“I’m really sorry, Peter,” I say. “I…”
I know he hears because he looks right at me. He spits out his toothpaste venomously and wipes his mouth before he stalks away. I feel like all I’ve done is say sorry to him. I feel like shit. And I wonder if I’m a horrible person, since I always, always seem to fuck things up.
35
“You are not a horrible person and you don’t always fuck things up,” Penny says, as we fill the water containers at the stream.
“You have to say that, by law, as my friend.”
“Not true.” She makes gentle splashes in the water with her bare feet. “As your friend I’m duty-bound to tell you when you’re being a jerk, and you’re not. You can’t help how you feel. I mean, yeah, he didn’t really need to hear your dream. He was acting like an ass before that, though. You were going to break up with him anyway. You can’t be expected to stay with him when you don’t want to because of all of this.”
I peel off my socks and stick my feet in the water. After getting a good whiff of myself, I feel extra grubby. “I guess. I just hate tension, especially when I’ve caused it. I wish I could make things better. Or not care. God, this water is freezing! I brought soap to wash up, but I don’t think I can do it.”
“Maybe you just have to let him work it out, Cass. Just be extra nice for a while. I mean, it is possible that Peter can turn normal suddenly, right?”
“Ha, unlikely. But I will be nice.” I fold my hands in prayer. “I’ll be like Mother Teresa.”
Penny laughs and grabs the soap. “I’m doing it. I’m going to wash this stinky body. Come with me. I need moral support.”
She’s lost her mind. The air is fairly warm, but the water is snowmelt, and I’m a huge baby about cold water.
“You can have the towel first. It’ll be all nice and warm. Please?” she wheedles. “I’ll be your best friend. Until the end of the world.”
She makes sure the coast is clear and peels off her shirt.
“You have someone to smell good for. That’s why you don’t care that it’s twelve degrees!”
“Duh.” She shrugs and grins. “Please?”
She can usually get me to do things by begging, and she knows it. I give in because it’s only cold water and I’m thankful she’s made me feel better.
“Fine, I’ll do it. But only because I love you.”
I take off my clothes. My legs go numb as I step gingerly over the rocks in the little pool.
Penny plunges under and comes up howling. “Come on in, the water’s fine!”
I shake my head. “I don’t love you that much.”
I splash with tiny amounts of water to rinse the soap and race to the towel. It might be warm, but since I can no longer feel my skin I can’t really tell. I dry off haphazardly. Penny soaps herself up and even washes her hair. She must be in love. I lay the towel on a sunny rock and wrestle my damp skin back into my dirty clothes.
Penny comes up behind me wrapped in the towel and breathing hard. “Whew! That felt good.”
“You’re insane.”
But I have to admit, now that I’m warming up it feels good to be sort of clean. I load up the water while Penny gets dressed and hums to herself. God, I love her. She’s like the antithesis of Ana, the anti-Ana.
36
I change my shirt and stick my clean armpit in Nelly’s face. He responds with some sort of comment about how mature I am, but since I’m rubber and he’s glue it doesn’t stick. I offer Peter a tentative smile, which he ignores. That’s okay. I’m going to smile at him until my cheeks crack.
“…nothing now,” mutters Henry.
“What’s that?” asks James, who’s propped up against a tree with the iPad, his head wreathed in cigarette smoke. We charged it up in the car while heading to Sam’s Surplus, but of course there’s no service here, or possibly anywhere, at this point. Penny sits at the table next to Ana and brushes her wet hair.
Henry holds the little radio up and repeats himself as we watch him spin the dial. “There are no news broadcasts today. Just those recordings, only now they’re listing something called Safe Zones instead of treatment areas.”
“Hey, Sergeant Grafton in Jersey said something about it being changed from a treatment area into a Safe Zone,” I say.
James lifts his eyebrows. “Yeah, that worked out well.”
“There’s nothing on AM or FM,” Henry says. “Maybe I could find something if we had a shortwave radio, but I’ve had it on since early this morning and I haven’t heard a single update.”
Henry hands over the radio and watches as James spins the dial and shakes his head. They try the police radio in the truck, but it’s dead silent.
“Maybe the power’s off. You can’t broadcast without power,” Penny says.
Henry rubs his chin. “If there’s no power at all, then things are worse than I thought.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be that surprised,” Penny says. “Either everyone is panicking and leaving or panicking and staying home. How many people do you think are going to go to work?”
“I once read that the average power station would only supply energy for twelve to twenty-four hours, unmanned. After that it would begin to shut down on its own,” James says, ever the font of information.
“No power means no water and food going bad,” Henry says. “Which means hungry people. How long until the stores are cleared out? Man, people will do anything when they’re hungry. They’ll kill for food in a second, they’ll take—”
“Little pitchers have big ears,” Dottie says, cutting Henry off.
We turn to where the kids sit on the ground. They had been looking through my wilderness survival book, but now they’re watching us, the book forgotten in Hank’s lap. Corrine fights back tears.
“Daddy?” she says, like a little girl. “I like it here. Can’t we stay here where it’s safe?”
Henry sits down on the bench and beckons them over. The lines on his face look deeper; he no doubt wishes he could take his last words back. Corinne and Hank could be toddlers by the expressions on their faces, complete with tear tracks through the dust on Corinne’s cheeks.
“I feel safe here too, baby. But we have to leave soon. I think more people will come, looking for somewhere safe. And sometimes people will want what we have.”
“But we met Penny and Cassie and everyone. They’re all nice,” Corrine says.
Henry smiles. “Weren’t we lucky? And I’ll bet lots of other people are nice, too. But we can’t take chances. Not when I have to protect you and your mother and Hank. We have to make it somewhere safer than this.”
“I’m scared, Daddy.”
Henry hugs her to him with one arm and closes his eyes. “We all are, baby. Being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared. It just means you do what you have to do.”
Hank leans into his father and nods. “I’m scared too, Corr. But I can teach you all about zombies and how to fight them. You’ve got to get the head, because the brain—”
I don’t think a detailed description of the undead is going to help, so I jump in. “Hey, guys, I saw you looking at my book. Did you see the section on walking quietly in the woods and tracking animals?” They nod. “Why don’t you practice that? That’s a good skill to have. And I just remembered something I have in my pack that I want to show you. A real survival tool.”
At Henry’s nod they retrieve the book and read it to each other as they move carefully in the brush, rolling their feet with each step. When I come out of the tent, Henry stands there.
“Thanks,” he says. “I didn’t want to yell at Hank, since he’s trying to help. But the last thing Corrie needs is a blow-by-blow account of how to kill them. We do need to talk about leaving, though. Maybe after you’re done with the kids?” He gestures at the long pouch I’m holding. “What is that, anyway?”
“Come see. It’s pretty cool.”
I had forgotten I threw this in the bottom of my bag. I knew it was silly to do it,
as it was taking up precious space, but I couldn’t leave it behind. I kneel down at the edge of the campsite and clear a patch of dirt with my hand. Then I take a pointy-edged dowel, a square piece of wood, a rock and what looks like a tiny bow out of the pouch. Corrine and Hank kneel across from me.
“It looks like a little bow,” she says. “What do you do with it?”
“You’re right, it is a little bow. It’s called a bow drill. You use it to start fires when you don’t have matches. Only really, really hardcore survivalists can start fires without lighters,” I inform them, and do my best to look very serious.
Hank’s eyes widen behind his glasses. “Can you?”
“Of course I can!” I say, in mock horror. “This is my bow drill, given to me by my dad, who was the most hardcore survivalist I ever knew. We even lived in a lean-to he built in the woods for a month one summer. Just for fun.”
They both gasp and look to see if I’m joking, and when they see I’m not, they look impressed. We really did live in the lean-to, but I’m definitely not a hardcore survivalist like I’m pretending. Neither was Dad, but he did know a few tricks.
I show them the pieces. “The stick is the drill. You wrap the bow string around the drill once. Then you put the pointy end into the square piece of wood.”
I hold the bow in my right hand. The drill rests in the square of wood on the ground. I turn the rock over to show them the round depression underneath.
“So you hold the bow like this, and with the other hand you fit the rock on top of the drill stick. You don’t press down too hard or the stick won’t twirl when you move the bow.”
I begin to move the bow from side to side. The string that’s wrapped around the drill tightens and spins it, first one way and then the other. I do this for a couple of minutes until wisps of smoke appear where the drill and wood meet.
“It’s friction!” Hank says.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” says Corrine, in better spirits now. He elbows her, but they both laugh, excited by the new toy.
“Okay,” I say. “To really start a fire, though, we need tinder. That’s fine bits of shredded bark or leaves or anything that’s very dry. I have some here.”
I show them a little ball of fluff and place it at the base of the drill stick. I get into a rhythm again. When the wisps of smoke appear the kids point, and I nod and continue until I’m fairly certain I have a coal. I lift the drill and, sure enough, there’s a little glowing piece of wood.
“That’s the coal,” I say. I guide it into the tinder. “You have to be gentle or you’ll put it out and have to start all over again.” I pick up the tinder and blow softly until it smokes.
“You need to have progressively larger tinder and kindling ready, if you’re really building a fire. But that’s how it’s done.” I hear clapping and see I’ve gained an audience. I do a little curtsy on my knees.
“What else is in that bag of yours?” Nelly asks. “Books, bow drills, anything else weird?”
“I put all the heavy stuff in your bag so I’d have room.” He grins.
“Well, I’m impressed,” James says. “I want to learn, too.”
“Yeah, because there aren’t any lighters or matches in the world,” Ana scoffs. Peter snickers.
I give her a big smile, like Mother Teresa would have. “Survival isn’t for everyone,” I say, in a super-sticky-sweet voice, unlike Mother Teresa would have. I turn to the kids. “You guys are dying to use it, aren’t you?”
They nod eagerly and reach for the tools. I coach them until they’ve gotten the hang of holding all the components in place. Getting a coal is harder; I used to practice for hours when I was a kid.
I sit in a patch of sunlight at the picnic table. Nelly perches on the table while Henry paces at the other end. Ana deposits herself next to Penny and rests her chins in her hands.
I stroke Ana’s arm across the table. I know she’s scared. I am, too, but I guess I’m better at hiding it, or ignoring it. I should probably be more understanding of how she feels. It’s hard, because her general way of being doesn’t garner much compassion. She glares at me like she’s angry, but I can’t figure out why.
“Banana,” I whisper, “can I do anything for you?”
She narrows her eyes. “You can stop being a bitch.”
I recoil like I’ve been slapped. I sit open-mouthed and try to think of what I did to her. Sure, I’ve been irritated by her comments, but that’s par for the course. Everyone gets irritated with Ana, and it doesn’t seem to faze her at all.
I’m about to respond when Henry speaks. “Dot and I are thinking we should leave tomorrow. I’m afraid of getting stuck here the longer we wait. It might be best to get on the road before there are too many infected or desperate people looking for food.”
I’m still reeling from Ana’s comment, and it takes me a minute to process what he’s said. It’s only been a couple of nights, but the thought of going our separate ways makes me sad.
“I’ve been thinking, and I haven’t discussed this with anyone else,” I glance around the table, “that maybe we should stick together. There’s room at the house, and lots of food. You guys are heading into unknown territory. Getting enough food for a few months or even the winter, if it comes to that, might be impossible. You’re welcome to come with us.”
Everyone nods, except for Ana, who’s still glaring at me. Peter lets out an audible sigh. I don’t really care what he thinks, so he can stuff it.
“We can’t,” Dorothy replies with a wistful look. “It’s so kind of you to offer, and I wish we could, I really do. It sounds terrible to say that.” She looks to Henry, who explains.
“When we were at the storage place, Dottie sent out a couple of texts once we figured out where we were going. It looked like they went through, which means that we might have family meeting us there. The chance is slim, but…”
Nelly looks disappointed. “But you have to be there to meet them. Of course.”
I want to remind Dot and Henry that it’s unlikely their families got the texts, much less that they’ll make it there. But I won’t be telling them anything they don’t already know. If it were Eric I would be there waiting, too.
James breaks the silence by unfolding the map. “Okay, so are we all leaving tomorrow?” he asks, and speaks again when he sees our half-assed nods. “I agree with Henry. We should get going. We’re in a news blackout. If the virus spreads as fast as it seems it does, we should be traveling to safety before there are more infected than we can handle.”
He runs his fingers through his hair and makes an annoyed noise when it flops forward again. “I’ve mapped out the route I think we should take. The truck has a third of a tank of gas, so we’re going to need more soon. We can get more from abandoned cars with the siphons from the surplus place. I—”
He stops speaking when we hear the unmistakable sound of car wheels on a dirt road.
37
I grab my pistol out of my pack. Nelly casually rests the shotgun on his shoulder, but I know he can fire it in a split second. A maroon car flashes between the trees. It slows when we come into view and coasts forward. We stand in a cluster, ready to fight. Even Peter clutches a machete in his hand.
A sporty, young guy in a baseball cap leans out the window. His eyes flicker around to assess our friendliness. The passenger, a girl with short hair and a white, fur-trimmed down vest, offers us a tentative smile.
“Hey,” he says, to Nelly and his shotgun. “We’re not looking to invade your space or anything. We just need somewhere to stay a day or two. Just drove up from north of Paramus, heading to—well, we don’t actually know where we’re heading to.”
Nelly nods. “Not our campground.” His voice is friendly enough, but he keeps his tough face on. “You’re welcome to whatever site you want. We’d like to hear what’s happening out there, if you can tell us. We’ve been here a few days and haven’t heard anything on the radio since yesterday. Name’s Nel.”
“
Brian and Jordan. Listen, I gotta get out of this car. I’m going to go park, and if it’s okay we’ll come over and talk?”
He pulls into to a site a couple down and they walk over. Nelly does the introductions. Brian and Jordan stand and look uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” Penny says. She motions at the tables. “Do you want to sit? I know we didn’t seem very welcoming, but we haven’t seen anyone and didn’t know what to expect.”
Jordan sits on the bench. Brian stands and surveys the campground. “No one’s been here?” he asks.
Penny shakes her head. “We were thinking there’d be more people, but so far no.”
“Yeah. The highways are clogged with abandoned cars. We had a motorcycle at first. We passed people walking, but they won’t make it this far for a while. When we got out to the country, there weren’t many infected, but everyone is holed up anyway. Won’t even answer their doors. Or they went to Safe Zones.”
“They keep listing Safe Zones on the emergency broadcasts now,” James says.
Brian nods. “Yesterday the word went out that treatment centers were Safe Zones. Under protection, that’s what it said on TV. We went to the high school by us.” He laughs bitterly and looks at Jordan, who has yet to utter a word. She stares worriedly at him, her highlighted hair stringy under her hat, her eyes surrounded by mascara. Besides her vest she’s wearing spangled skinny jeans tucked into sheepskin boots. She’s dressed in what you would wear camping on a modeling shoot. Under normal circumstances it might be amusing, but it just makes me feel bad for her. None of us wants to be here. She wraps her arms around her waist like she’s protecting her vital organs.
“We thought it’d be a good idea. We didn’t have much food in the house, like they were saying you should. Our families said they’d meet us there.”
Until the End of the World Box Set Page 13