After the Ending (33 page)

His sincerity angered me even more. “You don’t care about
me,” I snapped. “Let’s be honest, Jake. You just feel like you have to protect
me because I remind you of your sister.” I couldn’t believe what I’d said—I
knew it wasn’t true.

“You know that’s not why,” he said through clenched
teeth. He stepped closer, and the heat of his body wrapped around me, tempting
me to lean into him.

Instead, I timidly took a step backward. “Isn’t that why
you saved me to begin with?”

Rage filled his eyes as he again closed the distance
between us. “Oh, so if I saw you getting raped and you
didn’t
remind me
of her, you think I would’ve walked away? Give me a fucking break!” Infuriated,
he turned away from me and paced back and forth. “For supposedly being able to
read people’s minds or whatever, you’re really shitty at it.”

“I already told you, I try not to. I thought—”

“STOP IT! Tell me what’s really going on,” he demanded.
“Did I piss you off? Where the hell is this coming from?”

I waivered. Everything Jake had said during the last few
minutes was finally sinking in. I desperately wanted to tell him how I
felt…that I cared about him too.

Before I could react, the heavy, metal door swung open,
and Sanchez stepped inside. “We’ve got a situation,” she said gravely. “Both of
you—come with me.” She turned and walked out of the gym, oblivious to the
argument she’d interrupted, and expected us to follow her.

I glanced at Jake, and the fierce glint in his eyes told
me our conversation wasn’t over. Both of us were still breathing heavily as we
followed Sanchez in silence, hurrying to catch up with her. A gentle breeze
cooled my sweaty skin, making me shiver, and I rubbed my arms for warmth. I
could see Jake eyeing me from the edge of my vision, willing me to look at him,
but I refused. I didn’t know what the hell to do…I was embarrassed about what
I’d said and was afraid of what might happen when our conversation continued.

As we made our way toward the barracks, I spotted Harper.
He looked haggard as he eased himself down onto the bench of a picnic table. I
ran to him, squatting in front of him and taking in his appearance. “What’s
wrong, H?”

Harper smiled and kissed my forehead. “I’m fine, Baby
Girl. I’m feeling a lot better, just really tired. I haven’t been sleeping very
well,” he explained as he straightened, portraying the cocky façade he knew I
wanted to see. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning for me to sit beside him.

I did and glanced over at Jake who was standing in front
of us. Even he appeared concerned, his eyebrows drawn together and his mouth
pressed into a thin line.

Harper’s eyes shifted back and forth between us, and he
hesitated.

“Whatever it is, just tell us,” I pleaded. “Don’t beat
around the bush. I’ll reach in and grab it if I have to,” I threatened,
realizing my freakish empathy-thing was pointless if I didn’t start using it to
my advantage.

He winked. “Promise?”
    

I tilted my head to the side and exhaled in exasperation.

Chuckling, he said, “Calm down. I’ll tell you.”

The late-morning sun was bright, and Harper squinted into
the light before closing his eyes—its rays seemed to rejuvenate him right in
front of us.

“I’ve been seeing things…strange things,” he said
thoughtfully, looking over to gauge my reaction before he glanced at Jake.

“You’re like Sanchez, Jake, and me…the Virus changed you
too,” I clarified.

Harper nodded. “I’ve been having bad dreams for a while
now, but they’ve gotten worse recently.” His eyes didn’t leave Jake as he
continued, “The night before it happened, I saw Zoe being poisoned.”

 “Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” Jake
practically growled.

Harper’s eyes narrowed at him, and Jake’s fierce
expression faltered, melting into shame. “It was too late,” Harper said
defensively. “When it really
did
happen—when you
were
poisoned—I
was…shocked.” He looked at me, his eyes filled with regret. “You died in my
dream. That’s why I practically gave up…I didn’t think we could save you.” He
paused. “But here you are…and not because of me. If Jake hadn’t known he could
save you…if he hadn’t made me do the transfusion…” Harper shook his head, and I
could feel his self-disgust.

The look on his face was excruciatingly heartbreaking. I
threw my arms around him, squeezing him as tightly as I could. “Jake didn’t
know for sure, H. You did everything you could. It’s okay.”

Harper scoffed just as Jake averted his gaze.

Releasing him, I sat up and waited for him to continue.

He rubbed his hands over his face. “And then last night,
I dreamt of a fire. I knew it was here on base, but I couldn’t tell where. I
just know it’ll happen…I can feel it,” he said, shaking his head. “There was
death and fear and screaming…I woke up before I could see anything else.”

I studied Sanchez, who’d been standing silently, and then
Jake, who had sat down on the opposite side of the tabletop, his feet on the
bench and his elbows resting on his knees. I could feel Jake’s fear as he watched
Harper intently. I had the distinct impression that there was something they
weren’t telling me.

When the wind shifted direction, carrying with it the
faint scent of smoke, we all straightened in alarm simultaneously.

“Please tell me Biggs is burning something,” I said, but
before anyone could respond, one of the common room windows shattered,
scattering shards of glass on the ground below. Black smoke billowed out, and
flames lapped up the edges of the window frame.

“What the fuck?” Sanchez exclaimed quietly, stealing the
words out of my mouth.

Before we could react, more windows burst. The fire
spread hungrily, seeming to instantaneously engulf the barracks—the place that
had become our home. Greedy flames consumed the walls and windows, and dense
smoke filled the sky with a gray haze that blocked out the sun. I was lulled
into a horrified trance by the crackling, roaring inferno.

I heard movement behind me and looked over my shoulder to
see Sarah, Biggs, and Cooper running toward us. The terrified look on Sarah’s
face as her eyes found the flames triggered my own fear, and my heart seemed to
stop. “Where are the others?” I shrieked hysterically.

“Dave and Stacey were playing pool,” Sanchez said
hollowly.

In an instant, Jake was running toward the
barracks…toward the flames…toward the death Harper had seen in his dreams.

Without thinking, I was up and running too. “No!” I heard
someone scream as I chased after Jake. It wasn’t until the second scream that I
realized it was me.

“Someone grab Cooper!” Sanchez ordered, and her arms
latched around my chest, ripping me to the ground. I struggled against her, but
the more I resisted, the more physical she got, grappling with me on the
gravel.

“Get off me!” I cried, but she ignored my demand.

From my uncomfortable vantage point, I watched a surreal
scene play out. Cooper’s fluffy tail hung low as he sprinted toward the
barracks, following Jake. Harper grabbed the Husky and pulled him back, away
from the blaze. In vain, I made a final attempt to break free from Sanchez’s
stronghold.

“Stop fighting me, Zoe! He’ll be fine. He’ll live!” she
yelled, but I barely heard her.

I saw Jake open the main doors and immediately step to
the side, hesitating. A ferocious ball of flames exploded through the doorway,
seeming to reach for him. Instantly, I stopped fighting. Sanchez froze behind
me, her arms and legs still tight around my body. The moment Jake lunged into
the hungry flames, terror flooded my senses, paralyzing me. Although I hoped he
would survive, I wasn’t ignorant enough to think him immortal.

Dave’s in there.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as
I considered it—I thought of how scared he must be…and cried harder.

Something wet dripped on my shoulder, interrupting my
horrific thoughts. I craned my neck to see Sanchez’s face, expressionless as
tears leaked from her eyes as well. Her grip on me loosened slightly, but I
didn’t move, feeling her sorrow. She’d mourned the loss of her friends who had
died from the Virus. She’d mourned the team members who had fallen victim to
the Crazies, and now she mourned the innocents inside the building who were
burning to death after having survived so much.

“I’m getting medical supplies,” Harper yelled, running in
the direction of the hospital.

Sarah, restraining Cooper by his collar, was sobbing in
Biggs’s arms. He held her like the universe was ending—his eyes were glassy and
all color had drained from his frowning face.

“Isn’t there something we can do?” I asked Sanchez,
taking a deep breath and trying to ignore my own tears.

She shook her head. “No,” she said helplessly.

I stood and started pacing back and forth, attempting to
rein in my hysteria. I knew Jake would probably die, and I was so angry at
him—at myself—that I screamed.
I should’ve told him how I felt!

“He’ll live, Zoe,”
Sanchez said, trying to
reassure me again, though I knew she didn’t believe it wholeheartedly.

After hesitating and looking back and forth at Sanchez
and me, Biggs said, “She’s gone,” so quietly that I barely heard him over the
roaring flames. At his words, my heart stopped.

“What do you mean, Sergeant?” Sanchez asked, her face
filled with dread.

“Sarah and I just checked on Clara. She wasn’t in there,”
Biggs explained. “We saw the smoke…” He shook his head. “I should’ve taken a
goddamn radio with me.” Biggs looked back at the fire, and his eyes widened
with realization. “It spread too quickly…shit, our fuel…” Biggs abruptly ran in
the direction of our fuel supply.

Sanchez marched back and forth, completely mystified.
“How can she be gone? I’m the only one with the goddamn key!”

Sarah watched Sanchez nervously. “The door to her cell
was open,” she said. “Somehow, someone let her out.”

In the midst of our confusion, Cooper resumed barking and
tugging against Sarah’s hold, nearly tearing her arm from its socket.

“Don’t let him go!” I yelled and pointed at Cooper before
I took off running. I knew he’d sensed Jake before seeing him stagger out from
behind the burning barracks. With a body flung over his shoulder, Jake barely
took three steps around the corner of the building before falling to the
ground. My legs carried me toward him faster as adrenaline took control.

Nearing him, I compared his sizzling body to the limp
form beside him. Tanya was unconscious with sooty smudges on her face and
clothes, while smoke rose from Jake—his clothes had burned off, and he was
covered in a patchwork of raw blisters, melted flesh, and charred, flaking
skin.

“Oh my God, Jake!” I screamed. I reminded myself that he
was different—that he of all people might be able to survive such severe burns.
But his scorched flesh only bolstered my creeping doubts.
The gunshot wound
healed,
I reminded myself.
But this is his whole body…

“Harper! Someone! Help him!” I shouted, but Harper was
nowhere in sight.

Falling to my knees, I held my hands over Jake, not
knowing what to do. The stench of burnt meat assaulted the back of my nose and
clung to my tongue. Trying to bridle the churning of my stomach, I searched in
vain for an
unmarred
part of his body.

Instinctively, I turned away and vomited until there was
nothing left in my stomach.

“Harper! Hurry! Please!” I begged, wiping my mouth with
the back of my hand. My throat burned, and sweat and tears made my skin clammy.

As I sat on the ground, shaking, I noticed the
spiral-bound corner of a singed book peeking out from beneath Tanya’s legs—my
sketchbook
.

My heart felt swollen, and it was difficult to breathe. I
thought my heart just might burst open and drown me in misery if I was never
able to thank him.
You stupid, stupid man.

Dani

Before the Virus, I’d never really thought about the world
ending…at least the world as I knew it. If I had, I probably would’ve imagined
complete anarchy. Well, the world ended, and there definitely were people
handling the situation in a more predictable way—raping, murdering, stealing
from other survivors—but not on our ranch. Structure and discipline were the
backbone of
our
survivor lifestyle.

The morning after we ran into Mr. Grayson, we spent hours
setting our schedule for the next several days. We were planning to leave for
Colorado in a week, agreeing that horseback would be the most reliable mode of
transportation. Mandatory riding lessons were assigned to the morning hours
every day—we couldn’t afford incompetence or ignorance.

“No! Holly! Pick a direction and stick to it!” I shouted
from my perch atop Wings in the arena. Holly was jerking the reins frantically,
causing her horse to trot in a haphazard zigzag at her contradictory commands.

I jumped when a hand patted the outside of my thigh.
“What…oh, Jason…” I stared at the hand that seemed to be searing its print onto
my leg.

“About time to head over to Grayson’s,” Jason said.

“Now?” I peeked at my watch; it was noon. “Oh…I lost
track of time.”

“Come on,” he said, sliding his hand up to my hip. “Hop
down so I can suit you up.”

Barely concealing the shiver caused by his touch, I swung
my far leg over Wings’s rear. I was grateful for the stability of Jason’s grasp
as I slid to the ground. He’d been watching over me like my own personal secret
service since the internal freezing incident.

As soon as my feet touched the ground, he let go and led
me into the stable. An array of knives, guns, and holsters were laid out on a
workbench. As he helped me secure a thigh sheath over my jeans, I had to remind
myself that he was touching my leg out of necessity, not desire. Regardless, my
body trembled.

“Nervous?” Jason asked, glancing up as he tightened the
final strap.

“Uh…”

“Don’t be. It’s just Grayson.”
It’s not Grayson that’s getting to me…

Swallowing roughly, I nodded and shrugged into my usual
shoulder holster. I inspected my pistol just like Jason had taught me—checking
the chamber, inserting a loaded magazine, chambering a round, and ensuring the
safety was on. Even with all the deadly equipment, I looked innocent compared
to the lethal
badasses
that Jason and Ky became. Ever
since Dalton and Holly had a nearly fatal encounter with Crazies while hunting,
we’d been entering
every
situation—even the most seemingly
benign—prepared for combat.

We arrived at Mr. Grayson’s house about ten minutes
before our scheduled meeting. Briefly scouting the premises for Crazies, we
found only soggy grass, dripping trees, shrubs, and a chattering squirrel.

At exactly one o’clock in the afternoon we knocked on the
navy-blue front door. We’d left the horses in the backyard—hidden from the
road—with instructions to alert me if they spotted any strangers.

“Ky, man, what’s going on with you?” Jason asked. “You
met the guy yesterday…he’s totally harmless.”

Ky’s hand hovered near the sidearm at his hip, his eyes
shifting incessantly. “I don’t know…it just feels…something doesn’t feel
right…there’s tension…and worry…” He trailed off, unable to find adequate words
to describe whatever ominous sensations he was picking up.

“Right. Well…just calm down, okay?” Jason said just
before the door opened.

Mr. Grayson stood in the doorway, wearing the same type
of wool cardigan he’d always worn in class, along with an unfamiliar expression
of frustration. Two men flanked him—one exceptionally chunky, the other quite
thin. Chunky held a shotgun, and Thin held a hunting rifle, though both weapons
were aimed at the floor.

In one smooth motion, Jason stepped in front of me and
drew his pistol, aiming it at Chunky. Ky had drawn his sidearm a split-second
before, his sights on Thin. Of course, Mr. Grayson’s thugs responded in kind.
It was probably for the best that neither Jason nor Ky had chosen to wield the
assault rifles strapped to their backs—Chunky and Thin didn’t need further
motivation to pull their triggers.

Shocked, I felt fiery anger flood my veins.
How could
he set us up?!
Immediately after thinking it, I knew the lanky,
salt-and-pepper-haired man wouldn’t betray us. His obvious frustration was
starting to make sense.

“Mr. Grayson,” I said calmly from behind Jason. I could
feel Jason’s tension and was worried any movement would trigger gunfire. “I’m
sure this is all just a misunderstanding. We’re not here to hurt you, like
you’re not here to hurt us…
right
?”

After a shaky deep breath, Mr. Grayson unfurrowed his
brow and answered, “As always, Danielle, you’ve seen to the heart of the
matter. These fine young gentlemen are here, though unrequested, for my
protection.” He shot an angry glance at each of them and continued through
clenched teeth, “Clearly, since I’m in no danger, they can
put away their
weapons
.” Each clearly enunciated word seemed to be aimed both at his
bodyguards as well as Jason and Ky.

All four armed men hastily lowered their guns, expressing
embarrassment with hushed apologies.

“Now that that’s over, please come in,” Mr. Grayson said,
holding his arm out as he stepped away from the doorway. “I have tea and coffee
prepared in the kitchen. If you would, just seat yourselves at the table.”

An armed standoff followed
by tea and coffee…how civilized,
I thought, stifling an extremely
inappropriate giggle.

As Chunky turned to lead us down a hallway into the
kitchen, I caught his eye and suddenly recognized him—Dan Benson. He’d
graduated with Zoe and me, though neither of us had really known him. He
glanced back at me, his face full of suspicion and curiosity, and I noted that
the nearly nine years since high school hadn’t been kind to him. I offered him
a quick, tight-lipped smile before he looked away, and watched as the back of
his neck reddened.
Odd.

Once I was seated at the table, with Jason to my right
and Ky to my left, I took a moment to examine the other man—Thin—wondering if
he was someone I used to know as well. He wasn’t.

After inquiring, Mr. Grayson served Jason and Ky coffee
and made me a cup of tea. He prepared the same for himself and sat in a chair
opposite us at the round, walnut table. Apparently satisfied that we wouldn’t
hurt Mr. Grayson, Dan and Thin disappeared to some other part of the house.

“It’s best if you save your questions until the end of
this tale,” Mr. Grayson said, his voice sure and resonant like that of an
ancient bard. “Otherwise I might leave out something important. Agreed?”

The three of us nodded. I was eager to listen to his
rendition of the past month’s happenings in our sleepy hometown. Based on
Jason’s barely discernible expression, he shared my anticipation. Ky, on the
other hand, just looked at us, confused. He’d never experienced a riveting
history lesson delivered by one of the region’s most-loved teachers.

Leaning forward, Mr. Grayson intertwined his leathery
fingers and rested his hands on the table. “It was the last week of November
when we first noticed people catching the Virus. Our numbers of infected seemed
on par with the rest of the West Coast, and we weren’t worried. By the end of
that week, we’d lost one person—an infant, the first to be infected in Bodega
Bay. Sad as it was to lose a life barely started, we still weren’t worried.
Infants and the elderly are the easiest prey for any flu.” He shook his head
softly, a small, sad smile deepening the creases around his mouth.

“Entering the first week of December, our town rode on a
wave of forced normalcy and departed in a torrent of uncontrolled despair. Most
of the young and elderly were dead or dying. From the increasingly sporadic
reliable news reports, we gathered that the same had happened everywhere else
along the West Coast, if not the whole country. Maybe even the world.

“Eighty percent of the town’s population had succumbed to
the Virus by mid-December, and news from the outside had essentially stopped. A
new town council formed by the end of the third week. The council was composed
of nine elected members, including me, and we began creating a plan to help the
town’s remaining 247 residents survive in this changed world. For a few days,
it went well. Everyone was eager to help, willing to fulfill any role they were
assigned. We were getting by.

“By the end of the third week, we started noticing a
couple of strange developments: first, some people were displaying unusual
talents, and second, others were exhibiting a lack of emotional control and
various symptoms of insanity. Some abnormal behavior is, of course, acceptable
in such extreme situations, but this was far beyond that.” He flexed his
fingers, creating white splotches on the backs of his hands.

“After the first few people displaying unusual talents
were verbally attacked and ostracized by townsfolk—labeled as ‘freaks’—everyone
started keeping to themselves. Some of the emotionally unstable survivors tried
rallying others against the ‘freaks,’ leading to five violent deaths. Our
population was down to 242. After that incident, few people were willing to
help with the town’s survival planning. Instead they chose to stay in their
homes, defending themselves and their remaining family members, and keeping any
new talents a secret. They’d only venture out to attend the nightly town
meetings.” He paused, locking eyes with each of us.

“That all changed on Christmas Eve. The Town Council put
together a holiday feast, hoping to create a feeling of community and
camaraderie that might help alleviate the recent tensions. Only seventy-four
people, a fraction of the remaining townsfolk, showed up. Those present worried
about many of their absent friends—people who’d expressed an interest in
attending the event. Before eating, we set out in groups to check on the homes
of the missing families. What we found was almost too horrible to comprehend.

“Half of the houses were empty, while the others were
occupied by the remains of ghastly atrocities. We called it the Christmas Eve
Massacre, in remembrance of those who were murdered. You see, it was the
occupants of the empty houses who committed the heinous acts, ripping apart
thirty-five of the flu Survivors. We don’t know why they did it; we only know
who they are. We call them the Lost Ones.

“The sane town members, now numbering seventy-four, have
relocated to the most defensible position in town—the boats moored at Sand
Point Marina. We keep watchmen out at all times and usually travel outside of
the defended area only in armed groups. Every person has memorized the names
and faces of the 107 remaining Lost Ones. If seen, they are killed if possible
and avoided if not.

“Now,” Mr. Grayson said, separating his hands and
splaying them palm down on the table, “we’d like to invite you and your people
to join us at our town meeting tomorrow evening. Due to the many tasks we must
attend to during the day, it doesn’t begin until half past seven, so I’m afraid
you’ll be required to travel to and from the marina in the dark. Even so, I
sincerely hope you’ll attend.” He settled back in his chair, folding his hands
and resting them on his lap.

Shaken from the spell woven by Mr. Grayson’s hypnotic
voice, I was able to feel the cool wetness of tears streaking down my face. I
was also able to feel Jason’s strong fingers intertwined with mine, our joined
hands dangling in the space between our chairs. I met Jason’s eyes briefly, and
upon seeing the raw horror and sorrow they contained, tightened my grip. An
awful thing had happened to
our
town…to
our
people.

“Do you have any questions?” Grayson asked, breaking
through the lingering fog of emotion.

At a complete loss for words, I shook my head. I was
still processing what he’d told us.

“Thank you, Sir, for telling us this…” Jason paused.
“…this news. We’ll definitely increase our defenses. And yes, some of us will
attend your meeting tomorrow night. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of questions by then.”

Mr. Grayson nodded.

“Now,” Jason said, his eyes again meeting mine, “we
should be going.” He gave my hand one last squeeze and gently placed it on my
knee.

I looked from my hand to Jason to Mr. Grayson, and my
head finally cleared. “Wait!” I blurted. “Do you think…maybe…we could borrow
some of your books? There are still so many things we can learn to help us have
a better chance at survival.”

“Oh yes, I forgot…of course, Danielle. I set aside a
handful of books for you based on the ones you pulled and left here yesterday.
They’re on the table by the door. And please,” he stood and held his hand out
toward the rooms full of bookshelves, “take any others you think you could
use.”

Filled with unexpected relief by his kindness, I bounced
out of my chair, ran around the table, and flung my arms around my former
teacher. “It’s so good to see you, Mr. G,” I said, a hitch in my voice. “I’m
glad you’re not dead.”

Mr. Grayson gently patted my back. “And I, you, Miss.
O’Connor.”

Date: January 3, 7:45 PM

From: Danielle O’Connor

To: Zoe Cartwright

Subject: Craziness and Crazies

Zo,
    

We met with Mr. Grayson today, and it was…enlightening. And
depressing. Less than a hundred people are left alive and sane. The Crazies
(“Lost Ones” as the townsfolk call them) attacked a bunch of survivors in their
homes and slaughtered them. Literally tore them to pieces. People we know were
mutilated by other people we know. What the hell?