Until the End of the World (Book 1)

  “We have heat, a stove, lamps and water,” I say. We’re probably some of the luckiest people in the world right about now. “I think we can cope just fine. Plus, we get to send out our laundry. It’s just like the city.”

  John bellows out a laugh.

  “But you will have dinner here, right, John?” Penny asks. “We’ve got to fatten you up a bit.”

  “A little home cooking wouldn’t go amiss. And a little company, too. Both my freezers are chock full of meat. I need some help eating it. I’ll take out some beef to thaw for tomorrow.” He flings the bag of laundry over his shoulder, like a lumberjack Santa Claus. “I’ll get going and start this up. Be back with what’s clean for supper.”

  CHAPTER 54

  I yank a brush through the snarls in my hair. Even the short shower we were allotted before the hot water ran out felt wonderful. I watched a week of dirt and grime swirl down the drain and allowed myself to think of Adrian. As of a year ago, he was somewhere in northern Vermont. If he’s still there I’d bet close to a hundred percent that he’s okay. If I know him he’ll be building fortifications and gathering people around him right now.

  It heartens me that I’m closer to him, although at this point the distance may as well be a million miles instead of hundreds. I just want to know if he’s okay. There are people who say they would know if someone they loved was dead. I’m not so sure, but if it’s true, then he’s still around. I can feel the pull of him all the way down here.

  I dress in jeans and a shirt that have been here for years and head down the hall. Ana, Peter and Nelly are sprawled on the couch and overstuffed chairs, covered by a motley assortment of clothing. We’re going to need more clothes soon, in the correct sizes.

  There’s a pot of water and canned tomatoes simmering on the stove. James hums and stirs the sauce while Penny puts the spaghetti in. It looks so normal and domestic, except that James’s high-water jeans are cinched tight and Penny’s got on a tie-dyed skirt of my mom’s. I stifle a laugh and try to help, but they shoo me out. The sun is going down. I set the table and add two solar hand-cranked lanterns. I put two oil lamps on either end of the couch.

  There’s a knock and John enters with a bag and sets it down. “Got half of it done. I’ll get the rest later.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Ana says. “I can’t wait to get out of these.”

  Personally, I think she looked kind of cute in a cuffed-up pair of my mom’s khakis. It hurts my feelings that she isn’t grateful for the clothes she has on, even though it’s probably ridiculous. She paws around in the bag and heads down the hall. I follow and tap on the door.

  “Yeah? Come in.”

  “Hey, Ana.” I close the door most of the way. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  Her look is unfriendly. “I guess.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  Ana throws my mom’s shirt in the corner and puts on her shirt. She unbuttons the pants and stops. “Peter told me what you said to him. I mean, I knew you didn’t like him that much, but I can’t believe you would do something like that.”

  I think back. I broke up with Peter and berated him for acting selfish, but I’m not sure what she means.

  I cross my arms and lean back on the computer desk. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Peter told me how you told him not to come with us, just because you guys agreed to break up. That’s why he didn’t come when we had to run. I can’t believe you would be so selfish.”

  She pulls my mom’s pants off and tosses them on top of the shirt. My brain repeats everything she just said, and I listen carefully because either I’m living in an alternate reality or Peter is. And in this alternate reality Ana is calling me selfish. Heat rushes from my stomach to my face.

  “That’s not true,” I sputter. “I broke up with Peter, back in Brooklyn. He said he wasn’t going to come with us at the Safe Zone, even though I told him to. I’ve tried to be nice to him. Now he’s lying to you. And, of course, you believe him.”

  Her lower lip juts out as she shrugs and zips her jeans. She doesn’t care, just like she doesn’t care about the clothes that lay in a heap. Why take care of clothes that aren’t hers, that have only been worn for a couple of hours? She gives no thought to John trudging through the woods with our clothes, being nice enough to clean and fold them, to use his stored gasoline to run his generator, and all the other small—but also huge—things that make laundry possible here.

  I pick up and fold my mom’s pants and shirt carefully on the daybed. I want to smack Ana. I find it impossible to believe that she’s completely unchanged by this past week, but the old Ana stands before me—selfish, entitled Ana.

  “Whatever,” she says. “We just have to be here for a month, right? I’m sure we can get along until we can all go back to our lives.”

  She gives me a nasty closed-mouth smile. She hasn’t been listening at all. I’m not quite sure what she thinks will be left in New York in a month, even if the infection has died out.

  “Fine, you believe what you want to believe, Ana.”

  I hug my mother’s clothes to me. My mom always said pretty is as pretty does, and Ana looks so ugly to me with that tight face and misplaced self-righteousness. I head for the door, but then I stop and turn back. I want to wipe that smile off her face.

  “But if you ever throw something of my parents’ on the floor again, like it’s trash, I swear I will beat the living shit out of you. I really will.”

  My knees knock as I stalk out. I lean against the hallway wall and take a breath. I can’t believe I just threatened Ana with bodily harm, and that I meant every word of it. But I still don’t care, because the look on her face as I left was worth it.

  CHAPTER 55

  “Home-canned green beans are actually pretty good,” Nelly says, as we finish up dinner. He looks at Penny and James. “Thanks, guys.”

  Everybody looks exhausted. It seems like a few days ago that we’d passed through town, even though it was this morning.

  “You all need to go to bed,” John says. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. Laddie’ll let us know if anyone’s coming. Tomorrow we’ll start work on an early warning system for your house. I’ve already done mine.”

  “What’s that?” Penny jokes. “Like cans with rocks in them strung on wire?”

  “Pretty much,” John says with a laugh. “There are some high tech things you can buy if you want to take your chances in Albany, so for now we’re going with barbed wire and fishing line.”

  A little while later I tell Nelly about Ana as we lie in my bed and watch the moon graze the trees.

  “I can’t believe Peter’s lying about it,” he says.

  “I know,” I say. “I can’t even look at him.”

  Angry tears well up in my eyes, and I go silent so Nelly won’t hear them in my voice.

  “I wish you would let me talk to him, Cass.”

  “I don’t want to start any more problems. Maybe it’ll blow over. Maybe some time will help.”

  “Peter isn’t striking me as the kind of person who rises to the occasion. But I won’t say anything yet, I promise. You can’t let him treat you like this, you know.”

  I sigh and roll over on my side. “I know, I know. I told you I’m not strong, didn’t I?”

  He exhales. I think he’s gone to sleep, but then he speaks. “I do like this new leaf you’ve turned over, though.”

  “What leaf is that?”

  “The one where you threaten to kick people’s asses. I would’ve liked to have been a fly on the wall for that one.”

  “Quiet, you,” I say, but I smile. And although a few minutes ago I felt like I would never be able to relax, I drift off to sleep.

  ***

  It’s early morning when I wake. I’ve seen a lot of sunrises recently. I have a feeling there are many more in my future, since we’ll be conserving batteries and lamp oil. I love the underwater blue-gray light before the sun finally makes an appearance. When I wa
tch the day dawn, I feel more in tune with it, like we’re old friends, instead of being thrust into it midway. For the first time in years, my fingers itch to hold a paintbrush, to blend the colors until I find that perfect shade of blue.

  John’s got a fire going in the living room, and there’s hot water waiting in the kettle. He remembers I like tea in the mornings, bless his soul. I sit at the table where he’s scratching out something on paper.

  “What’cha doing?” I ask.

  “Planning out your perimeter. We’ll string up the early warning system, also known as the tin cans,” he smiles at this, “a ways out, but close enough to hear. The barbed wire will go inside that line at chest height. It’s supposed to catch anything that gets through the cans and hold it until we can get to it. The hill behind the garden’s steep, so we’ll save that for last. It’s the best we can do with what we have. Depending on how this all plays out, I think we may want to dig trenches, too. We’ll see how it goes.”

  He reminds me of my dad, sitting at the table as steady as a rock, working on some sort of plans. It makes my chest tighten. John is the closest thing I have to a dad now. “John, you’re awesome. Thank you so much.”

  I wrap my hands around my mug. The bedrooms are still cold; it was down in the thirties last night.

  “I’m happy to do it. Takes the mind off of things.” His blue eyes shine in the lamplight when they meet mine. “I didn’t think you’d make it here, honey. Not after what they did in New York. When I saw the smoke from the stovepipe, I thought for sure it was Eric, and I wasn’t surprised. It was you I was worried about. I can’t tell you how glad I was to see you. Almost like Jenny showing up.”

  I cover his hand with mine, and we sit in companionable silence as the sun rises.

  CHAPTER 56

  “If I never see another can in my life, I’ll be happy,” Penny says. She rubs Neosporin over the cuts she got stringing them along the wires.

  “A good day’s work was had by all,” John says, who spent the day securing barbed wire into trees, but he glances at Peter and Ana. They spent much of the day working, but while the other teams of two were getting hundreds of feet finished, they were getting fifty. I’ve done my best to ignore them.

  The barbecue is lit for the thawed steaks. It’s chilly out on the deck, but we’re still warm from the work. James passes out the few beers we found. Eric probably enjoyed the last of my dad’s home-brewed beers; there’s nothing but empty bottles.

  James raises his bottle. “This is a momentous day.” At our curious looks he pulls his iPad from its case, and we gasp at the crack in the screen.

  “Yeah, iPad is dead. Gone. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be impossible to submit a claim to AppleCare.” We laugh. “At first I was terrified at what I would do without it, then I realized that stringing cans is infinitely more useful than Words with Friends. Maybe more fun, too.” He winks at Penny, his partner in stringing, and she blushes.

  “And number two.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “This is my last pack. I thought I’d enjoy them with a beer. I don’t want to be a pusher or anything, but anyone who wants one better get in on this.”

  “We don’t want to smoke your last cigarettes, man,” Nelly says, although we totally do.

  “I want you to. The longer I have them the more miserly I’ll become. I want them gone tonight and to smoke them with friends. Especially friends who will remember, when I’m acting like an asshole in nicotine withdrawal tomorrow, how generous I can be.”

  He turns the pack suggestively, like we need any more enticement. Nelly and I each take one and lean back in our chairs. Even Penny, the good girl who hasn’t smoked since high school, takes one. We all ooh at her and she gives us the finger. Peter shakes his head, and Ana moves her chair to the edge of the deck with a sigh.

  “What the heck,” John says. He slides one out of the pack. “It’s been twenty years, but damned if they don’t still smell great.”

  It looks like it’s going to rain. I feel good, like we’ve done something productive, something besides running. Early this morning John and I drove down to the mailbox on the main road and chopped the post down with an axe. We hid the concrete base under some brush. Removing the last vestige of civilization felt like a capitulation, a goodbye.

  I watch the cigarette smoke curl up into the trees and look at Nelly. He’s got his eyes closed and his feet splayed out. His shoes are damp and muddy. He and James both have big feet and no extra shoes. I add shoes to the mental list of things we’ll have to find in town somehow.

  For the time being, though, we’ve decided to stay put. Sam said he’d be by in a few days, and we’ll get a status report then. I follow the end of my beer with the last drag of my smoke and hope it isn’t another kind of goodbye, though I’m almost certain it is.

  CHAPTER 57

  I look up from the table where I’m organizing seeds when I hear the rumble of thunder. We’ve spent the past four rainy days organizing our supplies, chopping wood, cooking, cleaning and getting less sleep due to a watch schedule we’ve set up.

  Ana and Peter sit on the couch. These past days trapped inside with them have been torture. I’ve found an excuse to head to John’s house every day rather than listen to their sighing.

  The other night at dinner, when we discussed starting a garden, they looked like they were about to explode. John tried to explain that even if everything went back to normal today at least half the population would be gone. Food would still be scarce and fresh vegetables non-existent. This was not what they wanted to hear. Since then both of them have been sullen and unhelpful, like if they refuse to help it won’t come true.

  Penny’s tried to talk to Ana, but she’s in the grip of some powerful magical thinking. I admit it’s a lot to take in. All of us have our moments of disbelief, but right now, disbelief will get you killed. The thunder rumbles again, louder this time.

  Nelly looks up from loading logs in the wood stove. “Storm’s a-brewing.”

  John stomps his boots as he enters the front door, looking grave. “Those are explosions. I’m pretty sure it’s from Bellville. Don’t think we’d hear Albany or Pittsfield so far. There’s a huge tank of LP at the school, and last I saw Sam they were moving more fuel there. But I bet they had some explosives rigged up, too.”

  We crowd around him at the open door, but we can’t see anything except trees and gray sky. Gas tanks are hard to blow up by accident. Unless they meant to, which would mean they’ve been attacked. We listen, but there’s nothing more. I move to the table and sit down.

  “We could use a good antenna,” John says.

  Every day we turn on the shortwave radio. Aside from the usual emergency broadcasts, we’ve heard a few broadcasts from other countries. But they haven’t been in English or Spanish, the only two languages we speak, collectively. We don’t understand them, but they all have the same urgent, fervent rhythm.

  One emergency broadcast said a message from the president was forthcoming, but it never came. The past couple of nights we’ve picked up what sound like Americans talking, but we tend to get terrible reception up here.

  “We’re going to have to go down there soon,” Nelly says. He doesn’t look happy about it. “There’s stuff we need, no? And we should know what’s going on. I don’t want to be surprised.”

  I grab a pad and pen. “We need some shoes for you and James.”

  Peter shoots me a look. “I need shoes, too. All I’ve got are sneakers now.”

  “Okay, Peter, too,” I reply.

  Penny tries not to smile. I kick her under the table, and she makes a strangled noise. I pinch my leg to keep from laughing and keep my eyes glued to the pad. I know if I even glance at her, I’ll lose it. It used to happen in class all the time.

  “How about we wait another couple days, and then we scout it out?” John asks. “Whatever’s going on down there might have blown over by then.”

  CHAPTER 58

  It’s bright and
sunny as we climb into the truck. Nelly, John and I are heading to town. Since the explosions, we’ve heard nothing more, although black smoke billowed into the sky eventually. I’ve got my holster on and the machete that I’ll wear across my back.

  “Please be careful,” Penny reminds us. Her face is creased with worry. “Just come right back if it’s not safe. We don’t need anything that badly.”

  “Yeah,” James adds. “You can’t leave us here with those two.”

  He tilts his head toward Ana and Peter on the porch. Peter’s arms are crossed. He’s mad because he wanted to come. It’s the only thing he’s wanted to help with so far, but John insisted he learn to use a gun first.

  The houses on the road are empty, since most people chose the safety of town. The roadblock at Bell Street is unmanned. The two- and three-story buildings on Main Street with ground floor businesses are all dark, and the sidewalks sparkle with the shattered glass of broken windows.

  We head for the school. The only movement comes from trash blowing across the asphalt. From a distance we see that two walls of the school still stand, but the inside is a blackened ruin. It’s either still smoking, or the resulting ash is sifting into the sky; I can’t tell. I just hope all those people weren’t in there.

  John pulls into the parking lot, and we take in a scene of total destruction. Bricks, splintered wood and pink tufts of insulation are everywhere. On top of and under and intertwined with the debris are bodies that must have been flung during the explosion. Big ones, small ones, a tiny one that makes me raise my hand to my mouth. They’re covered with flies. My mouth fills with thick saliva at the smell.

  John stands with one leg out of the car. “Anyone here?”

  We wait a few minutes in silence. The taillights of a police cruiser peek out from behind one wall, and we head for it. Sam lies on the ground, dead, behind the bullet-riddled open doors.