Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky (11 page)

Peter rolls his eyes but his mouth twitches. “Yes, Cassandra, it does.”

“We’ve got to find somewhere to stay, and soon,” Zeke says once we’ve put some distance between us and Yorkton. “We spent so long shitting around for fuel that it’ll be dark soon.”

I believe Peter’s assessment that Bob and his people were trustworthy, but I noticed he’d told them we were taking a different route than the one we’d planned. Unfortunately, the one we planned is not turning out to be the best in terms of finding a house for the night. This was farmland, you can tell by the occasional bale of hay that rises above the grass, sprouting greenery from its rounded top, but there are no farmhouses.

The sun has begun its descent, and it’s looking like we’ll be in the RV tonight until we see a small, gray two-storied house surrounded by trees. We’d hoped for something more open, but since we haven’t seen a Lexer since above Yorkton, it’s most likely not an issue. We split into groups to search the trees, which are empty. After crunching sounds from the house, Zeke emerges, trying so hard to look expressionless that I know whatever was inside wasn’t pretty.

“They’re bringing them out back,” he says. “Two of them. Smells pretty ripe in there. We cracked some windows.”

The bottom floor of the house is open, with only a half wall separating the kitchen from the living room. Margaret rises from below the kitchen sink with a can of air freshener. She circles the downstairs dispensing a fine mist behind her. Now it smells like Spring Garden and decayed flesh, but it’s an improvement.

A rose-colored velveteen couch with two matching chairs makes up the living area. A highchair sits at the dining table to the left of the kitchen. Zeke pauses to rest a hand on it as he walks by, and I know whoever sat in there must have still been in here.

“The upstairs smells better,” Zeke says. “The trees are too tall for a decent view even up there, not that we’d see anything come night.”

Jamie opens cabinets and plunks a few things on the counter. “Spices. We could use those, right?”

I don’t want to play the usual game of how the occupants became zombies, even in my own head, so I climb the stairs to a small landing. One bedroom belonged to someone big enough to have outgrown the highchair, and his many Disney toys are piled in the corner by a toy box. The other room has a queen-sized bed and a crib. I look through the dresser and closet before it’s too dark to see, but the woman’s clothes are too large, the kind of large that would give a Lexer extra cloth to grab.

Nelly enters and asks, “So, are we calling dibs on beds?”

“You can duke it out with the rest of them. I’ll sleep downstairs with Bits and Hank.”

He runs his fingers through the box of coins on a dresser by the window. “Maybe we should play poker for the rooms.”

“No one is dumb enough to challenge you to poker. But when we get to Alaska you’ll find a whole new set of suckers.”

Nelly flops on the bed with a squeak of springs. I lie beside him and pull the end of the covers over top. Between Nelly’s furnace-like heat and the blankets it’s almost warm.

“Think Adam would mind if I slept in the middle?” I ask.

“Does
wittle
baby need snuggles?”

I suck on my thumb and then open my eyes when Adam and Peter enter the room. The kids’ voices echo out of the boy’s room while they sift through his belongings.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Adam asks cheerily. His face falls when Nelly ignores him.

“You’re welcome to join us,” I say. “Nelly said I can sleep in the middle.”

“That might be preferable at the moment,” Adam says. He moves to the window and stares out.

A tense silence fills the room. The middle of a warm bed would be nice, but I don’t want to be in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel. I’ve just eased out of the bed and am heading for Peter and the door when Adam turns to me. “Sorry. Nel’s angry at me for making him stay today.”

Nelly stares at the ceiling, hands behind his head. He’s not big on sharing feelings, although he’ll discuss yours all day, and uses humor to brush off any attempt to get inside his brain. I know most of what goes on in there after all these years, but you have to be attuned to every nuance to tell.

“It was fine,” I say. “It’s not like everyone could go.”

“I didn’t have a good reason—I just didn’t want him to. I know it’s not fair. I won’t ask again.” He runs his fingers through the change the way Nelly did. The coins drop with tiny plinks in the silence. “I just couldn’t lose another…”

His eyes move from me to Peter. I creak across the floorboards to embrace him. “I’m staying next time because Bits wants me to. Nelly understood.”

Nelly has closed his eyes as if sleeping, but he’s listening for sure. This is the point where he’s supposed to jump in and agree, or at least forgive, but Nelly’s as stubborn as they come. Without breaking free from Adam’s arms, I take a quarter from the change box and chuck it at Nelly. He turns his head and glares at me.

“Last year, when I had to…stop Evan, I swore I wouldn’t ever do this again,” Adam says. “I thought it would be easy, you know? How many guys could be out there?”

Nelly’s face softens from stony to hard, although he keeps his gaze skyward. Adam’s eyes are moist when he pulls back. “But it happened anyway. And I love Nel more than…I’m just scared of having to go through that again. To believe in something good and have it taken away.”

My throat is so tight I can’t swallow. Hours after I believed again, Dan was gone. I imagine him putting his gun to his head, knowing it was his last second of life. That he would miss out on so much. I wonder if he sobbed before he did it or if he looked up at the stars—if he even waited until night—and believed he was going somewhere better.

A tear plops to my cheek. I let it run to my chin. It won’t count if I pretend it’s not there. Nelly has moved to sit at the edge of the bed and watches the floor with his big hands clasped together. Peter’s studying a framed Degas poster as if fascinated, but I know for a fact that Degas is far from Peter’s favorite artist.

“If I were as good as all of you are at this stuff, then I’d go with him. But, if I go, I could be the reason he or one of you dies. And I hate that.” He draws in a shaky breath. “It’s not fair to act like losing Nel is worse than any of you losing someone. That nobody else feels the way I do. We all have to put ourselves on the line.”

Nelly looks up, glassy eyes reflecting what’s left of the light before he drops his head in his hands. Maybe he’s realized that he doesn’t have to worry about Adam being sent into harm’s way, at least on purpose. He doesn’t feel helpless in the same way Adam does.

Tear number two races for my chin. This one isn’t for Dan and everyone else who’s gone—it’s for those of us left here to carry on. Adam says, “I’m sorry I let my fear get in the way.”

I wish Nelly could see the love that shines behind the fear in Adam’s eyes. It’s no small thing to be loved this way, especially now. I hope Nelly knows that.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” I kiss his cheek and walk to the door. “We’ll save dinner for you guys.”

Just before Peter shuts the door with a gentle click, Nelly rises to take Adam’s hand. We walk past the other bedroom and discover Hank surrounded by Lego bricks.

“This kid had a ton of Lego sets,” he says. “
Star Wars
and all kinds of stuff. I don’t think he even played with most of them. Some are still in their boxes.” He raises his hands like that’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard. If there’s one toy Hank still loves, it’s Lego.

I sit on the area rug while he explains the features of various plastic brick sculptures. I can barely see the colors in the gloom and ask, “Why don’t you bring them downstairs into the light?”

He sets them carefully into the plastic bin. Lego pieces are loud, but Hank doesn’t have to be told to keep quiet even though he’s quaking with excitement over his newfound treasure.

I cup his chin in my hand. “You’re such a great kid. You know that?”

“Yeah,” Hank says in his matter-of-fact way. I swallow back a laugh.

“I told your dad I’d take care of you if…anything happened. I want you to know, so you’re not worried about what happens next. This is what he wanted.”

When we found Bits, she’d thought we were going to leave her. I figure Hank knows better, since he knows us, but sometimes kids get funny ideas if you don’t spell things out.

“I wasn’t worried,” he says quickly, as if he were a little. “But I didn’t know if I’d get to live with you and Bits and Peter in Alaska. Bits says we’ll be in the same cabin.”

I haven’t given much thought to living arrangements in Alaska. I should have anticipated that the kids might, especially Hank. All I’ve envisioned are fences and mountains, and that’s been good enough for me. But Hank’s with us, whether it’s a tent or an igloo or a cabin.

“Of course we will,” Peter’s voice comes from the doorway at the moment I say the same words. I’m glad Hank has heard it from both of us.

“Okay,” Hank says. He stands with the bin and takes the stairs slowly, speeding up when he hits light near the bottom.

I pause at the top of the stairs with Peter. “Every time I think I’m doing a good job with this kid stuff, I realize there were six other things I should’ve thought of.”

“Tell me about it,” he says.

“What are you talking about? You’re like the perfect dad. It’s annoying. Can you mess up every once in a while?”

“I didn’t say anything to Hank, either. I just assumed he knew.”

“I just want them happy, safe and fed.” My stomach growls at the aroma that wafts up the stairs. Dinner must be ready and in from the RV. “Fed isn’t going too well, so I’m trying for safe and happy.” It sounded like a joke in my head, but when the words make their appearance, it sounds a whole lot gloomier.

“We’ll find food.” Peter’s voice is firm. “Or get there on what we have.”

“What do you think it’s like there?”

“Probably like Kingdom Come, but a lot colder.”

“Great,” I say. “So freezing cold and grizzly bears? As if zombies aren’t enough.”

“Is there anything you can’t joke about?” Peter asks.

“Nope.” I hear Nelly’s voice and don’t want them to think we’re eavesdropping. “Let’s see what’s for dinner.”

Dinner was pasta, slightly pink with sauce we canned last year. It reminded me of standing in the kitchen with Bits, canning tomatoes, when Peter showed up at Kingdom Come’s gate. Out of those of us who left my parents’ cabin, he’s the last person I would’ve predicted would be sitting behind where I lie in a tiny living room in Nowhere, Saskatchewan.

Zeke threw a Mad Libs into the bag of books, and the kids are playing in the light of the single lamp on the coffee table.

“I need a verb,” Ash says.

“Puke,” Hank says.

“Burp,” Bits says.

Ash rolls her eyes but laughs. This is how every Mad Libs has gone in the past twenty minutes. “Puke was first. Okay, last one is a noun.”

“Jump,” Nicki says.

“A noun is a person, place or thing,” Bits reminds her. “Try again. Like…bird or car or p—”

“Bits…” Peter says warningly. We both know what the next word out of her mouth will be.

“Poop?” Nicki asks, and the other three lose it.

Ash reads the final product. It’s so juvenile and ridiculous, and between Ash’s voice cracking and the younger kids in hysterics, it’s pretty funny. I turn my head to Peter and poke him with my foot. He’s been trying to wean Bits off her obsession with potty words, which is about as likely as teaching Barnaby a trick, but even he’s laughing.

It’d been awful to leave Peter to his death in Bennington, but to lose him now would be so much worse. The thought of him hurt or disappointed makes my stomach clench, and I know how much he’s hurting right now. I would take it on myself, if I could.

When I turn again, he’s still smiling. “Yes?” he asks.

“Just checking.”

“Checking on what?”

“You.” I give him another poke and jump when he grabs my foot. He rubs it quickly between his hands. A sigh escapes—my feet are icicles, even with two pairs of wool socks. “Thanks. They’re freezing.”

“They always are.” He starts on my other foot, but this one gets a genuine foot massage.

“Foot number one is going to be jealous,” I say.

“Tell foot number one she’ll get her turn.”

I rest my cheek on the rug and close my eyes. This is the most relaxed I’ve been in what feels like a year, but is only our fourth night on the road. I count to be sure. It seems impossible, but it’s right. Our universe has changed dramatically in such a short time—our own personal Big Bang. I drift off with Peter warming my feet and the soft giggles of children hanging in the air.

***

I wake with a crick in my neck, what feels like cotton in my mouth and Nelly’s voice in my ear. “Wake up, shithead.”

I try to roll over, but I’m sandwiched between Bits and Hank on the rug. I accidentally pull Bits’s hair when I shimmy out from under the blankets and then step directly on Peter’s hand where he sleeps beside Bits. They mumble in their sleep but don’t wake.

“You’re like a bull in a china shop,” Nelly whispers. He watches me in the light of the lantern he holds with his big, white grin.

I stumble to my bag for my toothbrush, toothpaste and water bottle. Nelly lights the way and waits for me to finish brushing at the kitchen sink. After I’ve spit the last time I say, “You know, I think I prefer Half-pint over shithead. Not that shithead doesn’t have a lovely ring to it.”

Nelly leans back on the counter. “Consider it done.”

“Thanks. So what and where are we watching?”

“There’s nothing to see. We’re listening.”

I use the dry toilet, which is quickly filling up with pee. It’s going to smell rank in a day, but by then we’ll be gone. Someone sleeps on the couch, and we sit by the window in the chair frames whose cushions were appropriated for beds. Nelly rests his boots on the windowsill. We can’t see out because of the closed curtains and sheets we hung to block any light, but we can hear the leaves rustling in the wind through the open glass.