Monster Island(97)

We set down in the North Garden of the UN, a patch of green just off First Avenue that had been closed to the public since September Eleventh. The girls deployed from the Chinook’s rear ramp in standard battle order but it looked like Gary had been true to his word, which surprised me a little. There weren’t even any undead pigeons to bother us. I lead the girls to the white security tent at the visitor’s entrance, past the “Non-Violence” sculpture which takes the form of an enormous pistol with its barrel tied in a knot. They didn’t know what to make of it. A world without guns to them is a world that can’t protect itself. Before the Epidemic began I used to fight that attitude. Now I can’t help but praise it.

Oh God-there’s a pain, shit! Motherf*cker! A pain in my head and I Sorry-I’m back.Sweaty, bruised and half blind in the dimness of a bunker under the security tent I got the emergency generators going and the whole complex came to life, a random pattern of lights appearing on the surface of the Secretariat building, the fountain out front spitting out a ten foot plume of greenish scum. Thank God there was still fuel in the reservoir. I had dreaded the idea of searching for the drugs in pitch darkness the way I had done at St. Vincent’s.

Inside the General Assembly building I stopped and had to take a breath. It was strange to be back in a place where I used to have an office-that life was removed from me not only in space and time but also by a psychological breadth I don’t think I could measure. The soaring Jet Age architecture of the lobby with its terraced balconies and-how pointlessly heartbreaking now-its model of Sputnik hanging by wires from the ceiling spoke of not just a different era but a different kind of humanity, one that had actually thought we could all get along, that the world could be as one.

Of course the UN of my experience had been riddled with corruption and class snobbery but it still managed to do some good. It fed some of the hungry, tried to keep the lid on genocide. It at least felt guilty when it failed in Rwanda. All that was gone now. We were back to the state of nature, red in tooth and claw.

We passed the personalized stamp shop on our way to the Secretariat building, a place where tourists used to be able to get their picture put on a sheet of legal, usable stamps. I barely gave it a glance but Fathia called out a sharp warning and suddenly the cold air of the lobby exploded with noise and light. I dove behind a Bauhaus-style bench and when I looked up saw what had happened. The shop’s camera was set up to display a video picture of everyone who walked past as an enticement to the public. When the girls walked past they had seen their own images reversed on the screen, seeming to move toward them. Naturally they had assumed the worst: active ghouls. The video monitor was a heap of sparking shards by the time they were done.

Sarah-will you even remember television when you’re grown? I would have let you watch more American sitcoms if I knew it wasn’t going to become a habit.

My hand is shaking almost spastically and I’m not sure you’ll be able to read my handwriting. I know you’ll never see this anyway. I’m writing for myself, not my far-flung daughter. Pretending this is a letter to you helps me keep you in my mind’s eye, that’s all. It gives me a reason to keep going.

Please. Let me live long enough to finish this letter.

Anyway. There isn’t much more to tell.

On the fifth floor of the Secretariat building we found the drugs exactly where I’d thought they would be. There was a complete dispensary up there as well as a miniature surgical theater and a fully functional doctor’s office. The pills we needed were lined up carefully on a shelf in a low row of plastic jug after plastic jug.Epivir. Ziagen. Retrovir.There were so many the girls had to take them out fire brigade style. One by one they filed into the elevators and out of the building. Fathia took the last four jugs in her arms and turned to address Ayaan, who hadn’t lifted a finger.

“Kaalay!”

“Dhaqso.”

“Deg-deg!”Fathia implored and then she too was gone. Ayaan and I were alone.

I could hear my labored breath in the cramped dispensary. “I hope it won’t sound condescending if I tell you how proud I am of-” I stopped as she unlimbered her weapon.

One of her eyes was open quite wide. The other one was hidden behind the leaf sights of her AK-47. The barrel was lined up with my forehead. I could see every tiny dent and shiny scratch on the muzzle. I watched it wobble back and forth as she switched the rifle fromSAFE toSINGLE SHOT.

“Please put that away,” I said. I’d kind of been expecting this.