A New Day in America Read Online Free PDF Page B

Mikey.”
    “Where are they?”
    “They’re dead, sweetie.”
    She glanced down, to the left, searching herself now. “Like Lucky?” Lucky the Parakeet.
    “Like Lucky. But they’re still with us, they watch us every day, they love us every day.”
    “I miss Mommy.”
    “Me, too. And Joachim, Mikey.”
    “I don’t really miss them. Maybe Mikey. Jay pinches and tickles me. But I do miss Mommy.”
    “You’ll miss them all someday.”
    “When will I see them?”
    Nos sucked at the air, seemingly insufficient for his lungs. His pulse was off the charts. “When you die.”
    “When will I die?”
    “Never, sweetie, as long as I live.”
    ***
    As they drive uptown the rubble gets worse. The destruction is spilling into the streets and making them harder to pass. Park Avenue is blocked by an endless rusted barricade of shattered concrete, foundation, plaster, and marble, with the odd desk and chair thrown in. Nos pulls around to Lexington, where he makes it a few blocks before the shiny steel deco roof of the Chrysler Building stands in their way. The high sword of the tip seems to have fallen straight down as though through a trap door and then tipped east and collapsed in the street.
    The landmark is another barrier. He gets off the bike and climbs the rubble. When he gets a decent foothold it seems like he can see forever. Where one could never hope to see the FDR, Nos can see to the highway at a glance. It’s gone, like the Queensboro Bridge behind it. Standing on the Chrysler building roof, Nos can see to Queens. Nos thinks this might be as far as they can go.
There’s no way the West Side Highway still stands
.
    What now?
    Nos is at a loss. They shouldn’t be heading deeper into the city. The country makes way more sense, anywhere without buildings, without underground subways and sewers to flood, without being surrounded by water. It has never been so clear how much an island Manhattan is. There’s no telling how much of the country is intact, whether the attack was just on New York or if the whole country was ruthlessly bombed. No one answered any of Nos’ short wave radio calls. No one ever came to Manhattan’s rescue, thanks to either the bombs or the disease. The rest of the country can’t be in much better shape, but there is only one way to find out. He has wheels and some fuel. They could be miles from New York by now. Instead they are battling the wreckage based on a rumor. Jake is an unreliable source of intel at best.
Incest
, Nos snorts.
Think I’d prefer a murderer
.
    But there is little else to go on. Some rumor is better than no rumor at all. There
is
no intel, no
people
. Barely, anyway. The clowns gave him hope. They weren’t wearing gas masks. He hopes they can at least find another lead. He hopes Nay has time.
    Tires roll up behind him with swirling lights—red lights this time, police lights. An NYPD van stops, blocking their way. A cop sits in the driver’s seat wearing mirrored aviator glasses.
    No gasmask.
    Nos hurries back down the mound heap.
    The cop steps out of the van in boots and blues. He struts toward them with his hand on his piece. His tan dark skin is gaunt and emaciated.
    “Hello there,” Nos calls as he steps in front of Naomi and the bike.
    “This area is restricted,” he says, the tendons in his neck flaring.
    “I wasn’t aware,” says Nos, confused.
Who is there to restrict anything
?
    “Where are you headed?” he orders.
    “North.”
    “What’s in the pack?”
    “Supplies.”
    The cop eyes the pieces of the dismantled rifle. “Hand me that pack, sir.” Everything he says sounds like an order.
    “By what authority?” asks Nos.
    “The
NYPD
,” he barks, like Nos is the idiot.
    “NYPD,” Nos repeats, like he just said
the tooth fairy
. “Shit, you got a big cleanup on your hands.”
    The cop draws his gun and holds it on Nos. “Hand over the pack, now!”
    “You don’t need my pack, you need a broom.”
    The cop turns his gun to Naomi. Nos