Until the End of the World (Book 2): And After

  We gape at the mown grass around the houses. We have weeds or mud. The only thing that gives away our new reality are the vegetable gardens, the outhouses set back from the lake and the stovepipes that have been fitted onto roofs. In front of one house, a few kids kick a ball while a woman watches from a chaise lounge with a yawn.

  We pass four houses before Gabriel stops and gestures at a stone house in a clearing the size of a small park. More than a dozen people sit at picnic tables on the grass to the left, and to the right is a vegetable garden that has gone haywire, in a good way. We pull to a stop in the circular driveway and step into the fresh-smelling air. I love Kingdom Come, but it doesn’t always smell clean like this—farm animals and giant compost piles really stink.

  The people at the tables rise and follow us through the French doors of the stone house. The first floor is a wide expanse filled with tables and chairs, a central fireplace, mullioned windows and a gleaming wood floor. A tall, thin woman Gabriel’s age comes out of a door to our left and wipes her hands on a towel. Her gray hair is in a severe bun, emphasizing sharp cheekbones and a face that’s lined but still beautiful.

  “Hello! We are so happy you came. My name is Clara.”

  “My wife,” Gabriel says, obviously proud of that fact.

  We make the introductions, and she says all of our names as if committing them to memory. And she must because seconds later she’s assigning us seats at one of the long tables. “Now we’ll get lunch, and we can talk.”

  The people who’ve followed us sit at nearby tables and wait as food is brought out on plates, like a restaurant. A plate of something that looks like French fries with white globs on it is set in front of me by a smiling teenager. Whatever it is, it smells delicious.

  “What is this?” Shawn murmurs next to me. “Did a bird poop on—” Jamie’s elbow hits his ribs.

  Clara sits at the head of the table. Thankfully, she didn’t hear, or she’s tactful enough not to let on. “This is poutine. A famous dish here in Quebec. French fries with gravy and cheese curds. We thought the last of the potatoes should be made into something special. You’re our first visitors.”

  I think I may have entered another dimension. Not only did I just get served like I’m in a restaurant, but I just got served French fries with cheese and gravy. It makes me miss Penny: in high school we spent many a sunrise in diner booths eating fries with cheese and gravy, giggling about what had happened earlier in the night.

  “Please, eat,” Gabriel says, and lifts a loaded fork to his mouth.

  The fries and gravy and cheese curds are salty and rich. Peter needs to make these for everyone back home. These people know how to live.

  “Where do you keep your animals?” I ask. I know they have them, since they have cheese, but this place is so clean I could almost believe they conjured it out of thin air.

  “There are nine houses here,” Gabriel answers. “The largest two were made into barns. They’re farthest from the entrance, on the east side of the lake.”

  “This is delicious,” Jamie says with a pointed look at Shawn, who nods emphatically. “Thank you. Do you always eat like this? Like, with waitresses?”

  All the Quebecois laugh, including the ones at the other tables. “Oh no,” Clara says. “This is for your benefit only. Usually we’re lined up at the back of the room, fighting for our food. We cook here in the summer, but in the winter most houses cook their own food since they’re heating them, too.”

  That’s more like it. I was beginning to think that they were too perfect.

  “There are ninety-eight people in total,” Gabriel says, “spread throughout the other houses. You’re welcome to stay anywhere you choose tonight. There are no extra beds, but plenty of room to make beds on the floor.”

  That many people spread among seven homes must be crowded, even if they are big. But at least they’re houses and not outfitter tents, like us, although Dan’s drawn up plans for larger cabins on which work has begun.

  “We brought tents,” Dan says. “We don’t want to put anyone out.”

  “Nonsense,” Clara says. “Although I do enjoy sleeping outside in this weather. It’s much cooler.”

  The day is hot and humid, so hot that even with every window open my shirt is glued to my back. Whoever spent the morning frying potatoes deserves a medal. I look out at the lake and almost salivate at the thought of dunking myself in the cool water.

  Peter follows my line of vision and asks, “Is the whole lake fenced off?”

  A guy in his twenties, with auburn hair and freckles, answers. “Yeah. We used rope and barbed wire, mostly. We didn’t want the lake contaminated. We fenced off about four miles.” His voice is unaccented, and his about is more like aboot.

  “So we can go swimming?” Ana asks, and throws her head back in ecstasy when he nods. “That’s it, I’m moving here.”

  “We have bathing suits you can borrow,” Clara says with a laugh. “Why don’t we show you around, and then you can swim?”

  CHAPTER 49

  We hit the familiar smell as we near the two log homes built on a rise that leads down to the lake. The walkout basements have been partitioned into stalls for cows and goats, with several holes cut into the ceiling to act as haylofts. We follow Gabriel to the main floor of one of the houses, where hay and bags of feed are stored on the once-beautiful wood floors that now boast rough-sawn holes.

  “This house cost almost a million dollars. The owners would cry if they knew.” He leans forward. “But we were happy when they didn’t arrive. Such a terrible family. Horrible children.”

  He says something in French that includes a word that sounds like tabarnack. Clara gives him a reproving look, although she turns away as though to collect herself.

  “Did you pass the farms right before the lake?” Gabriel continues. “That’s where we plant our crops. It’s dangerous to harvest, but there’s nowhere in here to do so.”

  “Ours are outside the fence too,” Peter says. “I wish we had a lake. We use spring water, although it’s gravity-fed.”

  Clara nods. “Gabriel and I moved here after he retired. The stone house is ours. When this began we thought about leaving for a government zone, but the lake is what decided us to stay. And the children. Our two sons came here with their families.”

  He nods up at her, since she’s a few inches taller than him. They seem to like each other, the way my parents liked each other. The way Adrian and I liked each other.

  “Come,” Clara says. “Enough business. Let’s swim.”

  ***

  The lake is cool and deep. I swim to the floating raft and lie on the warm wooden planks, where I can allow myself fifteen minutes of sunbathing before I die of sun poisoning. I close my eyes and listen to the others splashing and laughing at the shore. They’re so loud that I don’t hear someone arrive until drops of cold water snap me out of my stupor. I open my eyes to find Dan shaking off like a dog.

  He sits down. “This is nice, huh?”

  “This is amazing.” I prop myself up on my elbows. “I’m thinking we really should move here. Swim in the summer, ice skate in the winter. Or we could organize vacations; this could be the Quebec Safe Zone Resort and Spa.”

  “People could pay in food. They’d never have to grow anything. Just concentrate on full-body massages.”

  I laugh and roll onto my stomach. “A massage would be awesome.”

  “Just say the word.”

  He crinkles his eyes at me. I roll mine back and watch two of the Quebecois girls make their way to the raft. I know why they’re here—they’ve been eyeing Dan all afternoon.

  “Your fan club,” I say.

  He makes a noise of dismissal, but Alice and Sofia climb up the ladder and deposit themselves on either side of him. They’re both in their early twenties, with dark blond hair that matches their tans. Dan greets them in a business-like fashion, but it doesn’t put them off. He’s fresh meat, and he’s fresh meat with tanned muscles and a killer s
mile.

  “Dan, we were wondering if you’d stay at our house tonight,” Sofia says, and licks her full lips. She has an accent, but I could swear it wasn’t this heavy and sultry an hour ago. “It’s the next one down.” She points to a house with a back wall made entirely of glass. “Everyone there is young. We’ll have fun.”

  Alice, an English-speaking Quebecker, nods and angles her chest at him. “We made liquor from maple syrup, and it’s so good. Like mead. We can hang out.”

  “Um, maybe,” Dan says. He looks to me for confirmation, or possibly help, since he looks uncomfortable. “Cass, don’t we have to be up really early?”

  I sit up and dangle my legs in the water. “Oh, yeah. Crack of dawn. But if you got started now, you’d have plenty of time.” The girls look at me in delight. Dan stares me down. I’ve made him suffer enough, so I put on an apologetic face. “Oh, but there’s that thing you have to do with the van.”

  Dan sighs. “Right, the van. I probably won’t have time.”

  Alice and Sofia make disappointed sounds, but I can tell they aren’t going to let him off that easy. I slip into the water and hang on the edge of the raft. “I’m going back.”

  “Stay,” Dan says. “It’s nice out here.”

  “I really can’t. I’m roasting. See you back on land.”

  I grin at his look that says I’m a traitor and push off into the water.

  CHAPTER 50

  Dinner was salad and pasta. For all its civilized ways, Quebec is good at patrolling, and they’ve made their way to both the outskirts of Montreal and Quebec City this summer. They figure they have enough food for the winter, even if they lose part of their crops. It can be unsettling when you think of how close to the edge we live—we’ve become subsistence farmers and hunter-gatherers.

  They can always drink maple syrup. They’ve given us gallons of it and have plenty more. Alice gave us her mead recipe after she finally came to terms with Dan’s refusal to party at their house. Toby agreed, though, and was happily dragged off a couple of hours ago. The rest went with him. The sun is going down, and the hot day is quickly becoming a cool, humid night. I sit by the lake and warm my feet in the last patch of sunlight before I head in to where we’ve spread our sleeping bags on the dining room floor. I take a picture of the lake to show Bits. Maybe next year I can bring her here to swim, if she’s talking to me.

  “You’re like a lizard,” Dan’s voice comes from behind me.

  I glance over my shoulder and point a finger at him. “Now, that’s a line. See? I knew you could do better than ‘a pretty name for a pretty girl.’ It’s not very flattering, but it gets points for originality.”

  Dan laughs. “I meant you soak up the sun like a lizard.”

  “I thought maybe you were encouraging the use of more moisturizer.”

  He sinks into the chair next to me. “Nah, you’re perfect.”

  “You really get a kick out of bothering me, don’t you?”

  “I’m complimenting, not bothering. You just don’t take me seriously.”

  “Very true,” I say.

  He opens his mouth but then closes it and watches the puffy salmon and pink clouds. Happy voices from the party house carry to where we sit.

  “Listen to what you’re missing,” I say.

  “Thanks for saving me. I thought you were throwing me to the wolves for a minute.”

  “They’re hardly wolves. Although I hear Sofia is pretty good with a rifle, so you might not want to tangle with her. You’d never have to see them again. And yet here you are, sitting by the lake like an old man who’s forgotten how to have fun.”

  “You’re fun,” Dan says.

  “Yeah, I’m a barrel of laughs. Maybe I should go drink so I can fall asleep.” I remind myself that no one needs to hear me bitch. That will be step one of the new Cassie—a moratorium on self-pity. “Sorry. Insomnia.”

  “Yeah, I know, dingbat. I’m on nights with you all the time.”

  “My dad used to call me dingbat,” I say with a laugh.

  “Mine, too.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out his silver flask. “Here, drink some of this. It’ll help you sleep.”

  “Aha, the flask! I’ve been wondering, why do you carry that around with you? You never drink from it.”

  “Just in case,” he says and looks away, tight-lipped.

  It ups the mystery. Now I’m dying to know. “In case of what?”

  “In case I’m totally fucked and have to finish myself off. I figure it’ll be a little easier if I down this first.” He sighs, and I can see the uneasiness beneath the happy-go-lucky facade.

  I shake my head slowly. “That is the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard. I think you may be worse than me. You know what you are? You’re the St. Bernard of Death.”

  His laugh is so loud that the birds pecking on the shore rise into the air with a mad flapping of wings. “What the hell is the St. Bernard of Death?”

  “You know the myth that St. Bernards carried a cask of brandy to help stranded travelers in the snow?” He nods but continues looking at me like I’m nuts. “Well, I’ve been thinking that you’re like a St. Bernard with that flask, but now I know it’s to be used for death, not rescue.”

  I lean over and pat his head like a dog. When his laughter subsides, he says, “What goes on in that head of yours?”

  “You don’t want to know. It’s a strange place.”

  He hands me his flask. The alcohol burns like crazy going down. I wipe my mouth and hand it back. “That’s horrible. What is it?”

  “It’s strong. That’s what’s most important.”

  “Well, for death, maybe. But not for enjoyment.”

  Dan stands. “Be right back.” He disappears into the darkness of the trees and returns five minutes later with a wine bottle. “Here, try this. Maple mead.”

  It’s delicious, with a nice alcohol bite to cut the sweetness. I chug some before I hand it back. “Yum, thanks. How’d you get it and escape so quickly?”

  “I said I’d be back in ten minutes.”

  “You didn’t! Now they’ll be waiting for you all night.”

  “They’re drunk. In ten minutes they’ll have forgotten I was ever there.”

  I grin and slap at a mosquito, then another. They won’t leave me alone. I don’t want to go inside because it’s nice sitting out here with Dan, but I’ll regret it in an hour when I’m covered with welts.

  “I set up my tent,” Dan says. “We could hang out there to get away from the bugs.”

  “Why aren’t you sleeping in the house?” I ask to avoid answering. I feel a little weird about going to his tent even though his suggestion didn’t seem like a come-on.

  “I like my privacy, always have.”

  “Me, too. There’s not much of it these days.” I try to stealthily slap my arm and scratch a new bite that’s formed on my ankle.

  “You’re getting eaten alive,” Dan says. “Let’s go to my tent. It’s cooler than in the house. You can sleep with me, if you want.” I look up from my ankle, eyebrows raised. “I meant in your own sleeping bag.”

  I laugh. “I thought you were inviting me to The Love Den.”

  “I would, but I get the feeling you’d say no.”

  “Right you are.” The thought of kissing Dan rises in my mind. There’s a split second where my body tingles at the idea of someone’s touch, but I quash it before it can gain traction. It’s just the idea of not being alone tonight that’s attractive. “Okay, sure. I’ll go get my sleeping bag.”

  I grab my stuff while Dan visits the kitchen. The others aren’t back from the party yet, so I don’t have to explain. I’d never hear the end of it, completely innocent or not. He’s set up his tent by the picnic tables, and I follow him in once he’s turned on the lantern. A sleeping bag covers the floor and his backpack sits beside it, book peeking out of the top. I sit on my sleeping bag and watch as he pours the mead into two cups from the kitchen.

  “For the lady,” he s
ays, and hands me one.

  “Thanks.”

  He unlaces his boots and sets them by the door, then pulls a self-inflating pillow out of his pack and puts it behind me on my sleeping bag. He digs around in his pack again and comes out with his toothbrush and toothpaste.

  “All the comforts of home,” I say. I pour more mead for myself and drink it down. It doesn’t take much; I’m already feeling buzzed. I lie back and close my eyes.

  “You can go to sleep,” Dan says. “I don’t mind. I’m going to read. You don’t have to be alone.”

  It’s exactly what I need—to feel like someone’s watching over me—and I’m surprised that Dan understands. I never know what he’s thinking. He always keeps it light, which is why I’ve spent so much time with him lately.

  The pages of his book rustle, and I open my eyes to find him reading A Walk in the Woods. It’s not the same copy I took with me when we left Brooklyn a year ago, the one that burned along with my parents’ cabin, but Adrian’s copy is in the farm’s library. I try not to think about that part and say, “I love that book. Do you like it?”

  “You recommended another one of his books, remember? I really like it. I’ll read out loud if you want.”

  I don’t even consider brushing my teeth. If I fall asleep now, I might get eight hours. I listen while Dan reads about Bill Bryson’s adventures on the Appalachian Trail and laugh when his voice cracks at the funny parts. Adrian and I wanted to hike the Appalachian Trail. It was one of those things we’d planned to do before we had kids. Just us, and two thousand miles of bears and blisters and wilderness.

  A rock forms in my throat. I’m so tired of missing him, of feeling lonely. I concentrate on the words until I can breathe again and open my eyes. Dan looks up from the book.

  “That life is over,” I say. “Hiking a trail for fun. Eating at restaurants. Not having to be afraid of anything except a black bear.”

  “It has to end sometime,” Dan says, and lays the book down. “They can’t live forever.”

  “But maybe not before we all die. One by one.”

  I want Dan to convince me he’s right, but he only shrugs. “If it’s your time, then it’s your time.”