Until the End of the World Box Set

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  “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.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Cassie’s a painter,” Nelly says.

  “Yeah?” Terry asks. “There were a bunch of artists here. I know there are a lot of art supplies around. I could find some for you.”

  “That’d be great,” I say. “If I’m alive to use them.” Terry grimaces and looks away. I’d apologize, but I don’t feel like apologizing. The only thing I feel like doing is going to sleep.

  “So, if that’s all you need from me, I’ll get going,” Terry says. “Dinner’s in a half hour. I’ll see you there.”

  We study the building for a few more minutes. We have no earth-shattering ideas. Basically, it’s get inside, open the loading doors and kill them as they come into the parking lot, then finish off the ones trapped behind the fence.

  The living room of this four-bedroom cabin is high-ceilinged, with comfy couches and a long dining table just off the full kitchen. One wall is made entirely of glass, but with its enormous area rug and muted colors it feels as cozy as my little cabin. I walk to a window. The grass courtyard between the houses isn’t mown, but it’s not overgrown, probably due to the goats I saw wandering when we came in. Talkeetna is the kind of town in which I’d want to live, full of cute, interesting houses tucked into the trees, but I don’t want to like it here. I know I already do, and it pisses me off that I want to be somewhere I may not be wanted.

  “If we can’t get in, we’ll figure out something else,” Peter says. “We’re not dying for these people.”

  “Fucking right,” Zeke says. “We’ll die for us, not them.”

  These are the people worth dying for. After four thousand miles, we’ve become an even larger family than I had before. I trust every single person here, and I know they trust me. And the faintest glimmer of faith pushes through the discouragement. We can do this.

  52

  We head to the brewery for dinner. Terry told us that Talkeetna’s population is close to 300 with the refugees from Whitehorse, and they need a
n overflow restaurant to serve all the residents. People on the streets watch us go past. A few say hello, but many look away. I’m irritated until it dawns on me that they might feel guilty for not volunteering. After all, this food will feed them, too. I can’t blame them, as much as I want to be angry at somebody. I might not leave if I didn’t have to.

  Inside the brewery, the wood walls and festive atmosphere remind me of Kingdom Come, but the way the voices cease when we walk in doesn’t give off the same vibe. Glory rises from a bench near the door. “Let’s get you some food.”

  The food is set up on the bar and nearby tables. I take a plate and follow Bits and Hank, who chat happily, unaware of the stares or pretending they are. I slow at Patricia’s glare from a nearby table.

  “Calm down,” Penny says from behind me, but she sucks her teeth in Patricia’s direction.

  “Hand me the Vaseline,” I say, and pretend to tie my hair in a ponytail. “I’m about to go Brooklyn on someone.” Penny shushes me while she laughs.

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” Nelly asks.

  “The older girls in our neighborhood would rub Vaseline on their faces, take out their earrings and tie their hair back so it wouldn’t get pulled during a fight,” Penny says.

  “This I’ve got to see,” Nelly says. “Go challenge someone to a duel.”

  We swordfight with our forks until he gets me in the side and I’ve forgotten about the people staring, most of whom have gone back to their meals. I head straight for a pot of soup, anticipating how good it’ll feel on my throat, which is worsening by the second. Anytime after tomorrow is fine, but getting sick now would be the world’s worst timing.

  “Try the cornbread,” Glory says. “We still have some cornmeal left. We tried growing corn this summer, but it’s tricky up here. We saved seed for next year. Those greenhouses your friend mentioned would come in handy.”

  I want to tell her that we’d be happy to help out if we weren’t dying tomorrow, but I know she means well. And my mother always said I’m notoriously cranky when I’m sick. The only thing keeping me from crying or yelling is that I refuse to show anyone in here how scared I am.

  I grab a piece of cornbread and some butter. “You have cows?”

  “Four, and two bulls. They came from Homer Safe Zone last year.”

  “Homer’s still going?” My brain begins to hatch a plan of taking us all there in the gassed up vehicles tomorrow.

  “They’ve moved off the coast now. I’m sorry—we’re all that’s left besides some people out in the bush that we trade with. And the islands, but getting there is next to impossible.”

  “Where should we sit?” Bits asks, eyes scanning the room.

  “I saw some tables in the back room,” I say. “This place is nice, right? And look at all that food!”

  My tone sounds false to me, but she walks carefully past all the tables with a smile that most people return. Hank glances at me before we follow. “I’ll take care of Bits, Cassie. Don’t worry.”

  I can’t swallow, and it’s not because of my throat. I’d hug him if I wouldn’t scald him with my soup. “I know you will, sweetie. But I want to take care of you, too.”

  His downturned face is hidden by his glasses, but a tear plops from his chin. The nearby tables have gone quiet. I set my meal on one of them and wrap him in my arms. “And if I can’t, Penny and Adam will. You’re not alone. I promise you’re not alone, okay?”

  He nods against my neck. I can feel the eyes of the diners on me when I retrieve my food, but none meets my gaze when I look up. I stand there for a second and walk away shaking my head. I don’t expect them to come, but it’d be nice not to be treated like we’re already dead.

  I pull out the chair Peter’s saved for me and sit facing the room, teeth gritted. “I see you’ve already made some friends,” Nelly says.

  I burst out laughing and the rest of the table joins in. You can always count on Nelly to bust up a perfectly good moment of rage. I taste the soup, which is so much better than the cold, uncondensed kind, and close my eyes at the warmth sliding down my throat. It makes swallowing worth it; otherwise, it’s become agony. I attempt the cornbread but don’t think I can get it down.

  “Good luck tomorrow,” Terry stops to say. He points to the couple behind him, both in their early thirties. “This is Tara and Philip.”

  The man is brown-haired and scruffy, with a friendly face and an upturned nose. The female counterpart is tall and willowy, with long, auburn hair and full lips. “Hi,” she says. “We just wanted to say welcome.”

  Philip surveys the room, then turns back with his eyebrows up. “They’re usually not like this, don’t take it personally. We were in Whitehorse on holiday last year from Ontario. I guess we still are. But we hope you’ll come around for a beer when you get back. I’ve got some put away.”

  We murmur how that’d be great. “They were nice,” Peter says once they’re gone.

  “That’s because they’re Canadian,” I say to make him laugh.

  We finish our meals and are almost out the door when a voice booms, “Peter?”

  A man stands at a table, hand on the head of a teenage girl with chin-length blond hair. Everything about him is square, from his broad shoulders and barrel chest to his head. But his formidable presence is canceled out by the friendly grin under his trim beard. I can count the number of times Peter has been flabbergasted on one hand, but whoever this is has made his mouth drop. He spreads his arms when the teenage girl launches herself into them and then swings her around.

  “How did you end up here?” Peter asks after he’s put her down and hugged the man. Another guy as square as the first, but with blond hair rather than brown, waits for his turn, looking just as delighted.

  I think I know who they are, but it’s unbelievable that we’d meet up with them on the other side of the country. Peter steps back from the trio. “This is Chuck, Rich and Nat. The people I stayed with in Vermont.”

  “The island people?” Bits asks.

  “Uh-huh,” Nat says, her small, pretty features alight. “And I know who you are—you’re Bits, right?”

  Bits nods, eyes huge. Nat laughs, a tinkling laugh that matches her little self completely, and says, “I’ve seen you before, you know. You just didn’t see me.” She bites her lip after her eyes scan the group—maybe she can see who’s missing.

  I feel a bit under scrutiny when Peter introduces me, but I move close to Nat. For once in this world, I’m going to get to do something I was sure would never happen. “I smell horrible,” I say, “but I’ve been waiting a year to give you a hug for saving Peter’s life.”

  She flings herself my way. “I feel like I’m meeting celebrities or something! I know all about you! Peter said you like to read. I have tons of books you can borrow.”

  I smile over her shoulder at Peter. He was right when he said she was nutty in a good way. Chuck elbows Peter. “Peter knows all about those books. Don’t you, Pete?”

  Peter laughs, completely at ease. I see him through their eyes, people who didn’t know Peter before the world ended, and can tell how happy they are to be around him. He’d already changed before we parted in Bennington, but by the time he’d arrived at Kingdom Come his metamorphosis had been complete. Maybe finding that people liked him for nothing other than being himself had been the final stage.

  “Wait a minute,” Chuck says, brow wrinkled. “You’re not the new arrivals who volunteered to go to the warehouse?”

  Peter shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I know the nuances of his body language well enough to see that his shoulders are weighted down with worry.

  “Jesus.” Chuck shakes his head slowly. “Come on back to our place. We need to catch up.”

  Chuck, Rich and Nat live in a small log cabin with a green metal roof only a few blocks away. The furnishings are nicer than I expected—an overstuffed sage green couch with an expensive coffee table flanked by striped chairs. I remember what Peter told me about
Rich’s propensity for decorating and direct my comment to him. “Nice place.”

  Rich scratches his chin. “Thanks.”

  After they’ve lighted the lanterns, we sit and sip water. Rich offers us something stronger, but we decline because we don’t need hangovers tomorrow. Ash has come with us, and she, Bits and Hank follow Nat to the loft, where the giggling is nonstop.

  “So, tell me what’s going on,” Chuck says. He stands, arms folded and face impassive while Peter explains the deal we made. He reminds me of John, soaking in information quietly before passing judgment. Then he curses, which is all the judgment we need to know we’re screwed. The surety that we’ll be able to complete this job evaporates.

  “From what I hear, it’s next to impossible,” Chuck says. “We’ve been here since the end of August. The first group went down on a lark, as I understand it, since they didn’t need the food. Then when the people from Whitehorse came, they tried again. Sent down the youngest and strongest, which is why they didn’t let me go. I offered.”

  Rich mumbles something I can’t hear.

  “Yeah,” Chuck says, “this is bad timing. Crops weren’t too bad this year, but the hunting and salmon catch weren’t good. Once everything freezes, I think we’ll get in some good hunting.” He pushes out his lips and stares at the ceiling. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No,” Peter says. “I won’t ask you to do that.”

  “You’re not asking, I’m telling.”

  “But you have Na—”

  “And why do I have her? You saved Nat’s life and almost broke your ankle for it. You put off your trip north to make sure we were set for winter, Pete. You were willing to take her with you if we didn’t come back. Now I’m going to help make sure you’re set for winter.”

  Peter nods at the floor. Nelly, Penny and James straighten, as bewildered as I am. Peter never mentioned those parts. He’d only said he hurt his ankle and had to recuperate. It’s no wonder they love him. I thought I knew how kind and selfless Peter could be, but it’s even more than that. He’s a beautiful soul, as my mother would say. I give him a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you head shake. He shrugs but returns my smile before looking away.