Until the End of the World (Book 1) (23 page)

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.

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.”

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.

“Careful, John,” I say. The flies rise from his body in a swirl and then settle down again. I gag. You don’t see flies on Lexers, I realize, maybe because they don’t decompose normally.

“Shot,” John says. “Look at his chest.”

Sam’s shirt is encrusted with dried blood. He was so worried that he was making the wrong decision to stand his ground. It looks like that’s what he died trying to do.

“Jesus,” Nelly says. “It had to have been living people.”

“Let’s go,” John says. “They may still be around.”

The parking lot is no longer empty when we turn. About twenty Lexers move across the lot, but they’re far enough that we can beat them to the truck, although it means running toward them. Nelly and John must think so, too because they take off at the same time I do. But we stop when four more come out from behind a van. My gun is in my hand. I’m not sure when that happened, but I’m glad it’s there.

I stop and sight, just like Dad taught me.
Breathe in. Relax.
I aim for the head of a woman I think I recognize. She bares her teeth and lunges. That’s when I remember—she worked at the café and would bare her teeth like this whenever we came in as teenagers, even though we always tipped well.

Left hand underneath to steady. Use the right to aim. Line ‘em up. Exhale.
I pull the trigger. The sound is loud and my hands jolt. But she goes down, head half gone in a splatter of brown gore. John hits two, and Nelly gets the other. But stopping has given the other Lexers time to get between us and our truck.

John’s voice is calm. “Take the ones on your side first.”

It’s so reassuring that I can’t help but obey. The first takes two shots to go down, the next in line takes only one. I miss the next one’s head and, after being thrown back by the impact, he staggers closer. I pull the trigger again and hear a click. Six shots. I lost count.

A steady stream of curses flies from my mouth as I shove the pistol in my holster and slide the machete out from behind me. All I can do is stand and wait until he’s covered the few feet between us. I hear my rasping breaths, but I feel still. There’s nothing else in the world but me and this balding, middle-aged man. Maybe he was an accountant before someone disemboweled him. His intestines hang down, covered in dirt and flakes of dried leaves. His mouth is open and his eyes are blank, but he comes for me like he has twenty-twenty vision.

I raise the machete in a two-handed grip, the way my dad taught me to swing a bat the one disastrous year I played softball, and the only game my team ever won was a forfeit. I step forward and swing like I’m going for a home run. It slams into his neck with a crunch that reverberates up my arms. I can’t pull it out to swing again; it must be lodged in his spine. But it’s enough. He drops to the ground. I almost follow him down until I release my hold on the handle. John and Nelly stand, guns still raised, but the rest of the Lexers are in a heap, covered in the remains of their head cavities.

“More coming,” John says. He points behind us.

More Lexers stumble over the bodies and bricks, which gives us the chance to make it to the truck. John fires the engine before our doors are closed. They slam shut as he swerves to avoid what remains of the school and the people who sought safety inside it.

“Lord, protect us,” he says, watching the scene in the rearview mirror. A few limp after us. Some seem to have already forgotten we were there and wander aimlessly.

“I know,” Nelly says, breathless. “It’s unbelievable.”

John shakes his head. “You told me. But when you haven’t seen it with your own eyes…dead people walking.”

I load my pistol, the box of ammo next to me. Next time I’ll wear the double holster. I have a feeling there will be a next time, and maybe a time after that.

Nelly turns in his seat. “Cass, you okay? That was quite a move with the machete.”

I click the cylinder home. “I need some practice with a gun. It’s been a while. And we need sharper blades. The machete worked, but it got stuck in bone and I lost it.” I know it’s not what he’s asking, but it’s all I can think of right now—how to win the war it seems we’ve been drafted into.

Nelly looks at me closely. His eyes flick back and forth. “Yeah, okay. But are you sure you’re fine?”

“She’s okay,” John says. He doesn’t look worried, and I’m glad, because I feel like maybe I should be hyperventilating. But I’m not. “Cassie’s tough as nails.”

We make it to the little farm goods store without running across anything alive or dead. We find walkie-talkie radios, boots and clothes in peace. I stand watch, but I only see two Lexers way down the road, under a tree, doing who knows what. Waiting for the bus, I guess.

Next stop is the convenience store. The windows are shattered, and the beer cooler is cleared out. I wonder at the people who, when faced with life or death, grab beer and television sets.

As we wade through the crunchy glass, I see some bananas that are way past their prime in a basket on the counter. I grab them and all the apples, which are still okay. I think about taking some cigarettes for James, but it seems mean to bring him more since he’s quit. And, anyway, once I look I see they’re gone, too.

We only take a few things. Other people, if there are other people, probably need food a lot more than we do. What we’re really after is in the back. John breaks open a locked door and leads us into the office. Inside is a big radio.

“Richard Morgan, owner of this shop, he’s a HAM radio operator. He’s shown me a few times when I’ve asked. Always wanted to get into it, get a decent radio, but it was always one of these days.” John shrugs and gives a rueful smile. “I guess today’s the day. What we want most is the antenna.”

He heads outside and points out a cord that travels up a little pole on the roof. Nelly stands on the truck and pulls out the staples that hold it to the building. With a grunt he ratchets off the last bolt and lowers the pole. John carefully ties it to the roof. We follow this with some of the radio equipment.

I see a few figures limping our way. We were going to siphon some gas, but we can refill with John’s supply, so we head back toward the safety of home. Penny and James are on the porch as we pull up. They look relieved when we step out of the truck unscathed.

“How’d it go?” James asks. “What’s happening in town?”

We shake our heads. He nods like he expected no different.

“Did you run into any of them?” Penny asks.