The City Series (Book 1): Mordacious by Sarah Lyons Fleming Page B

my way to the hospital. I’m not stealing from our rations—this is all mine. I tuck the Kit Kat under his blanket and raise a finger to my lips. “Don’t tell anyone. And don’t you dare share it.”
    Manny grins then, luster in his eyes. All he needs to bring it back for good is a stupid machine that’s only floors away. I think about patting his head before I leave, but I’m pretty sure he’s too old for head-patting. I don’t even know. But what I do know, even as I try to talk myself out of it, is that a visit to the third floor is very likely in my future.

Chapter 8
    The sheets say HELP, PEOPLE INSIDE. Jorge found a can of paint that we’ll use to write the same words on the roof. Hanging the sheets is easy once Jorge devises a plan that involves broom handles and allows us to stretch the stapled-together sheets from one busted window to the next in a waiting area.
    I peer into Manny’s room and zip my lips on our way to the elevator. He does the same, cheeks puffing out, and pats his blanket.
    “What was that about?” Grace asks.
    “Manny and I have a secret.”
    “Really? You hate kids.”
    “You know I don’t hate kids. I just…don’t always like them.”
    It doesn’t sound much better, although I plan to be a great auntie to Grace and Logan’s kids. Kids I know are okay, some are even adorable. Kids who have runny noses and sticky hands and no manners, which seems like the majority, I can do without. I don’t plan to pop out any myself; better to know I’d be a horrible mother than to have them because I think I should. Having had a horrible mother, I’ll die before I become one.
    We take the elevator to the top floor and climb to the roof. A droning murmur filters up the stairwell from the lower floors. We’ve been debriefed in what zombies can and can’t do—as much as anyone knows. They like noise and movement. It’s possible they’re attracted by smell. One nurse says they can crawl up the stairs if they have enough impetus, but doorknobs are out of their capabilities. Elevators are not, since they managed to travel via the visitor elevators before they shut them down. It wasn’t deliberate, of course, but if you put a bunch of zombies in an elevator and let them bang around for a while, one of them will manage to press a button or ten.
    We step outside, into air that still reeks of electrical fire and smoke, but the commotion is gone. No helicopters, no horns and no bombs. Jorge sets down the paint and points to the huge wooden water tank that stands on metal legs. “We won’t run out of water. There’s thousands of gallons in there.”
    It’s a reassuring thought. We have food and water. Our lights will go out and we’ll eat cold food, but we won’t die of thirst.
    Craig jogs to the end of the roof that overlooks interior Brooklyn. Grace and I head toward the water. Smoke hangs in clouds from the fires that still burn in both the city and across the water in Jersey. The once sleek and shiny skyscrapers of lower Manhattan are dulled and black. And from what I can see through the haze, the squared edges of some roofs are jagged.
    Dust streams into the air where the Brooklyn Bridge meets Manhattan. It’s impossible to see what’s left, but it doesn’t appear to be much. The Statue of Liberty’s head appears for a split second before it’s shrouded once more. Every surface is covered with a layer of ash. The devastation is so complete, so dramatic. I thought I was prepared, but this is a city demolished.
    Grace points to the water without a word. It’s possible some boats made it to safety, but most are destroyed and bobbing in the current with countless bodies. They haven’t drifted out to sea the way I expected. I grip the roof edge with both hands. In the middle of a roof, I’m good. At the edge, I’m convinced that either someone will shove me or my body will fling itself off without my consent.
    Hundreds of zombies still mill on the street. I move away and put my