Watching Bill push himself to his feet with a startling new steadiness—necessity finds strange pockets of strength, sometimes—and stride off back down the hall, Hollis has a distinct feeling of My work here is done. It’s not, probably; it’s not close to over for any of them, but he can leave it be for now.
That just leaves Nelson at the table, and before he can even think about why he feels the need to help everyone, all the time, he’s already slipped into Bill’s abandoned chair.
Hollis doesn’t pretend to understand the unstated thing between Nelson and Justice. He can be generous in the abstract, with Bill going to pieces and their teammate dying in front of them, but the actual reality confuses him more than he’ll admit. He doesn’t get what it is or why it exists or what they get out of it or whether it’s wrong or right—but he knows what misery looks like and this is it: missing, dreading, not knowing.
There’s a lot of it going around. He lets the silence hang.
“…windows,” Nelson says, as if coming out of a trance. One hand taps the table. “We have to make sure all the windows are covered, that none of the bars are working loose.”
“I checked them all a few hours ago,” Hollis says. “They were fine.”
Nelson shakes his head. “Highest activity is between noon and three.” It’s three-fifteen now, Hollis can tell by glancing at the clock over the stove. “That’s when they do the most… when they’ll make the most inroads.”
A nod. “I’ll check them again.”
“Just from in here. It would be a bad time to be outside.”
“I’ll be sure of it.”
A pause, and in any other situation it would be a dismissal, Well why don’t you get a move on, then?
“We need to work up some sort of protective gear we can wear,” Nelson continues eventually, “so we can start sweeping the neighborhood. We’re not in a good location; they’re going to shut us in, let us eat each other and exhaust ourselves and die off.”
Like a mushroom colony, Hollis thinks; he’d found one growing in the woods he’d been sent to as a kid one summer, a broken ring with nothing in the center but emptiness and death. Fairy ring, his cousin had said, but he hadn’t been able to get the stink of rot out of his city-kid’s head for a month. “Are you sure?”
He shakes his head, digs through his pockets. “Hate to say it, but it’s what I would do,” he says, coming out with a folded map of the borough. The HQ is marked on it, and other lines highlight the area’s major arteries. “See here? There’s too many ways in and out, too many places for easy ambush. They won’t risk sending help.”
“The radio said—”
“To hell with what the radio said.” Nelson runs his fingers back through his hair. “They won’t send help.”
Hollis just leans over the map; tries to get a clearer sense of how big the area they’re talking about is. It’s big, and they are very small, but he’s a cop—he’s used to looking at maps that look like this one.
“To hell with it,” Nelson repeats, reaching to fold the map back up. “We can’t rely on anything they say. Not about help, and not about… anything else.”
Hollis lets out a long, metered sigh; pushes the chair out as he stands up.
“I hope we can,” he says. “I hope you can.”
A sharp laugh, frightening in its context. “I’m not a kid, Hollis. And I don’t need coddling.”
“And false hopes don’t help anyone, I know. Ursula’s already given me an earful on that.”
“She’s right.”
“Yeah… but I’m not sure they hurt, either.”
Across the room, the quiet voices on the scanner seem excited about something. There’s a build up and a crescendo, and then a gutted silence, and he hasn’t checked in with the guys in his department yet. He doesn’t want to.
“You’ll get the windows?” Nelson asks, words like an exhale.
“Yeah,” Hollis says, because he will. “Don’t worry.”
part 6
Watching Bill push himself to his feet with a startling new steadiness—necessity finds strange pockets of strength, sometimes—and stride off back down the hall, Hollis has a distinct feeling of My work here is done. It’s not, probably; it’s not close to over for any of them, but he can leave it be for now.
That just leaves Nelson at the table, and before he can even think about why he feels the need to help everyone, all the time, he’s already slipped into Bill’s abandoned chair.
Hollis doesn’t pretend to understand the unstated thing between Nelson and Justice. He can be generous in the abstract, with Bill going to pieces and their teammate dying in front of them, but the actual reality confuses him more than he’ll admit. He doesn’t get what it is or why it exists or what they get out of it or whether it’s wrong or right—but he knows what misery looks like and this is it: missing, dreading, not knowing.
There’s a lot of it going around. He lets the silence hang.
“…windows,” Nelson says, as if coming out of a trance. One hand taps the table. “We have to make sure all the windows are covered, that none of the bars are working loose.”
“I checked them all a few hours ago,” Hollis says. “They were fine.”
Nelson shakes his head. “Highest activity is between noon and three.” It’s three-fifteen now, Hollis can tell by glancing at the clock over the stove. “That’s when they do the most… when they’ll make the most inroads.”
A nod. “I’ll check them again.”
“Just from in here. It would be a bad time to be outside.”
“I’ll be sure of it.”
A pause, and in any other situation it would be a dismissal, Well why don’t you get a move on, then?
“We need to work up some sort of protective gear we can wear,” Nelson continues eventually, “so we can start sweeping the neighborhood. We’re not in a good location; they’re going to shut us in, let us eat each other and exhaust ourselves and die off.”
Like a mushroom colony, Hollis thinks; he’d found one growing in the woods he’d been sent to as a kid one summer, a broken ring with nothing in the center but emptiness and death. Fairy ring, his cousin had said, but he hadn’t been able to get the stink of rot out of his city-kid’s head for a month. “Are you sure?”
He shakes his head, digs through his pockets. “Hate to say it, but it’s what I would do,” he says, coming out with a folded map of the borough. The HQ is marked on it, and other lines highlight the area’s major arteries. “See here? There’s too many ways in and out, too many places for easy ambush. They won’t risk sending help.”
“The radio said—”
“To hell with what the radio said.” Nelson runs his fingers back through his hair. “They won’t send help.”
Hollis just leans over the map; tries to get a clearer sense of how big the area they’re talking about is. It’s big, and they are very small, but he’s a cop—he’s used to looking at maps that look like this one.
“To hell with it,” Nelson repeats, reaching to fold the map back up. “We can’t rely on anything they say. Not about help, and not about… anything else.”
Hollis lets out a long, metered sigh; pushes the chair out as he stands up.
“I hope we can,” he says. “I hope you can.”
A sharp laugh, frightening in its context. “I’m not a kid, Hollis. And I don’t need coddling.”
“And false hopes don’t help anyone, I know. Ursula’s already given me an earful on that.”
“She’s right.”
“Yeah… but I’m not sure they hurt, either.”
Across the room, the quiet voices on the scanner seem excited about something. There’s a build up and a crescendo, and then a gutted silence, and he hasn’t checked in with the guys in his department yet. He doesn’t want to.
“You’ll get the windows?” Nelson asks, words like an exhale.
“Yeah,” Hollis says, because he will. “Don’t worry.”
*