Until the End of the World Box Set

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  Whit straddles me, knife hand pinning my shoulder to the steel. He paws beneath my bra and fumbles with his pants. I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. I refuse to scream—I’ll force myself to concentrate on that velvety black bowl twinkling with lights. I find Cassiopeia, who was hung in the sky as punishment for her vanity. She might have deserved it, but there’s plenty of punishment in this world for people who don’t deserve any.

  This close, his odor is unbearable and, when he coughs, even the food he’s eaten doesn’t cover the smell on his breath. It makes me wonder where the Lexers are. Where are they when you need them? I would welcome a pod right now. It’d be preferable to die that way, but it wouldn’t do us any good. How you die does matter, and I’ll die doing my best to protect the people I love. I find the Big and Little Dippers—the easy ones—and stare at the north star. Sometimes Pegasus is hard to see, but not with the way the stars gleam tonight. I follow Whit’s instructions to undo my belt and jeans but don’t pull them down. He’ll have to figure this out alone.

  I clench my fists by my side when his hands lower. I can taste the stench coming off him. I think I’d rather die than choke down that so-called food. I know I’d rather die than turn into something sick like these men, if there’s any possibility that’s what made them this way.

  I look for the stars that make up Cetus, the sea monster, and don’t resist when Whit yanks at my jeans one-handed. I’m tired of fighting. Tired of being optimistic. Tired of losing people and living in a world that, quite frankly, doesn’t seem to want us here. I don’t want to worry anymore. If there is a Heaven, we can meet there. Even if there’s not, I won’t have to worry about anything ever again. And I don’t want there to be a Heaven at this moment—I don’t want my mother and father and brother and Adrian to be watching me at my most helpless, unable to come to my aid.

  I find the Andromeda constellation. She was the daughter of Cassiopeia, punished for sins that weren’t her own. Chained to a rock and left to be eaten by the sea monster. Helpless, like me, until she was rescued by Perseus. But Perseus isn’t coming.

  I let my last bit of hope float up to the stars. It’s not so bad. I don’t know why I didn’t give up a year ago, a few months ago. Next world or not, I’m done with this one. I’m done with this body that has always been mine to give and no longer feels like it belongs to me.

  He grunts something I barely register. A scream comes from the RV, loud enough to pierce through the haze I’ve worked so hard to create. I think dimly that they’re supposed to be okay. That’s why I’m allowing something every cell in my body revolts against.

  Whit gets my jeans to my ankles before he loses patience. “Take your boots off.”

  It could be the first time he’s done this. He’s clumsy and unsure, but by the way he breathes I know he has no intention of stopping.

  Ashley howls. Maureen scolds. A faint anger ripples through me. When the chorus of screaming begins and I’m sure that Boss has broken his word, the anger swells to rage. As far as Bits is concerned—as far as I’m concerned—I’m already gone. But I could come back. I just have to figure out how. I take a final look at Andromeda before I sit up. I’m not chained like that poor girl. The sea monster is breathing down my neck, but maybe I can fight him off myself.

  I glance into the shadows for a weapon. He has a gun, but I don’t know where it is. The screams from the RV cut off and my head clears in the silence that follows. I can do this. I can work with what I have. I untie my left boot and then use my left hand to unlace it completely while I work on my right. He can’t see what I’m doing in the dark. I ball the shoelace in my hand and work off my jeans.

  I gasp when my bare legs hit metal. Whit pushes me to my back and my collarbone creaks under the weight of his hand. Now that I’ve returned from the stars I feel every degree of cold, every centimeter of his skin on mine. He growls when he finds that I still wear my new underwear. I’m not making this easy—this is my only chance. I’m going to take it, and I’m going to take it before he gets what he came for.

  “Stupid bitch!” He moves to the side, knocking over something in the process. I kneel as if doing what I’m told and take each end of the shoelace in my shaking hands.

  “Everything all right?” Auburn calls.

  “Fine,” Whit calls back. “Just keep watch.”

  I use the moment his head is turned to loop my bootlace around his neck. He freezes in surprise, which gives me time to pull it into a half knot—the way one begins to tie their shoes, bunny ears or no. His fists flail backward, punching at my ribs hard enough to take my breath away and keeping me from pulling the lace as tight as it needs to be. I need to get him down. I need more leverage.

  Die, I want to scream, Fucking die already. When he doubles over with the effort of drawing a breath, I push him to the metal and scramble onto his back. He kicks his legs, but his feet hang over the edge of the truck’s bed and hardly make a sound. I can see Auburn standing with his lantern forty feet away on the RV steps. If the low noises Whit makes carry that far, I hope he thinks they’re grunts and thumps of pleasure.

  Whit’s knife has landed above his head, just out of his reach as well as mine. It would be a better weapon, but he could get to it first if I let go. And I’m not letting go. I pull until there’s enough slack to wrap the lace around my hands. The deeper it digs into my flesh, the deeper it digs into the soft skin of his neck.

  He jolts under me. I press my knees into his spine. It’s taking so long, or maybe it just feels that way—such a quiet yet violent battle. It’s sweaty and desperate and more horrible than I thought to hold a man down while he struggles for his life. But it’s his or mine.

  Help me, I beg my mom and dad. Help me live. Help me kill him. Maybe a prayer for murder is the wrong kind of prayer, but I don’t give a shit.

  It could take another minute, and I can hold on for as long as it takes. There’s a loud snap and my hands fly out, each holding an end of my broken bootlace. Whit takes a shuddering gasp of air. He’ll be stronger than me in no time. I plant my knees in his shoulder blades and lunge for his knife.

  I’ve sunk a blade into the back of a skull countless times by now. He’s not a Lexer, though, and it glances off the side of his head when he rolls out from under me. He gags and smashes a fist into my cheek. I fall to my side—eye tearing, cheekbone on fire—and scramble to my knees. I clasp the knife over his exposed neck and bring it down two-handed with more force than I’d need to get through skull. And then I do it again.

  I’m used to the grinding of bone and the crackling of gristle, but the blood is new and it’s everywhere. It sprays my arms and body, which are only inches away. The tangy, metallic smell overpowers his rot. My knees skid in its warmth and I topple beside him, blood oozing under me.

  “Hey, Whit,” Auburn calls. “You like it rough?” He laughs at his own joke. After a moment, he calls, “Whit?”

  I get on my hands and knees. He has a gun and I have a knife; it’s no mystery who’ll win that contest. I need his gun for when I go back into the RV. I slip off the edge of the truck and remember the bows when my feet hit the box. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to use them. I drag my slippery palm along my blood-soaked shirt and get enough of a grip to nock the arrow and test the bow. It might be hard to draw under normal circumstances, but it pulls back as easily as a child’s toy in my adrenalized arms.

  I hide behind the tailgate. They may be crazy, but right now I’m crazier. I’m going to take back the things I love. No one’s going to stop me. Auburn is twenty feet away and closing in with a gun and lantern that allows me to see my target. And I need to see. I have to hit his neck or mouth or eye. I can’t give him time to make noise.

  I draw the bow and let the arrow fly. I will it to his throat—at the soft V below his Adam’s apple—because my getting any kind of head shot is unlikely. The lantern clatters to the ground when my arrow hits its mark. Auburn’s eyes widen and his hand goes to his neck, but he doesn�
�t stop coming. Something low and fast streaks past and I catch a glimpse of golden fur in the rolling lantern before Barnaby hits him head-on and takes him down.

  I run to finish him off, but Auburn is motionless. Barn raises his head from the dead man and whines into the dark. I spin at the quiet call of my name. The moon is higher now, bright enough to dim some of the stars and to see the whites of Peter’s eyes all around when he grips my arms. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  “More inside.” My teeth clack together. “Four more. One’s hurt.”

  “Is everyone okay?” Zeke asks.

  I shake my head and don’t look at Nelly. He’ll know if I do. Zeke opens his mouth and closes it. We’re behind the truck’s cab, but it’s only a matter of time before someone checks on Auburn and Whit. I grab Zeke’s coat when he spins for the RV. If they rush in there, someone’s bound to get hurt. “Give me a gun. I’ll say there are zombies and try to send them out. If they don’t, you come in.”

  Somewhere I’m aware of how wild I must seem, standing in my underwear and a tank top with blood freezing on my skin, but right now all that matters is that every last one of these men die.

  “You can’t kill…” Zeke says. He looks me up and down and hands me his gun.

  I scream for help and fall through the RV’s door. The plan is to send at least one of them outside to help their friends, but my script deserts me at the sight of Maureen on the kitchen floor in a spreading pool of blood. The tips of her fingers lay limp in the crimson lake. Her eyes are open and an icy, dead blue.

  On the couch, Nicki’s head is buried in Penny’s side. Bits and Hank look almost as terrified of me as they do of the men. Ash and Jamie are missing, as is Twitch. We had a deal, me and Boss: I didn’t fight and he didn’t hurt anyone else. My part of the bargain is null and void.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Boss asks when he sees me. The dark-haired man looks up from the dinette, hand on his gun.

  I keep my arm behind my back, where I’ve tucked the gun in my underwear, and meet Penny’s eyes. “La familia es fuera.” The family is outside. It’s the best I can do, since I cut Spanish class more than I went.

  Boss and Dark-hair look to her in confusion. I could pull my gun and have him lay down his, but it’s going to end with a bullet to his head either way. And I’ve seen enough movies to know that when you give the bad guy a second chance, he takes it.

  The shot is deafening. It’s loaded with .38 instead of .357, thankfully, or we might never hear again. Boss’s head explodes out the other side, bathing the dinette and Dark-hair in brain and blood. Dark-hair points his gun my way, but Penny’s already behind him. She tangles her fingers in his hair and slams his head sideways into the window frame. He has no time to react before she does it again. This time the crack is loud enough to hear over the ringing in my ears.

  The RV door flies open just as Twitch enters from the bedroom. When he sees Nelly and Peter, he drops his gun at their command. Dark-hair lifts his hands in a daze. Penny’s knuckles are white, her glasses askew, chest heaving. Her eyes spark with more fury than I thought she had in her. She unclenches her hands reluctantly when James reaches her side. I think she wants to finish the job.

  33

  Adam is alive. He was shot through the shoulder and ended up under the RV. He’s unconscious but stable, and they bring him into the RV after Mark drags Jay, now dead of his wound, from the bedroom. Shawn isn’t as lucky. I find Jamie weeping on the road with Shawn’s head in her lap. She gently lowers it to the ground and insists on seeing to Adam and Kyle over our protests.

  I still clutch Zeke’s gun and wear the blanket Margaret wrapped around my shoulders after she made sure Ash was all right. Ashley’s shirt was cut open, but her jeans were on and belt still buckled. I couldn’t hug her with my covering of blood when she burst into tears at the sight of me.

  Peter drags the four dead men to the side of the road while Mark and James keep watch where Twitch and Dark-hair kneel on the asphalt. I don’t know why they’re still alive. I stalk toward them and duck away when Peter tries to head me off with a hand on my shoulder. I don’t want anyone to touch me. I want to be left alone, but first I want these men to be erased from the face of the Earth.

  “Go inside,” Peter says. “Get cleaned up.”

  My hair has formed into long, blood-thickened ropes that remind me of Medusa’s head of snakes. It was Medusa’s head that Perseus used to kill the sea monster and free Andromeda. Seems fitting. I strangle the wild laugh that bubbles up in my throat. Dan would understand, but no one else would get my sick joke.

  “Not until they’re dead,” I say.

  Twitch glares at me in the lantern light. “Just finish it,” he hisses.

  If that’s what he wants, I’m happy to oblige. I drop my blanket and raise Zeke’s gun, but Peter pushes my arm down. “Go inside. Please.”

  “Not until they’re dead,” I say again. Dark-hair recoils, but Twitch only twitches.

  “Fine.” Peter’s voice is scarily calm. He tucks the blanket around me like he’s swaddling a baby, then drops his coat and walks forward, rolling up his sleeves on the way.

  His machete chings when he pulls it from his side. He runs it across Twitch’s neck without taking his eyes from mine, as though an offering to appease a bloodthirsty monster. I even feel like Medusa—cold and vengeful and full of death, protector of virgins and hater of men. The blood splatter almost hits my feet, but I stay put. It’s not like any more will make a difference.

  I don’t feel a lick of pity when Dark-hair begs. Shawn didn’t get the chance to beg. Maureen might have begged, but she’s still dead, body in a blanket shroud by the RV steps. Peter’s blade whips deep before Dark-hair can finish his plea, and he has to brace his foot on Dark-hair’s shoulder to draw it out. He drops his machete beside the body and strides my way while James and Mark gape in astonishment.

  “Now, please, go inside,” Peter says.

  The shadows on his face would be frightening if I didn’t know him better. Any second now he’ll snap out of it, I think, but he waits for my answer with no change of expression. I pivot and walk up the RV steps. There’s no space in the tiny bedroom where they’ve moved Kyle and Adam. Zeke tells me they’re okay so far. I return to the kitchen that’s soaked with Maureen’s blood and Boss’s head cavity, where the smell of Lexer and bodily fluids make me woozy.

  I sink to a clean part of the floor and rest my head on my knees. There’s no victory here—only shock and sorrow and violation. If I sit long enough, I’ll cry, and the tight feeling of someone else’s blood on my skin will send me over the edge. I need to get it off. I lean at the kitchen sink and start on my arms. The water is warm—maybe it turned on along with the heat. I fill a bowl to conserve water and scrape at my knuckles with a fingernail. Peter steps in and watches me. I keep my eyes on my chore and wait for him to say something. I’m not sure what I want him to say, but somehow he always knows what I need to hear.

  “You should get in the shower,” he finally says, which falls way short of what I was hoping for.

  “I don’t have any clean…I was going to wash out my other jeans tomorrow. I’ll see if Maureen has—” Had, I remind myself. Had.

  “I’ll find clothes and put them in the bathroom. Just go.”

  I look up. Peter is already on his way to the cabinets. I think about calling him back because I no longer want to be left alone, but I’m afraid the dam holding back my tears might give out if I let so much as a trickle through. I murmur thanks and walk to the shower.

  I’m covered with streaks of reddish-brown that remind me of how Eric and I would paint ourselves with ground-up river rocks when we were kids. I scrub until the soap’s lather turns from pink to white, but it isn’t enough. I check every speck of skin to be sure no trace remains and then quickly scrub again. Zeke said to use all the water I needed because we’re getting a new vehicle tomorrow, and then he touched my bloody shoulder.

  “I’m glad yo
u’re okay, sugar,” he’d said. I nodded and closed the bathroom door before I admitted I wasn’t.

  I step out of the shower and run a hand along the fogged mirror. Now that the blood is gone, I’m able to see the large pink welt under my eye and the bruises forming on my sides. The finger marks above and below my collarbone won’t wash off. I shiver although the bathroom is a sauna. I got off lucky, I know I did, but I still want to scream. I hum tonelessly to distract myself from the thoughts that creep in.

  I freeze when I reach for the bag Peter’s left—Ana’s bag—and sit on the toilet lid with it in my lap. Her scent rushes out when I unzip the top, and I close my eyes against the onslaught of memories. God, I loved that girl. She was bananas, for sure, but I think I loved her because she was bananas. I smile at the leather pants and bottle of hair conditioner. Her jeans are a little short but they’ll tuck into my boots just fine. Peter left those in here, too. My left boot has a new red lace to replace the broken one, and they’re cleaner than they’ve been in a year. I take out underwear and a bra, tank top, shirt and cozy hoodie I can wear under my leather coat since my new coat is destroyed.

  I find a tiny baby dress wrapped in tissue paper—fancy French linen embroidered with a delicate pattern of flowers and adorable forest animals. Ana had loved this dress when she found it at that boutique in Stowe. I don’t know that there will ever be suitable weather in Alaska, but I promise Ana her niece will wear it, even if I have to jam it over a baby-sized parka. Even if she’s a boy.

  A jewelry box at the very bottom holds a pair of small silver hoops with a blue bead in the center. Of course Ana packed earrings. But then I realize they weren’t for Ana. They’re the kind of earrings you get at a piercing shop, made of titanium or something similar. We’d promised to pierce Bits’s ears for her ninth birthday, and the beads match Bits’s eyes. Ana must have put them in here so we’d have them wherever we were.