We've had plenty of luck finding cleared streets, but now we ran into an almost jam-packed block, leading all the way directly toward the marina. It would be impossible to squeeze the bus through. The HARGROVE MARINA CLUB sign hung on the steel-arched entrance, and beyond it, the glass-domed roof of the yacht club itself.

That must be it, I thought. Our chance of escape was so close to our reach. But life's a major ass, and it still refused to hand out easy passes for anyone, no matter how you tried to be a good person.

Fortunately, the street looked empty of vectors. They could be hiding in the vicinity, but with no way of going back and 11th avenue filled with vehicles, we'd still end up having to cross the same road, and we'd even get stuck on the next block and the next.

"I guess we walk? It's only two blocks," I said.

"Right. That's what you always say. Then, the screaming starts, and the fighting..."

"Yeah, yeah. Listen up, everyone. Pack up your bags. We're almost there."

Some hushed cheers were engulfing the interior, and I let them. I was happy and excited, too, but coupled with my nervousness, it made me look constipated.

"We're going home, Ma cherie," said Felipe to Margot, and a wash of relief crossed her face.

"Good. I want to hug mama," she said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aria pulled out her smartphone from her pocket, checking the screen and turning it off again, waiting just so that she could call her parents the moment they reached a signal outside the quarantine zone. Luke and Yousef patted themselves on the back, with the latter almost close to tears. Logan remained glum.

I each gave Logan, Luke, and Miguel their spare ammunition just if they would run out and saw them placed it inside their pockets. The rest hauled the other bags and boxes out, with Felipe and Yousef having to carry the heavier crates filled with canned goods. Margot armed herself with Luke's makeshift spear, and Aria had Miguel's silver candlestick, and I also stuck her with babysitting duty of little Henry.

"Do I get a weapon?" Henry asked me.

"You want one?"

"Why not? I have to protect myself, right?"

I chuckled and took a knee in front of him. "What do you want?"

He pointed at my shotgun. "Well, can I have that?"

"Do you know how to use it?"

"No..."

'Then, would it be better if I have it?"

The boy nodded. "Coz' you know how to use it more."

I must admit I was a bit hesitant about giving a child a weapon, but he did say something right. He needed to protect himself. What if something terrible happened and he was left defenseless, and I or someone else are too far away? I couldn't allow that to stay on my conscience. I unclasped the sheath of my knife and handed it to him.

"This is not a toy," I said. "Only use it for an emergency. If you have to."

Henry smiled. "It's kinda too big for me."

I helped him secure the knife's sheath on the belt loop of his pants. I ruffled his full head of curly brown hair, said, "You'll grow into it."

He grasped the hilt of the blade as if he was petting a growling dog, grazing his fingers through its black leather, but he didn't pull it out of the holder. He gave me a stern nod, realized he was copying me.

I turned around, but I didn't let the boy see that I was amused.

I made my way to the front of the bus. This was my plan. I had to see it through at the start of the pack. I checked the chamber of my shotgun, which was loaded, then made sure that I pulled down the safety lever. Now, it was packing. I racked the shotgun and saw everyone tensed up behind me.

"Open it," I said to Miguel. "And leave the keys."

I stepped out into an eerily quiet New York.

I winced at the pain on my calves and thighs, already feeling the aftermath of climbing up and down all of those stairs. Yet, I was relieved that I had to move slow, looking for any signs of trouble from all flanks. I tugged on the straps of the duffel bag, making sure it was still there.

I stepped further off, maybe ten feet away from the bus. So far, nothing jumped out of me, and I didn't hear a vector's screech. It had been so ingrained in my mind that I could tell it from hundreds of feet away. It was like a mating call for them, except they're using theirs as a dinner bell. I motioned for the others to follow.

"Guard the back of the line?" I whisper to Logan. He nodded without hesitating and waited until the rest climbed out of the bus.

I led them to the sidewalk. I wanted a solid structure on our left flank, which would eliminate another weakness in the ranks if we got overwhelmed by a vast horde. I didn't want to fight a four-way battle, focusing instead on our front, right, and south.

It was strange to find that I hadn't seen many survivors out than the other streets, risking their lives to go to Central Park. They seemed to dwindle as we approached the harbor. Still, there might be someone—or a group of them—watching us right now, waiting for the opportunity to steal the vehicle, and I would gladly hand the keys out to them if it meant they would drive safely to Central Park even if I had my doubts about what the government had announced. It was the reason why I asked Miguel to leave the keys in the ignition.

At the top of the low rise to which we were headed, I could see the glass-domed roof of the yacht club glinting from the sunrise. Broken windows littered the shops, and rotting bodies strewn on the sidewalks. We made it to the first intersection on 10th Avenue, a block away from the park and the yacht club beyond.

It was a one-way, four-lane street, jam-packed with yellow taxis, city buses, and other vehicles in a hundred-chain pileup. I saw more bodies lying about, more so than I had seen. There was an overturned delivery truck for Coca-Cola that collided with a Ford Fiesta, spilling its contents all over the intersection, now dried up and sticky. I realized that must be what was causing this large traffic block.

I paused and raised my hand for everyone to stop. I pressed my back on the building's wall at the corner.

I scanned the right side of the intersection, surmised that I didn't see any vectors on that section. There were also none to the north of the road ahead of us. Three stories above the north street were an old elevated rail line transported into a park of verdant green and blooming flowers. On the iron-wrought sign said: THE HIGH LINE. Below it said: WALKWAY.

I froze.

Looking up, I saw hundreds, perhaps thousands of vectors standing on the walkway, maybe more. I couldn't see them fully since they were hidden behind bushes and trees, but if any of them looked down and saw us, we're dead meat.

I crossed my fingers that they wouldn't. I waited a couple of seconds, but none of them did. They seemed to stagnate as if they're waiting for something to catch their attention.

Feeling confident, I peeked to the left section of the street.

Five vectors stood idle in the middle of it. I reeled my head back. My breathing hiked up to a thousand. The others watched me, wanting to know what got me hesitant to cross, and I held up three of my fingers and pointed to our left. Miguel ran his forefinger three times across his throat, asking if we should kill them, but I shook my head.

I mouthed, "We sneak."

I then pointed to my eyes and directed my finger to the elevated walkway above the street, saying, "Careful."

I peered out of my hiding space again. The five vectors weren't clumped in one area. One was standing on top of a taxi, his head lowered to the ground as if he was taking a nap. Two stood staring at one another in the middle of the street between two wrecked SUVs. And the last two were on the sidewalk across from us, about a hundred feet away; one vector looked like it tried to claw her earwax out of her right ear with a pinky finger.

I dropped to a mid-crouch and crept toward the front of a Honda Civic, which crashed onto a signpost. I looked over, saw that the vectors didn't notice me. Before me, there were four vehicles that we could use as cover, all the way to the other side of the street. Fortunately, some had their doors opened, left by the owners and their passengers as they fled the scene; extra cover for the rest of us.

I eased my way to the next car, turned around, and motioned for Margot to follow. I expected to hear the vectors start moving, but I was relieved when I didn't hear any of that.

I made it to the fourth cover as Margot reached the second. Felipe and Yousef got to the first one, hauling the heavy boxes together. I peered at the sidewalk where the two vectors stood, their backs facing me, and I leaped out of my cover and leaned against the corner wall at the other side, relieved that I made it without them noticing.

Margot quickened her pace after me. She didn't show any fear, even her eyes, as if she was used to this. She was a medical student, so she must be used to navigating a highly stressful environment. She made it past me, letting out a sigh of relief. She watched anxiously at Felipe and Yousef crossed to the third cover while Miguel and Luke took the first and second, respectively.

A tomato can on top of the box rolled to the edge. And as Yousef stepped out to the fourth car, the slight change in angle toppled the can over.

The cylindrical metal hit the pavement in a loud CLANG! It bounced twice before rolling underneath a van.

I gasped, motioned for them to get down. Felipe and Yousef hid behind the third car a split second before the vectors turned their gaze in that direction. I pulled back behind the corner wall and readied my weapon.

One shrieked lowly, like a muffled throttle of an engine, clearly drawn by the noise. The others soon followed. I peered further out and saw their reflection on one of the boutiques where two vectors slowly ambled toward the intersection.

The other three remained where they stood; their backs still turned toward us.

Good, I thought. Maybe I could sneak around them and quietly dispatched each one before the others noticed. I felt for my knife, and I remembered that I had given it to Henry earlier. And then I thought of Margot's spear. I could use that.

Gooseflesh at the nape of my neck, the feeling like I was being watched. I first saw Logan across the street, gazed up, and I was struck frozen, rooted to the spot as I realized what he was looking at.

I whirled around and looked up to the elevated rail line.

Hundreds of vectors hungrily peered down on us close to the low railing (a height of up to their waist) like rows of perched crows on the power lines.

A young woman dressed in the Starbucks green apron stepped forward, climbed over...and fell face-first on the roof of a Toyota, splitting her head open. She didn't move after. Seven others followed in a span of a second, sounding like wet drums as they hit the vehicles and the pavement, though they didn't survive.

However, the seventh did, falling on two bodies on the roof, acting like some fleshy cushion. It rolled over to the side and hit the sidewalk thirty feet away, screeching as its eyes focused on me.

I moved forward, aimed my weapon to the fast-approaching vector, and pulled the trigger. His head exploded, and the force carried his body ten feet away.

Vectors cried out loudly from the right of the intersection, followed by the five on our left, and then the volley of shrieks from the ones above.

There was nothing left to move but onward.

"Go! Go! Go!" I screamed, pointing to the park and the yacht club building.

I shot the next two who fell and survive on the roof of a taxi. Gunshots rang out from behind me. The others must be shooting at the five vectors. Clearing a path on the sidewalk, Margot, Felipe, and Yousef ran ahead, still hauling the large boxes as they passed underneath the elevated rail line to the other side.

Luckily, the waterfall of vectors killed more of them (or broke their bones) than those who survived, but the bodies quickly piled like padding, dampening the others' fall. I shot another one that tried to grab my collar from the roof of a black SUV, the gunshot ringing in my ear from the close call.

Aria held Henry's hand as they ran past me, screaming. A vector fell almost on top of them, exploding into broken bones on the sidewalk pavement; I could hear his spine contorted and shattered upon impact. He didn't move.

"We can't handle this many!" Miguel bellowed.

"Stop shooting and run!" I screamed.

We reached 11th avenue.

I looked toward the right, facing north of the city, and found a few dozen vectors running toward us, weaving between pileups and wrecked vehicles. I glanced to the left, toward the south of the city. More vectors were coming.

Thousands of them.

I knew now why this part of the city looked empty of survivors. Everyone here was already sick.

I had never run this fast my entire life, feeling like I was lifted off the ground as I crossed the eight-lane avenue, probably the fastest, yet at the same time, longest crossing I've ever made. I hopped over the median strip, almost stumbled halfway, but I picked myself back up, kept reminding myself I was teeth away from any vector. I didn't allow myself to stop for one second until I crossed the giant sign that said: HUDSON RIVERSIDE PARK, which led down a sloped ramp toward the yacht club.

"Back! Back!" Margot frantically yelled ahead.

I followed where she was pointing at, and there, inside the yacht club, which facade was entirely made out of the glass from the ground to the roof up, hundreds of vectors in ragged country club polo shirts, slacks, and cashmere sweaters, peered and clawed at the windows upon seeing us.

One window shattered outward in a spray of glass. Like a broken drain, vectors streamed out in frenzied chaos.

We were trapped on all sides.