Chapter 207: Chapter 207 - Midtown
Lance’s POV
Lance stood by the edge of the food stall and kept his weight on one leg while he tried to steady his breathing.
The sun pressed down hard on Midtown as people moved around him in steady lines, heading in and out of shops, crossing streets, and filling the space with noise that did not stop.
He kept looking around for Marybeth, but she had not come back yet, so he stayed where he was and tried not to draw attention to himself.
When he lifted his gaze, the screens above caught his eyes.
Times Square still stood the way he remembered it, and he found himself staring longer than he should because he had been here once before when he was sixteen, back when Malcolm brought him through and the place was packed and loud and full of light.
It still looked spectacular, but it was different now.
The screens were still running and still bright, but instead of ads they showed rules, one about reporting suspicious activity, another about an upcoming festival, and another listing the hours when people were not allowed to roam the streets.
He looked back down to the street and watched people move past him, some in work clothes, some heading into restaurants, some carrying things as they went, and it felt strange seeing parts of the old world still working inside this one.
Then the smell reached him.
He turned his head toward the stall beside him and saw it, a hotdog in a bun, fresh and warm, and he stared at it longer than he meant to as his mouth watered.
The taste of canned food sat dull and dry in his mouth, and he swallowed as he thought about something hot, something real.
He let out a breath.
"Oh come on, man. You’re robbing us."
Lance glanced to the side as a man complained while swiping a card on a small reader.
"Hey," the seller said with a chuckle. "Meat’s expensive."
Lance’s eyes dropped to the card in the man’s hand, then back to the food, and then out to the crowd again as he stayed where he was and waited.
Lance stepped a little closer to the stall, more to keep himself from just standing there than anything else, and he watched as the man beside him took his food and moved aside. The seller had already turned to prepare the next order while the man set his gloves down on the edge of the cart and took a bite.
"How’s Jefferson?" the seller asked without looking up.
The man snorted. "Man’s a pain. Had me repot a hundred just because I didn’t use enough peat."
The seller chuckled as he worked. "That’s why he’s in charge. Keeps people like you in line."
"Fuck off," the man said, though he kept eating. "They’re working us to the bone like slaves."
"Hey," another customer cut in. "That’s why you’re eating that right now. You wanna end up like Jersey?"
A few of them laughed.
Lance did not.
"Agri sector’s the worst," the man muttered as he finished the last bite, then he grabbed his drink and walked off.
The gloves stayed on the cart.
Lance’s eyes followed them.
He moved in without rushing and stepped into the space the man left behind.
"How much for a hotdog?" he asked.
The seller glanced at him and pointed at a small board with prices.
Lance nodded as if he understood, and while the man turned back to his work, he picked up the gloves and slipped them into his pocket.
Then he stepped away and moved back into the crowd.
Marybeth came up to him and caught his hand without slowing. "Come," she said, already pulling him along.
Lance blinked at it and let himself be dragged a step before he found his footing.
That was new.
He had been with women before, but nothing that stayed, nothing that meant anything, and the contact made his shoulders tense before he could stop it. He did not like it.
Then the thought came and he shut it down just as fast. She was grieving. That made it worse.
"Are you serious?" Marybeth snapped, glancing back at him as she kept moving. "Do I have to drag you?"
"Sorry," he said, and pushed himself to keep up.
They moved through Times Square, and the place felt too full, too alive. People crossed in front of them in groups.
Lance kept his head forward and stayed close as Marybeth pulled him through the flow, weaving between people without slowing.
"You got something?" he asked.
She nodded once. "Restricted zone uptown," she said. "Maybe they’ve got a lab there."
Lance nodded, but his eyes stayed on the street.
Susan used to talk about it all the time. One cure for everything. If anything like that was real, then the infection would be the first thing they fixed.
But then he got better.
Iyisha.
He let out a breath and rubbed his thumb against his palm.
"Did you hear anything about Cena?" he asked.
Marybeth went quiet for a second as she kept walking. "That’s like finding a needle in a haystack," she said. "This place has over a hundred thousand people. We don’t even have a lead."
He nodded and looked around, taking in faces, movement, anything that might help later.
"Maybe we’ll find something in that restricted zone," he said.
"That’s the idea," she replied, then pulled him along.
They slowed near a block where the street narrowed and a fence ran along one side, cutting off part of the road. Guards stood near the entrance, spaced out, watching people pass.
Lance stared at them a second too long. "They’ve got guards," he murmured.
Marybeth shot him a look.
He forced a small smile. "Why would they need guards?"
She exhaled sharply. "Next time, go with your brother."
He let out a breath through his nose. "Come on. You like me a little."
"Shut up."
"Loitering here is an offense."
The voice came closer than he expected.
Lance’s stomach dropped.
He turned and saw the guard already walking toward them.
Shit.
His pulse kicked hard and fast, and for a second his mind went blank.
"We’re waiting for our group," he said, but his voice came out tighter than he wanted, so he cleared his throat and pointed toward a nearby shop. "They went in there."
The guard stopped in front of them and looked them over. "Sector?"
Lance felt the gloves in his pocket.
Shit.
He pulled them out, but his fingers slipped once before he got a grip. "Agri," he said, holding them up.
The guard’s eyes dropped to the gloves. "Supervisor?"
Lance’s chest tightened.
Names.
Come on.
The stall. The man.
"Jeff—" he started, then forced it steady. "Jefferson."
The guard watched him for a second.
Too long.
Lance held still, trying not to shift, trying not to look away.
Then the guard gave a small nod. "Go on."
Lance did not move right away, like his body forgot how.
Marybeth tugged him forward.
They walked.
His breath came out slow once they turned the corner.
Marybeth looked at him, her eyes wide for a second.
Lance let out a shaky breath. "That almost went bad."
