Chapter Twenty
Maisie
“I am Conductor Julio Acevedo, the last living MTA employee in Manhattan. Should you choose to board my train, I will take you to the end of my line, where a survivors’ community has formed.
Our only rule is don’t be a stupid dickhead that gets everybody killed.
If you agree to these terms, you may board and shelter for the night in our community. ”
“More survivors?” Everett’s eyes are wide and unblinking as they meet mine, his chest heaving. He tightens his bear hug on the booth. “What should we do?”
“If you choose to stay here, you have approximately fifteen seconds after my train departs to exit the station before the rats descend upon you once again.” Julio’s friendly voice crackles out over the train’s intercom, as matter-of-fact as if he were announcing upcoming train maintenance.
“Please mind the pigeons on your way out, however. Central Park belongs to them now.”
I jump to the ground. “Let’s do it.”
“We don’t even know where the train goes!” Everett’s eyes dart around the station, as though unable to stop searching for ruby-red eyes and the skittering of tiny claws. “What if it’s another gym franchise?”
“Even cults are better than dying by rodent swarm.” I jump over the turnstile. An elated relief fizzes through my veins, because for the first time in my life, my birthday wish came true.
We have more time.
I hold out a hand to him and, feeling more daring than I have all day, smile. “Come on, Mr. Shenandoah.”
Everett’s brow furrows, but he loosens his grip on the booth, his eyes never leaving mine. Tentatively, he jumps down and hops over the turnstile to take my hand and stand beside me.
To the disembodied voice of Conductor Julio, I lift my chin and announce, “We are Maisie and Everett Shenandoah, and we accept your terms with the sincere hope that you’re not taking us to a sketchy murderous sex cult.”
Julio’s voice laughs, this time direct to our ears and not filtered over the staticky intercom. “Nah, just Queens.” A man with a lined bronze face and black hair gelled into little spikes leans out the driver’s cab window and grins at us.
Maybe it’s just the well-timed rat rescue, but I instantly like him.
“Welcome aboard, Shenandoahs!”
The doors thud open, and together, we step inside.
The train is spotless, each orange seat shining.
There are fewer cars than normal, Everett informs me as Julio whisks us through the dark underground, perhaps to go faster along the route.
It’s surreal sitting in this disinfected car hurtling through the apocalypse for my first-ever subway ride, Everett’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, the bumps and turns jostling us together in the scooped shells of our seats.
Chicken is back on Everett’s front now, so both our faces get swatted at.
As we approach each station, Julio blares his horn, slowing down to survey the scene for any survivors.
But instead of people waiting on the platforms, it’s zombies, both the human and rat varietals, scurrying back from the train’s deafening roar.
“They don’t like loud noises,” Everett muses as we watch them shrink away from the platform.
It’s a long ride, and at some point, my head rests on Everett’s chest. The next thing I know is the feeling of Everett shaking me gently awake.
“We’re here, Ms. Shenandoah.”
“I fell asleep?” I blink at him, then bolt upright. I, Maisie Bennett, fell asleep on a subway train snaking through a zombie-infested underground network of tunnels to god knows where cuddled on a man I’ve known for a week?
Is this trust? Or just incredibly sloppy behavior?
Everett’s mouth softens into a gentle smile as though he can read my thoughts. “A highly strategic micro-nap, if you ask me. We don’t know what we’re about to encounter, and now you’ll be refreshed. Very wise.”
I narrow my eyes. “Uh-huh.”
The interior door to our train car slides opens with a decompressed sigh, and Julio appears.
This time, he’s wearing black galoshes, a football helmet, and a long yellow rubber coat, like the kind crossing guards wear in the rain.
He’s also holding three brooms gathered in one arm and a gun in the other, pointed at the ceiling.
He smiles through the helmet’s grille. “Ready, Shenandoahs?”
“What’s with the brooms?” Everett asks, semi-crouched and in fighting stance with his Tasers raised, just like I taught him. I beam.
“To sweep away the rats, what else?” Julio hands us each one. “What’s with the Tasers?”
“If you tase a zombie in the heart, they die immediately,” I supply. “Everett discovered it.”
“No kidding!” Julio’s eyes widen, his smile delighted. “Aww, that’s great news! You won’t believe how hard it is to hand your preteen a loaded .38. The way she slams a door if you look at her wrong? Let me tell you, I’ve aged ten years this past week.”
After a set of shockingly brief instructions, Julio blares the air horn strapped around his waist, and we rip out of the train and race through the station.
Despite the repeated air-horn honks, the rats coalesce at the corners of my vision as we near the stairs, but the brooms work a treat.
That doesn’t stop Everett from zapping a few tenacious ones as we pound up the concrete stairs to daylight, though, his shrill cursing adorable to me now.
On the street, the zombies still stand motionless in place, though not for much longer.
It’s almost four now, and their eyes are brightening.
Plus, nowhere in the five boroughs is safe from the birds.
Julio instructs us to pull our T-shirts over our heads once more, and we dart down the street, arms raised, yelling loudly to ward them off.
“SO WHERE ARE YOU TWO FROM?” Julio bellows as we jog by his side down the wide thoroughfare.
“MOST RECENTLY, NORTH CAROLINA!” Everett yells back. “I USED TO LIVE IN THE EAST VILLAGE, BUT THIS IS MAISIE’S FIRST TIME IN NEW YORK!”
“A TOURIST, EH?” Julio grins at me, panting lightly as we turn down a residential block. “WELCOME TO QUEENS!”
“THANKS!” I bat a swooping death-pigeon away from his head with my broom, then grin right back.
“I LOVE IT!” I say, because I do. The buildings aren’t so tall here, more brick than steel, and there’s a homey, lived-in quality to the cracked sidewalks and colorful awnings above mom-and-pop storefronts.
It’s the kind of place you could find a sewing-machine repair shop, or an honest-to-god cobbler, and there’s something comforting about living in a place that still needs both.
Julio leads us down an alley and through a fence to a small, winterized community garden, and quickly enters a back door to the building, gesturing for us to follow him into the small vestibule.
Everett’s crammed next to a row of metal mailboxes affixed to the wall while Julio buzzes apartment 2R.
The interior door swings open, and Julio sighs gladly, tucking his gun into his belt.
“That means the boss is home.” Julio winks at us as he wrests off his helmet. “She meets with everyone first, checks them out before we introduce you to the community. You know.”
“To make sure we’re not bitten?”
“Nah, the long ride takes care of that.” Julio huffs up the stairs, then turns to face us on the landing.
“If you were bitten, you’d have turned by the time we arrived.
” His cheerful face sags for a minute then, and I know without asking that he’s speaking from experience.
How hard it must be for a bright soul like Julio to start with survivors but end with victims. The sharp tang of the train’s disinfectant feels all the sadder now.
“How many have you rescued this week?” I ask instead, and his face lights back up.
“Twenty-eight and counting. We’ve got everyone set up in the hotel next door.
” Julio knocks on 2R’s door in a special rat-a-tat-tat pattern, and a few seconds later, two girls wearing matching gun belts and fuck-around-and-find-out expressions open the door.
They eye our flight suits, I NY shirts, and Tasers up and down through thick, curly lashes, thoroughly unimpressed.
“What are you, astronauts?” the younger one says, then places her hand menacingly across the gun strapped to her waist, as if she and NASA have long-standing beef.
“No, we robbed a museum.”
This was, apparently, the right answer. The younger one nods, and the girls stand aside to let us in. Her impeccably manicured nails tap idly against the gun’s handle as we pass, though, a reminder.
“See what I mean?” Julio says under his breath, then claps Everett and me on the shoulders. “Girls, this is Maisie and Everett Shenandoah, from North Carolina. Take them back to Mami, okay?”
The younger one sighs forcefully. “All right, then. Come on.”
We leave Julio at the coatrack to disrobe while his daughters, Ayana, the silent teenager, and Beatriz, the intimidating preteen, lead us through the living room to the kitchen, where a small round table sits, crowded with papers and signs of preparation.
A harried Black woman in her early fifties sits with her fingers pressed into her temples, deep in thought.
This must be the boss, then. The stress of leadership and responsibility sits neatly on her shoulders.
She glances up, her shrewd eyes absorbing our every detail as Beatriz and Ayana escort us to the table.
The contrast between her and Connor couldn’t be starker, and I know just from looking at her that this woman isn’t here to sell us on anything, or use us, or trap us against our will.
She’s here because she’s strong enough to truly help others and accepts that burden.
“Welcome, and congratulations on making it this far. I’m Corinne. Please sit and tell me your stories.”