Until the End of the World (Book 1) (14 page)

“Tent. Resting.” Not that he had to do watch last night. Nelly gives me a questioning look, and I raise my hands in the air.

Henry’s held on to the pistol we gave him to use during watch, and he checks it now. We make sure the rest of the guns are loaded and ready to go. I hand Penny one of the revolvers, and she takes it reluctantly.

Hank makes me smile when he mimes a whack at a head with a stick. I try to hide it, but he looks so funny with his determined little kid face that I fail. I probably shouldn’t encourage him, but I think he’s got a handle on the situation. He isn’t about to head off to whatever make-believe land Ana and Peter are currently inhabiting.

“Wait,” James says, as we pull out. He looks torn. “I’m staying. Penny and Dottie are here with the kids. I’d feel better if they weren’t alone.”

“I thought your friend Peter was here,” Henry says.

“Yeah. Me too,” James says, before he jumps out.

I think about staying too, but I want to go. I hate being left behind to wait for the bad news I’m always afraid is coming.

The park road twists and turns and finally deposits us on a two-lane road bordered by fields and a few scattered houses. After a few miles the houses get more frequent, although there’s no one outside.

“About a quarter mile now, on the left,” Henry says.

The sign says Sam’s Surplus, and it looks like Sam lives in the back of the peeling blue house. Our feet creak up the wooden porch steps, and we peek in the dark window. There’s a dusty glass counter filled with knives and other items. Bags and clothes hang from hooks on the ceiling and walls.

Nelly knocks on the door. “Hello? Anyone here?”

A figure makes its way through the gloom. Nelly and Henry back away from the front door as it opens. A pudgy man in his forties, wearing jeans and a Smith and Wesson T-shirt, looks at us suspiciously. His brown hair is streaked with gray, and what looks like a week’s stubble coats the lower half of his face and neck.

“Yeah? You’re not cops.” He tells us more than asks us this as he glares at the Parkway Police-emblazoned truck.

“No, we’re not,” Nelly says. “We were hoping to buy some supplies. We’re camping up the way.”

“Ain’t camping season.”

“Yeah, well, we left the city and are trying to get further north. But we need a few things.”

“Where?” We all look at him blankly. He tries again, with a sigh, like he has to deal with people as dumb as us all the time. “What city did you leave?”

“Oh. New York. Brooklyn,” Nelly replies.

The man runs his eyes over us and swings the door open. “C’mon. Cash only.”

The inside smells of dust and old clothes. Boxes are stacked on the shelves. We’re going to need his help to find anything in here.

“What d’ya need?”

Obviously, with this guy, the less said the better, so I read off the top few items on our list. “Sleeping bag, stove fuel, siphons, a lantern.”

He walks behind the counter and pulls out bottles of fuel and a lantern. After a couple of gruff questions, he chooses a sleeping bag for us and backpacks for Henry. Another minute passes before Nelly broaches the subject of weapons.

“Do you have any machetes?” he asks.

The man ignores him and leans under the counter again. Nelly looks at me and shrugs. The door to the back of the house is ajar, and I think I hear something familiar on the kitchen radio. I walk to where he’s rummaging around under the counter. I hope I’m right.

“Is that Preparedness Radio?” I ask.

He raises himself up and looks at all of us in turn but finally decides that the voice must have come out of me. “Yeah. You know about Prepper Radio?” he asks doubtfully.

“Of course. My dad was a prepper.” He raises an eyebrow. “That’s where we’re heading. His house.”

“How’d you get out of New York?”

“Well, we had some information about the bombing and knew it was time to bug out.”

He nods. I can tell he likes that I used the term bug out. “What’s the house like?”

I keep it short and sweet. “It’s a log cabin on twenty acres with an acre of fenced garden. A year’s worth of food for four adults. Outbuildings, gravity-fed water, some solar. On a dirt road. We’re the only house.”

“How’s the food stored?” He’s testing me. But I know the answer.

“Oxygen absorbers and gamma lids. At least besides the home-canned food,” I say, like there’s no other way.

He looks impressed. “Nice set-up.” He’s not quite friendly, but he’s no longer looking at us like we’re aliens.

“It really is.”

The rush of longing I feel to be there, to be safe, to smell the familiar smell of the house and touch all of the familiar objects, almost makes me swoon.

“Sounds like your dad knows what he’s doing.”

“He did. He died a few years ago.” I still hate saying it.

“Sorry,” he offers. I nod. He really does look sorry that another prepper has left the earth. He spreads his hands on the counter and leans forward conspiratorially. “So, what else you folks need?”

And we’re in.

***

Ten minutes later there are machetes on the counter, and the man, who we now know is named Greg, not Sam, tells us about the area.

“They’re setting up some sort of roadblock, I think. There’s a meeting tonight.” He waves a photocopied flyer in the air. “Says something about allocating resources. Which is doublespeak for they’re going to take everything in my store. I’m bugging out tonight while the meeting’s going. Got a place in the hills stocked up. Not as nice as yours, but it’ll do.”

He shrugs his sloped shoulders. “I can’t take a lot of this stuff, so I’m glad to sell it to you. These folks been making fun of me for years for being a prepper. I even got a guy who’ll be stupid enough to accept cash for a few things on my way out. You don’t have gold, do you?”

I shake my head. “Any gold’s at the house.”

There isn’t any gold. My dad was more interested in things that produced energy and food than money. I have a feeling that gold’s going to be as worthless as rocks pretty soon. There’s no such thing as gold stew.

“Well, like I said, I got a guy who’ll still think cash is good.”

“What we really need is more food,” Nelly says. “We don’t know how long it’ll be until we get there. Any idea where we can get some?”

Greg looks up at the ceiling and then at me. “Move your car to the back. Don’t need people seeing you’re here.”

Nelly obliges and is back quickly. Greg locks the front door and heads for his living area.

“Well, c’mon,” he says. I get the feeling Greg doesn’t have much social interaction. He shuts the door behind us and opens a door in the kitchen. “Basement.”

The stairs are dusty, but the basement is shockingly tidy. Boxes and five-gallon buckets are stacked against the walls. A ham radio sits at a desk in one corner.

“So, food. I think I’ve got some down here. You got a problem with MREs? I’ve got a few.”

He removes a box from the stacks and drops it on the floor. I realize all those boxes are full of MREs and laugh. There must be hundreds here.

“MRE’s?” Henry asks.

“Meals Ready to Eat,” I answer. “They feed them to soldiers in the armed forces. They even have heating packets included with them.”

“Your dad did right by you,” Greg says. He idly scratches the part of his stomach that peeks out between his jeans and shirt and looks me over. I smile at him. “So, I got eggs, sloppy joes, beef stroganoff, tortellini, chicken. I can let go of six cases total. Should get you where you’re going. The rest I think I can haul out. I’m not leaving a crumb for those vultures in town.”

His face darkens. I know that Greg’s probably more than a little crazy, but I can commiserate. The people who for years have thought he was overboard are probably seeing him as their own personal store right about now. But, on the other hand, there’s something to be said for pulling together. We put our chosen meals into the boxes he’s set aside. Every time I say something offhand, he nods like I’ve just announced the meaning of life. He even throws in a bunch of freeze-dried food.

“On the house,” he says. “Let’s settle up upstairs.”

Nelly and Henry each grab two boxes, and I go to do the same. Greg shakes his head and takes them from me. “Lady shouldn’t have to carry a box when there’s someone around to do it for her.”

Greg heads up the stairs with a grunt. Nelly follows, but only after turning and giving me a glance that asks if I’m interested, to which I give him a look that shoots daggers. In the kitchen Greg names a fair price and we hand over the cash. We load the truck until there’s just enough room left for me to squeeze into the back seat.

“Thanks a lot, Greg,” I say. “We truly appreciate it. You’ve saved our lives.”

He blushes. “Well, it’ll help you out. I’ve written down a back way for you to get out of the woods without hitting town here.”

He’s written it on the back of the flyer for the town meeting. Nelly and Henry pump his hand and thank him. Nelly waits by the driver’s side for me. Greg hands me the flyer along with another slip of paper.

“I wrote down where I’ll be. In case it doesn’t work out with them.” He cuts his eyes over to the car.

“Oh. Thanks.” I try to smile. It’s always the strange ones.

“I don’t have enough to take in anyone else. But I could stretch it for two. If you need me, you’ll know where to find me.” He smiles. It looks out of place on his face, and I see how lonely he must be. He’s been real nice to us, so I try not to hurt his feelings.

“Thanks, Greg. I really appreciate it. I’ll hold onto this, right here.” I put the paper in my pocket with the ring and pat it. “It’ll be there if I need it.” I hold out my hand to shake, and he clasps it with both of his.

“Really nice meeting you, Cassie.” He doesn’t let go.

I disentangle my hand and try hard not to look like I’m escaping. “You too, Greg.”

“Get his number?” Nelly teases, when we’re back on the road.

“Got his address,” I answer. “I think he may have asked me to move in with him.” Nelly cracks up.

Henry shakes his head. “That guy was a nut job.”

“A bit,” I agree. “But then, who’s prepared for this right now and who’s not?”

“Yeah, but he was still off his rocker,” Nelly says.

“I thought he looked lonely,” I say.

I’m not sure why I’m defending Greg, since I’m relieved to be traveling away from him in a fast-moving vehicle. Maybe because he did us a favor by helping us and repaying it with jokes seems mean. He was harmless, even with all his bluster.

“Cassie Forrest, friend to loners and crazies everywhere,” Nelly says. “He was very generous, though. Good call, Henry.”

“Thanks, he did hook us up. One-stop shopping,” Henry says. He drums his fingers on the door and looks back at me. “And we wouldn’t have gotten all this without you, Cassie. How did you know all that stuff?”

“My parents were preppers. You know, people who store food and stuff for emergencies? Not the crazy militia kind, the homesteading kind. Although my dad was also a bit of a nut. I picked it up over the years.”

“Yeah,” Nelly says. “You did pick up being a nut.”

I pull his hair from the backseat.

“Well, it sounds like your dad was pretty smart, too,” Henry says.

“He was.”

I watch forest flash by and wish with all my heart he were here.

The tables from our two sites have been moved together. I guess this means we’re a group, and I like it. Penny and James help unload. Ana and Peter don’t.

“Wow,” Penny says. “Nice haul.”

“How’d it go?” James asks.

“Well, Cassie was asked for her hand in marriage and we got lots of food,” Nelly says. “So, all in all, it was pretty good.”

Penny and James look at me, but I just shrug and unload while I listen to Nelly tell them the story. He’s playing it up, too. Pretty soon he’ll have Greg down on one knee. It’s afternoon, and camp is quiet after dividing our stuff. I look through my pack, tired of listening to the radio, and pull out my book.

“Of course you brought a book,” Nelly says.

I hold up my old copy of
A Walk in the Woods
. “Actually, I brought two. This seemed like it might be fitting. And I could use a laugh.”

I throw Nelly the other book and he reads the title aloud. “
Tom Brown’s Field Guide to Wilderness Survival
.”

“Seemed fitting as well,” I say.

Henry and the kids are getting firewood for the fire we’re having tonight. So far there’s no one at the campground, and the Washingtons have marshmallows. The kids crash through the woods and drop their loads at the fire pit. Henry follows and smiles at Dottie.

“What a racket, children of mine,” she says. “We need to get in the habit of moving quietly.” Her voice is serious, but she softens it with a smile. They nod.

Corrine plugs her iPod into her ears and then groans. “It’s dead! Dad said I couldn’t use the car to charge it. Now what am I going to do?”

“Read a book?” offers Hank. Corrine looks at him like he’s told her to eat a bug. “Oh, that’s right,” he smirks, “you’re too stupid to read a book.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re the dumb one, Hank. You think dead people are walking around.”

“They are! I
was
right. Dad told me. They don’t want you to know because you act like a baby and will be all like, ‘Oh my God, I’m so scared, wah wah wah.’ ” He grins as she whips her head around to her father in fright.

Henry gives Hank a look that could kill and kneels at her feet. “Corrie, baby, we think it may be true. We don’t understand why. It’s a virus, like a parasite.” Her eyes well up with tears, and she shakes her head.

Henry’s voice is steady as he holds her arms and looks into her eyes. “It’s no different than it was before. I know it seems scarier, but it’s still the same situation. And we’ll be okay. I’m going to make sure of it.”

She grabs her dad in a hug and sobs. Then she realizes that she’s not acting like the teenager she wants to be and lets go. She tries to look calm, but her hands are shaking.

“I think we can spare a little battery time for charging up your iPod,” Dottie says. She leads Corrine to the car with an arm around her shoulders and a gentle murmur.