“I’ll carry you,” I promised. “Just make it to the ground.” I said it like it was easy. As I swung myself out, feeling for the rusty metal bars with my worn-out Converse, I could hear footfalls on the stairway, getting louder. Closing in.
I should have gone first; Liv was barely moving, and I kept stepping on her knuckles by accident, making her cry. You helped as much as you could, guiding her slippery wedge boots from one rung to the next, but there were a few times when her feet shot out, or she lost her grip, and one of us had to grab her to keep her from falling. The ladder didn’t go all the way to the ground, either—it was a fire escape, and stopped about seven feet short. You made the jump first and landed hard—I could hear the smack, which sounded so much like the neck snap from my dream that I looked to make sure you were still alive. Somehow, though, you were already back up and reaching out for Liv, who dropped down onto you like a rag doll. As I navigated the last few steps, cursing myself for ruining the tread on my piece-of-shit shoes, I heard the telltale spit of the walkie up above.
I let go of the bar—hands up, don’t shoot—and fell just as a cop peered out of the window above us.
“Stop right—!” he yelled, but we had disappeared around the corner.
“I’ve got three on the ground in the back!” I heard him radio to someone else.
I didn’t need to remind you to run that time.
? ? ?
We bolted across the street, toward the dark labyrinth of buildings of the East River Houses. I’d played there so often as a kid, I knew the layout cold. If we cut to the left there was a path, a straight shot past the basketball courts to 105th Street. If we cut right we could turn south, coming around the pavilion onto 102th. It was dark enough that once we got past the line of street lamps, we could fade into the background. We could disappear.
I looked over my shoulder once, just long enough to check we weren’t about to get shot in the back, and almost tripped when I saw the scene on 104th. There were four police cruisers, parked nose to nose, blocking off the whole street. Outside T’s building, at least two people were on their knees on the sidewalk; one was lying on the asphalt, facedown, with a cop straddling him.
Are you on your way?
I thought of Mom, sitting there in the restaurant, trying to keeping my brothers from spilling their sodas on the checkered tablecloth, wearing the pearl earrings she wore every time there was a special occasion. Whatever she was picturing me doing, it wasn’t this. Another siren blared as a fifth cruiser sped around the corner two blocks down.
I grabbed your arm and started sprinting, instinctively heading north, toward home, even though I didn’t know what I’d do once we got there. I could tell I was dragging you—you could barely walk, let alone run—and Liv was slowing us both down, and my lungs were burning, but I couldn’t stop. Nothing mattered except getting out. We passed by a court where a couple of guys were playing a late-night pickup game, and they laughed, shouting after me that I’d better get you home quick before you changed your minds.
We were cutting through a courtyard when I felt our chain break. One second you were right behind me and the next I was flying forward, stumbling, looking back to see Liv sitting on the ground, you kneeling next to her, holding her by the shoulders.
“Something’s wrong!” you cried. “She can’t walk!”
“I c-c-can’t m-m-ove them,” Liv said, pausing between each word for a big, hitching gasp.
“Come on, I got you.” I crouched down to pick Liv up when her feet started kicking, shaking violently. She let out a guttural moan. Her skin was cold and clammy, slick with sweat.
“What are you doing?” you asked as I lifted her. “Where are we going?”
“Yo, Five-O, Five-O!” Someone yelled. The basketball court. They were right behind us.
I looked down at Liv—her eyes were rolling back in their sockets. She didn’t need to go home, she needed help.
“There’s a medical center on 99th Street,” I said quickly, my brain reeling. We’d been there with Abuela a couple times, when she had chest pains. But it would mean an abrupt change of course. It would mean doubling back across three blocks. I didn’t know if we had time, but there was no room for hesitation. “Come on,” I said, shifting Liv up onto my shoulder and reaching out for your hand. That time, you took it. We took a step. And then—
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF THAT GIRL!”
The voice pierced through the night, silencing the rest of the city like a hand clamped over a screaming mouth. No shouts, no horns, no sirens. No dogs barking, no kids laughing. Even the subway, which sometimes shook the ground when it passed, seemed to stall on the tracks underneath us. All I could feel was my heart, and your hand. A flashlight shined in my eyes, forcing me to squint. I couldn’t see the cop’s face, just that he was standing twenty feet away, and that he was pointing something else at us, too. He clicked the safety off and yelled at me again.
“PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!”