Charges (15 page)

“Yeah, thanks,” Vincenzo said. “Good luck to you, too.”

The man lowered his rifle, allowing it to hang from around his neck by its sling. He marched toward the brightening sky to the east without another word. Vincenzo watched him recede into the semi-darkness for a moment then swung westbound. He had his own trip to continue.

###

As the sun rose, more people began emerging from wherever they had spent the night. Vincenzo kept up a relatively brisk pace, trying to keep moving but not aggravate his already painful muscles. He avoided any conversation or looking directly at people. That was tough because some of the folks he saw, especially the families, were in bad shape. They turned their hollowed, gaunt faces toward him as he strode past, but he refused to meet their gazes. Doing that would allow them to trap him, force him to become invested in their issues, and he wasn’t having any of that. Some asked him for information, but he just shrugged and kept going on. One man called him an asshole and threatened to kick his ass, and Vincenzo wondered if putting away the Glock when the sun had risen was a good idea. Well, if someone wanted to make good on a threat, there wasn’t a lot he could do about it. All he knew was that he would start shooting.

He passed hotels and apartment buildings where the windows were wide open in a bid to ward off the building heat. The few times he glanced up, he saw sullen, taciturn faces looking down on him.

From one apartment building, a young woman leaned out a window and called, “Hey, walkin’ man! Why don’t you bring that little ass right up here, sugar?”

Vincenzo looked up and saw that she wasn’t wearing a shirt. Her breasts were huge and sagged downward, the nipples pointing at her feet. He snapped his head forward, ignoring her jeering laugh as he high-timed it out of there for a few hundred feet. He didn’t like that the woman had called out to him like that. Not only was the proposition more than a little gross, it attracted attention he hoped to avoid.

He’d checked his printed map a mile or so back while pausing for some water, and he knew that another river or stream lay ahead of him. Assuming he could get across the bridge, his route would have him deviate slightly to the south. He hoped he could make more than the ten or twelve miles he had managed yesterday. While he was tired and his muscles ached, he felt curiously stronger. Maybe it was because each step brought him fractionally closer to California. Or maybe it was because he hadn’t had to walk down seventy-plus flights of stairs just to get the journey started. Either way, Vincenzo thought he was in pretty good shape, considering he’d been shot at, involved in two fistfights, and had to shit in a hole he’d dug in the middle of a public park. He was hyperaware of his feet, however. He truly feared getting blisters, but his hiking boots were well broken in, like a couple of old friends. They wouldn’t let him down so long as he kept them properly laced and ensured his socks didn’t bunch up inside them. All he needed to do was keep one foot moving in front of the other.

As he pressed on down Degraw Avenue, moving away from the fetid metropolis of New York City, he approached the outskirts of a middle-class neighborhood. The houses were mostly neat and clean, with well-tended yards. He actually heard a lawn mower roaring away down one of the side streets.

Wow, that sounds like a waste of gas.
He wondered how much fuel oil the nation had in its strategic reserves. But it didn’t matter. The little guys weren’t going to see any of that. It would go to the government and the military, the essential pieces of America that had to keep operating so the nation could—presumably—be reborn and find its way out of the great mess that had befallen it.

Or more likely, it’s going to be used to ensure senators and congressmen can continue getting nice, warm showers.
He chuckled. He definitely should have gone into politics instead of entertainment.

Moving through the neighborhood, he saw the community was up and humming. Kids played in front yards or rode bicycles. Men and women walked dogs. While the kids ignored him, the adults looked at him with vacant, flat gazes as if they were measuring him to get an idea of how much trouble he might bring. Ahead, a motorcycle rumbled down a cross street, ridden by a pot-bellied man in a khaki T-shirt and cargo shorts. The guy sat a bit awkwardly, as if it had been a while since he’d been on a bike.

“Hey, where you from?” asked a teenager sitting on one front porch. The red house had three windows facing the street, and each had an air-conditioning unit. The boy had short blond hair and an abundance of freckles across his nose and cheeks, so many that he was probably teased ruthlessly at school. His basketball shorts and sleeveless T-shirt exposed his skinny—and freckled—arms and legs.

“New York,” Vincenzo answered automatically.

“Yeah?” The boy got up and hurried across the front yard. He looked about thirteen. “How is it there, do you know?”

“Yeah, not so great.” Vincenzo kept walking, and he was surprised when the boy came out into the street to walk beside him.

“Do you know if Wall Street is okay?” the boy asked. There was something nervous and fidgety about him.

Vincenzo frowned. “Wall Street? What do you mean?”

“I mean, is the power still on there? My dad, he hasn’t come home yet.” The kid’s eyes were bright blue and full of worry.

Vincenzo slowed a little, even though he didn’t want to. “Well, I’m sure he’ll be home soon. Your mom’s with you, right?”

“No. My mom lives in North Carolina with her new husband.”

Vincenzo stopped and stared at the boy. “Son, are you telling me you’re here alone? All by yourself?”

“Well…” The teen apparently remembered he shouldn’t answer that question, but his hesitation said it for him.

“Look, I can’t help you,” Vincenzo said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know about Wall Street. But your dad’s going to be a while. He’ll have to walk, and his walk is farther than mine was.”

“He was going to get on the PATH train,” the boy said.

Vincenzo heard a metallic springing sound. He looked up the street and saw a man in a wide-brimmed hat trimming hedges with a big pair of shears. The man gazed at them with a neutral expression, the same one the rest of the adults in the community had been giving him.

“Well, look. He’s going to be a while but probably not much longer. Maybe the train lost power in the tunnel or something. Or maybe he’s walking up from, ah, Jersey City right now. It took me an entire day to get out of the city, and I was way north of Wall Street. Trust me, he’s on his way. It’s just going to take a while.”
Unless he’s dead
.

“Okay,” the boy said. “Thank you.”

“Son, do you have water? Food?”

“Yeah, I have some. I’m all right.”

“Is there someone who can look after you until your dad gets here?”

“I’m fine, mister. Really, I’ll be okay.” The teen turned to go

Vincenzo reached out and touched the kid’s arm. “Hey. Hold on.” He reached into his knapsack and, feeling like a total tool, pulled out a bottle of water and his last pumpkin spice muffin. He handed them to the boy. “Here, you take these. Just in case you want a snack later. Okay?”

The boy regarded the offerings with suspicious eyes. That was a good sign. The kid knew enough to be cautious, despite his eagerness for news.

Vincenzo smiled, even though he was sure that wasn’t as reassuring as he hoped. “Go on. The bottle’s unopened, and the muffin’s only two days old. It’s still good, and you never know when you might get another one.”

The boy reached out and took the stuff. “Thanks, mister.”

“You’re welcome, son. Now go inside, get out of the sun. It’s going to be a hot one.”

The boy nodded again. “Okay. Bye, I guess.” He started back to his house.

“See ya.” Vincenzo stayed where he was for a moment, making sure the boy made it back to his front yard. As he turned to resume his march, he caught the man trimming the hedges watching him.

The man nodded and gave Vincenzo a little smile. “That was decent of you.”

“What’s that?” Vincenzo asked.

“Stopping to talk. Giving Jimmy some water and food. His life hasn’t been all that great since his parents got divorced last year. He was always something of a momma’s boy, which if you knew his father, you’d find understandable.” The man clipped his hedges some more then looked back at Vincenzo. “Where you headed?”

“Los Angeles.”

The man nodded again. “Think you’ll make it?”

“I don’t know, but that’s where my wife and boy are.”

The guy grunted and pushed his hat back on his head, exposing his bald head. He looked to be in his sixties, probably a retiree. “Well, you’d better get going, then. Things are pretty safe around here, so just keep your head down and keep going. Can’t say much about what’s happening on up the road in Hackensack, but you might want to avoid it, if you can. I hear there was a shootout at the Costco on the other side of the river. Between who, I don’t know, but the police aren’t likely to be much help.”

“They’re probably pretty busy.” Vincenzo looked back at the red cape house. The boy was no longer sitting on the front porch.

“Don’t worry about Jimmy,” the man said. “We’ll look after him. I’ll bring him over to my place tonight. He can sleep in my son’s room. Three days ago, I was fixing to turn it into an office for my wife, but I don’t think she’s going to be working on her little graphic arts business any longer. We have other things to worry about right now.”

“I didn’t want to say anything to him, but if his dad hasn’t shown up yet, he’s not going to.”

The old man gave Vincenzo a frank, appraising stare. “I didn’t think so, myself. Are things that bad in the city?”

“In less than two days, they were already rioting in Central Park South. A lot of desperate people are heading this way, and most of them don’t have what they need to survive very long. You might want to pass that on to the rest of your neighbors. The New Yorkers are coming.”

The old guy gave a dry chuckle. “So you’re the new Paul Revere, and the New Yorkers are the new British?”

“They’ll be more like locusts, I think.”

“Well, you’d better be on your way. Best of luck to you.”

Vincenzo nodded. “Same to you. Try to look after the boy for as long as you can.”

“That’ll be done.”

Vincenzo turned and resumed his walk.

12

As Vincenzo approached the intersection of Degraw Avenue and Queen Anne Road, he smelled food cooking. His stomach rumbled in response, even though it was still quite early in the day. More people were stepping into the street, heading toward a white church on the right side of the road. Vincenzo slowed, wary of cutting through the procession, but the townspeople weren’t interested in him. He noticed the streets were cleared of traffic. All the disabled motor vehicles had been pushed to the curbs, save for a pair of big rigs too heavy to move. Their trailers had been opened, and one semi had been hauling a refrigerated trailer with the Stop & Shop logo on the side. Vincenzo had to smile at that. The neighborhood had been given a great gift.

He moved through the crowd, stepping around women pushing strollers and men holding the hands of small children or leading dogs on leashes. He saw more than a few men carrying rifles or pistols. Those stared at him openly, as if evaluating the threat level he posed. Vincenzo smiled tightly and nodded, not meeting their gazes for long.

“Sir, would you like a hot breakfast?”

Vincenzo didn’t think the question was directed at him, so he kept walking. He heard footsteps hurry up behind him, and he turned toward the sound, his right hand straying toward the Berretta under his shirt.

“No trouble here, sir,” a young man said, raising his hands. “We’re having a breakfast over at the church. If you don’t mind me saying so, you look like you could use a bite.” His red hair was neatly combed, and his face had that ruddy, just-shaved look to it.

Vincenzo was a little confused.
Gosh, I didn’t realize people were so friendly in Jersey.
“Uh, well… I’m not really from here.”

“All are welcome, and it’s all free, of course,” the man said, lowering his hands. “We’re just sharing some of God’s bounty with the neighborhood.”

“God’s bounty?”

The man pointed at the Stop & Shop truck. “We were fortunate, and we’re willing to share.” He stepped to one side and waved at the church across the street. A series of grills had been set up on the front lawn. “All the eggs, pancakes, toast, and bacon a man could want. Coffee, too.”

Well, that does sound pretty good
. Vincenzo’s stomach grumbled again as he watched the neighborhood families queue up for some—maybe the last—of the good stuff. “Well, like I said, I’m not from here—”

“No pressure. It’s your choice,” the young man said. He turned his head toward a nearby woman. “Good morning, Francine!”

Vincenzo’s stomach won the war. “Uh, okay.”

“Great. I’m Will, by the way. I’m the church deacon.” The young man held out his hand.

Vincenzo shook it, mindful of the grime on his. Will’s hand was soft and smooth, not the hand of a man who did a lot of hard work. “I’m Tony.”

“Glad to meet you, Tony. Let’s walk over, shall we? We have a lot, but it’s not going to last. Turnout’s going to be fantastic.”

Will led the way to the serving line, which was actually quite orderly despite all the kids. Most of the people who saw them initially frowned upon observing Vincenzo then brightened when they saw Will. Many of them called him by name, and the young deacon cheerfully returned their greetings.

When they got to the end of the line, Will gestured at Vincenzo’s packs. “Do you want to put those down for a while? Take the load off?”

“No, no. Not to sound like an ingrate or anything, but I need everything I’ve got. If something goes missing, that’s going to be a problem for me at some point.”

“Well, I doubt anyone’s going to be helping themselves to your gear. But if you did lose something, couldn’t you just pick up a replacement somewhere down the line? Once the lights come back on?”

Vincenzo shrugged. “Well, yeah. Maybe. If the lights
do
come on.”

“Trust in God, Tony. Trust in God. Tell me, are you a Baptist?”

“I’m a Catholic, actually. Should I step out of line?”

Will laughed as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “No, no need for that!” he chortled as they stepped forward. The line was moving at a sedate but steady pace. “We don’t discriminate against any religion or order here. We’re all brothers and sisters in the eyes of the Lord.”

“Okay. Good to know.” The recurring invocations of the Almighty made him feel a little uncomfortable, mainly because the last time he’d been in a church was for his unborn child’s funeral. Also, his attendance record in the previous two decades hadn’t been anything remotely approaching stellar. He hadn’t gone to church regularly since leaving New York the first time, and he was fairly certain he wouldn’t be dropping in on any services during his trip home.

“So where are you from, and where are you headed?” Will asked.

“Well, I’m from New York, both originally and recently. And I’m on my way to Los Angeles.”

Will’s eyes widened with surprise. “Seriously?”

Vincenzo shuffled forward a few steps. “Seriously.”

“Wow. I’ll bet you’re even more interested in the power coming back on than the rest of us are. Why are you heading to LA?”

“My family’s there. I moved back here to start a new job, and they were going to follow me out in the next few days. Obviously, that’s not going to happen. Thank God the movers hadn’t arrived yet.”

Will clucked his tongue. “Well, you’ll get on fine. How are things in New York? We’ve had some people walk through here, and they tell us things started to go bad quickly.”

Vincenzo thought of the man he’d killed. “Yeah, it’s not going to get any better. The Big Apple might not be around for much longer. At least, not the city
I
knew.”

“Sounds like things are going to get worse before they get better, then.”

“You got that right.” Vincenzo scanned the crowd again. He couldn’t believe he had suddenly grown so uncomfortable to being around people. Previously, he had thrived in social settings, initiating deals, sealing deals, making contacts, and just general networking. But he had developed an entirely different outlook. Being around people meant that he was vulnerable, that others could dictate what happened to him and, just as importantly, the meager belongings he possessed.
You’re going to have to find a way to deal with it, man
.

Most of the people were obviously locals, but some transients were in the pack, folks with backpacks and other gear. A man with a mountain bike towing a trailer rolled up and surveyed the scene from the street. The guy’s eyes were unreadable behind a pair of sunglasses, and his face was cast in shadow from his helmet. All the travelers had the same kind of body language, tense, as if they expected things to go to shit in a heartbeat. Vincenzo felt the same way. There were a lot of people around, and if they had malicious intent, setting up a temporary kitchen was the perfect way to draw people in.

But he didn’t get that vibe from Will. And as he drew nearer to the serving tables, all he saw were hard-working people trying to make the best of difficult circumstances. Vincenzo was flummoxed by that. Didn’t they know what was going to happen? In a matter of days, the neighborhood would be overrun with people fleeing New York and other larger surrounding cities. Resources would be consumed by greedy hordes as mindless as zombies. All they would think about was filling their bellies and providing for their families.

“Will, have you heard any news about the rest of the country?” Vincenzo asked.

“Actually, yes. Well, third-hand news. One of the parishioners has a radio.”

Vincenzo was surprised. “What, you mean like a CB radio? Ham radio?”

Will laughed. “No, nothing that elaborate. Just some windup radio. He’s a bit of a survivalist.” Will shot him a loopy smile, as if to say he knew such a thing sounded crazy. “He had this little radio in a microwave out in his garage. After the effects of the solar flare passed, he brought it out and turned it on. The government was broadcasting messages from the White House. Apparently, FEMA is going into action, and they’re going to mobilize support centers to all the major cities.” He slapped Vincenzo on the shoulder good-naturedly. “See, you left New York too early!”

“What else did they say on the radio?”

“So far, that’s all. The message was prerecorded, and the parishioner keeps the radio in his microwave. He’s afraid another blast from the sun would destroy it. He only brings it out at night. He says there’s less of a chance of something happening to it when it’s nighttime, something about the state being on the other side of the planet, opposite the sun.”

Vincenzo shrugged. He remembered it was night when the lights had gone out, so he didn’t think the time of day would really matter. Whatever charged particles had hit the planet had done their job pretty much right off the bat, as far as he could tell. But if what Will told him was true, then it was interesting that the radio had survived the effects of the corona discharge just from being placed in a microwave. That meant the government might actually have some tricks left up its sleeve.

Great, but you still had to get out of New York
.

He was happy to accept a serving of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and hot coffee. Will led him to a small folding table where a petite, fresh-faced young woman in a bright sundress was waiting.

“Tony, meet my wife, Vivian,” Will said. “Vivvy, meet Tony. He’s from New York, and he’s passing through on his way to Los Angeles, of all places.”

“Wow! That sounds like a trip. How are you feeling, Tony? Good to meet you.” She extended her hand.

“Hello.” Vincenzo set his plate down on the table and held up his somewhat grimy hands. “Um, listen, my hands aren’t exactly suitable for shaking—”

Will laughed. “Vivvy’s tougher than she looks, Tony. Take it from me!”

“Well, one second.” Vincenzo pulled his knapsack around and reached inside for the packet of sanitary wipes. He used one to wipe his hands, cleaning off as much of the grime as he could. They wound up still a bit south of spick and span, but he felt they were clean enough to shake a dainty church lady’s hand. “Happy to meet you, ma’am,” he said, shaking hands with her.

“Won’t you have a seat?” Vivian said brightly, indicating one of the folding chairs beside the card table. Her wedding band and the rather large diamond in the matching engagement ring on her left hand sparkled in the sunshine.

“Thank you.” Vincenzo shrugged off his packs—
Wow, that feels good
—and sat down. Getting off his feet was divine, and for a brief instant, he considered rediscovering religion.

“So how are things in New York?” Vivian asked.

“Not so great, which is one of the reasons I left.”

“Oh? What other reasons did you have?”

“His family, of course,” Will said. “Let’s say grace and eat, all right, sweetie?”

Vivian smiled. “Of course.”

She and Will bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Vincenzo lowered his head as well but kept his eyes open, staring at the meal in front of him. It was absolutely mouthwatering, even if it was somewhat pedestrian.
I guess all those weekend breakfasts at Morandi are over with, now.

Will cleared his throat. “Father, we thank thee for the night and for the pleasant morning light. For rest and food and loving care, and all that makes the day so fair. Help us to do the things we should, to be to others kind and good, in all we do, in all we say, to grow more loving every day. Amen.”

“Amen,” Vincenzo and Vivian echoed.

“Okay, let’s dig in!” Will picked up his plastic knife and fork and went at his breakfast.

While Vincenzo had never been a huge egg fan, the scrambled eggs tasted delightful, and the pancakes were heavenly. The bacon and coffee were a godsend, and he couldn’t believe how much he’d missed them over the past several days. Despite the heat of the sun, the humidity, and the flies that buzzed around the table, he found the breakfast to be incredibly enjoyable.
Don’t get used to it,
he told himself.