Until the End of the World (Book 2): And After (26 page)

Dan’s eyes skate up and down in such a way that I touch the bodice to be sure I haven’t forgotten to put it on. “Nice dress.”

“Thanks.” I try to sound casual and curse the cheek capillaries that always give me away.

I help Peter with dinner so I have something to do besides blush, and then take my turn at watch on the RV’s roof. I sit in my dress, rifle across my knees, and wait for Liz to join me.

Footsteps sound up the ladder rungs, but Dan appears. “I switched with Liz, hope you don’t mind.”

I shake my head. I’m going to have to talk to him at some point. I may be twenty-nine, but in these situations I have the awkward tendencies of a teen.

He sits facing me, but off to the side, so he can watch in the opposite direction. “That dress looks even better with a holster.”

“Yeah, accessories make the outfit.”

The light moment ends. I’ve run out of things to say. Crickets—real crickets—chirp in the silence.

“So, I feel like things are weird,” Dan finally says. “I don’t want them to be weird.”

“Me neither. Can we just forget about last night?”

He watches me, face lit orange by the setting sun. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” Dan looks away with a curt nod, so I try to explain. “It’s too soon. I’m not good at this, anyway.”

“At what?”

“At being with someone without it meaning something. And that’s impossible now. Not that I was thinking this was a whole
thing
or anything. It’s just… I think I should steer clear of…anything. And I should probably stop talking since the more I say, the crazier I sound.”

Dan gives me a half smile when I make the universal finger-by-the-ear crazy signal.

“I meant that I know this isn’t a big deal for you,” I continue anyway. He lowers his eyebrows. “You, um, date people a lot. So, it’s on to the next girl for you.”

“Right. Okay.”

I wait for more, but he watches the field silently. I smooth my skirt and replay what I’ve said until I want to dig a hole under the RV and get in it. This watch shift is going to last forever.

“It’s beautiful up here,” Dan says suddenly. “I never thought I’d live in the country.”

I jump on the conversation. “I love it here. I always thought I would live in the country one day, but I had a bit of a different scenario in mind.”

“I’ll bet. I thought I’d live and die in Boston. I still can’t believe I didn’t die there.”

“When did you leave?”

The setting sun has left a purple sky and shadows that shade his expression while he speaks. “I was watching the news, same as everyone. It wasn’t until I finally spoke to my brother, Mike, that I knew how bad things were. He was stuck in his basement in Chicago. He got through on some sort of radio linkup—he said they’d been blocking internet and phones for days. He told me how bad things were, how they were zombies. I laughed when he first said it, but Mike wasn’t much of a jokester. I was at the shop and couldn’t get in touch with anyone, so I decided to walk to my girlfriend Diana’s work.”

He talks in the past tense about his family. Not everyone does that. I don’t want to, but in my heart I know Eric’s dead, and it just slips out.

“The streets were full of looters. I avoided anyone who looked infected. When I watched a group of them attack some poor kid, I realized Mike was right. An army truck went past, and the soldiers opened fire. They didn’t stop—just blew the shit out of those Lexers and kept going. I was about ten feet away when they got up again. They just got up, like nothing had happened. I’ve never been so scared in my life.

“I ran to the hospital. I couldn’t get anywhere near the door, so I went around to the ambulance entrance, but it was blocked. They came at me, so I jumped in an ambulance and took off. The only reason I got out was because I had the sirens going and they let me past. I tried to find my parents and sisters, but I didn’t. I didn’t even get close. And Diana…she was trapped in the hospital. If she was alive.”

I think of Maria; the people in the hospitals were at ground zero.

“I wasn’t the greatest boyfriend, but I tried to save her when it counted. I thought about her first. She never would’ve believed it, but it’s true.” He says the last part in a way that makes me think he hopes she can hear him.

“We all have things we could have said or done,” I say, “but we have to forgive ourselves and believe that they forgive us, too.”

I did apologize to Adrian and make things right; that’s something to be grateful for. I can imagine how I’d feel had I never gotten the chance, and I want to pat Dan’s knee, but I don’t.

“Live like you’ll die tomorrow,” Dan says. “That’s what they say, right? But I didn’t until it was too late.”

“None of us did,” I say. “And it’s hard, even now. We’re human. We get bogged down in all the little things. Maybe it’s impossible to do all the time, you know?”

He nods and everything about him slumps. And then I do rest my hand on his knee. I promise myself I’ll do my best to remember this moment, to never forget that I could lose Bits at any second of any day. We watch the moon rise in silence.

The RV door opens, and Jamie and Shawn climb to the roof.

“Your relief crew is here,” Jamie says. “You’re missing the party—again.”

“Let’s go party,” Dan says, and pulls me up. He climbs down the ladder and waits for me.

“Don’t look up my skirt,” I say.

His teeth flash in the moonlight. “Been there, done that.”

It may not be that funny, but relief at his joke makes me wheeze with laughter. I knock him with my shoulder when I reach the bottom. “Thanks, Danny.”

“Anytime, Cass.”

The RV’s beige and gold interior is littered with empty candy wrappers and gourmet soda bottles. Drinking last night, with guards and a fence, was one thing. Tonight it’s sugar only. Ana sits at the dinette wearing a green visor that says
Barb
. This rig had to have contained someone’s grandparents, if the visors and sprays of fake flowers are any indication.

“Cass!” she yells, waving an unlit cigar. “Come play poker.”

“I don’t have to strip or anything, do I?”

“Nope,” Peter says from under his visor that says
Bill
in puffy paint. “We’re playing for watch tonight, these year-old Twinkies and the big bedroom.”

I’m on the late watch shift, so I’ve got nothing to lose, and the Twinkies will be edible in another ten years. “Deal me in. I could use some hydrogenated vegetable shortening and/or beef fat.” I look to where Dan leans against the kitchen counter. “You in?”

“You had me at beef fat,” he says.

A couple of hours later the yawns have taken over. Liz has my watch shift, and Caleb lost on purpose so he’d be with her. I’ve got a full night of sleep and a package of Twinkies, thanks to Nelly’s lessons. I’m so flush with winning that only when it’s time for bed do I realize I’m going to sit up all night anyway. Peter and Ana head to the bedroom they’ve won, while Jamie and Shawn turn the couch into a bed. I sit in the driver’s seat and watch the dark field.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Dan asks.

I follow him outside. He stands in the light that shines through the window and rubs the back of his neck, looking so serious that I cross my arms to hide my shaky hands.

“I was thinking about what we talked about,” he says. “About things we wished we’d said.”

He fiddles with the walkie talkie he holds, and I notice his hands aren’t steady either. “So, here goes—I don’t want to move on to the next girl. I know what you said, and I understand completely. I’m just putting it out there so that you know, so I don’t regret it.”

I look down at my feet to hide my unease. I’d thought this was done, and now he’s thrown the door back open. “Oh, okay,” I whisper.

The light in the RV switches off. I can no longer see his face, and I’m very glad he can’t see mine.

“Okay,” he says. “Goodnight, then.” He turns and walks toward his tent.

“Goodnight,” I call softly.

***

I sit in the passenger’s seat with my feet on the dash until I hear nothing but the small movements of Liz and Caleb on the roof and the others’ gentle breathing. Dan’s tent glows with lantern light. It reminds me of last night. Of Dan’s mouth on my throat, his weight, of the way I fell asleep and slept until dawn, something I haven’t done in months. The idea of tossing and turning in the dining table-turned-bed makes me feel worse than the idea of joining him again.

I don’t so much make a decision as I follow my body where it wants to go. The tall grass is cool on my bare feet, and I clutch the Twinkies like a security blanket. He’s set up his tent far away, and I wonder if it’s because he’d hoped I’d be with him. I freeze when I reach his door, one foot pointed toward the tent and the other at the RV. Divided down the middle.

I don’t know how to begin this. You can’t knock on a tent. Maybe I should whisper, but that would mean admitting I want to be here. I spin around—a dining table bed is where I should be. There’s a rustle and the sound of a zipper, followed by the soft light of the lantern. Dan smiles; not his confident smile, but a pleased one. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I say. He waits for more, but that’s all I’ve got. I hold out the Twinkies, which are slightly squashed from my grip.

“You’re dropping off Twinkies?” I shake my head. I really should’ve rehearsed this better. He looks at me a few seconds more. “Do you want to come in?”

“Okay.”

He moves back to give me room. I kneel inside, taking my time to zip the door, and turn to face him. I think even my cheeks are trembling. I want him to touch me so badly that I can’t think about anything else, and it’s such a relief to not think.

“You still have your dress on,” he says.

I smooth down the skirt and move forward to rest a hand on his chest. It rises and falls quickly, keeping pace with his heartbeat. Barb’s berry-scented body wash rises off him in waves.

He runs his hand to my shoulder and laces his fingers in my loose hair. I exhale in frustration when he hesitates before our lips meet. “So, what does this mean?”

I don’t have an answer; I think I can do this, after all. “Does it have to mean something?”

“No,” he says. “I guess not.”

Our kiss is gentler than last night. His breath is warm on my neck when he leans over to unzip my dress. I let it fall to the ground, and we pick up where we left off the night before.

***

The light tells me it’s just dawn when I wake abruptly to the sound of a hand rasping along the nylon of the tent. No one on patrol would come this close without announcing themselves, even as a joke. Not unless they wanted to get shot. My hand reaches for my cleaver and holster down by my side, where they should be, but comes up empty. I came out here with Twinkies, like an idiot.

Dan’s body stiffens beside me. The sleeping bag slips down his chest when he raises himself to a seated position. I reach for my dress, slide it over my head and zip up the back as far as I can. I’m so exposed. My hair is loose. I have no armor, no weapons, nothing at all.

Something brushes against the tent. Slow footsteps drag through the grass. One of them groans. It’s answered by more noises and a wet, slopping sound. Dan reaches for the radio and connects the earpiece, then shakes his head—the batteries must be dead. I’m sure they’ve been trying to call us on the radio. They would have seen the Lexers coming, but didn’t want to shout. There’s always the chance they’ll keep walking, as long as we don’t attract them with movement.

Dan slides into his jeans and boots, shoves his arms through a flannel shirt and dons his leather gloves. He picks up his leather jacket and holds it behind me. I thread my arms through the sleeves. If he gets bitten through the fabric of his shirt, he’s dead. It’s his coat—he shouldn’t be punished because I’m an idiot. I start to shrug it off, but he pulls the lapels tight with a shake of his head. It’s bulky and may be hard to move in, but I’ll take it over bare skin. I squeeze his hand in thanks. He hands me one of his pistols, points a finger toward the window and mimes unzipping it. I watch as he painstakingly pulls the zipper to reveal a triangle of tent screen.

Ana stares through the window glass of the van. They’re waiting. They won’t start the engines until they have to. They won’t leave until they know we’re dead or we’re with them. We’ve gone over it before, but we haven’t ever had to put it into action.

Dozens of Lexers trample the grass between us and the vehicles. The ground behind us crunches with the footsteps of more. They haven’t caught our scent or movement or whatever it is they do. Their shadows on the tent’s nylon are made huge by the sun, like we’re trapped in the middle of a dozen zombie giants. A body bumps on the tent and almost takes the side of it down. My hand flies to my mouth. Dan grips my forearm.

Peter’s in the pickup, eyes trained on the tent. I freeze when a bloated leg passes the window and then wave a hand. I’m unsure if he can see me, but he nods and moves the radio to his mouth. A moment later, the van’s engine roars to life. The window lowers and Jamie leans out the passenger’s side.

“Hey, shitheads!” she calls to the Lexers. The horn beeps twice. “Come on! Come over here! Cassie, Dan, meet with the RV once they’re out of the way.”

If they drove this way, the Lexers would converge on them, on us. Now that they know we’re awake, they’ll lead them away. We’ll be safe. The Lexers trudge after them. There are hundreds. I hold my breath at the passage of bodies. One hits the nylon with a swishing noise and an interested grunt. The stumbling legs of a dozen more turn our way. One of the rain fly’s elastic cords is pulled out of the ground with a
twang
. More stop, attracted by the sound, even over the calling and honking.

I mime unzipping the tent door and running. Dan nods quickly. We’re dead if the tent goes down with us in it. We’re probably already dead. Dan’s eyes are fierce when he takes my face in his hands and shakes his head. I breathe deep. I’ll get home to Bits; there’s no other option.

I raise the door’s zipper tooth by tooth until it’s wide enough to fit through. We leave everything but our weapons and crouch at the door. Lexer hands run down the nylon. The rain fly slithers to the ground, leaving the screen roof of the tent exposed. Decomposed faces appear, and a Lexer with a terrible perm and missing nose makes a hissing screech, just like the one at the fence. We scramble through the door just as she attempts to dive through the screen and the tent collapses.