Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky (32 page)

“Well, we don’t have food, but we have a dentist.” Mikayla gestures at Zeke and then points to James with her smile that’s never failed to make a friend. “And he’s an expert with solar. We can set up greenhouses. Ben knows farming and the rest of us have been doing this for a year. We’re not here to just eat your food. We’ll work…” She trails off when he shakes his head.

“There are houses on the other side of the fence,” Frank says. “You’re more than welcome to stay there and hunt for your food, set up however you want. But we can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

I drag Bits toward the VW. I’m not going to beg to live in this stupid town. We’ll walk to Anchorage if we have to, where we can winter over and find supplies after the Lexers freeze.

“Cassie, where are you going?” Peter asks.

I spin around. “We’re leaving. Fuck this shitty little town.” Frank looks at me with raised eyebrows. I glare at him. “If you’d shown up in Vermont we would’ve taken you in. We would’ve figured it out.”

“We sure as shit wouldn’t have told you not to let the gate hit you in the ass,” Zeke says.

The woman to Frank’s left tries to speak, but I cut her off. “You don’t know what we went through to get here. We lost people. We couldn’t save them, but this—” I wave my hand at the kids, “
this
will be on you.”

I suppose I’ve just effectively killed any chance we have of living here, but I enjoyed seeing Frank blanch like I’d hexed him. I set Bits in the VW. She closes her eyes, pale and drawn. She needs to be warm and fed. I’m so angry I want to kill everyone here and take over the place myself. Hank follows, then Peter and Penny. Zeke opens the truck’s door and Liz hops in the bed. We should’ve gone to northern Canada, where we’d probably already be dead, but at least we would have died with people who gave a shit we were dying.

The woman comes forward, hands fluttering. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down.” She has soft wrinkles around her eyes—true laugh lines—and short gray hair tucked behind her ears. “Let’s talk about this. We’re a Safe Zone, Frank. And we’re not a Safe Zone if we refuse to keep people safe.”

“We don’t have—” Frank begins.

“Shut up, Frank.” She stretches a hand through the open door of the VW. It takes me a second to realize she’s reaching for me. “My name’s Glory. Please come inside and talk.”

It would’ve been stupid to refuse, which is how we’ve found ourselves inside what was once a brewing company and restaurant. The main room is full of booths and wooden dining tables, and the rooms beyond it look to be the same. It still smells of hops and something’s cooking somewhere. My stomach growls when I perch on a barstool.

“Would you like something to eat?” Glory asks.

“The kids would,” I say.

I would too, more than she’d believe, but I’m not taking anything from these people. I guess the others feel the same because no one takes her up on her offer. If they say we can stay, I’ll have to for Bits’s and Hank’s sakes, but after Frank’s greeting it’s going to take quite a large gulp of my pride.

Glory walks into the kitchen area and returns. “They’ll bring some food outside.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

She removes her coat, under which she wears a long tie-dyed tunic and jeans. Her earrings jingle when her head swivels around the six of us who’ve come inside. My mom would’ve loved her, and I feel myself soften a bit at the kindness on her face. She perches on one of the tables next to the bar and leans forward. Frank and the other man, an older guy with a white moustache and bushy white brows, seat themselves at a table farther back.

“I just want to talk,” Glory says. “We three don’t make all the decisions, but we’re the counsel for Talkeetna. I’m sorry that we started off on the wrong foot. Frank’s our hotheaded one.” Frank mutters, and she flaps a hand behind her without looking back. “Oh, Frank, you know I’m right. I’m the soft-hearted hippie.” She points to the white mustachioed man. “And Bernie’s the voice of reason.” Bernie nods impassively and inspects us over his steepled hands.

“So talk,” says Kyle, who looks more pissed than I am.

Glory walks behind the bar and raises a pitcher. She fills glasses and pushes one in front of me, Peter, Kyle, Zeke, James and Liz, then moves around the bar to her table. “At least have some water. We don’t have enough food for the winter, but that’s something that can be worked out.”

“How about hunting and fishing?” Zeke asks.

Bernie speaks up. “We still get infected from Fairbanks and Anchorage. This summer we had several pods north and south of us. They scare away the game. We’re hoping they come back when the snow starts or that we can get to the herds, but we can’t count on it. The river was full of floaters and we’re just now catching up on our fishing. There hasn’t been a problem with eating the fish so far, but…”

“We met people who ate zombies,” I say. Glory gasps and the men look sickened. “As long as they were cooked they didn’t infect them.”

“But it might’ve made them crazy,” Kyle says with a glance at me. “They weren’t right in the head.”

“
Dinky-dau
,” I say, to which Kyle snorts. He’s getting the hang of this humor thing.

Zeke clears his throat. “Fish are fine as long as they’re cooked.”

“Good to know,” Frank says, but he doesn’t get up to embrace us.

“Let’s come up with a plan,” Glory says. “I know I won’t send anyone away. And I know that Frank won’t either. Right, Frank?” She rolls her eyes when he doesn’t answer.

“There’s a grocery store distribution center in Anchorage,” Bernie says. “People lived in there last year, but a month or two later they were attacked by a pod. Most of them turned. It’s full of food. We’ve been trying to get some more volunteers to go down before the snow—”

“The last group didn’t make it back, except Terry and Patricia,” Frank says. “It’s impossible. No one’s voluntee—”

“We lost a lot of good people,” Bernie says. “And we don’t want a repeat of that. We have the food divvied up, but we could factor you in for the next two months. If hunting doesn’t pick up and food runs low enough that we don’t think we can feed you through the winter, we might have to ask you to leave.”

“I’d never ask you to leave,” Glory says.

“It’s only fair,” Frank says.

“Why not wait until they freeze?” Zeke asks.

“It took a long time for them to freeze last year,” Bernie says. “And once they did, we had too much snow on the ground. What we would have done was snowmachined down and killed them frozen, then hit the place in the spring, but we didn’t know about it ‘til this summer.”

“And if we volunteered to go down there?” Zeke asks. “Would that give us some stake here?”

I’m not the only one who glances at Zeke in surprise. If we’re going to do it, we should keep it all for ourselves. But we still wouldn’t have a doctor or a safe place for the winter and, more importantly, spring.

“With that, we’d have enough through the winter and more,” Bernie says with a nod. “No matter what, we’d take in your kids and the pregnant woman for good. But give it a lot of thought. It might be less risky to see what happens with the hunting.” He stands. “I’m going to call Terry up from the guard house. He can fill you in.”

In the ten minutes that we wait, a platter of bowls leaves through the front door—enough to feed everyone out there, I’m pleased to see.

“When is your friend due?” Glory asks.

“December,” James says.

“I’m a midwife. I’d love to speak with her.”

James sags against the bar, and I know this has clinched it—he’s on board with whatever we’ll have to do as long as it means Penny’s safe. “We heard there was a midwife. The baby’s moving fine, but we want to make sure everything’s okay. She hasn’t had much to eat in a couple of weeks.”

“Are you Dad?” she asks, and gives a warm smile when he nods. “Well, she looks healthy. I’ll take you both to my office after you get settled in?”

“That’d be great,” James says.

Terry steps into the restaurant, hands in his pockets. “What’s up? They said you wanted me.”

Terry nods after Glory explains. “I was in the second group that went, and I knew one of the guys who’d lived there and managed to get out. I can tell you what to expect.”

“Can you draw a map of what you remember?” James asks.

“Sure. I don’t think it’ll help much, but sure.”

“We’d need gas,” Zeke says.

“You’ll need a truck, too,” Terry says. “We have tractor-trailers, you have anyone that can drive one?”

“I can if you refresh my memory,” Zeke says. “I used to spend a lot of time in one. Never drove it but once.”

“No problem.”

“How do we know you’ll take care of the kids?” I ask Glory.

“I can only give you my word. We’ll take care of your children, I promise. We’d never let them go hungry.”

Frank strides to the restaurant door and slams it behind him. The three Talkeetna residents watch him go before Glory turns to us. “His son was in the second group.”

“People are scared,” Terry says. “Not even the food shortage scares them enough to volunteer.”

Bernie strokes his mustache. “This would create some goodwill. Some residents won’t be happy to find out you’ve arrived.”

“But a lot of people will,” Glory says. “Even if they won’t join you, they’ll be glad you’re here. We want you here. Don’t let Frank put you off.”

Bernie nods. “When would you want to leave? We got a radio call from one of the islands that a storm is coming in. Either you should go tomorrow or wait a few days, up to you.”

Kyle stands, hand on his machete, and faces us. “Tomorrow? I say we get it over and done.”

I nod along with the others. Anticipation isn’t going to make it any easier. Plus, my sore throat seems like it may be here to stay. If I’m getting sick, I won’t be in any condition to help in a few days.

“Glory will show you the empty cabins,” Bernie says. “I’ll make sure everyone knows you’ve volunteered. You can still back out, no hard feelings.”

There’s silence while we look to each other. Liz shrugs. “Do we have a choice?” she asks us. “I mean, really?”

We do, but as usual the other option sucks. Zeke sticks out a hand and Bernie rises to grasp it.

***

Glory gives us a short tour of the village and then directs us to where honey-colored log cabins sit in a grassy lot bordered by trees, with a sign that says
Denali Vacation Cabins
. “A few of these aren’t occupied. They don’t have running water, but you can use well or river water to flush to the septic.” She laughs. “Most of the time. Otherwise, we have outhouses and composting toilets.”

Bits and Hank scamper to the door of a small cabin that will hold the four of us, a dog and a cat. The decor is hotel rustic and has a comfortable couch, two easy chairs and a four-person table. A kitchenette sits to the right, with a downstairs bedroom to the left and a loft above.

“We could put ice in this in the winter, right? Like they used to?” Bits says of the little refrigerator. She dismisses the electric stove and microwave out of hand and points to the small woodstove. “And we can cook on there.”

She’s so thrilled that she’s forgotten she’s sick. It’s what she’d envisioned, but she doesn’t know what we have to do to keep it. She and Hank run through the door off the living room, where a king-size bed is covered with a colorful quilt.

“Big bed!” Hank yells. They emerge and climb a ladder to the loft. Bits hangs her head over the rails and coughs up a storm before saying, “Two beds! This is where I want to sleep.”

Hank bends over, finger on his glasses so they don’t drop. “Me, too. This is cool.”

I climb the ladder. Two twin beds are tucked under the eaves, each with nightstand and dresser. “We’ll work it out,” I say, and wish I could take pleasure in their excitement. “Let’s talk for a minute.”

They flop on the couch. Peter sits heavily in one of the chairs and leans forward, elbows on knees. “We have to go back to Anchorage for food because there isn’t enough for winter. We leave tomorrow morning, and you two will stay here with Penny and Adam until we get back.”

Hank’s feet halt their tapping on the floor. “You mean they won’t let us stay unless we get more food?”

“They will, but we’ll have to leave if the food runs out,” I say. “Whether or not we’re here, we’ll need that food to get through the winter.” And I’ve been assured of the kids’ survival. That alone makes it worth it.

“I don’t want you to go,” Bits says. The whites of her eyes are already pink. “Can’t we go somewhere else?”

“There’s nowhere else,” Peter says. “We’re almost out of gas. They’re giving us enough to get to Anchorage and back.”

“But you might not come b—” Bits begins before she starts to cry.

Hank lays a hand on her shoulder. “They’ll be back. Don’t worry, Bits.”

“It’ll be okay, Bitsy.” I take her in my arms and try to think of something that won’t be a lie. “Hey, we get a real dinner tonight. And we’ll watch the stars—” I bite my lip; I almost said
one last time
.

***

The last few hours have been spent mapping the route to the warehouse in the living room of one of the larger cabins. Under Terry’s direction, I’ve sketched as much of the inside as he’s seen or heard about from the man who had lived there and died on the first attempt at entry.

There’s a row of loading bay doors that stretches the length of the building and approximately twenty aisles of shelves with a few skylights above. The residents moved pallets around to make private rooms in the open space between the doors and shelving, where the grocery stores’ orders were assembled before being loaded onto trucks, back when there were things like orders and grocery stores. A fence of dismantled metal shelving was erected between the living quarters and shelves to keep the supplies from being pilfered. Apparently, the people who controlled the distribution center ruled with guns and demanded favors for extra food. When I think of what life must have been like in a dark, cavernous space filled with food and supposed safety, but where one was still in danger of death and starvation, I know I’d rather take my chances on the outside.

Terry picks up the drawing. “This is really good.”