The Dead And The Gone (18 page)

Kevin gave Alex an almost imperceptible nod.

“Deal,” Alex said. He pushed the wallet back and filled his garbage bag with the groceries.

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” Harvey-said. “Kevin, next time could you bring me a sucker; I gotta live, too, you know.”

“Oh, admit it, you like the fight,” Kevin said. “See you around, Harvey.”

“You too, kid,” Harvey said.

Kevin and Alex left the shop. “Walk fast but not too fast,” Kevin instructed Alex. “People get killed for two bottles of vodka.”

“You have a gun,” Alex pointed out.

“Hey, yeah,” Kevin said. “I wonder if it’s loaded.”

“How come you didn’t trade for food?” Alex asked.

“Dad brings home the bacon,” Kevin replied. “Metaphorically speaking, of course. He owns a trucking business. Daley Trucks. ‘Rent Weekly. Rent Daley.’ That’s why we’re still here. There’s lots of stuff that needs to get moved out of New York these days. We’re well taken care of.”

“Who’s the vodka for?” Alex asked.

Kevin scowled. “My mother,” he said. “She prefers it to chicken soup these days. Dad hasn’t figured that out yet, so I’m the supplier.”

Alex and Kevin walked back to West End, then down the few blocks in silence, lost in thoughts about their families and their needs.

“Well, this is it,” Kevin said as they reached Eighty-eighth Street. “Ready to go again tomorrow:”

“Do you think there’ll be more bodies?” Alex asked.

Kevin laughed. “We could walk back to Riverside right now and find a couple of new ones,” he said. “They’re dropping like flies.”

Alex thought about how he and Julie wouldn’t go to bed hungry. “Same time?” he asked.

“Same time,” Kevin replied. “Don’t want to be late for theology class.”

“Seven o’clock, then,” Alex said. “Thank you.” “No problem,” Kevin said. “I liked the company. Have a nice supper, Morales.”

“We will,” Alex said, and for the first time since speaking to Bri, he felt something that approximated happiness.

Monday, August 29

“Oh Alex!” Julie cried, flinging herself into her brother’s arms and weeping.

Alex looked down at his little sister. In the three months since everything had happened, he had yet to see, or even hear, his little sister cry. Whine, complain, sulk, scream, and carry on, but never cry. Not when it became obvious neither Mami nor Papi was likely to return. Not when Bri left. Not when she learned Uncle Jimmy had left. Not when she was hungry or lonely or scared. And here she was sobbing for no apparent reason.

“What happened?” he asked as he gently led her away from Holy Angels. “Did someone die?”

Julie shook her head, but she continued to cry, and her tears cut into Alex, more even than Bri’s ever had.

“It’s the garden,” she finally choked out. “We lost everything over the weekend. It’s all gone, all the vegetables. All our vegetables. My string beans. I wanted you to eat my string beans, and now they’re dead.”

Alex pictured row after row of dead string beans lined up in Yankee Stadium. “You’re crying over string beans?” he asked. “We got a can of string beans last Friday.”

“I hate you!” Julie cried. “You don’t understand anything.”

“I understand plenty,” Alex said. “I understand that you’re upset, and I don’t blame you. You worked hard all summer in that garden.” He stopped for a moment, until the rustle of rats got him moving again. “They’ll still feed you lunch, won’t they?” he asked. “It’s not your fault you can’t work.” He tried to control his panic as he worked through the options if Julie no longer got lunch.

“I don’t know,” Julie sniffed. “I don’t care. I wish I was dead.”

“No you don’t,” Alex said. “Don’t ever say that. Don’t even think it.”

“You can’t tell me what to think,” Julie said, but at least she’d stopped crying. “I loved the garden. And it died because it’s so cold. It’s August, and I’m wearing my winter coat and gloves and my garden froze to death. And I hate corpses! I hate them!”

Alex didn’t blame her. They had just passed one that had been decomposing in front of a pizza place for a week now, its flesh eaten away by rats. At first when the bodies started appearing, they got picked up within a day. But now there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to when the sanitation crews removed bodies. With more people dying and fewer trips to the crematorium, the corpses were becoming part of the city landscape. Good for body shopping but nothing else.

“If it’s cold like this in August, what’s it going to be like in December?” Julie asked.

Alex shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But maybe by then they’ll have figured out a way of clearing the ash from the sky. The scientists must be working on that.”

“I thought they were working on getting the moon back in place,” Julie said.

“First things first,” Alex said.

“I hate the scientists,” Julie said. “I hate the cold and the volcanoes and the moon. I hate everything.”

Alex didn’t bother to correct her because at that moment, he hated everything, too.

Tuesday, August 30

Alex walked Julie to Holy Angels that morning, but instead of dropping her off and checking on the five remaining people on his list, he searched out Sister Rita.

Like everyone else, she seemed older than when he’d seen her last. There was sadness in her eyes, and he realized she must be grieving for the loss of the garden as deeply as Julie.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Sister,” he said. “But I need to know if Holy Angels will still be feeding the girls lunch everyday.”

“As far as I know,” Sister Rita replied. “At least for the time being.”

Alex smiled. “That’s good news,” he said. “Thank you.”

Sister Rita gave Alex a long, hard look. “Your parents never came back, did they?” she said. “Julie doesn’t talk about it, but you’re responsible for her now.”

Alex nodded warily. “We’re doing fine,” he said. “Briana’s at a convent upstate, and Julie and I have enough to eat. I get lunch at Vincent de Paul, and we’re okay.”

“I’m not interfering,” Sister Rita said. “Even if I wanted to, if I thought Julie would be better off, nothing’s left. No foster homes, no group homes. At least not in the city. And Julie’s doing as well as she possibly could under the circumstances. She’s a very bright girl and very hard-working. You must be quite proud of her.”

“Thank you, I am,” Alex said, startled at the idea that Julie was someone to be proud of. But Sister Rita had a point. Julie was tough, and nowadays that was a virtue.

“For New York to have such a heavy frost in August, that’s very bad,” Sister Rita said. “I think there’s going to be famine throughout the country this winter. Throughout the world. And with famine come epidemics. I think we’re in for horrifying times.”

Alex thought about his father most likely washed out to sea, his mother most likely drowned in a subway tunnel, his older brother who might or might not have made it to Texas, his uncle and aunt who might or might not have made it to Oklahoma, one sister living with strangers upstate, the other sister surviving on two small meals a day, and decided famine and epidemics were the least of his concerns.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Thank you, Sister.”

“Alex,” Sister Rita said, and grabbed him by the arm. “Listen to me. What’s bad now is nothing compared to what might be coming. Think of Joseph and the seven years of famine. The people survived because he prepared them for what was to come. The archdiocese is providing us with food now, but if the crops all die, there won’t be any more coming in. Maybe things will be better down south. Maybe there’s someplace safe in the world. But if you’re planning to stick it out in New York, you’d better get as many supplies as you can, because food may stop coming and we won’t be able to grow our own.”

Alex remembered the baby trampled in the food riot. It was an image that haunted him. If things got that bad that fast on a day when at least some people got food, what would it be like if no food at all was available?

“I’ll do what I can,” he said. “Thank you again.”

Wednesday, August 31

Alex dropped Julie off at school, made his rounds, then went to St. Margaret’s, arriving there shortly after Mass ended. His wait to see Father Franco was much shorter than it had been earlier in the summer. Fewer people, fewer problems.

He didn’t bother asking the priest if there was any more word from Puerto Rico. He’d stopped calling Nana’s number even before his phone service had stopped —a couple of weeks before. Papi was gone, the same as Mami, the same as Carlos, the same as the sun.

“I haven’t heard anything from my friends at the convent,” Father Franco said apologetically. “But I’m sure everything is fine with Briana.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Alex said. “It’s Julie. She’s okay; we both are. We still have food and the schools are still serving lunch. But I don’t know how much longer that will last, so I wanted to know if there’s any place outside the city taking girls her age. She’ll be thirteen in a few weeks, and she’s strong and a good worker.”

“You mean someplace like Briana’s convent?” Father Franco asked. “That’s the only one I know of.”

“I mean anyplace,” Alex said. “In case things get worse. The church must have someplace for girls to go, an orphanage or something.”

Father Franco shook his head.

“There must be something,” Alex said. “Can’t you call the archdiocese and ask?”

“I’ll tell you what I know,” Father Franco said. “The past three months, the church has dealt with the dead and the dying. Only two Catholic hospitals are open in the city now. Most of the smaller churches have closed, and I’ve been told St. Margaret’s will close before New Year’s. I just pray it will still be open for Christmas. The social service agencies have all closed. All the children in foster care were sent out of the city in July, and no new children are being accepted. This fall, most of the schools will close. There are federally run evacuee camps inland. The closest one I know of is in Bingham-ton. You and Julie could go there, but I don’t think it would be wise to send her alone, and once you were there, you’d still have to find someplace safe to move to.”

“Aren’t there any convents taking in girls?” Alex asked. “I know she’s too young to be a postulant, but there’s got to be a convent somewhere that she could go to.”

“The convents have been decimated,” Father Franco said. “The ones on the coasts have been flooded out, and the ones inland have had to deal with earthquakes, volcanoes, and disease. No place is safe anymore, Alex. Julie’s better off with you than she would be anywhere else. I thank the Blessed Virgin that we found a safe place for Briana. Perhaps in her all-merciful heart, she’ll find such a place for Julie, also.”

The Blessed Virgin
had
found a place for Julie, Alex thought as he left St. Margaret’s. It was with Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Lorraine. Whatever happened to Julie was his fault. She lived in hell because of him, and he would spend eternity in hell for her suffering.

Thursday, September 1

Alex woke up thinking about the thirty-dollar flashlight, not sure why. Of all the decisions he’d made, not buying the flashlight was one he never regretted.

Then he remembered how he’d been told the cost of the flashlight was going to go up to forty bucks, and he figured it out. The value of what he brought in body shopping was going to go down as food became sparser. Today a pair of shoes was worth two cans of beans and a box of pasta. In a month he’d be lucky to get the pasta.

At first he thought he should leave the apartment and search everywhere for new bodies, but then he knew what the flashlight really meant. He had access to four apartments, all filled with things that could be used and bartered. Four treasure chests he’d been ignoring because somewhere in the back of his mind he thought taking things without permission was sinful.

He was damned anyway. He might as well take what he could when he could.

He let Julie sleep while he worked out the system. It had to be done today. He couldn’t remember the last time there was electricity over a weekend, so he couldn’t wait until then. Friday morning was food line, and Friday afternoon was probably the best time to barter what he could, since he suspected a lot of Harvey’s supplies conveniently fell off the food line truck Friday mornings.

As he dressed he thought about asking Kevin to help him unload the apartments, but decided against it. Kevin had been great, but it would be too much temptation.

Still, he felt guilty body shopping with his friend that morning. But guilt was as much a part of his life as cold, hunger, and grief. And if Kevin noticed his mind was elsewhere, he didn’t say anything. The two found a fair number of shoes, watches, and coats, which they traded in for soup, mixed vegetables, black beans, and rice for Alex and vodka for Kevin.

Julie was up when he got back. “We’re not going to school today,” he said, handing her the groceries. “We’re spending the day going through the apartments, taking everything we can barter or use and bringing it all down here.”

“What about lunch?” Julie asked.

“I don’t know,” Alex said. “Do we have enough to get us through to Tuesday?”

Julie checked out what Alex had just brought in and what remained in the cabinets. “We can stretch the rice and beans for two meals each,” she said. “And we can each have a can of soup for supper tomorrow. We have the can of mixed vegetables and a can of carrots and a can of peas. Won’t you get food tomorrow?”

“I hope so,” Alex said. “But we can’t count on it.”

“Then no lunch today,” Julie said. She scowled. “I used to like holidays. Now they just mean no lunch.”

The refrigerator began its useless whir, and the light that Alex always left on in the living room began to shine. “We’ve got to use the electricity while we can,” he said. “Let’s get the shopping carts and garbage bags. We can risk taking the elevator up, but we’d better be careful, because once it goes off, it might stay off until Tuesday.”

Julie looked thoughtful. “Maybe we should take all the stuff to one of the upstairs apartments,” she said. “If someone looks into our windows, they could see the stuff here.”