PostApoc

by Liz Worth

  “Shit,” I say, and then remember we aren’t alone. I peek over the top of the bed but Colton’s still asleep.

  On my knees in front of Tara I say, “Wake up,” even though I know she won’t. I try to reach into her thoughts but can’t. I lay her on her side. Her cheek is hard under my lips. I want to whisper something to her but don’t know what to say, so my mouth just pushes out silence.

  The nightstand drawer is full of lollipops. I grab them in handfuls and put them in my bag to take with me. And then I see Tara’s bag, and I take that, too.

  I test my strength before getting back on my bike by clenching and unclenching my fists. I can’t faint again because there’s no one left on this road who I can trust to help me. I make a note of the weakness in my hands. Clench, unclench. The heel of my palm is pocked with crescent moons. My skin is stuffed under my fingernails, handlebars holding chunks of my palms. My body is decomposing already, before my heart or my head have even stopped. I rub at the eye earring Tooth gave me and think, Maybe it’ll go away once I get there.

  Outside the sun’s still strong enough to cast shadows. As I pull out on my bike, I see the silhouette of Tara’s foxtail bobbing behind me.

  On the highway I rush underneath overpasses. Their concrete torsos have fallen away, showing off rusting metal ribcages of the road. Metal barriers have come loose and swing low. I pass a sign that says I’ve only got twenty kilometers to go until Montreal. I suck on one lollipop after another, keeping as much sugar in my blood as I can until I get there.

  I suck on two lollipops at a time and almost swallow my tongue. I brush the hair out of my eyes and a hundred strands come away in my hand. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and it ends up smeared with watery blood. I catch my foot on the road when my sole slips from the pedal and I feel a toenail come loose. I think of Tara, feel for a psychic connection, just in case I was wrong to leave her, but get nothing back.

  At Montreal’s outer limits the sun is still in the same position as when I left the motel. I wonder if we’ll have to wait another day for night to come.

  I stop ahead of an overpass to catch my breath, rest my legs. It’s the first break I’ve taken. Spraypainted in neon orange on the side of the bridge is a greeting:

  WELCOME TO THE END OF THE WORLD

  The paint isn’t fresh, but it throbs with accuracy. With my front wheel facing east, I ride.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to Kire Paputts, my favourite person, who always lets me disappear when I need to get some writing done, and who read several versions of this story along the way.

  Thank you to Danila Botha, Shanen Crandon, Jason E. Hodges, Marisa Iacobucci, Misha Lobo, Ken Rodney, and Natalie Zina Walschots for reading this novel in its developing stages and providing valuable feedback, support, and, most of all, encouragement.

  Shanen Crandon also deserves credit as the source of the Ouija board story that appears on page 43.

  Thank you to Jennifer Chivers, Lindsey Clark, Jennifer Clipsham, Jessica Dennis, and Cailey Lenehan, for all of the time we’ve known each other.

  Thank you to Corpusse for the conversation, inspiration, and friendship.

  Thank you to coffee, Toronto, Hamilton, wolves, Rozz Williams, and Cocteau Twins.

  Thank you—big time—to Chris Needham and the team at Now Or Never Publishing for making this weird book happen.

  And of course, thank you to my parents, Mary and Nelson Worth.