Until the End of the World (Book 2): And After (23 page)

The ride to Quebec is almost three hours, what with having to clear out the customs booths that were jam-packed with cars and temporary fences. Thankfully, they weren’t jam-packed with Lexers, although we had to take care of a few. The authorities tried to cordon off Canada, but obviously that didn’t work out. The farther away we travel from Kingdom Come, the worse I feel. I know I don’t have nothing—I have Bits. Right now I may not be fully invested in living, but if Bits were gone I don’t think I could muster the energy to keep fighting. There would be nothing left to fight for.

I sit in the back of the van, book unopened on my lap. Dan drives, while Peter, Toby and Ana scan the countryside. Shawn, Jamie, Liz and Caleb are in the pickup, pulling the trailer. The trailer holds our fuel drums, and we’re hoping to fill the rest of the empty space with food in Stowe and Waterbury tomorrow. Empty farmhouses and overgrown fields flash by, broken by the occasional copse of trees. It’s not as mountainous here compared to Kingdom Come, although the ground moves up and down in gentle waves that look like someone took a fuzzy green blanket and carelessly threw it over the dirt.

“Earth to Cassandra,” Peter says.

I look up. “What? Sorry.”

He joins me in the back. “I saw you and Penny talking. You both looked upset.”

I look around the van, but the others are busy pointing out a group of Lexers caught in a barbed wire fence. “She was just telling me what an awful mother I am.”

Peter looks like he’s about to argue, but I nod and lean my head on the seat back. “No, she’s right. I’ve been a shitty mother. The worst part is that I told myself I was doing some great thing for Bits by protecting her and was annoyed that she wasn’t thankful. But I was being selfish.”

“You’re not selfish. You’re always doing things for other people.”

“No, that was Adrian.”

“And why do you think he loved you? You’re just like him.”

I don’t feel like him. Adrian was what I aspired to, but I’m too flawed, too prone to fucking things up. And then he went and did the most unselfish act a person can do for another. He did it for me, and I don’t deserve it.

“You always offer to take a shift when someone doesn’t want it—even the laundry,” Peter says. “On poop day. You make a huge deal out of everyone’s birthdays. You want everyone to be happy and go out of your way to make people laugh, especially when they’re sad.”

I shrug. “Who doesn’t do all those things?”

“Lots of people, that’s who.”

“You do.”

“Well, that’s because I’m a pretty amazing guy.”

I roll my head his way to find him grinning at me. “Well, be that as it may, I’ve still been a shitty mother.”

“Cut yourself some slack, as John would say. It’s been a rough few months. You’ve done your best.”

“No, I haven’t.” I watch trees flash by. “It should’ve been me, in the woods. At the fence. People needed him more than they need me.”

“What?”

“I’ve ruined everything that was good. Adrian wouldn’t have done that.”

“Adrian kept you alive because he didn’t want to be without you,” Peter says in a forceful voice that makes me turn to him. He almost looks angry. “You haven’t ruined everything. You just forgot to keep on living. That was all he wanted—for you to keep living. Believe me, I know.”

I picture Peter standing on the dumpsters as we drove away that day in Bennington. He’d looked happy, he
had
been happy.

“It feels wrong,” I whisper. “Like a betrayal.”

He puts his arm around my shoulder. “I know that, too. But it’s not. Do you believe that?”

I nod, although I don’t yet. Not fully, anyway. “I yelled at Bits before we left. I scared her. She was worried, and instead of trying to make her feel better, I made it worse. She hates me, and I don’t blame her.”

“No, she doesn’t,” he says, and squeezes my hand. “She loves you. And she needs you, but you’ve been…missing.”

It hurts to hear him say it, but it’s the truth. I’m getting a lot of truth today. “Well, I’m not anymore. When we get back, the first thing I’m going to do is apologize to her.”

I want to turn around. I want to fix this. I’m not sure how to do it, but I’m starting right now. I rest my head on Peter’s shoulder and watch a Lexer meander in a field. I still hate them, though. That’s never going to change.

“Anyone know French?” Toby asks. “How are we going to know what they’re saying?”

“Toby, you’re an idiot,” Dan says. “They talk to us by radio. How do you think that happens?”

“Oh, right.”

“I think we should have turned a minute ago,” Ana says, and studies the map in her lap.

Dan slows, and the truck pulls alongside. Shawn leans out the window. “What’s up?”

“I think we were supposed to turn back there,” Ana says. “Can you turn with the trailer?”

“I can do anything,” Shawn says. “Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

Jamie rolls her eyes from the passenger seat. “Are we lost?”

“I don’t think so,” Ana says. “But all the French names are throwing me off.”

“Google it!” Caleb yells from the back of the pickup.

“That joke never gets old, Cabe,” Liz says.

The next road is paved, and we follow it alongside a lake surrounded by a fence made of rope, barbed wire and wood until we reach the turnoff. A short dark-haired man in his sixties stands behind the chain-link.

“Kingdom Come?” he asks in Quebecois-accented English.

Dan nods, and the man smiles, his broad-featured face breaking into a network of lines. “Hello! I’m Gabriel. I’ll take you to the main house.”

He nods to an older man in a driver’s cap, who unlocks the chain that secures the fence and swings it back. Gabriel straddles a bike and motions us to follow him down the dirt road. It’s heavily wooded, except for a large house in a clearing every four hundred feet or so. They’re beautiful houses; most are two-story, with back porches on which to sit and enjoy the lakefront view. The lake is still, reflecting the blue sky and puffy clouds of the sweltering day.

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?”

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 smile.

“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.”