“No.”
“I think I should hold them.”
“I’m not ten years old.” They turned left down the hill on 161st Street and walked a block in silence except for Annette’s soft obscenities.
“Are you upset about your father?”
“Please.”
“I’m just making conversation.”
“Quiet would be better in a shoot on sight curfew.”
“Were you surprised?”
Puppy flushed. “I told you. It’s bullshit. He was a disgusting person. The Miners couldn’t be that desperate.”
“I never met him.”
“Because he was already dead.”
“They never showed you the body after they supposedly found him in an alley.”
He whirled. “Are you saying he’s still alive?”
“I don’t know. You didn’t know he was a terrorist.”
“He wasn’t a damn terrorist.”
Annette leaned on his shoulder and rubbed her calf. “His brother came to our wedding. Your Uncle Clem.”
He resumed walking and she nearly fell.
“We wouldn’t let him in.” Annette hobbled after him. “Me, Zelda and Pablo. We figured it would upset you too much. He gave us a present.”
Puppy waited for her to catch up. “Are you going to tell me it was an orange wig, boom, proof of my father’s secret life?”
“No. The present was from Clem. Your father was supposedly already dead.” She made an annoyed sound and rubbed her other calf, warning him with a glare not to move again. “It was a toaster. I figured it’d bother you so I gave it to Pablo. I guess he gave it to Zelda because she still has it. That’s how you grilled up the last piece of bread today.”
He laughed at the nonsense of it all.
“I forgot to tell you,” she said.
“You forget nothing.”
Annette pressed a tissue against her face from the stench of smoldering bodies. “It stinks.”
He didn’t care. Puppy took Annette’s hand, but she refused to move.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To say good-bye.”
“Just wave.” She showed him a cheerful wave. “Good-bye Yankee Stadium. You crushed my dreams and helped wreck my marriage. Now you crushed my heart again. How’s that?”
Puppy glowered. “Okay, stay out. I’ll be back soon.”
Annette considered the piles of debris and weapons shells, a perfect playground for the family of rats crawling towards her. She pulled alongside Puppy by Gate Six.
“I hate you for this.”
“I know.” He shushed her.
“Someone’s still here?”
“Probably not.” ‘Bots were punctual about work days; no humans were involved in the cleanup.
He guided Annette over a mound of broken concrete and into the ballpark. Large burn marks carpeted the ground. Holes gauged the walls and floors. Like opening day, he thought sadly.
“Are we done now?”
Annette didn’t like the way he laughed. She stubbed her toe twice and scratched her elbow breaking a fall on the first level. Puppy was oblivious. He walked around like the lights were on and the crowd was cheering.
Puppy took shallow breaths and dragged her to a narrow clump of infield grass not buried beneath the pavement; the ‘bots had started pouring concrete over the field, sealing in the memories. All around, the seats were smashed, the dugouts non-existent except for the shards of the water fountains. The right side of the upper deck was completely blown off and the completely fallen scoreboard smothered both bullpens.
“Why must you torture yourself?” Annette gently touched his arm.
He ignored her, looking around. Frecklie’s banners fluttered at the top of the left field stands. She followed his stare.
“No Puppy, forget it.”
Annette was sweating and swearing when they finally reached Section 340. She plopped onto a creaky seat and stubbornly folded her arms. He kissed her cheek. “Catch me if I fall.”
“That’s not funny.” She followed him up the aisle. He stopped five rows from the top, then took a running jump, grabbing onto the brocade.
“What the hell are you doing?” Annette shouted several times as he lifted himself high enough to snatch the Cubs and Yankees banners off the flag poles. Puppy dangled for a moment, looking down into the dark Bronx.
Something sizzled and he quickly jumped off. A lone light bulb flickered, somehow set off by his climbing.
“I do not ever want you doing that again,” Annette said shakily.
“Ssh. Look. The light.”
“Oh, do you want to take a bulb to London, too, assuming we’re not shot in a few minutes.” Annette stared at his lopsided grin. “What, Puppy, what?”
He threw debris at the lights, admiring his work from several different angles. Annette gave up understanding and obstinately ate their only candy bar. Finally, Puppy led her down to the second level.
“I saw some bodies.” Annette panted outside the control room.
“Probably.” Puppy shoved aside the rocks from the door. “Can you help me?”
“You mean move those big rocks?”
Puppy fumbled on the floor behind the console, which was still plugged in. He remembered the A21’s tutorial. Two different lines, one external, one internal. He searched another couple minutes and found the black circuit breaker. He turned on the switch and the console coughed.
Lights on the upper left field deck flickered and died. Come on, please, come on, he gently rubbed the console. A few more lights stayed on, then spread, popping like gunfire in the silence; Annette watched in amazement.
“How did you make that work, Puppy?”
“I prayed.” He grinned.
The lights spelled 4GIVE, surrounded by the broken bulbs.
In the black, moonless night ordered by First Cousin Cheng, Acting Parent of the Family, it was easy to see the lights. Maybe someone went to the bathroom or quieted their child or hushed a barking dog and told a neighbor. Soon the rooftops of the Bronx were filled with silent, awed crowds spilling into the streets. The BTs couldn’t kill everyone. Besides, they were watching, too.
At dawn, fighter jets finally demolished Yankee Stadium.
44
The Westchester Airport terminal was black with BT uniforms as if a world of bugs had crawled out of the vents. The BT fingered their IDs.
“Commissioner Kenuda, what brings you here?”
“Government business.”
“We’re all on government business, sir.”
Puppy stiffened, waiting for the roar of three fighter jet formations to pass. “Then you know I can’t answer that.”
The BT glanced at Annette, slightly wide-eyed at being in an airport for the
