6th Horseman, Extremist Edge Series: Part 1 (29 page)

We sail — well, drive with the engine — down
the Upper Bay and hug the coast until we are heading back up to
Rockaway Beach. We pass under the Marine Parkway Bridge, or what’s
left of it. The span had been blown to bits by the military like
all the other bridges. Ian has to turn sharply to avoid hitting a
cement pillar poking up from the water. Metal girders and large
sections of roadway jut out of the water, but we pass through
safely.

We move slowly between the beach and the
mainland peninsulas. I think the bay is called Jamaica Bay, or
something. I’ve never gone to the beaches out here. The water is
too cold and there are always a bunch of hippies running around. At
least, that’s what my Dad always said.

Ian moves the boat around the small islands
in the middle of the bay. Josh says the tide is high so the islands
are at their smallest. Ian steers us around them like a pro. The
rocking of the boat actually feels pretty good to me. When we first
started sailing I thought I was going to get sea sick, but that
rolling feeling in my stomach stopped hours ago. Ian stops the boat
as close to the shore as he can. He bitches about how the radar and
the depth meters got fried by the EMP.

I see a small wooden dock on the beach that
is too small for this boat. To the east is another blown up bridge.
Cross Bay Bridge.

“This is it,” Ian declares. “If we go closer
we’ll hit bottom.” He kills the engine and runs to the front of the
boat. I watch him hit the release lever that drops the anchor. “I
don’t know much about anchors, so I hope this works.”

We all climb down the ladder and one by one
get into the familiar wooden rowboat. Ben, Rice, and Andy stay
behind. It doesn’t take us very long to row ashore. The rowboat
bumps into the small kiddy dock. The dock was probably used by
people to fish from. Ian ties the boat to a post and we all get
out. I follow Isabella and Ian down the dock to the shore.

The shore is pretty quiet. We move quickly
down a sandy path that cuts through a bunch of thick bushes. Beyond
the bushes are a line of trees that conceal homes. There’s
something on fire over the horizon. Black smoke fills half the sky.
Other than that, it’s a nice day. I’m sure my Ma and Kat are hiding
in the house, waiting for me. I’m feeling jazzed.

Ian stops and shakes sand from his shoes.
“Let’s split up, three and three,” Ian says. “Isabella, help Josh
and Markus get food and water. Tanis, Hana and I will go with you
to get your mom. We’ve got four hours. The tide will be moving out
after that and we don’t need to get stuck in the bay.”

Isabella hands Ian her shotgun.

“I thought you didn’t lend out your guns,”
Ian says with a smile.

“Yeah, I don’t,” she says, her expression
flat. I wonder if she ever smiles. She’s a pretty chick, but also
kinda scary. I’m glad she’s with us though.

We move fast. This is my neighborhood so I
know exactly how to get home. We move up Cross Bay, pass businesses
and houses until the road becomes Woodhaven Boulevard. It’s a major
street, lined with shops and trees. I’m surprised at the lack of
cars on the road or in the parking lots. Did the EMP hit out here?
“Ian, should we see if a car works out here?” I ask.

Ian points at me, “Good idea.” He runs to the
oldest car we see. The door opens easily. The cab is empty. He gets
in and finds the keys still in the ignition. He tries the starter,
nothing. After a few more tries he gives up. “Dead. I guess the EMP
hit out here also.”

There are houses to our right and more shops
to the left. We’re getting close to the park. We come to more cars
that have jammed up the road. In between the cars are puppets. They
turn toward us as we get close. A fat old lady with white hair and
a yellow dress startles me as I run by a car. She grabs me! I
scream and push her away. My hands sink into her huge boobs and I
feel like the rolls of fat are trying to pull me in. She stumbles
back and I slip away. She didn’t feel real. It was like pushing on
a sack of water, not a person.

At this point I’m not too worried about the
puppets. There aren’t many and they’re slow as snails. Maybe they
can hear us, or smell us, maybe both. No doubt they’re coming. For
now, we’re moving too fast for them. A puppet in a baseball uniform
tries to grab me as we run by. I smack him across the face.
Hand’s off, fool!
I say to myself.

Ian isn’t wasting any bullets. He’s getting
good at taking them down by hammering their knees like Isabella did
at the Seaport. Hana just avoids them all. And every moment brings
more of them. Dozens now.

We get to Forest Park in no time. Must have
only been, like, four miles from the bay. I slow as we approach the
park. It’s just a bunch of trees and walking trails. Beyond that
are some tennis courts and a golf course. We pass by the big
apartment clusters to the right. There are puppets in the parking
lot and coming out of the buildings. One building, away from the
road, is burning down.

Ian is ahead when he stops. I catch up and
see what he sees. It’s a group ahead of us at the intersection.
Hundreds of them.

“Gotta cut into the park,” I say.

“Looks like we don’t have a choice,” Ian
comments.

We cross the parking lot for the baseball and
soccer fields, then head for the soccer field. It too has puppets
stumbling around, like drunk asses on a Saturday night, after a
game, who don’t wanna go home yet. I start to feel bad. This is my
park. I learned how to play baseball on that field. I flew my first
rocket on this soccer field. It crashed into those trees. My eyes
start to burn. I can’t cry now. I gotta get home first.

Suddenly, like we’re rock stars, the puppets
turn toward us at the same time. My heart races into overdrive.

We get to the trees. This part of Forest Park
is dense with trails and things to do. It’s huge, too. You could
get lost in here. I would take my dog here almost every weekend. We
run by a car that had pulled off the road and driven down the trail
before crashing and burning. I see some charred body hanging out
the window. It’s really like a forest. We can’t see very far ahead,
but we keep running.

We pass a small group of puppets: women,
children, and guys, old and young. When they hear us, they turn and
lumber toward us.

I take the lead and cut through the park. Ian
and Hana follow. I’m running fast, like a cheetah. I slide to a
stop on the slick leaves. My shortcut is blocked. I’d wanted to run
over a small hill and cut across Myrtle Avenue, but there’re too
many of these damn things.

“Where do we go, Tanis? Quick!” Hana blurts
out.

I turn around. That isn’t a good idea. The
puppets we passed on the soccer field are following us. I gotta get
home. Turning back is no good. “We have to go all the way to that
end and cut back to my house. Like a big half circle.”

“Let’s do it,” Ian pushes.

I jump into a thicket of ferns and run. We
bushwhack as fast as we can. Finally, the bushes clear. There are
tall, thin trees here and it’s easy to see and run through. I pick
up the pace. I find a decent crossing at Myrtle. Ian only has to
take down two puppets.

Then I find a clear path all the way to the
railroad tracks. Man, I used to love this area. We run across the
tracks and then slow down. We’re all out of breath.

Finally, we get out of the forest. It’s weird
to transition from forest to city, like flipping through TV
channels. We fly by some puppets that were stumbling around a cafe,
knocking over tables, then we cross Metropolitan Avenue. I turn
onto one street then another. “Here’s my street.” I pass by a wreck
of four cars smashed into each other. I recognize a bumper sticker.
It was my neighbor’s car. Then she steps out and reaches for me.
It’s Mrs. Garfield.

She had been a nice old lady, but had kinda
always reminded me of Garfield the Cat. She used to pay me to
shovel her sidewalk after snowstorms. She looked now just like
she’d always looked, except for the pits where her eyes had been.
Her hair was all done up in thin curls. She had on the same orange
flower-pattern dress she always seemed to wear.

Ian makes a move to cripple her knees.

“Wait!” I yell. Ian stops. “I know her,” I
mumble.

She continues trying to get me. Her mouth
opens, no teeth, and she screams. I bolt as fast as I can, only
looking back once. A dark feeling slides down my spine and fills my
veins, like a corrupt server spewing malware throughout the net. I
can’t stop it. I’ve got no control. I run harder. Even though I’ve
never run this much in my life, I fly. I can’t feel my feet anymore
and my lungs suck in the warm wet air. I don’t want to die.

There’s my house. I slow down and stop. Our
car is still in the driveway. Ma drove this crappy white Honda she
had since she was pregnant with me. Her first baby, she’d called
it. I like my house. It’s narrow but tall. The roof is really
pointy. The walls are white and the window trim is a dark brown.
I’d painted them that color a few summers ago. Our house had four
floors: a single attic room, two top floors, and a basement.

I run up the steps to the front door. I still
have my house keys in my pocket and my backpack on. It’s like I’m
just coming home from school. I’m afraid of what I’ll find in the
house.

I open the door slowly. The house is dark,
cold. “Ma!” I yell out. Nothing. “Kat!” Nothing. I run upstairs. My
parents’ room is at the end of the hall. I open the door. No one’s
there. The bed isn’t made, which isn’t like Ma. Her cell and car
keys are still on the bedside table. I sit in the doorway and start
crying. I sob harder than I ever have.

Hana hugs me. I hug her hard.

“Guys!” Ian yells from downstairs. “We have
to go!”