The Pulse (21 page)

“No,” Emily said. “It sounds right. Thank you for saying a prayer for him.”

Mason nodded. They left the shovels over the grave, crossed.

“Let’s go clean off in the Hudson River,” he suggested.

Clean. Yes, that’s exactly what she needed. Water to wash away the blood and the dirt and the pain. She held Mason’s hand as they walked down toward the riverbed.

Neither of them bothered to strip out of their clothes, since their clothes were filthy from the soil. The shock of the freezing-cold water cold pushed all thoughts of guilt and shame from Emily’s mind and she forced herself to endure the punishing temperature of the river, imagining it as penance that might wash away her sins.

Emily woke up
the next morning at The Cloisters feeling like she’d gone a few rounds with a boxer. Getting pelted with rocks the night before might have had something to do with it, but Emily knew from her aching muscles that her pain came from digging the grave.

Mason slept, snoring lightly, his arm over his eyes to block the sunlight streaming through the beautiful stained-glass windows of the chapel.

Emily warmed the leftover stew they had eaten last night for dinner. It might be the only meal they ate all day if their luck didn’t improve. Now that they were at the very northern tip of Manhattan, though, they’d be out of the city soon. Mason had suggested they go across the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey, but Emily felt strongly that upstate New York would be a safer bet. She didn’t want to cross a bridge and end up in another congested crime-ridden city under martial law. If they kept going upstate, they might find some land and some semblance of freedom.

Mason took her views seriously, to her surprise. Maybe she really did have something to contribute to their partnership. She needed him, true, but she was beginning to see how he might need her as well.

Emily still wasn’t okay with the fact that Mason had killed that man—but she understood his intentions were good, at least. He wanted to protect her.

But what about the fact that she was turning into a person who not only condoned him killing a man, but killed a man herself?

His words came back to her—she had to hold herself accountable for her own actions. It was true, as much as she didn’t want it to be. It wasn’t Mason’s fault she was on the run now as a murderer. It was hers. And when she thought about, she knew she’d make the same decision again if she had to.

So what did that say about her?

She was changing as a person, definitely. But maybe it wasn’t for the worse. Maybe being able to take care of herself was a step in the right direction. She’d proven that she didn’t have to be a victim of circumstance. She could take charge and do whatever was necessary to survive, despite living through hell on the Tracks.

If Emily hadn’t killed Private Andrews, she’d be dead right now. And if Mason hadn’t killed that man last night… who knows what would have happened. Her cheek ached where the rock had hit it. The old man had been charging toward them, ready to attack. It could have been worse. Much, much worse.

But still—the look in Mason’s eyes as he hefted that rifle and shot the man down—it had been terrifying. He was pure aggressor, pure hunter. What if that aggression ever got turned around onto her? Would she ever have to look down the barrel of that rifle herself?

Don’t be ridiculous
, she chided herself.
That would never happen. Everything that’s happened has been for you, never against you.

Although he had been aggressive last night, when they made love. Her face felt warm and she knew she was blushing—because she had enjoyed that. A lot.

As if he could read her mind, Mason stirred in his sleep, then opened his eyes and looked at her. “Good morning,” Mason said sleepily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. She handed him a mug of the squirrel-and-weed stew. “Thanks.” He blew on it for a second before taking a sip.

“We should get on the road soon,” she said. “When you’re done.”

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking. This time of year, we might not have to go very far upstate before finding actual wildlife, maybe some deer.”

The thought of eating a slab of venison, though she’d never actually done that before, appealed to her so much that saliva filled her mouth and she swallowed, smiling. “How far do you think we’ll be walking?”

“For a few days, I imagine, at least. It’s a good thing it’s getting warmer because we may end up sleeping outside.”

Less than half an hour later they had cleaned up after themselves at The Cloisters and were back on the road. Before they left Emily stuffed her pack with more plants from the medieval garden.

Mason checked his traps but when they came up empty he pulled the traps apart. He said he didn’t want to accidentally trap an animal and then leave it to die with no one there to eat it.

See, he’s not all bad
, she thought. Even though it was a small thing, disabling the traps, it made her feel a bit better knowing he cared about the animals.

The walk became more beautiful the farther from Manhattan they got, and they fell into a companionable silence as they continued on their way. Mason said they were probably walking at a comfortable pace of three miles an hour, which meant after an entire day of walking they weren’t nearly as far as she wished they could be.

“We need a car,” she said.

“I know,” Mason agreed. “But I don’t see how that’s going to happen.”

They had passed numerous dead cars on their way, every one of which had stalled the moment the Pulse hit, never to be driven again. Emily was tired and hungry and her entire body hurt.

They kept walking.

Suddenly, after hours and hours of monotony, Mason inhaled sharply and pulled Emily to the ground.

“What is it?” she asked fearfully.

“The road,” he whispered. “It’s barricaded up ahead. Look.”

EMILY
looked up ahead on Highway 87 North. Sure enough, a bunch of cars pushed together blocked their way. Two men with rifles, the sunlight glinting off of the metal, stood guard at the barricade.

“Oh my God.” Emily turned to Mason in terror. “What do we do?”

“We’ll have to go talk to them, I imagine.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Why? Why start trouble?”

“If we try to skirt around the barricade, that’s trouble. If we go talk to them, maybe they’ll let us past.”

“Or maybe,” Emily said, grabbing his arm, “they’ll make us turn back. We just got out of the city, I can’t turn back. I can’t.”

“Or maybe they’ll shoot us and take our stuff,” Mason said.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m trying to think of all the possibilities.” Mason sighed, standing up. “Look,” he said, putting his large hand out for her to grab, pulling her to standing. “Either we change routes and risk never finding another community, or worse, dying out in the middle of nowhere, or we talk to those soldiers. Just—don’t use our real names.”

“Obviously.” Emily shook her head. They were both wanted murderers. Did he think she had forgotten?

“What if they see your gun and shoot first and ask questions later?” she asked as they walked slowly forward.

“Then I’d want you to put your hands in the air, wait for them to be distracted, then kill them,” he said calmly.

Emily gasped. “I don’t want to do this—please, Mason, let’s change direction.”

“Please, Em, trust me on this. We have to confront them. It’s the only way.”

“I trust you.”

Mason walked ahead of her, straight toward the barricade.

Mason felt a
shiver of fear run down his spine as they approached the two armed soldiers at the barricade. He lifted his arms in the air to show he wasn’t a threat while still a good quarter mile away. Emily, seeing him, did the same.

“It’s not too late to go a different way,” Emily said out of the side of her mouth.

“We’ll be okay, Em,” he said. But he was ready to fight in case that wasn’t true. He didn’t like the odds—two trained, armed men against him and Emily—but then again, both he and Emily had killed to protect themselves before. He wondered if those guards at the barricade had as well.

“Pretend we’re married,” he whispered.

“Now who’s getting ahead of himself?” she muttered, surprising him with her show of humor even when she was obviously scared to death. Then, “What name should we use?”

They continued walking slowly forward with their hands in the air.

“Harris,” Mason said. “I can be Mason Harris instead of Christopher Mason, that way if you slip up and call me Mason it won’t seem strange. In fact, it won’t be a slipup at all.”

“What about me?”

“Emily Harris, I guess,” he said, shrugging. “Emily is a really common name, so it shouldn’t raise any eyebrows.”

“Where’d you get the name Harris?” Emily asked.

“Mom’s maiden name. Just don’t forget, okay?”

Emily nodded. They reached the barricade of cars set up across the highway.

“Drop your weapons on the pavement and take two large steps backward,” one guard ordered.

Mason kept his hands in the air, but he hesitated. “Sir, I don’t want you to take our weapons. We aren’t a threat.”

“I don’t ask twice, soldier,” the guard said, and Mason realized the guard thought Mason was a soldier as well. Of course.

Mason set his rifle on the ground, but kept his pistol in the small of his back, hidden under his shirt. Emily did the same with her weapon.

“State your business,” the guard said.

Mason didn’t like the way he eyed Emily. Seeing her through a stranger’s eyes, Mason noticed how her sweatshirt tied around her waist accentuated the feminine curve of her hips. Her T-shirt was fitted and ripped across her shoulder, showing a tantalizing flash of skin.

“Just passing through,” Mason said. “Although if there’s a town nearby where we could spend the night we’d be much obliged.”

“That’s what we’re here to keep from happening,” the other guard said. “We can’t take care of every traveler who passes through here, wanting to stay. You have two hours to get to the other side of town and pass the barricade on the other side.” He patted his radio on his belt, to show he could let the other side know to expect Mason and Emily soon.

Emily looked at him in surprise. “Your walkie-talkies—they work?”

The guard smiled at her. “Yup.” He didn’t say another word about it.

Mason supposed they had a survivalist in the town who had kept some stuff in a homemade Faraday cage prior to the Pulse. He wished he had had the foresight to do something like that. A hand-crank radio, some walkie-talkies—that would’ve been more than enough. Hindsight, however, was twenty-twenty.

The guard stared at Emily’s bruised cheek with interest, then looked pointedly at Mason. “Was she backtalking, or what?” He laughed as if he had just told a great joke.

Mason didn’t answer.

The other guard coughed and nodded. Some sort of secret communication took place between the two soldiers. “There is one way you could get some food, though,” he said, talking to Mason.

“What’s that?” he asked, already fearing he knew the answer.

“We’d need twenty minutes alone with your girl there.”

Emily looked at Mason, her eyebrows furrowed in concern, as if he’d actually consider such a thing.

“No,” Mason said, trying to keep the hate out of his tone. “We want to pass through.”

Please
, he prayed,
please don’t let there be trouble.

“Suit yourself,” the guard said. “Be out the other side in exactly two hours. You’ll have to walk fast to make it on time.”

Emily nodded, not looking at the men, her cheeks bright red. Mason leaned down slowly to pick up his rifle. How many couples, he wondered, were hungry enough to take those guys up on their offer?

If Emily had been traveling alone, would she even have the option to refuse? Somehow he doubted it. With no consequences for breaking the law, fewer and fewer people cared to follow the rules. The mass looting and riots that broke out shortly after the Pulse first hit were testament to that. The people who’d made it this long were those who were willing to do whatever it took to survive—including breaking the laws of a society that no longer existed.

Walking past the barricade, Mason took Emily’s hand to comfort her. It seemed so tiny and cold in his. The barricade was right before an exit to a town—the town the men were protecting. Mason wondered how they were faring.

Had to be better than in Grand Central.

They kept walking until they hit the other barricade. Sure enough, the other soldiers nodded in recognition and waved them through. Back on the open road.

“We need to figure out a way to get people to let us spend the night,” Emily said decisively. “Let me talk next time.”

“You’re going to talk yourself right into being raped,” Mason said. At her shocked expression, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I just—I worry about you. About how the men look at you. I don’t want anything bad to happen.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Just don’t forget the last guy who tried something is now dead. I can handle myself, okay?”

They kept walking. Emily pulled some of the plants out of her pack and shared them with Mason. “It’s like we’re eating salad. To go.”