So Long, Lollipops (An Until the End of the World Novella)

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  “Take his weapons,” her dad said, and Nat scrambled to grab his pistol and machete off the table. When her back was to her dad, she winked at him. This kid was bananas, as Nel would say.

  “I’m Chuck,” the man said. He holstered his weapon and extended a hand. The calluses were filled with dirt and grease. “We’re going to hold on to those for now. This afternoon I’ll see about helping you get a way out of here.”

  Peter realized his own hand wasn’t much different from Chuck’s. Chuck seemed to notice the signs of hard work and gave him a nod that, if not friendly, was respectful. “I’d appreciate that, Chuck.”

  “You might as well make yourself comfortable. Not much to do until Rich gets back.”

  Peter stripped down to his t-shirt and sat at the table. Natalie sat opposite and waved a magazine at her face. It was hot up here. And he had to pee. It was getting pretty imperative that he find the bathroom.

  “Chuck,” he said. The man looked up from where he was loading his pistols. Peter was pretty sure they’d already been loaded and that this show was just for him. “I need to use the bathroom. Where should I—”

  “I’ll take him,” Nat offered. She leapt out of her chair and waved Peter up.

  Chuck pointed her back to her seat. “No, I will.”

  He led Peter to the second floor and opened a door at the end of the landing. Peter realized they’d entered the second floor of the building next door. It was an apartment almost barren of furniture, probably where they’d gotten the stuff in their space upstairs. Peter opened the door Chuck had pointed out to find an actual bathroom.

  “Looks right, but take a closer look,” Chuck said. Peter walked to the toilet and opened the lid. They’d bored a large hole in the toilet’s bottom and placed it over a hole in the floor. Anything and everything was being deposited into the dark of the floor below. It didn’t smell great, of course, but it was pretty ingenious.

  “We opened the windows down there, so there’s no gas buildup. Don’t want to blow ourselves to hell,” Chuck said. “Well, I’ll be outside.”

  When Peter came out Chuck was standing at the windows. “Sorry about your little girl. But I’m glad she’s okay,” he said, without turning.

  Peter cleared his throat. “She’s not really my daughter. I wish she was, but she’s not.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to explain; it’s not like Chuck was demanding a birth certificate.

  Chuck turned and smiled. Peter had been right—those blue eyes were friendly when they weren’t entertaining the idea of your demise. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? Once they got hold of your heart, they got you. C’mon, let’s head up.”

  ***

  Natalie had been grilling Peter for two hours by the time Uncle Rich’s truck pulled up outside. Chuck had listened, asking the occasional question and nodding along when Peter described Cassie’s cabin and the past few months.

  The door opened, and a younger version of Chuck appeared, only with blond hair instead of brown. He skated his eyes to Peter and then back to his brother. “We good?”

  Chuck nodded, and Rich walked over with a hand out, saying only, “Rich.” To which Peter replied, “Peter.”

  Rich sat on the couch and drank from a bottle of water, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Dinner?”

  Peter got the feeling Rich was a less-is-more kind of guy when it came to speaking. He glanced at his watch; it wasn’t time for dinner. The day felt like it had been a century long, but it was only about noon.

  “Dinner means lunch,” Nat informed him. “We live in 1860 over here. We’re going to go for a ride in the horseless carriage later, too.”

  Chuck shook his head, but his eyes twinkled. “Such a smart-ass.”

  Peter thought of Nel and grinned. “You need one in every group—comic relief.”

  “She’s just like her mom.”

  Nat kept her smile on, but her fingers twisted in her lap. Chuck looked away and inspected the shelving unit. “Well, how about soup?”

  “Just what I want on a hot summer afternoon,” Nat said.

  “I didn’t say I was going to heat it up.”

  “Ugh.”

  Peter walked to the shelves and took stock. In amongst the packages and cans of food were some tomatoes, a sad-looking cucumber and zucchini. “You have a garden at the place you’re fixing up?”

  Chuck nodded. “Small one. Not enough to keep us going, but we’ve been going house to house. We’ll have enough for the winter.”

  “Why not go to one of the Safe Zones?”

  There was a grumble from the couch. “That’s what I say,” Rich said.

  Chuck glanced at Nat and said, “It’s not a good idea for now. Maybe in the spring.”

  Peter didn’t ask any more. He held up a couple of packages of ramen noodles and grabbed the soy sauce and sesame oil that were in among the condiments. “I’m happy to make dinner, if you want.”

  “I’ll take you up on that offer,” Chuck said. “We’re not the greatest chefs. Not that we have much to work with. You know how to cook?”

  Peter nodded. Natalie helped light the stove, which sat by the open window. Grandma had never taken him camping, but he knew from the past months that using a camping stove indoors without adequate ventilation could kill them.

  Ramen noodles were fast, and before long Peter had them cooled and tossed with the chopped vegetables, soy sauce and oil. It was too much to ask for some rice vinegar. Cassie’s parents might have been a little over the top in their storage plans, but anything he’d needed had been in that basement. But, he reminded himself, they weren’t really over the top; they’d kept him alive.

  Peter set the bowl on the table. “Go ahead.”

  The three of them sat down and, judging by the silence and chewing, they liked it. He’d made cold ramen salad a few times this summer. His turn to cook had come up more and more frequently at the cabin, but he didn’t mind. Watching everyone shovel in the food he’d made and fight good-naturedly over second helpings was more satisfying than eating it.

  He’d always loved to cook. One of his earliest memories was standing on a kitchen chair in his parents’ house in Westchester, his mom handing him a measuring cup loaded with flour to dump in the mixing bowl. As an adult, he’d eaten out more often than not, but he’d still cooked occasionally, mainly for girls he’d dated. Cassie had been no exception. Except that, unlike many others, she’d eat every morsel and sigh in delight.

  Peter pulled one of the MREs out of his backpack, sat on the couch and placed it on the coffee table. The ramen salad was a much tastier option, but he wasn’t going to eat their food. He was already taking up their space.

  He imagined Bits and the others in the pickup, rolling along dirt roads. They might even be at Kingdom Come already, if they hadn’t hit any trouble. But you didn’t have to go looking for trouble anymore. All you had to do was get a flat tire or take a wrong turn, and you were dead. This was better than dead on a dumpster, for sure, but he would give anything to be in that truck. And not for his own safety; he wanted to be there in case anything else went wrong.

  He wasn’t very hungry anymore, but he opened the MRE to see what was inside. What to eat first—the big packet of slop, a smaller packet of something tasteless or jalapeno cheese spread with crackers? Decisions, decisions. The dessert didn’t look bad. It was hard to mess up sugar.

  “This is so totally yummy,” Natalie called. She saw what he was doing and her eyebrows lowered. “Aren’t you going to eat with us?”

  Peter looked down at his food. “No, I’m fine.”

  “You can’t cook and not eat,” Chuck said. His gruff voice was friendly. “C’mon, Pete. You’re making me look bad here.”

  He’d always hated being called Pete, but now he didn’t mind. It meant someone liked you enough to give you a nickname, like how Cassie called him Petey sometimes. He walked to the table and pulled out the fourth chair, wondering why they had it. They might have brought it up t
o complete the set from the bathroom apartment. Maybe it was for Natalie’s mother. He served himself a bit of ramen. Not as good as with the rice vinegar, but still tasty.

  “We’ll check out the street and get you going after dinner,” Chuck said. “Where’s that Safe Zone again?”

  “Northeast Kingdom. Somewhere north of Lowell.”

  “I guess you need a vehicle. We have a few at the cabin all gassed up and working. We can take a ride there, see what we can spare. There are plenty of cars for the taking these days. Won’t take us long to get another.”

  “I’d really appreciate that.” Peter was almost giddy at the thought. He wouldn’t be that far behind if he left this afternoon.

  “Can I come?” Nat asked. Chuck shook his head. “Oh my God, Dad! Please? I’m dying of boredom. And it’s so hot! I need a bath!”

  She threw down her fork, crossed her arms and glared at her dad. He stared back, thick arms folded across his chest and eyes calm. He reminded Peter of John, the most implacable person he’d ever met. “What’s the first rule?” Chuck asked.

  “Safety,” Nat said quietly, but her glare remained in place.

  “And this is where you’re safest.”

  “You said we were moving in by now, Daddy. It’s safer there—after today you know it is! If you didn’t come back, I’d be here with no fresh water and no truck. Then what would happen to me?”

  Rich mumbled something that sounded like, “She has a point.”

  “You’re right,” Chuck said after a moment. “We could use some help at the cabin anyway. But you’re working, not farting around.”

  Nat’s eyes flicked to Peter. “Dad, you’re so disgusting. We have company!”

  CHAPTER 2

  The road to the cabin was rutted like a washboard. It made Peter’s neck, already a bit sore from a sleepless night and a whole lot of machete hacking, ache even more. After a few miles, when they hadn’t passed anything but trees, he asked, “Was this your hunting camp or something?”

  “Nope,” Chuck said. “We brought it in piece by piece from other places. Rich and I built it ourselves.”

  The road ended at a clearing that bordered a large lake. The grass was overgrown, but over time Rich and Chuck’s boots had trampled a path to where two rowboats and a canoe sat moored at the water’s edge. There wasn’t a cabin, though.

  Natalie pressed her nose to the window and then smiled back over her shoulder. “It’s on the island.”

  Peter followed her finger to the tree-shrouded island less than a quarter mile from the shore. There wasn’t a visible sign of life, although he guessed that was the point. He helped load plastic bins full of food and toiletries into the boats and kept watch of the woods. It occurred to him that there were no extra vehicles, like Chuck had promised, and his fingers grazed the grip of the pistol in his holster. Rich and Chuck spoke in low voices while they worked. They seemed nice enough, but there was no reason to believe they planned to help him.

  Chuck looked over at Peter as if he could read his thoughts and pointed across the lake with his chin. “There are a couple other roads on the north and east sides of the lake. We have trucks there in case this way’s blocked.”

  Peter dropped his hand and tried not to look relieved. He was a pretty good judge of people. Not that that had stopped him from hanging out with superficial jerks most of his life, but at least he’d recognized what they were. And that he was one, too. It’d become painfully apparent after he met Cassie, who had no problem calling them on their asshole behavior.

  The first time he’d met Cassie, at that bar in the city, he’d watched her for half the night. Her wavy, reddish-brown hair was loose, and she had a habit of tucking it behind one ear while she talked. She’d been there for a coworker’s birthday celebration, along with Penny and Nelly. It was the type of bar he’d always frequented but she rarely had. Twelve dollar drinks made with twists of obscure fruit obviously were not her style, he remembered thinking, and her drink was the closest thing they had to a plain beer.

  Most of the girls were dressed in designer clothes and heeled boots. Cassie wore a thirty dollar pair of jeans with beat-up black boots and a black tank top. She wasn’t plain—the tank top showed off some nice cleavage and she wore makeup and earrings—she was just different. She touched people on their shoulders or arm while she spoke and listened to them with rapt attention. When she laughed, she threw her head back and let go. She didn’t seem to care what the regular bar patrons thought of her, something of which Peter was envious.

  He watched as several guys tracked her on her way to the bathroom; he wasn’t the only one who was interested. In fact, she’d already shot one down with a shy smile and shake of her head.

  When she went up to the bar for a round, he followed and leaned far enough away to not appear creepy. She glanced at him and then looked straight ahead until the bartender took her order. Peter quietly signaled the bartender to add them to his tab. After the drinks were lined up on the bar, she held out cash with her chipped blue fingernails until the bartender waved her off and pointed to Peter.

  For a second she looked annoyed, but then she put on a smile and turned to him. “Thanks, that was very nice, but I really don’t want you to pay for all these drinks.”

  “I insist,” he said. She held out her money, but he crossed his arms and shook his head with a smile.

  “Please, take the cash.”

  “Can’t a guy buy a girl a drink?” he asked.

  “Well, yeah, but a guy shouldn’t buy a girl six drinks.” She raised her eyebrows at his shrug. “You’re not going to take my money, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, then, thank you. That was very generous.”

  She shoved the money in her pocket and smiled, but he could tell she was uncomfortable. Maybe she thought he was trying to show off. Not that he was above that, but he hadn’t been. It was harder to buy the one drink that was hers than to buy the whole round. He could have asked first, but then she had the option of refusing.

  Peter moved close so she could hear him better. She smelled like roses and something fresh and green. “I’m Peter.”

  “Cassie. Hi.” She smiled and tapped her fingers on the side of her beer bottle, as if at a loss of what to say next.

  “Nice to meet you, Cassie.”

  Someone from her table must have motioned at her because she raised a finger, telling them to wait, and then looked at him again. “You, too.”

  She asked him about his work, and he saw her eyes glaze over when he went into his company’s connections with lobbyists and congressmen. She was unfailingly polite and laughed when he said something humorous, but he could tell she was underwhelmed. Usually, it wouldn’t have bothered him; most girls went for him, especially in a place like this, but there was an occasional no. That was to be expected. He didn’t want to lose this one, though, and he could see he was.

  She told him she’d grown up in Brooklyn, and he asked if her parents still lived there. Cassie froze for a second and then told him that they’d died two years before in a car accident. She tried to act like it was nothing, but he’d seen the pain in her eyes, the way she swallowed hard. He knew she was readying herself for that initial awkward moment and the apologies that inevitably followed.

  “My family died in a car crash when I was twelve,” he said. “My parents and my little sister.” He almost didn’t say what came into his head next, but he wanted her to know he understood. “It’s like living in a house where the roof’s been torn off, isn’t it?”

  She looked at him then—really looked at him—and nodded. Then she glanced toward the table where her friends sat staring. Her breath was warm when she spoke into his ear. “They’re going to come after me if I don’t give them their drinks. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  He nodded. She walked the drinks over to her friends and sat down next to Penny. For a moment he thought she wasn’t coming back, but she’d left her beer on the bar. She whispered somethi
ng in Penny’s ear and then stood.

  He’d felt so exposed after his parents died. Even with his grandma’s pre-war apartment over his head. The world had suddenly become murderous and angry, a place where you had to grab what you could and run for cover. He couldn’t believe he’d said that, especially to a stranger, but those words were why she was walking back to him now. All the free drinks and senators in the world wouldn’t have impressed her. This girl was real, and he wanted real. But real was scary. Real was what could hurt you.

  She pulled her barstool close and smiled, the same smile he’d seen her flash at her friends. The smile that lit up her face and made her hazel eyes with the dark lashes crinkle at the corners. It was the first time he’d mentioned the accident in years. Usually, if anyone cared enough to ask, he just said his parents were dead. And he never mentioned his sister, Jane. It not only made him want to cry, but it also triggered an irrational fear that someone would see his remorse and probe for details. But Cassie knew all too well what speaking about it took out of you—he’d seen it on her face.

  They talked then, about things both serious and trivial. She told him about her job and how she loved introducing the neighborhood kids to art. How she’d stopped painting for herself. She asked him more questions about his work and then tilted her head, face flushed with her fourth beer. “Do you like it? It really doesn’t sound like you do.”

  “No, I hate it,” he said, a little more vehemently than he’d intended. It was true, but he’d never said it out loud.

  Cassie jabbed him in the chest and her mouth dropped. “You hate it? Then why do you do it for a million hours a week? Life’s too short for that crap. You should do what you love. Or like. Or can tolerate, at least.”

  He shrugged and wondered why, indeed. She laughed apologetically and waved a hand. “I should take my own advice. Don’t listen to me.”

  A few hours into their conversation, a well-dressed, broad-shouldered guy with dirty blond hair walked up. He put a proprietary arm on Cassie’s shoulder and looked Peter up and down, from his overpriced T-shirt to his expensive jeans and shoes, and didn’t look impressed. “C’mon, you, we’re leaving. It’s almost last call.”