Chapter 2: The Service Door

"Mrs. Dale? It's me."

Two soft knocks. Two more.

Nobody answered. Gray dawn light leaked through the stairwell window, and somewhere above her a dozen people were dragging bags down the stairs. Ariana stood outside 8B with a tin cup of water and waited.

"Mrs. Dale? We're leaving in ten minutes. I came to carry your things."

She tried the handle. It turned.

The curtains were open. Mrs. Dale sat in her chair by the window with a blanket over her knees and her hands folded in her lap. Last night's tin plate sat on the sill, washed and dried. The photograph of the young soldier hung above her, still laughing.

"There you are," Ariana said. She set the cup down. "You look so peaceful. I hate to wake you."

She crossed the room and touched the old woman's hand.

It was cold.

"Mrs. Dale?"

She said it again. Then she said it a third time, quietly, because she already knew.

Ariana sat down on the floor. The cup rolled off the table and water spread across the boards. She did not move to stop it.

"You said you'd planned ahead," she whispered. "You said you had a cat. You don't even have a cat."

Her chest folded in on itself. She pressed a hand over her mouth so nobody in the hall would hear her cry.

"Ariana?" Mr. Brandt pushed the door open with his shoulder. His face was gray from no sleep. "Ten minutes. Everyone's gathering at the service corridor. What are you..."

He saw the chair. He stopped.

"Oh, Ariana."

"She's gone."

"Was she bitten?"

"No. She just stopped." Her voice wobbled. "She washed her plate. Who does that?"

Mr. Brandt took off his cap. He stood there for a long moment. "She was a good woman."

"Is she coming or not?" Mr. Voss called from the hall. "We're on a clock."

"She's dead, Voss," Mr. Brandt said sharply.

"Then that's one less to carry." There was a pause. "I'm sorry. That came out wrong."

"It came out exactly right," Ariana said. She had never spoken to him that way. Her own voice surprised her. "Go and wait by the door."

Mr. Voss opened his mouth, closed it, and went.

Mr. Brandt looked at her for a moment. Then his face softened. "I can't leave her in a chair," Ariana said.

"You can, and you will." He said it gently. "You gave her the last good night anyone in this building had. That's more than most of us did. Cover her face, say goodbye, and come down. Nine minutes."

"Mr. Brandt..."

"Nine minutes, Ariana. I mean it."

He left. The door swung half shut behind him.

Ariana got up. Her knees shook. She pulled the blanket up over Mrs. Dale's shoulders and then, after a moment, folded it carefully over her face. She took the photograph off the wall and placed it between the old woman's hands.

"I'll carry my own bag," she said. "I promise."

It was a poor joke. She wished Mrs. Dale were there to laugh at it.

On the landing outside 8B, a small figure was waiting. Nina, six years old, wore a coat two sizes too big and held a folded piece of paper in both hands.

"Miss Ariana?"

"Hi, Nina."

"Mama says we're leaving. Mama says you saved me."

"I only pulled you out of the hall."

"That's saving." Nina held out the paper. "It's for you. It's a dog."

Ariana unfolded it. A crayon drawing of a brown dog with six legs.

"It's beautiful."

"He has extra legs so he can run faster."

Ariana laughed, and it came out wet. "That's a very smart dog."

"Mama says you look sad."

"I'm a little sad."

"The dog can be sad too. He doesn't mind."

"Nina!" a woman called from above. "Come on, baby!"

Nina waved and ran. Ariana folded the drawing into her jacket pocket and climbed the stairs.

Jason and Sabrina were in the kitchen when she came back up. Two packs sat open on the table. Jason's was the bigger one. They both went still when she walked in.

"Mrs. Dale died," Ariana said.

"What?" Sabrina was across the room before the word finished. "Oh, Ari. Oh, no."

"In her chair. Last night, I think. She was already gone this morning."

Her knees gave out, and Sabrina caught her. Jason came around the table and wrapped his arms around both of them. Ariana broke, and this time she did not try to hold it in.

"I'm so sorry," Jason said into her hair. "I'm so sorry. She was wonderful."

"She told me..." Ariana choked. "She told me to carry my own bag."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter. It was nothing." She wiped her face. The hug held her up, and she wanted it never to end. "I have to tell you something. I should have told you weeks ago."

Sabrina's hand paused on her back. "What is it?"

"I kept something back."

She dragged a chair under the bedroom ceiling. Jason steadied it. She reached up, pushed aside the loose panel, and pulled down a canvas bag.

"Antibiotics," she said, opening it on the bed. "Painkillers. Bandages. Insulin syringes. I took everything I could from the pharmacy on the first day, before it was looted. I was saving it."

Nobody spoke.

Jason's eyes moved across the bag, slowly, counting. Sabrina's mouth was slightly open. Her fingers trembled as she lifted one of the boxes.

"Ari," Sabrina said. "This is incredible. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I don't know. I wanted it to be for something that really mattered."

"It matters now," Jason said. His voice was careful. "This is what gets us through the next month. Ari, you might have saved all of us."

"We'll share it on the road," she said. "Everyone who needs it. Right?"

"Of course," Jason said. "Of course we will."

Ariana caught a glimpse of the hallway by the front door. Sabrina's boots stood side by side on the mat, laced and ready. Jason's pack was stuffed so full it would not close. Hers sat half empty beside them.

"You've already packed," she said.

"We didn't want to rush you," Sabrina said.

"We should put it in my pack," Jason added. "It's bigger. It'll ride better on my back than yours. You'd be hunched over by the end of the first mile."

She hesitated. Then she looked at his face. He looked tired and worried and gentle, the way he always looked when he took care of her.

"Okay," she said.

They packed it together. She watched her last careful work disappear into his bag and felt only relief.

"Ari," Sabrina said. She was looking at the zipper, not at her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"If I ever did something terrible. Something I couldn't take back. Would you still love me?"

Jason looked up sharply.

Ariana laughed softly. "You could never."

"But if I did."

"Then I'd be angry. And then I'd forgive you. That's what family is."

Sabrina's mouth trembled. "That's what I was afraid of."

"Sabrina," Jason said.

"Nothing. Forget it." She wiped her eye with her wrist and picked up the packs. "I'm just tired."

She lifted the strap of his pack to help him settle it. It was so heavy her arm dipped.

"Everything important is in there now," Jason said, taking it from her. "Yours was light because you gave half of it away."

"That's not funny."

"I know. I'm sorry." He smiled at her. "Is that everything? Nothing else hidden up there?"

"That's everything."

"Good."

She shouldered her own small pack. A kitchen knife, a bottle of water, and half a day of food. That was all she had left.

Jason took her face in both hands. "I love you. You know that."

"I love you too."

"Good." He kissed her forehead. "Now listen. I didn't want to tell you in front of Brandt. I found a car."

"A car?"

"In the alley behind the service door. Keys in the ignition. There's room for three, and nobody else knows about it. No six-mile walk. No Hunters on the open road." He glanced at Sabrina. "Sabrina's going down first to get it warm."

"What about the others?"

"They have the convoy. We have a car." He held her gaze. "Just you and me and Sabrina. It's the only way we all get out of this. Trust me."

"Shouldn't we tell Mr. Brandt?"

"He'd take it. You know he would." Jason's smile did not waver. "Ari. Trust me."

Sabrina had already picked up the two heavier packs and was standing at the door.

"Go," she said quietly. "I'll see you down there."

Something cold touched the back of Ariana's neck. She pushed it away.

"Okay," she said. "I trust you."

The stairwell was empty. Brandt's group had already gone. Their voices had faded, and somewhere far below a heavy door shut. The silence afterward was thick.

Jason went first. He held her hand the whole way down.

On the sixth floor, Mr. Haskell sat in his open doorway with the pipe across his knees. His forearm was wrapped in a stained towel. Sweat shone on his face.

"Brandt said you'd be last," he said.

"Mrs. Dale died in the night."

"I heard." He shut his eyes briefly. "I wish I'd known her better."

"Come with us." The words left her mouth before she thought. "Please. We can find a way."

"Girl, I'd slow you down. And by lunch I'd be biting you." He gave a tired smile. "I'll hold the stairwell while you go. Somebody ought to."

"Mr. Haskell..."

"Go on."

Jason was already pulling at her hand. "Ari. We have to move."

"Hey, girl," Mr. Haskell called after her. She turned. "Thank you for last night."

"I didn't do anything."

"You offered to sit with me. Nobody else did."

She swallowed. She could not answer. She nodded, and Jason pulled her down the stairs.

"That man was going to get us killed," he muttered on the landing. "Standing there, talking."

"He's dying, Jason."

"Then he should have said goodbye faster."

She looked at him. He kept his eyes on the steps.

"Are you sure about the car?" she whispered at the fourth floor.

"Positive."

"What if it doesn't start?"

"Then we'll walk. Together. Okay?"

"Okay."

At the third floor, something cracked behind the barricade. Wood splintered. A moan rose through the gap, and Jason's grip tightened until it hurt.

"Keep moving," he whispered.

"Jason, that barricade is going to fall."

"Then we're lucky we're leaving." He tried to smile and did not quite manage it. "When we get somewhere safe, I'm going to make this up to you. I'll get a job, I'll find a place. I'll take care of you for once."

"You don't have to make anything up to me."

"I know. I want to."

She held onto that. She held onto it all the way down.

The service corridor on the ground floor was a narrow, windowless hallway that smelled of old mop water. At the far end stood the steel door to the alley. A long iron bar rested across it.

Sabrina was waiting beside it. She held two packs against her chest. Her face was blank.

"Is the car running?" Ariana asked.

"It's just around the corner," Sabrina said. She did not meet her eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"Just cold." Sabrina's mouth twitched. "I'm sorry about Mrs. Dale."

"Thank you." Ariana reached out and squeezed her hand. Sabrina flinched. "Whatever happens out there, we stick together. All three of us. Promise me."

"Ari..."

"Promise."

"We should go," Jason said from behind them. His voice was tight. "Now."

Sabrina pulled her hand free. She did not answer.

Jason lifted the bar with both hands and leaned it against the wall. He pushed the door open a few inches. Pale light cut across the floor.

"Brandt's group drew them off," he said. "The dead followed them down the street. The alley is clear, but I need someone quiet to check the corner. You're the quietest person I know."

"I'll go."

"Give me your pack. You'll be faster."

Ariana's hand tightened on the strap.

Carry your own bag.

"Ari," Jason said softly. "Please."

It was such a small thing. She slipped the pack off her shoulders and put it in his hands.

"Quick," he said. "Look left, then right. If it's clear, wave."

"And if it isn't?"

"It is." He smiled. "Go."

The alley was cold and gray. Mist hung between the brick walls. Bins lay tipped on their sides, spilling rotten food onto the stones. The air smelled of rain and old trash. A single crushed can rolled slowly past her boots, and the sound of it was the loudest thing in the world.

There was no car.

"Jason," she whispered. "There's no car."

She looked left. The alley ended in a blank wall. She looked right.

At the far end, shapes stood in the mist. Swaying. Dozens of them. As she watched, the closest one turned its head.

It began to moan.

"Jason!" She spun around. "Jason, there's a..."

The door was already closing.

He stood in the gap with both packs held against his chest. She saw his face, and she saw that he was not looking at her. He was looking at the floor.

"Jason!"

Sabrina stood behind him. Her eyes were red.

"I'm sorry, Ariana," she said.

"No. No, no, no. Jason, please."

He did not look up.

The door shut. The iron bar dropped with a sound she would hear in her head until the end.

She threw herself at the steel. "Jason! Open it! Open it, please!"

Nothing.

"I gave you everything!" Her fists hit the metal over and over. "I gave you everything I had! I'll give you the rest, anything, I'll give you anything! Jason! Sabrina! Please!"

For one moment, through the steel, she heard a muffled voice. It was Sabrina's.

"Come on, Jay. We have to go."

Footsteps. Then nothing.

Ariana pressed both palms flat against the door. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Just open it. Just for a second."

She counted. She could not help it.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Maybe he would open like the other time.

Six. Seven. Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

The door stayed shut.

Behind her, the moaning grew louder.

Ariana turned. The mist was full of them. They were shuffling, stumbling, dragging their feet across the stones. She pulled the kitchen knife from her belt and held it in front of her with both hands.

"Stay back," she said. Her voice shook. "Stay back."

The first one reached her. She stabbed it in the throat. It kept coming, so she stabbed it again, and again, until it dropped. Hot, black blood ran down her wrist. The second one caught her sleeve. She tore free.

Move. Find the fire escape. Move.

The paper crackled in her pocket as she ran. A brown dog with six legs, so he could run faster. She ran.

She ran down the alley. The fire escape ladder hung above a dumpster ten feet away, then eight. She jumped onto the dumpster and grabbed for the bottom rung. Her fingers closed on it.

A hand closed on her ankle.

She kicked. Once. Twice. The hand held. She hung from the ladder and screamed, and the weight dragged her down. The rung tore out of her grip.

She hit the stones on her back. The knife skidded away.

A Hunter crouched over her, its hands pinning her shoulders. It was not screaming. It was breathing. She smelled rot.

"Please," she whispered. She did not know who she was asking.

Its teeth closed on her shoulder.

The pain was enormous. She screamed until there was no air left in her. Other hands gripped her legs and her arms. The mist above her turned red at the edges.

Carry your own bag, Mrs. Dale said in her head.

She thought of Jason kissing her forehead. She thought of Sabrina sleeping on her bedroom floor, twelve years old, asking if she could stay one more night. She thought of the summer they had eaten peaches on the back step and Sabrina had said, you're my real family.

You're too good for this world, Ari.

She understood it now.

She had heard them last night through the wall. She had heard every word. And she had lain awake in the dark and chosen not to understand, because understanding would have cost her everything she had left to believe in.

It was not praise. It had never been praise. It was a description of a door that stood open, and they had only been waiting for the right day to walk through it.

She still loved him. That was the worst part. Even now, with her blood on the stones, she still loved him.

I would have given you everything, she thought. All you ever had to do was ask.

The pain faded. The edges of the world went dark.

Then the sound went with it.

The moaning stopped. The wind stopped. Her own heartbeat stopped. Everything dropped into a silence so complete she could hear it, a huge, patient stillness waiting for something.

Underneath the silence, something hummed.

It was low. It was deep. It came from somewhere far below the alley, below the city, below the stone itself. It was old. It had been humming for a very long time.

For one moment, it seemed to turn toward her.

Then a bright, cheerful chime rang through the dark.