Joe’s back in Alpine. He returned with some trepidation and found a place filled with people picking up the pieces of their shattered lives. Over half the town’s population is dead, the other half still shell-shocked; living people moving like zombies. They don’t need a garage, don’t need a mechanic. So on his first night he went over to the old bar. The interior was trashed but the structure was still intact. Electricity had been lost to the town so Joe helped to get it restored quickly. He spent weeks clearing out the bar, fixing the furniture, burning what couldn’t be restored. He found a truck, hood-first, in the ruin of Mick’s Motors. With a little work to the engine and a couple of cans of gas he used it to make the three day round-trip to Phoenix where supplies were getting through and he could pick up all the things he needed to re-open; booze, snacks and glasses. It was basic, but it was a start.
It’s a Thursday night and Joe’s Bar is packed with locals enjoying a cheap drink. Joe keeps his prices down, charges wholesale plus enough to keep the place running. He’s not in it to make a profit. He’s got arrangements in place with a firm in Los Angeles that delivers whatever bottles, barrels and casks are available, once a week. Last week he picked up a pool table on eBay and it’s going down well with the youngsters. Whenever he hears the balls rolling across the baize it reminds him of Matt and Luke, and he spares them a minute's silence every day. Only the four – three – of them will ever know the sacrifices the boys made to stop the apocalypse. All he can do is keep their memory alive in little ways.
It’s a good place, a happy place. Even those who’ve lost loved ones, friends and colleagues can come here to have a drink in company and leave a little happier than when they arrived. It’s a supportive community and Joe is proud to be at the centre of it.
~..~
Luke slams the shot glass onto the bar and declares himself the winner. Next to him, his brother rolls his eyes, leans across and kisses him, tongue reaching for the burning taste of the tequila at the back of his throat. They down the last dregs of their beer before saying goodbye to the bartender and heading out into the warm night air. It’s a five minute walk along a dark, empty road to their place. But it's a safe walk, because whenever something with teeth starts to sniff around they set out, track it down and kill it.
Their place is a sprawling ranch with empty stables and lots of land, set back from the road; quiet and lonely. They have an orchard filled with fruit trees and a garden where Matt grows everything from strawberries to oregano. Next to the house there’s a garage where Luke keeps the Mustang running smoothly. Once a week they head out and just drive down a road that goes on forever but always brings them home. They haven’t met up with their parents yet, they’re not ready to. They might never be.
On the first day a tall man with dark curly hair knocked on their door just to check that everything was good for them. They haven’t seen him since. They won’t see him again. This is their time now, and while they think about Emilie and Gabe and Joe and Rick, they don’t worry about them, and while they sometimes reminisce about old times, they don’t miss them. They’ve got each other, just the way it’s always been.
It’s all they’ve ever wanted. It’s Heaven.
THE END
Thank you for reading
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The House at the End of the World Page 22