Quarantine (James Phelan) by James Phelan

Author:James Phelan
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2013-08-22T14:00:00+00:00

Paige and I stood on the cold rooftop. It was still dark, the faintest glow of a new dawn on the horizon. We were alone. Paige huddled close to me as she steered us to a telescope and pointed to a spot across the Hudson.

“Ha!” I said.

“What?”

“I’ve seen those lights come on once before,” I said, thinking about that section of New Jersey I’d seen all lit up. I’m glad that wasn’t in my mind, like so much else had been back at 30 Rock.

“They came on last night,” she said. “Is that when you saw it?”

I shook my head. “Almost a week ago. That’s why I was making for the 79th Street Boat Basin, to try and get across.”

“Think it’s survivors, or automated?”

“No way to tell,” I answered. I did a full sweep of the area with the telescope: nothing seemed to be moving, nothing seemed to signify that there was life over there. “Not from here; have to get closer.”

I felt her pushing against me, an arm around me.

“I just want you closer,” she said, her head resting on my shoulder. By the little light of the dawning sky, I could see her watchful eyes twinkling up at me. I bent down and kissed her. I felt hot and hungry and—she smelled and tasted like strawberries. Had I imagined it? She kissed me back. I pulled away, touched my lips—she did have lip gloss on. It evoked so many memories.

“Strawberry,” she said. “It’s what you like, isn’t it?”

She leaned in again and I kissed her. I felt a tear roll down her cheek and into my hand. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of Anna as I kissed her. That I’d wished that she was more like Anna, but an Anna in natural colors. Suddenly, all I saw was Paige’s dyed hair. Her bright red mouth.

“I can’t,” I said. I walked to the other side of the roof, looking down onto the street.

“What if you leave today and I never see you again?” she said, coming up behind me.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s a possibility, though, isn’t it?”

She came close and made to kiss me again.

“Paige—I can’t.”

“Then think of her.”

“What?”

“Anna. That’s what you want, isn’t it? She’s who you want.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked her.

She was silent.

“Anna’s gone, Paige.”

“I’m here.”

“Are you?” I said. “Or are you so busy being something you’re not, you’re forgetting who you really are?”

She looked away from me. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I like you, Paige, for who you are.”

“Really?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She chewed at her bottom lip. “I wanted to know how it would feel.”

“How what would feel?” I asked.

“To be loved so much—the way you loved Anna.”

“She’s dead, Paige. I liked her, sure, but I talk about her like that because she’s dead.” I gave her a hug. “Believe me . . . you got the better end of the deal.”

It was easier to understand Paige now; she wanted to feel something other than desperation and loneliness. She was hungry for love, to be cared for, to be wanted, to have someone to call her own.

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