Until the End of the World Box Set

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  “There are another two coming up,” James says.

  He hooks a hand on the cabover bed and watches the six-lane road out the windshield. There are fewer cars than on the main road. The people who made it out of Edmonton must have kept going once they were free of the city.

  “There, on the right.” James points to two large stations that sit next to each other, where more signs claim that the gas is long gone.

  “At least Canadians are nice enough to let you know not to waste your time,” I say because if I don’t joke, I’ll kick something in frustration.

  “Now if only we could get some of that free healthcare,” James says, and moves back to his map. “Keep going north. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  We get lucky-ish at the next one: Fifty gallons of questionable gas in a neighborhood that houses only industrial buildings and auto body shops. We put this in our new tank so as not to mix it with the fuel we know to be good and pick up a few new gas cans while we’re at it.

  “If you could see the number of gas stations in the city, you guys would cry,” James says. His expression is composed, but he presses his finger to the center of Edmonton hard enough for the tip to blanch. “But I doubt we can get in without killing ourselves.”

  We’ve seen a few Lexers going about their zombie business, but I imagine the stations in town are chock-full. Close to a million people, especially with roadblocks in place, must have created a lot of zombies.

  We head south because the North Saskatchewan River cuts through Edmonton and the road to the north bridge is blocked. When I swear this stupid river is following us, James shows me how it winds up and down across the map and assures me that this will be the final crossing, after which we’ll swing north and east to check out the military base.

  The seats are all taken, so I plop myself on Nelly’s lap on the couch and fling my arm around his shoulder. “How you doing, darlin’?” he asks.

  “Great. Remember how we always wanted to take a cross-country road trip?”

  “It’s exactly how I envisioned it,” Nelly says.

  “It might even be better.” It’s not anything like how we envisioned it, but his presence makes it much better than it would otherwise be.

  The trees become numerous as we cross the bridge. The yellows and oranges of the autumn leaves mix with the green of the firs to create a postcard-perfect view. Even so, I’d have been happy never seeing the river again. Maybe third time’s the charm.

  25

  The closer we get to West Edmonton, the more Lexers we see. A group of twenty watches us go past, their heads turning slowly, mouths agape. Sometimes it’s a shock to the system to see them again when we haven’t for a few hours. I can pretend we live in an empty world, which is bad enough, until I get a reminder that dead people want to eat us.

  We maneuver our way down a wide road that isn’t completely clogged and hit an overpass. The highway above is the perfect place to survey the road ahead. Six of us climb the grassy embankment and stand on the guardrail. The lanes are cars, the shoulders are cars, but there isn’t anything undead except one Lexer still belted in a hatchback. It scrapes a claw against the window, wisps of long hair covering half its face.

  I step from car to car. I’m not taking the chance of living out the childhood nightmare of a hand wrapping around my ankle from a dark space. Peter follows until we’re in the center of the overpass on the roof of a green sedan.

  “Can I call you Elmer from now on?” I ask, and raise the binoculars to my eyes.

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “You know, like Elmer’s Glue.”

  “Have I ever told you that you’re weird?” Peter asks.

  “I don’t think so.”

  I take in the Edmonton skyline, where I can make out details of the buildings that are miles away, and then focus on the road. These binoculars are the best money can buy, apparently. That’s one good thing—you never have to skimp on quality as long as you can get to what you want without being eaten.

  What looks like a roadblock is a mile or so ahead, and behind that are zombies. They cover the street and parking lots. A face with one eyeball and a hole where the nose once was fills my lens, and I take an involuntary step back. It looks close enough to eat me.

  Peter drops his binoculars with a sigh. “Well, that’s out.” We make our way back to share the news with the others.

  “We’ll go north,” Mark says. “Then to Grande Prairie. It’s possible that if the roadblocks kept people in, there’ll be gas up there.”

  The thought had crossed my mind that we’d get far enough to think we were going to make it and then get no farther. I’d refused to give it credibility because of my new upbeat attitude, but now the possibility begins to eat away at my optimism. I never wanted to be a cheerleader, anyway.

  “We only need another hundred gallons,” I say, and mentally wave my imaginary pompoms. “We should be able to find that much. Then we’re as good as there.” Bits believes it even if the others don’t.

  We waste time and gas, but in the end only have twenty more gallons to show for it. By the time we hit the town that should have taken us three hours of travel, half of the day’s sunlight is gone. The brick sign on the town’s outskirts welcomes us. The spray-painted sign that says We shoot thieves with a skeleton tied to the post beneath doesn’t.

  “Someone went all medieval,” Nelly says.

  Our hands move to our weapons. The sign looks old and chances are that if they once would have shot, they might not now or they’re out of ammo. And we’re not thieves. The first buildings we see—a few hotels, a gas station and a restaurant—are all burnt to the ground.

  “Those fires look intentional,” Mark says. He rests a finger under his nose and watches the next burned-out building come into view.

  We pull to a stop at a roadblock that’s abandoned but impassable because of the shells of burnt-out cars that stretch out behind it. Zeke leaves the pickup for a better view and returns with hunched shoulders. “It goes on for a mile. And there’s a whole slew of bodies on the other side. I say we get the hell out of here.”

  “There are two rivers ahead,” James says quietly. “We need the bridge.”

  “More fucking rivers?” Zeke yanks his beard. “I’m beginning to hate Canada.”

  “We can either go farther north or down south, but both will double our time to Grande Prairie.”

  “I’d bet the last of our food this bridge is blocked, too, but is there a different way to hit this one?”

  “Not without going through the city. Or so far down south that we might as well just go the southern route anyway. And we might as well forget about the military base—we’ll never get there.”

  Zeke balls up a fist and gently rests it on the camper door. It looks like he’d rather punch something. “So we have no fucking choice in the matter, that’s what you’re telling me?” Zeke’s eyes narrow to slits and his jaw works under his beard. Right here is the guy who traveled 1,000 miles to safety in the months after the virus, who used to be a hellraiser, and I, for one, wouldn’t want to mess with him.

  “Oh, we have choices,” James says. “It’s just that, as usual, they all suck.”

  Zeke bellows out a short laugh, good humor restored. “Well, that’s better, then.”

  It takes us half an hour to get to the first of the two bridges that go north, passing a tiny town that can barely be called a town and halting at a bridge that can’t be called a bridge, since it no longer connects the two sides of the river. The structure itself still stands, but a stretch of the road has been chipped away as if someone took a jackhammer to it. We walk the asphalt. I want to grab Peter by the back of his coat when he peers over the edge. Nelly follows, but I pull him back.

  “What’s wrong with you guys?” I ask. “Why would you walk to the edge of a precipice for no good reason?”

  Peter faces us and rocks back on his heels, arms whirling to stay upright. I scream—a high-pitched screech
that echoes off the water—and rush forward. As I reach him, he plants his feet on the ground and laughs. He actually laughs.

  “You’re such an asshole!” I yell. I’d shove him if he weren’t still six inches from the edge.

  Nelly’s stupid Texan hoots are louder than my scream. I march past Zeke, who also finds this amusing judging by the way his beard trembles. Jamie rolls her eyes at Shawn and Nelly’s high five. I slam the RV’s door and flop on the couch. “What is wrong with men? My dad was right when he said they never mentally make it past the age of twelve.”

  Mark looks up from his map. “A valid theory, and one I won’t argue with in most cases.”

  The others troop into the RV, Peter last and still looking delighted with his prank. He sits and elbows me in the side. I cross my arms and stare out the window. “C’mon, it was a little bit funny,” he says. I don’t answer and he elbows me harder. “A tad funny?”

  “No, it really wasn’t. What if Bits or Hank did that?”

  “They’re kids. I’m thirty-one.”

  “In actual years, maybe.”

  “Fine, sorry,” Peter says. I give him a sidelong glance to find him not looking sorry at all.

  Bits and Hank watch us bicker. In fact, everyone does. I stand. “Who wants to watch a movie?”

  I sit and seethe while the TV plays. I might have overreacted in the supermarket, but I don’t get why you would pretend to be in trouble when we have plenty as it is. It takes the length of a movie to reach the other bridge, only to find it’s the same story. I don’t leave the RV; hearing about the Lexers trapped in the steel and concrete supports is enough. I understand why someone destroyed the bridges—the river is a natural barrier to the Lexers—and I suppose if I were north of the bridge, I would think that cutting off access was a fine idea. But on this side it just sucks.

  26

  As we drive south, the road rises with mountains that remind me of the rolling hills of Vermont. The sky is darkening with late afternoon storm clouds. I put on the remainder of our rice, dump in a can of pinto beans from the supermarket and politely brush off Peter’s offer to help. I’ve started dishing out the food when I hear a collective gasp.

  Everyone’s gaze is focused on the windshield. At first I think it’s a cloud, but then I make out the very tip of a mountain far in the distance. We’re almost at the Rockies. Those mountains I’ve dreamed of for a week have become a reality. Shawn gives the pickup’s horn three long, joyous blasts and giddiness replaces my fatigue.

  We pull to the side of the highway to eat. The cold air smells of trees and mountains and moist earth instead of dry, windy prairie. Once I’m outside, I don’t want to go back in the RV. I don’t want to sit down. I only want to stare at that distant peak until I’m absolutely sure it’s not a mirage.

  Peter swallows his food in a few bites and turns to me. The coming storm bathes everything in a bright, unearthly light, making the highlights in his hair almost silver. “Forgive me yet?”

  “No.” I eat a spoonful of rice and watch the mountain. I’m so happy that I want to forgive him immediately, but he still has to make his penance. “That was stupid. What if you fell?”

  “I—”

  “I wasn’t done. Why make danger when there isn’t any? Aren’t we in enough danger?”

  Peter crosses his arms. “Says the girl who went out looking for trouble all summer and almost fell in the quarry.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but he’s right. “Okay, fine. But I was killing zombies. If you’re going to do something stupid, can you at least make it have purpose?” I point at him. “Plus, I don’t know if you remember, but you promised me. I’m upset that you were willing to take the chance. We’re three quarters of the way there.”

  I can’t tell what he’s thinking with the way the silver clouds are reflected in his eyes, but he looks sad or serious, or both. I move closer and look up at him. “I want us to live. I want you to live. But do you want to live? Tell me the truth. I understand if you don’t or if you’re not sure, believe me.”

  A raindrop splatters on my scalp. Lightning flashes where the clouds are darkest. My coat will be close to useless if it gets too wet, as wet down does the opposite of warming you up, but I’m not moving until he answers. I need to know if I should prepare myself to lose him. It might make it easier if I do.

  The silver light turns gray and a roll of thunder crashes loud enough to make me jump. Peter’s lips are pressed together, gaze bouncing around as if he’s afraid to look at me for too long. I know he’ll tell me the truth, but now I’m not so sure I want to hear the answer. I wrap my hand around his damp leather sleeve. “And maybe answer before Mother Nature makes the decision for us with a bolt of lightning.”

  “I want to live.”

  “You sure?”

  A slight smile spreads until his face is alight. “I’m sure.”

  The lightning moves closer. Every hair on my head rises and every cell in my body zings with the power of the coming storm. We need to find a safe place to sleep, but I wish we could drive all night. The Rockies are so close that I know we’re going to get there. Peter wants to live. Bits and Hank are with us. Penny’s baby is going to be born. Nelly will torture me for the rest of my life. It makes me want to shout with joy. Or have a dance party. I imagine staging a dance party right here on this lonely stretch of road.

  “Why are you smiling?” Peter asks.

  “I wish we could have a dance party. But, sadly, we don’t have the time.”

  “I’m heartbroken,” Peter says.

  “I know you are.” I pull out Adrian’s phone and wipe away a drop of rain. “Let’s get a picture with that mountain.”

  I take a shot of us before the phone is soaked. Shawn honks. “Really? It’s picture time?” he calls out the window.

  “It was either that or a dance party,” I yell back. I drag Peter toward the RV before we really are struck by lightning now that it flashes directly overhead and the rain has begun in earnest.

  “Well, then, I support your decision,” Shawn calls.

  He revs the pickup’s engine and we follow him down the next dip. We lose sight of the mountain, but that’s okay. I know it’s still there.

  27

  I think we’d be able to see the mountains, if they weren’t obscured by sheets of rain, while we head toward the town of Hinton. It’s far too late to check for fuel, so we exit the highway and end up on a street of large new homes, all different but identical in that planned community way. Every house has been broken into and the cars are either gone or in garages.

  “One of these might do for the night,” Zeke says from the pickup.

  Kyle has insisted on driving the RV all day, and now he stretches his arm above his head and opens the door. The rain has lessened to a drizzle, and the thunder is a distant rumble. We choose a sage green house with a privacy fence and a deadbolt that still clicks into place. It’s not fancy like last night’s house, but it’s spacious and nicely furnished with microfiber couches, Ikea-type furniture and nary a coaster in sight.

  The only pictures are of a couple around retirement age posing on beaches and sailboats and what Mark recognizes as Machu Picchu from his travels. The dark kitchen cabinets are empty and the fridge holds a fossilized box of baking soda. The whole place is as cold as a refrigerator. Just once, I’d like to waste the RV’s propane and be warm from my toes to the top of my grimy head.

  I remind my growling stomach that we’ve already eaten dinner. I’ve tried not to think about it or complain, but we’ve got an hour or so until bedtime, and all I want is something to eat. Going to bed hungry sucks. Waking up hungry sucks. I think about suggesting we eat something else, a couple of MREs maybe, but we should save them.

  “Early watch shift for you tonight, sugar,” Zeke says, his bulk filling the doorway of the kitchen. “Nothing good, huh?”

  “Not a crumb,” I say. At least I’ll get a full night’s sleep instead of waking up to be hungry for two hours
during the night. “You must be starving, Zekey.”

  He spreads his thick arms. “Could do with a meal. But I’ve got more padding than you. Plenty to live off of for a while.”

  “Well, you’re the first one we’ll eat. No point in letting all those good calories waste away.”

  Zeke guffaws and moves into the kitchen so Nelly can pass. “Who are we eating?” Nelly asks.

  “You’d make a decent second course,” I say.

  I laugh when they flex their muscles and argue about who’d make the better meal. I don’t know how I would have gotten this far without them, in both the literal and figurative sense. And I know what I realized a week ago is true—the more people we have in our hearts, the more likely we’ll have someone left to help us through.

  After I’ve set the kids up with Mad Libs, James calls to me from the hallway. I find him in the master bedroom, a conspiratorial look on his face. He wiggles an open pack of cigarettes in the air. “Someone was a closet smoker, for real. I found these on the top shelf in the guy’s shoebox.”

  “Or they were emergency cigarettes. I had emergency cigarettes.” I’d tucked a pack under my clothes in my closet in Brooklyn after I quit and forgotten all about them until now.

  “Well, this dude must have been eaten right away because if there was ever an emergency, this was it. You in?”

  It’s not food, but it’s something to put in my mouth. “Are you crazy? Of course I’m in. Let me check for clothes first.” I open drawers and push hangers aside. When I find a couple pairs of jeans I throw them on the bed along with a sweater that looks cozy.