Until the End of the World Box Set

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  “Nope,” Chuck said. “We brought it in piece by piece from other places. Rich and I built it ourselves.”

  The road ended at a clearing that bordered a large lake. The grass was overgrown, but over time Rich and Chuck’s boots had trampled a path to where two rowboats and a canoe sat moored at the water’s edge. There wasn’t a cabin, though.

  Natalie pressed her nose to the window and then smiled back over her shoulder. “It’s on the island.”

  Peter followed her finger to the tree-shrouded island less than a quarter mile from the shore. There wasn’t a visible sign of life, although he guessed that was the point. He helped load plastic bins full of food and toiletries into the boats and kept watch of the woods. It occurred to him that there were no extra vehicles, like Chuck had promised, and his fingers grazed the grip of the pistol in his holster. Rich and Chuck spoke in low voices while they worked. They seemed nice enough, but there was no reason to believe they planned to help him.

  Chuck looked over at Peter as if he could read his thoughts and pointed across the lake with his chin. “There are a couple other roads on the north and east sides of the lake. We have trucks there in case this way’s blocked.”

  Peter dropped his hand and tried not to look relieved. He was a pretty good judge of people. Not that that had stopped him from hanging out with superficial jerks most of his life, but at least he’d recognized what they were. And that he was one, too. It’d become painfully apparent after he met Cassie, who had no problem calling them on their asshole behavior.

  The first time he’d met Cassie, at that bar in the city, he’d watched her for half the night. Her wavy, reddish-brown hair was loose, and she had a habit of tucking it behind one ear while she talked. She’d been there for a coworker’s birthday celebration, along with Penny and Nelly. It was the type of bar he’d always frequented but she rarely had. Twelve dollar drinks made with twists of obscure fruit obviously were not her style, he remembered thinking, and her drink was the closest thing they had to a plain beer.

  Most of the girls were dressed in designer clothes and heeled boots. Cassie wore a thirty dollar pair of jeans with beat-up black boots and a black tank top. She wasn’t plain—the tank top showed off some nice cleavage and she wore makeup and earrings—she was just different. She touched people on their shoulders or arm while she spoke and listened to them with rapt attention. When she laughed, she threw her head back and let go. She didn’t seem to care what the regular bar patrons thought of her, something of which Peter was envious.

  He watched as several guys tracked her on her way to the bathroom; he wasn’t the only one who was interested. In fact, she’d already shot one down with a shy smile and shake of her head.

  When she went up to the bar for a round, he followed and leaned far enough away to not appear creepy. She glanced at him and then looked straight ahead until the bartender took her order. Peter quietly signaled the bartender to add them to his tab. After the drinks were lined up on the bar, she held out cash with her chipped blue fingernails until the bartender waved her off and pointed to Peter.

  For a second she looked annoyed, but then she put on a smile and turned to him. “Thanks, that was very nice, but I really don’t want you to pay for all these drinks.”

  “I insist,” he said. She held out her money, but he crossed his arms and shook his head with a smile.

  “Please, take the cash.”

  “Can’t a guy buy a girl a drink?” he asked.

  “Well, yeah, but a guy shouldn’t buy a girl six drinks.” She raised her eyebrows at his shrug. “You’re not going to take my money, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, then, thank you. That was very generous.”

  She shoved the money in her pocket and smiled, but he could tell she was uncomfortable. Maybe she thought he was trying to show off. Not that he was above that, but he hadn’t been. It was harder to buy the one drink that was hers than to buy the whole round. He could have asked first, but then she had the option of refusing.

  Peter moved close so she could hear him better. She smelled like roses and something fresh and green. “I’m Peter.”

  “Cassie. Hi.” She smiled and tapped her fingers on the side of her beer bottle, as if at a loss of what to say next.

  “Nice to meet you, Cassie.”

  Someone from her table must have motioned at her because she raised a finger, telling them to wait, and then looked at him again. “You, too.”

  She asked him about his work, and he saw her eyes glaze over when he went into his company’s connections with lobbyists and congressmen. She was unfailingly polite and laughed when he said something humorous, but he could tell she was underwhelmed. Usually, it wouldn’t have bothered him; most girls went for him, especially in a place like this, but there was an occasional no. That was to be expected. He didn’t want to lose this one, though, and he could see he was.

  She told him she’d grown up in Brooklyn, and he asked if her parents still lived there. Cassie froze for a second and then told him that they’d died two years before in a car accident. She tried to act like it was nothing, but he’d seen the pain in her eyes, the way she swallowed hard. He knew she was readying herself for that initial awkward moment and the apologies that inevitably followed.

  “My family died in a car crash when I was twelve,” he said. “My parents and my little sister.” He almost didn’t say what came into his head next, but he wanted her to know he understood. “It’s like living in a house where the roof’s been torn off, isn’t it?”

  She looked at him then—really looked at him—and nodded. Then she glanced toward the table where her friends sat staring. Her breath was warm when she spoke into his ear. “They’re going to come after me if I don’t give them their drinks. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  He nodded. She walked the drinks over to her friends and sat down next to Penny. For a moment he thought she wasn’t coming back, but she’d left her beer on the bar. She whispered something in Penny’s ear and then stood.

  He’d felt so exposed after his parents died. Even with his grandma’s pre-war apartment over his head. The world had suddenly become murderous and angry, a place where you had to grab what you could and run for cover. He couldn’t believe he’d said that, especially to a stranger, but those words were why she was walking back to him now. All the free drinks and senators in the world wouldn’t have impressed her. This girl was real, and he wanted real. But real was scary. Real was what could hurt you.

  She pulled her barstool close and smiled, the same smile he’d seen her flash at her friends. The smile that lit up her face and made her hazel eyes with the dark lashes crinkle at the corners. It was the first time he’d mentioned the accident in years. Usually, if anyone cared enough to ask, he just said his parents were dead. And he never mentioned his sister, Jane. It not only made him want to cry, but it also triggered an irrational fear that someone would see his remorse and probe for details. But Cassie knew all too well what speaking about it took out of you—he’d seen it on her face.

  They talked then, about things both serious and trivial. She told him about her job and how she loved introducing the neighborhood kids to art. How she’d stopped painting for herself. She asked him more questions about his work and then tilted her head, face flushed with her fourth beer. “Do you like it? It really doesn’t sound like you do.”

  “No, I hate it,” he said, a little more vehemently than he’d intended. It was true, but he’d never said it out loud.

  Cassie jabbed him in the chest and her mouth dropped. “You hate it? Then why do you do it for a million hours a week? Life’s too short for that crap. You should do what you love. Or like. Or can tolerate, at least.”

  He shrugged and wondered why, indeed. She laughed apologetically and waved a hand. “I should take my own advice. Don’t listen to me.”

  A few hours into their conversation, a well-dressed, broad-shouldered guy with dirty blond hair walked up. He put a proprietary
arm on Cassie’s shoulder and looked Peter up and down, from his overpriced T-shirt to his expensive jeans and shoes, and didn’t look impressed. “C’mon, you, we’re leaving. It’s almost last call.”

  “Nelly, this is Peter,” Cassie said. “Peter, Nel.”

  “Thanks for the drink, man.” Nel shook his hand and turned to Cassie. “Let’s get a cab.”

  Cassie stood and touched Peter’s hand. “It was nice talking to you. Let’s both take my advice, okay?”

  Peter didn’t want her to go. He knew that with her overprotective friend looming in the background, she wouldn’t give him her number. And if he gave her his business card he knew without a doubt she’d never call. “I’ll put you in a car. We have one on call for the office. Stay for one more drink?”

  She chewed her lip and looked at Nel. He gave her an it’s-your-life shrug. Peter squeezed her hand and flashed his most affable smile. “I need more advice. Just think, I’ll work forever at this job I hate and it’ll be all your fault.”

  Her laugh rang out. “Okay. I can’t be responsible for ruining your life.”

  “Text me when you’re home,” Nel said, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. The look he shot Peter before he left was one a big brother or father would have given. This was the guy to win over if he wanted Cassie to like him. He had a feeling that wasn’t going to be easy.

  They stayed until the bar closed. He thought about asking her to go to his place, but then she’d lump him in with every guy in every bar who’d ever tried to get her into bed. Not that he would’ve minded—from what he could see, those thirty dollar jeans would be a whole lot nicer on the floor—but he wasn’t going to scare her off. They stood in the cool early morning air and talked while they waited for the car. Cassie lit a cigarette and explained she was down to one a day.

  “But after a drink, or a whole host of drinks…” She blew the smoke into the air and sighed with pleasure.

  Peter smiled, although he hated cigarettes. He didn’t care what this girl did, as long as she did it near him. She was normal and weird and funny. And she was beautiful, in a way that grew on you instead of smacking you in the face. She was kind of like his mom, he realized, except for how he wanted to kiss her in a most un-motherly fashion, even with the cigarette she sucked down like it contained life-sustaining oxygen.

  The car pulled up, and she stubbed out her cigarette before looking for a garbage can. “I can’t throw it on the ground. It’s a product of being raised by environmentalist parents.”

  He held out his hand. “I’ll get it.”

  “Thanks.” She deposited it in his palm and smiled nervously. “Okay, well, goodnight. It was really nice to meet you.”

  The black car’s engine rumbled behind her. Peter had done this a million times, but he was genuinely afraid of being shot down for the first time since he was a teenager. He cleared his throat. “So, can I call you sometime? I might need more life coaching.”

  Cassie gripped the door handle. “I don’t—I’m not really…” She looked up at the sky and shrugged. “You know what? Sure. I’ll take my own advice.”

  She tapped her number into his phone and handed it back. Then, before he could even consider kissing her, she ducked into the backseat. “Goodnight, Petey.”

  He’d already tried to talk her out of calling him Petey, but apparently she was big on nicknames. “Goodnight, Cassandra.”

  She laughed because she’d mentioned earlier that no one ever called her by her full name. He watched the car drive away, grinning like an idiot; he already liked her more than he thought possible after only a few hours. He didn’t even care that his hand smelled like an ashtray.

  “We’re all set,” Chuck said, interrupting Peter’s thoughts.

  Peter shook off the memory. Even though things with Cassie had worked out differently than he had once hoped, it was still a good one. He never would’ve guessed that meeting her that night would save his life—in more ways than one. “Want me to take one of the rowboats?”

  “If you don’t mind rowing. We try not to run the engines unless we have to. We only use electric motors—quieter—but those still have to be charged.”

  “No problem.”

  Peter grabbed the oars and gained on the island quickly. Chuck and Nat were in the canoe, and Rich pulled the other rowboat with full, even strokes. Chuck pointed out a natural beach on the shore, and Peter rowed the boat up to the sandy area where he could disembark without soaking his boots.

  “We usually pull the boats into the bushes,” Chuck said, “but we’ll unload and get you to a truck.”

  Peter followed them through the trees with his load and assessed the island. It was about an acre, maybe. He wasn’t great at that kind of stuff, but he’d improved in recent months. These days, he could talk electrics with James, weapons with John and shoot the shit with Nel, all without feeling like he was in over his head or some sort of impostor.

  A path led to a small cabin that was cobbled together out of mismatched boards and outfitted with solid storm windows that were perfect for a cold Vermont winter. The small deck at the front opened into a main room about twenty by twenty feet. There were two doors Peter assumed were bedrooms and another door by the kitchen. Maybe they had a bathroom. It was cozy and bright, even if the sheet-rock was unevenly taped and unpainted. Chuck caught him looking and knocked on the wall in the kitchen area. The kitchen was outfitted with an inset sink that had no faucet, shelves stocked with packaged food and a wood stove for heating and cooking.

  “Not the prettiest house in the world, but, believe me, she’s solid. And warm—insulation’s inches thick. That’s why we sheet-rocked. Nat’s gonna paint it. Right, Nat?”

  But Nat had already disappeared through a door into what was her room. Peter could see a mattress and dresser, along with posters on the wall and a shelf lined with books.

  “How did you get all this here?” Peter asked.

  “We have a larger boat hidden on the other side of the island. Uses a lot of gas, but for big jobs, it’s the best.”

  Peter nodded and surveyed the rest of the house. You could tell it was designed by two guys, and as much as he abhorred the person he’d been, he couldn’t help but want to redecorate it, just a little. The plain brown couch wasn’t bad, but it should’ve been on the wall next to the windows, not stuck out in the middle, and the easy chairs should have been set near it to make a small living area. He’d arrange the dining table so that it opened the room. Paint those hideous brown wood side tables a light color. Some curtains to cover the black cloth they had for blackout shades. Some bright throw pillows. He didn’t sit through Grandma’s boring consultations with decorators and learn nothing.

  “Nice place,” Peter said.

  “Yeah, well, it works,” Chuck said, but Peter could tell he was proud. The same way Peter had been proud when he helped dig the ditch or fix the fence.

  “Do you have solar?” he asked.

  “Nah,” Chuck said. “Don’t know the first thing about it. We got ourselves a nice composting toilet and managed to get that working, but that’s about it.”

  Peter nodded. He guessed they’d be fine, as long as they laid in enough wood and food. Living on an island was pretty clever, but it didn’t leave a lot of space for growing things. He walked to the kitchen window and looked out at the garden. Some trees had been cleared to give it sun, but it would never produce enough to live on.

  There were tomatoes, red and ripe, that made him think of Ana. She loved tomatoes. It now seemed ridiculous that he was thirty years old and hadn’t kissed her, when it was so obvious she wanted him to. Ana was gorgeous, funny and, honestly, kind of insane. But he’d grown to appreciate that about her. There was hardly any gray; her world was all black and white. This was great when she was on your side, not so much if she wasn’t. But even when she drove him crazy, he still admired her single-mindedness.

  Peter had spent almost two decades afraid that no one would like the real him—Grandma certain
ly hadn’t. He loved how Ana didn’t care; either you liked her or you didn’t, and she didn’t waste time trying to convince you either way. And now that she’d matured out of her bratty little sister phase, everyone did like her. She was strong, opinionated and a fervent zealot of zombie killing, but she’d softened, too. It was obvious how much she loved them all, even when she tried to hide it behind her flippant grin and ever-present cleaver.

  He hadn’t wanted to start something with Ana because he could only imagine how awkward it’d be to have to live with two ex-girlfriends. Finally, last night, Cassie had ordered him to be happy and to stop wasting time. And he’d been about to do just that, until the Lexers showed.

  Maybe, when he next saw Ana, he’d take her face in his hands and kiss her, finally run his fingers down that silky brown skin. He wished he’d at least gotten that slow dance he’d asked Ana for last night, the one intended to break the tension that had sprung up between them in recent weeks. He sighed; he could wish all he wanted, but the only way to make any of it come true was to get himself to Kingdom Come.

  “You have any potatoes in?” Peter asked to fill in the silence that had grown as he’d gazed out the window. He was chock-full of introspection today, but he guessed a near-death experience could do that to you.

  “No, we started late. Spent the first part of summer just surviving, you know?”

  “Yeah. You should try to find some in the supermarkets or houses. I don’t know much about gardening, but you can at least try to save them for seed potatoes next spring. You can plant potatoes in a small area, and then let them grow vertically. Just add some more soil or hay on top.”

  “That’s a good idea. We don’t have much space. Next year we’ll start a garden on the mainland, if we’re still here.”

  Another couple of trips finished the unloading. Chuck thanked him and said, “Let’s get you on your way.”