This is ridiculous, he told himself. In two hours, less if everything went well, they'd be inside Port Authority, finding where they needed to go and getting ready for the bus ride to salvation. They just had to make it until then.

The wind picked up, and Alex could taste salt breeze intermixed with the familiar ash. His eyes smarted and teared until he could hardly see two feet ahead of him. He thought of Harvey's offer, a ride from their apartment to a safe place for Bri and himself in exchange for Julie. Bri could die on the sled, he realized. Had that been another wrong decision on his part? Could he be that sure Julie would be better protected by him than by some stranger?

The wind began to sound like mocking laughter: Papi calling him a debilucho. Carlos calling him a sissy. They were real men. They never would have let things get this bad.

Julie fell again. The backpack on her chest got soaked in snow, and it was obviously too heavy for her to manage. Alex took it off her and put it on the sled.

"I can manage the other one," Julie said. "Put that one on me."

Alex shook his head. "We're fine this way," he said. "Let's get a move on."

But things got even worse at Fifty-seventh Street, because there civilization began again. Eighth Avenue had been plowed and the sidewalks shoveled, which meant the sled could no longer be used.

A truck drove by, its driver honking furiously and screaming curses at them.

"We have to get on the sidewalk," Alex said.

"We won't be able to pull the sled," Julie said. Alex nodded.

"We'll figure something out," he said, pulling the sled to the curb.

He grabbed Bri and lifted her over his shoulder, firefighter style. Julie lifted the sled onto the sidewalk. She pulled it from there, while Alex tried to maintain his balance on the icy sidewalk.

Twice he fell. The first time Julie managed to position herself to break his fall, and the three of them tumbled onto the sidewalk together. It would have been funny if there'd been any humor left in the world.

The second time Julie had no chance to help, and Alex took a painful fall, his nose hitting the sidewalk so hard he was afraid he'd broken it. The shock jolted Bri and she began desperately gasping for breath.

As Alex wiped away the blood from his face, Julie rifled through Bri's backpack, finally finding Bri's rosary beads, which she handed to her sister. Bri clutched the beads as though they were her lifeline.

"Dios te salve, Maria. Llena eres de gratia," Julie began. Hearing the familiar words of the Hail Mary in Spanish, as Mami always said it, helped calm Bri down. When she was able, she recited it along with Julie, while Alex stood there and told himself never to underestimate his little sister again.

The journey got easier as they got closer to Port Authority, and Alex regained his faith that they would actually make it. They saw a handful of people as they walked down Eighth Avenue, and while no one offered to help, no one cursed them out, either. There were a lot of bodies, and Alex could see, from the height of the piles, that many of them were new dead. Fluicide, he decided. There'd be no need for that word where they were going.

The last time Alex had been at Port Authority it was May, crowded with hysterical people trying to escape. Now it was deserted. It surprised him not to see anyone there for the convoy, but he thought maybe they used a different entrance or maybe they were all inside already. He couldn't look at his watch without shifting Bri around, so he asked Julie what time it was. She stopped pulling the sled and checked.

"Ten-fifteen," she said.

"I guess we're the first ones here," Alex said. "That's good. We can get seats together."

"I see a cop!" Julie cried, pointing toward the building. "He can tell us where to go."

Alex gently put Bri down and walked over to the cop. "We have passes on the convoy out," he said to the cop. "Do you know which entrance we need?"

"No convoy today," the cop said.

"What do you mean?" Alex asked. "The December twelfth convoy. We have our passes and our reservations." For a moment he panicked that somehow it was December 13 and they'd missed the convoy by a day. "It is the twelfth, isn't it?" he asked, unable to keep the terror out of his voice.

"It don't matter what today's date is," the cop said. "No convoys because of the quarantine."

"What quarantine?" Alex asked. "What are you talking about:"

The cop looked at Alex, then at Bri and Julie and the sled. "No one told you?" he asked, and Alex could hear pity in his voice.

"Told us what?" Alex said, already knowing how much he was going to hate the answer.

"New York City is under quarantine because of the flu," the cop said. "No one allowed in or out of the city."

"Until when?" Alex asked. "For how long?"

The cop shrugged. "Until it runs its course," he said. "Or until everyone in the country gets it so it won't matter anymore. Or until we all die. Take your pick."

"Do you know about the convoys?" Alex asked. "Will they start running again? Will they let us on if they do?"

"I know all about the convoys," the cop said. "I know all about the lucky people who get to go on them. Yeah, there'll be another one. They run every two weeks, and if that one can't go out, then the one after that will take care of you and your family. If you hear the quarantine's been lifted, come back in two weeks. If it hasn't by then, come back in four. For people like you, there's always a way out."

Alex would have laughed, except if he did, he wouldn't have been able to stop. Instead he thought about the next convoy. Two weeks was December 26. Christ was certainly too merciful to have them die before Christmas. Alex would keep his sisters alive for two more weeks and the convoys would be running again. He'd be eighteen and wouldn't be allowed to go with them, but that would be all right. The buses would be filled with women and children, and one of the women would certainly volunteer to look after Bri and Julie until they got settled in. Someone would be kind.

"Thank you," he said to the cop.

"Good luck, kid," the cop said. "Tough break. You have far to go?"

"Yeah," Alex said. "But if we made it here, we can make it back home."

Tuesday, December 13

Alex and Julie walked to Vincent de Paul hardly saying a word. None of them had talked much since the nightmare walk back from Port Authority. All Alex told his sisters was that the city was under a quarantine and once that ended, the convoys would be running again. They'd see how things were in two weeks.

He wouldn't tell them he couldn't go along with them until they were safely on the bus. But what was one more secret.

There was a big, handwritten sign on the front door of the school: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE DUE TO QUARANTINE

"How long do you think 'further notice' is?" Julie asked.

Alex shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe just a week if we're lucky."

"Do you think Harvey still has food?" Julie asked as they began their walk home.

"Yeah, I'm sure he does," Alex said. "I don't know what I have left I can barter with, though."

"Maybe you could bring him the sled," Julie said. "I bet he'd give you lots of food for that."

"We'll need the sled in two weeks," Alex said. "I can't carry Bri all the way to Port Authority."

"She'll die anyway if we don't get food," Julie said.

"Harvey won't want the sled back," Alex said. "We're the only people who'd want it. Think, Julie. Is there any food left at all?"

Julie nodded. "I left twelve B a can of beans," she said. "It seemed wrong to leave nothing in case they ever came back. And there's a canister of macaroni we never used because it had things in it."