbled and rolled, then his hands found my neck and tightened, closing around my throat. He was squeezing hard, strangling me from behind.

I reached for the gun, my arms outstretched and my fingers flexing . . .

It was too far away, just beyond me.

I shook and squirmed and tried to wriggle free—

I gained a few inches' distance and I dragged him forward, my eyes watering. I was nearly out of breath but I kept pushing away from him and suddenly I felt his grip loosen.

My fingers clawed forward in the snow, digging and reaching, but it was still too far and my vision began . . . to . . . blur.

A quick gasp and I sucked in some air.

I lunged forward but he was right on me and pushed my face into the snow, drowning me . . .

I elbowed and squirmed with the last of my energy . . . When I knew I had no other choice, I went limp.

He let go, flipped me over onto my back. I waited less than a second.

I saw his surprise when I opened my eyes.

I reached up and clapped both my hands over his ears, hard. He reeled back. A tiny win, but the other Chasers were now upon us. As I moved for my gun, there was a noise—loud, mechanical—and a vehicle came into view.

The Ford pickup truck—Bob at the wheel—rumbled its way from the top of the reserve. The whole Chelsea Piers group came into view. Not a hundred yards away.

The Chasers held back, weighing up their situation.

“JESSE!” I heard Rachel yell out. “Jesse, over HERE!”

She was standing with Felicity at the opposite topmost corner of the reserve. Everyone was in their place but me.

Behind me, Caleb approached with care. There was no mistaking him. A predator with the desire to hunt, to kill, and no concern about his prey. Step by step, wary, but eyeing only me. Beyond him were more Chasers, holding at just twenty steps away. I looked back for the pistol, but stopped cold.

Again there was a noise in the air—ferocious, man-made, getting
really
loud,
really
fast.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I prickled with sweat and nausea in anticipation.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. Louder than anything I'd ever heard before.

The Chasers reacted too; they started edging back. Caleb still had eyes only for me.

I scanned the white blanket but could no longer see the pistol in the deep powder snow, which was billowing around my ankles in a strong wind. I backed away from Caleb as he came closer. Beyond him, the empty gray Manhattan skyline, and that noise—no longer a deafening thump but a loud and constant whine and roar. The other Chasers neared, their fear appeased by the prospect of a feed in me. There were some familiar faces in their crazed stares, their haunted look so natural to me now.

“Caleb, don't
do
this!” I yelled at him, but he didn't register. He'd fully checked out.

The noise became brutal, unbearable, and the wind as strong as I'd known it. I had to slam my hands against my ears. Finally, even Caleb could do nothing but turn to look for the deafening source.

From the west, there was movement against the low dark clouds; by the time I'd processed what it was, they were practically on top of us. Aircraft. Dozens of them, planes and helicopters, even something that resembled a combination of both, coming in hard and fast from all points of the compass. All painted a dull military gray. Massive propellers chewed at the sky, ripping through the freezing winter air, the bigger crafts' blades tilting skyward on stubby wings. Each aircraft made a vertical landing on the massive rec reserve.

Whoever this was, an invasion or a helping hand, they had no regard for the infected. They started shooting: laser-like beams of machine-gun fire that tore into everyone out in the open. I had no choice but to stand there and take whatever was coming.

“No!” I pushed and shoved—Caleb was on me.

I looked up at his face. We'd talked and laughed—shared dreams and plans and confidences—and now this.

“Stop!” I punched him in the side of the head but he didn't seem to notice.

His arms were longer than mine and he was heavier and stronger than me; his hands again found my neck and took hold. He'd survived this long on the street, so he'd probably killed like this before.

I think I saw the sun come out, but it could have been my eyes playing tricks as I was choked. I'd imagined what this would be like—imagined it would be epic, brutal, the absolute end for one of us. I knew that, whatever the outcome, I would lose something, my life or part of myself. That it had to be at the hands of my friend seemed so unfair. I tasted blood in my throat and realized I couldn't fight it anymore. My hands went limp.

Caleb's grip tightened. I turned my head from him and saw groups of people, watching from the tree line. They were Chasers. A scant few had blood around their mouths: hunters. Most were the weak ones, but they watched just the same. A hundred of them, maybe, all up. Familiar faces. A boy, thin and tired. He looked from me to those around him.

I didn't fight.
This
Chaser was helping me: Caleb was sending me home. I tasted blood in my throat as it was being crushed.
This may be my last taste, my last breath. I'm going home . . .

 

 

I didn't hear the gunfire.

I felt the hands around my throat ease, then let go. Caleb was still on top of me. I could clearly see his face lit against the dull afternoon sky. He looked down at me and I'll never forget this: there was
recognition
. He knew who I was and in that final moment he
smiled
. Then, he was gone.

 

 

When I woke, I was lying on my side in the snow, my cheek pressing into the cold, a film of frost over my damaged eyebrow. I could see soldiers running from the aircraft. Shooting. I remembered:
They killed that group of Chasers
. I heard screaming too—yelling, but also stern commands. I felt hands on me and I looked up, to a vision I had never expected to see again.

Rachel, Felicity, Paige, and Bob. They were all there, by my side. I wanted a moment alone with them, to check that each and every one of them was real, was okay. I wanted them to be friends and to support one another. I wanted them to tell me we were safe, that it was all over. But there was no time. Almost straightaway, the soldiers came up to them. My hearing was coming back online but I couldn't make out what they were saying.

I didn't need to. I could tell that things had been worked out: we were alive, and the soldiers were not going to shoot us. I saw Bob there, the camera in his hands, filming away. Next to me, no sign of Caleb. At last, had he got what he'd asked for? Or had he vanished, alone out there for one final act? I sucked at the cold air, smaller and smaller gasps, until my breathing stopped.

I
drifted in and out of consciousness . . . I was aware of it, but whether this was the end or another part of something, I had no idea. It was nice, to go with it, to float away . . .