Night of the Purple Moon (24 page)

They passed the highway sign—RT 93 NORTH AND SOUTH, NEXT EXIT. Now they were less than twenty miles from their destination. If nothing crazy happened, they would arrive at Logan Airport within one hour.

Crazy happened. Two eighteen wheelers blocked the exit onto Route 93. Closer to Boston, Abby would know back roads to the airport, but she knew of no alternate route from here. Not about to let these trucks stand in their way, she left the car idling to inspect the situation. The driver in one cab rested his elbow—bleached white from the elements—out the window. The trucks angled in a V with daylight showing between their two ends. A motorcycle would pass through the gap with ease. Abby no longer harbored anger at Kenny and his gang. She was too exhausted to feel anything. The Beetle just might be able to sneak through the gap. And if they became wedged? The truck driver’s bleached arm bone foretold their future.

Abby put the Beetle into first gear, and immediately stalled. She moved the stick into neutral, held her breath, and turned the key. The engine miraculously fired up. She slowly rounded the closest cab and entered the aluminum canyon. Dark shadows pooled beneath the truck underbellies. With sweaty palms and a racing heart, she inched toward the light. The passenger side mirror snapped off, but she cleared the gap with less than an inch to spare on her side.

Abby breathed a huge sigh of relief. Clearing the gap was a good omen, the final gateway to their destination. Nothing would stop them now.

Four miles from Boston, the saw-tooth city skyline came into view. Abby made out the two tallest buildings, the Prudential Building and the Hancock Tower, and the one most familiar to her, the Boston Company Building where her mother had worked on the thirtieth floor.

Abby saw a silver dot in the eastern sky and watched in awe as it slowly grew in size. She trembled with excitement, realizing it was a jet with blinking lights, loaded with antibiotics! Other dots appeared, also swelling as they neared. The lead one lowered its landing gear and banked gracefully on its final descent into Logan Airport.

“Jordan!” she cried.

There was no response.

Let him sleep, she thought.

Abby drove onto the Leonard Zakim Bridge over the Charles River Basin. The tunnel to the airport was just beyond the bridge. Tears of pride filled her eyes. They had made it. She and Jordan had overcome so many obstacles, had survived danger after danger as a team. They were finally here.

The loud beep startled her. A red warning light flashed before her: PLEASE REFUEL.

Abby bit her lip, desperately hoping they could make the last few miles. They were so close. So very close!

With the bridge behind them, Abby blinked in shock. Kids by the thousands were filtering into the airport tunnel on foot. It would be impossible to drive any further.

Should she join the march? Abby doubted she had strength to walk all the way to the airport from here. Jordan could not make it for sure. Anyway, she wouldn’t leave him alone in the car.

Suddenly she had an idea: Abby would drive to Mel’s house in Cambridge. Her friend would care for Jordan while she went to the airport. Or perhaps Mel would go to the airport while Abby stayed with Jordan.

But what if Mel had already joined the masses heading there? Abby remembered what the CDC robot had said: send one representative from your group. She was certain someone would be at Mel’s house—maybe not her friend, but someone.

The gas-warning tone sounded again. Her plan set, Abby made a three-point turn and headed to Cambridge.

Jordan rested one hand on the tiller and held Emily’s hand with his other. They were out of sight of land. The wind was steady from the southeast, skies clear.

He had never seen Emily look so pretty, or so sad.

“Jordan, we should head home,” she said.

“Home?” he replied, smiling. “The ocean is my home!”

“We’re home.”

That was Abby’s voice!

“We’re home,” his sister said again. “Wake up!”

He blinked. Abby peered at him from the cramped seat of some strange car.

“We’re in Cambridge,” she said.

He slowly remembered her pushing him into the yellow Volkswagen, and flopping into the back seat. He remembered each bump of the ride taking his breath away.

“Cambridge, Massachusetts?” he asked in disbelief.

She gave him a big nod. “Pearl Street. I stopped at Mel’s house. Mel Ladwick! My best friend. Jordan, she’s alive! Her house was locked, but there was laundry hanging in the yard. She’s probably on her way to the airport to get the pills. I left a note telling her that we’re here. You’re going to stay here while I get the antibiotics.”

Jordan couldn’t imagine Abby going anywhere. While her voice sounded bright and upbeat, she looked shockingly frail.

“We should stick together,” he said.

“You’re staying here!”

Jordan was too weak to argue.

When she lifted his shirt to check on his rash, he clenched his teeth to keep from screaming.

“It’s looking much better,” she said.

Abby was a terrible liar.

After struggling to get out of the car, Jordan couldn’t believe he was really standing before 1124 Pearl Street, the home where he had spent the first eleven years of his life. Yellow daffodils growing in front of the shrubs were welcoming him home. He peered up at the steep steps. As a kid, he had viewed these stairs as a mighty mountain. Now, twelve going on thirteen, the climb appeared no less daunting.

Abby helped him climb the steps. Near the top, he stumbled, and both nearly tumbled backwards.

The glass in the front door was broken and they entered through the unlocked door. Abby stopped at the threshold and gasped in shock. He felt the same as she did, awful. They’d seen ransacked homes before, but not their home.

Abby took his hand and led him into the kitchen. Dirty plates were scattered everywhere. Empty cans and jars littered the floor. The fridge door was ajar. Jordan choked up. Their mother had been the neatest, most organized person on the planet, and he hated what had become of their house.

“Please take me to the living room,” he said, dejected.

Relieved to leave the mess, Jordan eased onto the couch, and Abby lowered him to his side. A painting of Castine Island harbor hung on the wall. It reminded him of his dream, and the dream reminded him of the girl he loved.

Abby placed a can onto the table next to him, which he thought she said was beer, and then she planted a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

The kiss from his sister was a first.

If she had said anything else to him, he didn’t remember it. Next he heard her footfalls on the steps as she was leaving. Soon the Beetle started up and drove away, the engine fading into the silence.

Jordan shut his eyes and felt a strong breeze on his face.

A mile from her home, Abby pulled to a stop on the Salt and Pepper Bridge that crossed over the Charles River, connecting Cambridge to Boston. Crowds of kids packed every lane and she was unable to drive any further.

She scanned their faces, looking for Mel, for her second best friend, Steph, for any acquaintance. They were all strangers, many with blank expressions, some appearing as close to death as she was. She turned off the engine. Wilson’s car had gotten her this far, and she would have to make it the rest of the way walking. She joined the silent procession.

Kids trickled in from side streets, swelling the human river that flowed down Storrow Drive, a main artery leading to the airport tunnel. Abby thought that most of the kids were seven and older, though some might have been as young as three years old. One toddler, who looked a little like Toucan, rode atop an older boy’s shoulders. Abby didn’t see any babies.

Abby’s legs felt like they each weighed two hundred pounds each, and her whole body throbbed with blinding pain.

After walking for hours, she realized that a small hand had latched onto her finger. The boy was six or seven, a cross between Danny and Barry. He sprouted a cowlick and had bright devilish eyes.

“What’s your name?” she said, weakly gaining a better grip of his cool hand.

He grinned. “Timmy.”

“You want to stay together, Timmy?”

He gave her a big nod.

She and Timmy reached the tunnel at dusk. It was pitch dark and tightly packed inside. Sporadic cries of panic and pain punctuated the stuffy silence. Condensation dripped from the ceiling and the panting breaths of thousands seemed to use up all the oxygen. The colder night cooled Abby’s face, while from the neck down she sweltered. Timmy’s head barely came up to her chest, and she worried about his ability to breathe.

Later, swept along by the crowd, the grind of bodies started pulling Timmy away from her. Abby held onto his hand until she feared she might yank his arm from its socket. She let go.

“Timmy,” she cried. “Timmy!”

Anonymous cries of panic and pain were the only responses.

The sorrow of another loss crushed her. Even though they had hardly spoken, Abby had grown incredibly fond of Timmy. Her legs then gave out, but she didn’t crumple to the ground. She remained erect, propped up and propelled forward by the crowd.

Jordan awoke in the dark and glanced at his watch. The first of May was five minutes old. Scientists were passing out the pills today. Perhaps they had already handed some out. He hoped that Abby had taken the antibiotic and the space germs were dying by the millions inside of her. Perhaps she was even on her way back with pills for him and everyone else on the island.

He thought how those lucky enough to get the pills would view their lives in two parts:
before the antibiotic
and
after
the antibiotic
. For many, today was the turning point, a rebirth. For others, it would simply be too late.

He listened for Abby’s footsteps, for the unique sound of the Volkswagen, but he heard only the ticking of his watch. He unbuckled the wristband and placed the watch on the table. Time was running short.

He clambered stiffly up from the couch and guided by memories, moved deliberately to the mahogany buffet in the dining room. His hands reached for the middle drawer. He found the handle. The soft clink of metal on metal brought a small smile. From the moment Toucan had been able to walk, she flipped the handles to make that sound. Jordan opened the drawer.

He felt a twisted rubber band holding a deck of cards together. There was a roll of tokens for the Hampton tolls. Paperclips, batteries, a key, a can opener, chalk and crayons for Toucan. It was into this drawer that his family crammed its bits and pieces. Way in the back, Jordan discovered what he was looking for, a candle and a butane lighter.

Jordan wedged the end of the lit candle into the bathroom sink drain and gingerly lifted his shirt, peering over his shoulder at the mirror. As had happened to billions before him, the space germs were eating him alive.

Jordan climbed the stairs holding the candle and passed by his bedroom. He had no reason to go inside. He had cleared the room of every important possession when they had moved to Castine Island.

Jordan saw his mother under the covers in the master bedroom. On her side, head on the pillow, she faced him. He didn’t want to look at her, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He stumbled on a suitcase and realized that Mom had already packed for that weekend a year ago.

Three presents sat atop her bureau. Jordan positioned the candle between two perfume bottles. These presents were for him and Abby and Toucan. Touk’s was the biggest. Jordan patted and poked it, careful not to rip the wrapping paper. From its shape and squishiness, he was almost certain that it was a stuffed toy toucan. Abby’s present was even easier to guess. Mom always bought her books. He thought Abby had better hurry up or he would never find out the title.

Jordan shook his present. Pieces rattled inside. He removed the paper and smiled at the model ship, a three-masted schooner, the type that sailed in Castine Harbor a hundred years ago.

Jordan inched toward his mother’s body. He stood by her side of the bed and gazed down with dry eyes, having no more tears to shed. Her hair was still red as fire, and he had no trouble imagining her green sparkling eyes and hearing her bright laugh.

Jordan doubted that his mother had ever taken any notice of the slender Indian girl who lived next door.

“Mom, you would have liked Emily,” he whispered.

He reached out—he had to make contact, just one last time. The blanket covered her shoulders, and he trembled as he lightly touched her arm underneath.

Jordan’s shadow flickered on the wall in the candlelight, as if to tell him it was time to go. He felt ready to go, no longer afraid of dying.

But he had one final job to do before the last of his strength faded; something that would please his mother.

At Logan Airport Abby heard what sounded like squirrels squabbling in the distance. Grieving the loss of Timmy, she remained seated on the ground, too exhausted to stand and see what was making the strange noise. The sun had just risen above the air traffic control tower a mile away.

A column of kids, twenty wide in places, stretched between her and the tower. The line hadn’t moved in hours. A sea of blank faces surrounded her. Most of the kids sat or lay on the tar road. Those awake had vacant stares. Cries of “Mommy!” and “Daddy!” came from some of the younger ones. A Chinese boy laughed hysterically. Abby thought he was hallucinating. Kids peed and pooped in line with little regard for privacy.

The squabbling grew louder and Abby struggled to her feet. She helped a girl stand, and then a boy. The girl helped another boy. The ripple of helping hands lifted heads like sunflowers in a field.

It wasn’t squirrels making the noise, but rather chatter directed at the luckiest children on the planet. Those who had received the antibiotic were returning while the kids waiting in line pleaded for handouts. The condition of those who had taken the pill was striking. They stood taller and moved at a faster pace. Their eyes no longer reflected imminent death.