The Big Empty #1 Paperback - 2004

Details

• Title The Big Empty #1
• Author J. B. Stephens
• Binding Paperback
• Edition 1st
• Pages 204
• Volumes 1
• Language ENG
• Publisher Razorbill, Berganfield, New Jersey, U.S.A.
• Date 2004-10-07
• ISBN 9781595140067 / 1595140069
• Weight 0.38 lbs (0.17 kg)
• Dimensions 7.04 x 5.06 x 0.57 in (17.88 x 12.85 x 1.45 cm)
• Ages 12 to UP years
• Grade levels 7 - UP
• Library of Congress subjects Science fiction, Survival
• Library of Congress Catalog Number 2004005092
• Dewey Decimal Code FIC

As Michael Bishop came out of the subway at West 4th Street and made his way toward the small Greenwich Village apartment he shared with his father, he realized that he would never make it back to the apartment before curfew tonight. Once the curfew hit Manhattan, the city just about rolled up its sidewalks, but he didn’t intend to stay with Maggie after what he had to say to her. Michael had been dragging his feet on this breakup for weeks, caught in a mixture of guilt, obligation, and lust.

As he noticed his buddies Kenny and Jeff manning Father Demo Square in their military fatigues, he wished he could stick around to play a few rounds of cards. Michael had befriended the local crew of soldiers after he and his father moved down here from the Upper West Side, after the electricity shortage had made it too costly to run elevators up to the thirtieth–floor penthouse that Michael and his parents had once called home.

Now, after the relocation, Michael and his dad were lucky to have scored a third–story walk–up in the Village. “It’s like a return to the Gilded Age,” his father had said, trying to make the most of it. “Did you know that around the turn of the century Fourteenth Street was the hub of the city? People considered it a trip to the country to venture above Fiftieth.” Typical Dad, clinging to old Manhattan’s charms.

“Hey, it’s the Bishop!” Kenny straightened from his perch on the square’s park bench and touched his fingertips to his chin.

Michael returned the gesture—a form of greeting that had surfaced when the spread of Strain 7 made handshakes dangerous. “Guys, what’s up?”

“Just another pleasantly boring afternoon on the Isle of York,” Jeff said, tipping back his helmet. “The president says the relocation is a success and life is good.”

“It’d be better if girls started wearing short skirts again,” Kenny said as he eyed two girls in flowing ankle–length skirts heading toward Sixth Avenue.

“Prairie–wear,” Jeff muttered. “You know, I grew up in Kansas and our girls didn’t wear skirts like that.”

“It’s reaction fashion,” Michael said, watching as the girls passed a middle–aged, greying man lost in thought.

It was Michael’s father, his briefcase tucked under the sleeve of his elegant jacket, a fall suit from two years ago—before the virus. Dad must have finished with his meeting downtown. Michael waved, but Dad didn’t seem to see him.

Graham Bishop didn’t notice much these days. He refused to acknowledge the unpleasant realities of life in New York. He simply didn’t see the soldiers in the streets or the fires burning above Columbus Circle or the hungry people lined up for food outside the school auditoriums. A brief glimpse of high–voltage reality would shoot Dad’s entire disposition to hell. No more of that “Think positive!” and “Sunny–side up!”

Although his father drove Michael crazy, making him jump through hoops in the office and pay service calls on alarms that should have been dismantled months ago, Michael did have compassion for him. He was lonely with Michael’s mom gone, and underneath that cheery facade, Michael realized he was scared.

Everyone was scared. People dealt with it in different ways. Michael befriended soldiers and people who could get their hands on coffee beans and the guys who drove the subway trains. He was determined to make allies in this new world.

Graham Bishop used his energy to deny that there was a new world.

“Hey, where’s that pretty girlfriend of yours?” Kenny asked Michael. “I haven’t seen her around for a while.”

“Yeah, and you probably won’t,” Michael said. “Which is why I might be late getting home tonight. Got some things to take care of. Think you can slip me in under the bar?” It never hurt to clear the way. With martial law in place, penalties for the tiniest offense could be severe.

“No problem,” Kenny said. “We’re here all night.”

“What’s the matter, Bishop?” Jeff asked. “Maggie dump you?”

Michael took in a deep breath. “I wish.” He’d been putting off the big breakup until he felt Maggie was on solid ground, getting used to being on her own.

“What?” Jeff adjusted his gun belt. “Don’t tell me you’ve got another girl.”

“Nothing like that.” Michael didn’t want to get into the complicated reasons for breaking up with someone you’ve outgrown. “I’m just trying to streamline my life. More work, less play.”

That made both soldiers laugh. “Yeah, right,” Kenny said sarcastically.

“Seriously. Dad is bringing in a government contract. They’re talking about letting us wire half of D.C. with our top–of–the–line alarm system.”

“That’s impressive,” Kenny said. “Would you put in a good word for us when you’re wiring the Oval Office?”

“No problem,” Michael said as he headed across the square to the apartment. The sooner he got changed out of his work clothes and back on the train, the sooner he’d be finished with this whole awkward episode in his life.

I won’t miss hanging out up here, Michael thought as he passed a boarded–up pizza place on West 49th Street where he and Maggie used to grab slices and sodas after school. Now the rich aroma of pizza baking had given way to the burnt smell that wafted down from uptown, where the fire department let fires rage unchecked. Michael had seen it happen to the towering glass apartment building that used to face their penthouse. That was when he knew the mayor’s orders had to be heeded: move downtown if you want any form of city services.

His feet followed the familiar path west, to the eighth–floor apartment Maggie had taken in the reorganization. For a long time after the virus had passed, it was nice to be up there with Maggie after the curfew, to feel her, warm and soft beside him, in the flickering candlelight or the dim glow of a camp lantern. Maggie had a gift, a way of shutting out the world and making him believe it was just the two of them. And Maggie’s grandfather had never seemed to mind when he stayed over, although sometimes it was hard to tell if he’d even noticed in the first place. Even before the virus the old guy wasn’t completely there, always drifting in and out, occasionally talking to ghosts of his past.

Sometimes Michael wondered if Maggie was all there herself. She just didn’t seem to be able to get that life was different now. Michael was sick of telling her that it pissed him off when she cut school or when she skipped the lines at the free kitchens and used up her grandfather’s valuable cash and coupons at the local deli. She always just laughed it off, even when he blew up at her after she burned up batteries in three flashlights for a disco ball effect. He began to wonder if they had anything in common anymore, anything to keep them together, other than the fact that they had been together before the virus.

Then Grandpa Logan had died of a stroke a few months ago, and Michael felt an increasing sense of dread about what that meant for him and Maggie. He was all she had. It gave him an overwhelming sense of responsibility—one he had never really signed on for. And Maggie had grown even more reckless, more difficult for Michael to be around without getting frustrated or angry. He didn’t want to play her games, or pretend everything was still the same, or take risks. He wanted to navigate this new world successfully, to thrive. It was time to move on, to figure things out and get his future together.

So this was it—he’d finally decided he was going to do it, make a clean break. They’d had something together once, a long time ago, but it was already way past the expiration date.

Michael was so focused on his breakup speech that he almost didn’t notice Maggie up ahead. Tucked into a group of her local friends—losers as far as Michael was concerned—she giggled as one of the guys jammed something into his jacket and followed her into Henry’s Deli.

“Maggie!” Michael called from the street, but she was already inside. He cut over to the deli, skirting around a man in a sandwich board with the scrawled message: The end already came! Did you miss it?!

Just as he reached the deli, its door crashed open and Maggie’s three friends burst out, their arms full of groceries. Where was Maggie?

“Tony!” Michael called to one of them.

The kid glanced back nervously, then took off running after the other two.

What the hell was going on? Through the window Michael didn’t see anyone in the shop, though the place was a mess. Dented cans of cat food and baby formula lay sideways on the shelves, and a box of candles had spilled out onto the dirty linoleum, along with a few packages of AA batteries. The shop had been trashed.

He pushed into the deli and immediately saw the cash register gaping open, empty. A few yellow government–issue coupons had drifted to the floor, but it was clear the place had been robbed.

Maggie’s loser friends had robbed the deli.

“Oh, man,” Michael whispered aloud. This was not good.

“You!”

Michael swung around to see Henry, the owner, stumbling toward him, a hand pressed to the back of his head. Someone must have clocked him.

“You . . .” Henry seethed, closing in on Michael. “And her!” The deli owner pointed as Maggie emerged from a door behind him—the bathroom.

Michael held his hands up to Henry as the scenario became clear. Those stupid kids had set her up. Get Maggie to ask for the bathroom, then take down Henry and empty the register.

“Henry?” Maggie seemed genuinely surprised. Michael didn’t think it was an act, but Henry wasn’t buying it.

Henry grabbed Maggie’s arm, then wheeled around to glare at Michael. “The two of you! You’re not getting away with this.”

“She didn’t know,” Michael said, jumping to Maggie’s defense. “And I just walked in on this. I wasn’t with them!” Michael pointed toward the door.

Henry’s face closed as he crossed his arms. “You were all in this together.”

The bell over the door jingled, and another man walked in. “I saw them, Henry,” he said, his cheeks flushed. “I called the police. These kids are going to pay, big time.”

“But we didn’t . . . I mean, I didn’t—” Michael stammered, feeling the blood drain from his face. Big time, like those kids who’d stolen the batteries? Big time, like with their lives?

“Oh, right, just a coincidence, huh?” Henry twisted Maggie’s arm and shoved her toward the counter. When he turned around, Michael saw that blood from his head had dripped down the back of his shirt.

At the sight, Michael felt the shop closing in around him. If Maggie was found guilty of robbery and assault, the penalty would be severe. Death.

Michael blinked.

And Henry thinks I was in on it.

The deli owner let go of Maggie’s arm to reach for a stack of paper towels. Michael glared at Maggie, then cut his gaze toward the door. “Run,” he mouthed. “Go!”

She stared at him blankly for half a second. Then she flew, a blur of dirty blond hair and a tan peacoat.

Michael sprinted after her. The stranger jerked up in surprise and made a last–minute grab for him, but Michael lunged away and burst through the open door.

“Run!” he hissed at Maggie, who had slowed down to glance back at him. There was no time to stop.

“Where?” Maggie gasped. “The subway? I can’t go very fast in these shoes.”

“Just come on!” Michael yelled. He sprinted ahead of her, then stopped and threw up his hands. What would it take to light a fire under her? “Take the damn shoes off!”

As Maggie fumbled with her shoes, Michael’s mind clicked ahead. What next? Where was the best place to go?

He thought of safe places. His apartment. The office. The library. The guard station at Father Demo Square.

No. None of those places would be safe anymore. Kenny and Jeff wouldn’t even be able to speak to him, let alone offer protection. And his father—it would kill Graham Bishop to learn that his son was accused of a crime that could cost him his life.

Despite Michael’s innocence, his life was ruined. Over.

“I can’t do this,” Maggie gasped behind him. “This is killing my feet.”

Michael was tempted to let her sit on the curb while he ducked into a hiding place for a few weeks. For once, Maggie could deal with her mess without him.

But somehow he couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t let her die for acting like an idiot. He couldn’t leave her on the curb, pathetic and helpless. Not with those police sirens screaming down Columbus Avenue.

“The C train,” Michael said. In the strobe of the lights flashing red and blue in the twilight, he grabbed Maggie’s elbow and tugged her down the subway steps.

* * *

“Michael, slow down!” Maggie cried.

Michael banged into the tile wall of the subway corridor as he turned to face her. During the long ride into Brooklyn on the C train he’d had time to think things over, devise a plan, even if it was a short–term escape. Maggie had been grateful for a chance to rest her feet, so grateful that she’d clammed up for a while, which was fine with Michael. If he heard her complain about those damned shoes one more time, he was going to toss them into the East River.

“Just wait,” Maggie moaned. She was doubled over, hands on her thighs, panting. “I can’t . . . keep up . . . with you.”

Worried that they’d be spotted by passing cops or soldiers, he pulled her into the shadowed doorway of a boarded–up underground shop. “You have to keep going, Maggie.” His voice was stern, trying to connect with the lost soul behind those stormy eyes. “Think about it. Henry knows us, and there was that other witness. Anyone could give the police our names, our descriptions.”

She shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. “But I didn’t do—”

“I know,” he said, more gently this time. “I didn’t do anything either, but Henry doesn’t believe that. And if cops take his word over ours, we’re dead. We can’t risk it.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him, which seemed to make her feel worse. She sucked in a breath and began sobbing. Hot, wet tears rolled down her cheeks, dropping onto his T–shirt. He wanted to growl at her not to be so dramatic, but the truth was, for once she had a right to be.

Once there would have been an easy fix. A heart–to–heart with Dad. A phone call to someone in the district attorney’s office. Maybe two calls, max. Not that Michael had ever been in trouble before, but everybody who was anybody in New York knew Graham Bishop, if only because he’d provided the security for their apartments and penthouses. He was a self–made success, with plenty of money to prove it, and that used to make a difference in this city.

It didn’t now. The government and the military had all the power, and there wasn’t the time or the resources to sort through extenuating circumstances. These days if you broke the law, you paid with your life. No questions asked, no excuses. Forget about Miranda rights and trials with high–priced defense teams, forget about surviving if you got on the wrong side of the government.

“Come on,” Michael said, taking Maggie’s hand. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Like we’re going to be any safer up on the street?” She pulled her hand away. “We can’t just keep running, and we’ve reached the end of the subway line. There are cops in Brooklyn too.”

“We’re not staying in Brooklyn, not if I can help it.”

Maggie swiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “What’s that mean? Where are we going?”

“Our warehouse is half a mile from this subway stop. It’ll take some finagling, but if I can make a deal with the dispatcher, we might be able to catch a ride in the back of a truck going cross–country.”

Maggie scowled at him. “Are you insane? You want us to drive out to the Big Empty in the back of a dusty old truck? People die in the backs of trucks, Michael. And the Big Empty is totally deserted now. It’s not safe.”

Michael crossed his arms, annoyed. Suddenly she was concerned about safety? “Well, it’s not safe to stay here either.”

Her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. “Can’t we go to your place? Your father can fix everything, right?”

He felt his teeth grind. “Don’t you get it? This is beyond him. Beyond anybody we know. Sorry if you missed it, but we’re under martial law, and they’re trying to make an example out of people who are stupid enough to commit violent crimes.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“Two kids were executed for stealing a few batteries. What do you think they’ll do to kids who stole a week’s worth of essentials coupons and whacked a shop owner on the back of his head?”

That seemed to get Maggie’s attention. She slumped against the wall.

“We’d better get moving,” Michael said, checking his watch. It was nearly seven, and the truck usually left by eight.

Saying it aloud suddenly made it real, even more real than running for blocks until his lungs were burning or jumping at the screech of police sirens. They were going to have to leave Manhattan with the clothes on their backs and whatever was in their pockets. Without a good–bye to his father or anyone else he knew. This was the ultimate “What five things would you grab in a fire?” scenario, and he was walking away with zero, thanks to his girlfriend. Who was supposed to have been history by now.

He looked toward the staircase, now grey with receding sunlight. “Let’s go. I’ve got to negotiate something with the truck driver, and we’ll need some food and water and things. Probably some shoes you can walk in.”

“But Michael . . .”

If she said that one more time, his head was going to explode. “We don’t have a choice,” he said, his too–loud voice echoing in the hollow corridor. He took a breath, then moved closer to add: “The police will find us in New York. Unless we’re not here to be found.”

“Okay.” She stepped forward and linked her arm through his. They started up the stairs into a street that used to bustle with pedestrians and vendors with pushcarts.

This is our only choice, our only escape.

Even as he told himself that, Michael couldn’t stop the fresh surge of frustration in his gut. He hadn’t signed on for any of this—not the virus, not the girlfriend who’d turned into a basket case, none of it. But that didn’t make a damn bit of difference now.

He was headed to the Big Empty, running for his life, running from his life, with no return in sight.

“In a near future, post-apocalyptic U.S. (population cut in half, military dictatorship in Washington), seven teens meet in a small Missouri town, forced to work together for survival….In this plot-driven page-turner, point of view jumps from teen to teen and chapters end with cliffhangers….[A] sci-fi read that will appeal to fans.”—Kirkus Reviews