“Jonah.”

“We can’t stop.” He flicked a glance back at Rachel. “We’re nearly there.”

The ambulance squealed into the marina, bumped along beside the dock. “I moved the boat earlier tonight. A lot of them are gone, some of them are wrecked. Same deal here. Get out, straight to the boat, straight down to the cabin. It’s warmer.”

Safer, he hoped.

He hit the brakes, shoved out to rush back to open the doors. He snagged bags, grabbed Duncan.

“Fast!”

He led the way through the near dark.

“There. White cabin cruiser, red lettering: Patti’s Pride.”

He tossed bags onto the boat, then picked up Katie, got her over the side. “Take Duncan, go straight down.”

“I’ll deal with the lines,” Rachel said before he could grab her. “My father had a boat—it’ll be faster.”

He nodded, pulled the baby out of the sling—he’d forgotten which was which—and got on board.

“Cast off, cast off.”

Rachel unhooked the bow, jogged back to the stern. She heard footsteps running toward her, a quick cackle of laughter. She whirled, prepared to fight. But there was Jonah, an infant in one arm, a gun in his other hand.

“Back off.”

The man, his hair blowing in the wind under a pirate hat, grinned. “Avast! Just want a taste.”

“Touch her, and you’ll find out what a .32 slug tastes like in your throat. Rachel.”

Quickly, she unhooked the line, boosted herself on board. She took the baby, spoke calmly. “I’ll pull us out.”

She hurried to the wheel while Jonah stood, watching the man make feints toward the boat, do a jig.

“You don’t need two wenches! Share the spoils, laddie! Share the spoils.”

As the boat pulled away, he feinted again, lost his balance, and tumbled off the dock. He surfaced, cackling and trying to paddle after them.

Jonah saw death in the man, but not by drowning. He turned away, went to Rachel.

“Take the baby down.”

“Do you know how to steer a boat, and in water this rough?”

“I’ve been out on it plenty. Patti let me drive it a couple times.”

Rachel kept her legs braced against the pitch of the boat. “Give Katie the baby. I’ve got the wheel, you navigate. Keep the gun handy.”

He couldn’t argue, not with the way she handled the boat. “We’re going across the Narrows, around the west tip, and up the Hudson.”

“All right.” As the boat pitched, she held steady. “To where?”

“Not sure yet. Let’s say as far as we need to. I fueled it up, so as far as we need to.”

He went down to the cabin where Katie sat on Patti’s narrow daybed, cradling two infants. He laid the third beside her.

“You’ve got three babies to tend to. I’m going up with Rachel, but if you need help, call out.”

“We’ll be fine.”

Under his feet, the boat rocked. “Remember the ambulance ride? This may be like that.”

“We’ll be fine,” she repeated.

He went back up, stood beside Rachel.

“Are they patrolling the rivers?” she asked him.

“I don’t know for sure. I don’t know why they would at this point, but the world’s fucked-up crazy.” Icy fingers of wind slapped at his face, roughened the black water. “There might be more like that idiot back there, but in boats. We’re going to want to avoid everyone, and we’re going to need to push for speed if we can’t avoid.”

Because he didn’t like the feel of it in his hand, he put the gun back on his hip.

“I know the marina at Hoboken. My father,” she reminded him. “He kept a boat there for a few years.”

“Okay, Hoboken.”

“We can’t outrun a patrol boat in this. If … I might be able to pull off somewhere, get Katie and the babies off.”

He laid a hand over hers. “It’s Hoboken. Eyes on the prize.”

* * *

In Hoboken, Chuck packed up all the equipment he thought he could carry. He hated leaving anything behind, but had always known this day would come.

Not along with an apocalypse, but eventually.

He’d planned what would fit, but had to adjust that now, as they had Fred along.

She was totally cute.

Not the reason he’d agreed to take her along, but it didn’t hurt.

He’d given what he thought of as his ladies time to rest. Arlys had conked out for a full twelve hours, and totally cute Red Fred had gone lights-out—after a couple of beers—for about the same.

Hardly a wonder, if their experience in the tunnels had been even half as fricking harrowing as Fred described.

And he believed every word. Why wouldn’t he when he’d been eavesdropping on chatter from freaked-out civilians and freaked-out military.

Plus, he’d seen some serious shit going down on the monitor from hacking into street cams.

Serious crazy-time shit.

So, since he hadn’t heard anything to make him think the military—and they were pretty much running the show right now—had ID’d him or his location, he got some sleep himself.

Seemed like the time to bank it.

He’d given them all another day to chill, to pack up, and for him to keep his ear to the cyber air.

But the time had come to say good-bye to his Batcave and some pretty awesome toys.

Arlys came out of the bedroom dressed, her hair pulled back in a tail. She was really hot, Chuck thought, but she sort of felt like his sister at this point.

He couldn’t even fantasize about banging her without feeling, well, the ick.

“Fred’s nearly ready, too. I could help you with all this, Chuck.”

“Rather not have anybody else messing with my stuff. Just about done anyhow. We’re all going to load it in our transpo. I’ve got to go get that. You guys could pack up some food, what’s left of the beer.”

“We’ll take care of it.”

“Great. I’ll go get our ride.”

“Chuck, we don’t know how bad it is out there. I should go with you.”

“Not to worry. I’ve got my way.” With a tap of his finger to his temple, he saluted. “Back in ten.”

“At least take one of the guns.”

“Nah.” He just winked and walked out.

After pressing her fingers to her eyes, Arlys dropped her hands. He’d made it this far, she thought. She’d just have to hope he kept on making it.

At least he stocked decent coffee, so she’d have one more hit before they left the odd and expansive basement. The safety of it. Safe, she thought, like a bomb shelter while the world blew itself to pieces outside the walls.

“Want one?” she asked Fred when she came out, red hair fresh and bouncy, makeup perfect.

“Chuck still has Cokes. Where is he?”

“He went to get the car. We need to pack up some food.”

“Okay.” Fred pulled out a box of Ring Dings.

“I was thinking more of basics.”

“What’s the point if you don’t eat the fun while you can?” She grabbed a Coke, swigging as she packed a box. “Is he taking all that?”

“Appears to be.”

“I hope he has a big car so we’re not all smooshed.”

“I hope he has a car that can get us out of here.”

“Don’t worry so much. We got here, right? We’ll get there, too.”

“I’m feeling edgy, therefore bitchy.” Arlys grabbed some cans, wondered if anyone over the age of twelve actually ate alphabet soup besides Chuck—then reminded herself to be grateful for it.

“You’re worried about Jim and everybody. I’m going to believe they got out, because we don’t know they didn’t. There’s still good in the world, Arlys. I can feel the good just like I can feel the bad.”

Arlys set down the coffee, pushed over a pile of Hostess pies. “Apple or cherry?”

“Why not both?” Fred opened her backpack, slid them in. “There’s room.”

“You’re good for me, Fred.”