Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  The worry I’ve kept at bay the past few hours resurfaces. I long for the spell of the music, but there’s nothing but the crackling of the fire and the surety that tomorrow is going to suck. I can feel it in my bones, as John would’ve said.

  CHAPTER 12

  There’s a reason why floors are not celebrated as places to get a restful night’s sleep. I wake up stiff and sore, but warm. I have a feeling they kept the stove going all night for us and I appreciate every degree. After I’ve cleaned up, which involves the outhouse, a toothbrush and a new, ineffective layer of deodorant, I find Jessica in the kitchen.

  “Thank you for feeding the kids,” I say. “I really appreciate it.”

  She murmurs something and keeps her eyes on the pot she stirs. It’s more of that grain from last night, but she’s added maple syrup as you would to oatmeal. My oatmeal is waiting outside, but I wanted to catch her before things got hectic.

  “Okay, well, thanks again,” I say when no more words are forthcoming.

  “Welcome,” she whispers.

  I leave to eat, wondering why she’s aloof when last night she was friendly but put it out of my mind when Jamie hands me my breakfast. I would happily eat a mixing bowl full of oatmeal right now even though I don’t love it. Will Jackson—Whitefield’s old boss—was right when he said people may bitch about oatmeal but they know they’re lucky to get it.

  “So, how was the RV?” I ask Jamie, who slept there with Shawn last night.

  “Cold,” she says, her breath fogging in the morning air, “but private.”

  “You know what they say.” Shawn finishes his final bite of oatmeal and claps his hands for warmth. “If the RV’s a rockin’, don’t come a knock—”

  Jamie smacks him. Bits and Hank look up from where they sit on the ground. I focus on my food; there’s no way I’m explaining that one. Bits knows about sex, and she knows far too much about its darker side, having spent weeks listening to her mother being used by men before they finally killed her. It still wakes her up at night. But she’s been around happy partnerships, although the fact that a few of those were ended by Lexers probably doesn’t help. Her amused disgust at the thought of kissing, which she says she’ll do when she’s older—maybe—gives me hope that she hasn’t been too damaged by what she’s seen.

  We say our goodbyes and have just started rolling when Jessica runs from the house with a cloth sack clutched to her chest, calling my name. She thrusts it into my arms on the RV’s steps.

  “Wheat berries,” she says breathlessly. “Twenty pounds. If you soak them the night before, they’ll need less time to cook. Use a three to one ratio with water. Toss them with oil or spices if you want.” I nod slowly, taken aback by her kindness and trying to put her instructions to memory. She blinks. “I couldn’t let you leave without something.”

  That’s why she wouldn’t look at me—she felt guilty. I hug her, sack in one arm and eyes burning. “Thank you so much.”

  “Be careful out there,” she says with a final squeeze.

  “Wait!” I rush into the RV and grab both my bags from under the bed. I find my lip balm stash, grab two of my four unopened tubes and put them in her hand. “It’s not lotion, but I thought you could use it.”

  Jessica holds the tubes to her heart. I wave as we pass through the gate and then admire the bag of wheat berries. It’s worth its weight in gold—more, since gold is worthless. I look around and see I’m not the only one who stares at the unassuming sack with something like awe.

  “See?” I say to Peter. “Canadians.”

  ***

  For a city of over half a million, the outskirts are desolate farmland. The blocked roads into Winnipeg force us to circle around and burn more gas than we’d like. The lack of hills, of any rise at all, allows us to drive on the grass when necessary and to avoid a few smaller pods of Lexers on the road. In mountainous or wooded territory we might have driven around a bend and directly into them.

  Now that we’ve all had a handful of nuts and dried fruit, my hunger—or maybe my fear of hunger—has lessened. We’re back on diet rations rather than starvation rations. If we ever head back to the Northeast, I’ll stop to give Jessica another hug.

  The fields end at a long white fence with an entrance into a subdivision. Some houses are still occupied, with cars sitting in their driveways and Lexers beating on the window glass. James directs us to a street of large homes that he’s chosen for its multiple exit routes and proximity to the stores. The pickup will go for fuel and those left here will check the houses for anything useful. It doesn’t look promising, based on the number of kicked-in doors and broken windows. I didn’t argue when Tony, Margaret, Zeke, Mike and Rohan volunteered for the fuel run; I couldn’t bring myself to leave the kids in a place so populated, even in hands that I know to be competent.

  I wave at the others who have already seated themselves in the pickup and touch Mike’s arm. “Careful, please.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rohan says. “We’ll have the Tantive Four all gassed up in no time, Leia Organa.”

  Mike laughs at my blank look. “Princess Leia’s ship. The Tantive Four.”

  “That’s it, I’m switching to a ponytail,” I say.

  I pretend to punch Rohan, who ducks into the pickup and grins as they pull away. I send along a wish that they make it back in record time with plenty of gas.

  CHAPTER 13

  Maureen and Penny watch the kids while we search a house that has shattered windows and a broken door but a minivan out front, which might mean clothes for Hank. We found him a spare outfit in Quebec, but it’s all he has except for what he wore outside of Kingdom Come. Even washed out, it still retains the faint scent of death, and I don’t want Hank to have to wear a reminder of what happened. I want fresh underwear, as does everyone else. At this point, I’ve lost the wearing-someone-else’s-underwear-is-weird thing. If it’s in a drawer and clean, then I’m wearing it.

  Nelly, Peter, Adam and I step into a foyer that leads into a living room with vaulted ceilings. I don’t know that I’ll ever grow accustomed to stepping into someone’s life and rummaging through their belongings, although I hope people have done the same in my apartment in Brooklyn. Maria, Penny and Ana’s mother, was supposed to go there if she ever escaped the hospital where she was trapped. We left plenty of food in the basement along with camping equipment. If she never made it, someone else might have. Maybe someone is wearing my underwear right now. I smile at the thought instead of contemplating what’s almost certainly become of Maria, who was like a mother to me.

  “What’s funny?” Nelly asks as we cross the carpet for the kitchen.

  “I was thinking about a stranger wearing my underwear.”

  “I should’ve known.”

  We speak in hushed tones, partly so we don’t attract anything that’s outside, but also because you can feel the ghosts of the former inhabitants—the echoes of a once normal life. Dinner every night at six, kids playing in front of the TV, parents talking in the kitchen. There’s no room in the RV for the scattered toys and an infant bouncy seat I know Penny would appreciate, but a baby might mean maternity clothes.

  A quick look in the kitchen cabinets reveals nothing but baking powder and a half-full salt container. Nelly puts both in his bag. As we thought, someone’s combed these houses for food. Peter opens the refrigerator for a final check, and when we’ve finished gagging I say, “I thought that was never a good idea.”

  “We need to keep our losing streak going,” Peter says.

  “So far, so good. Want to come upstairs with me? Nels and Adam can check the garage.”

  Upstairs, we steal toothpaste, mouthwash and antacids from the bathroom, and then move into the kids’ rooms. The boy’s room has jeans and shirts that might work for Hank, and I take a few tiny pieces of unisex clothing out of the drawers in the nursery. I don’t want Penny’s kid to have to wear frilly pink shirts if it isn’t a girl.

  “Done,” I say.

  Peter
leans on the crib rail with a rounded back. I know he slept last night because I was up every hour to check on the kids, but he looks haggard. “I wonder what happened to the baby,” he says, keeping his eyes trained on the crib mattress.

  I picture the baby I put out of its misery in Vermont. I hope this one didn’t end up like that. But she probably did—another reason to get Penny to safety. I don’t have an answer, so I lean beside him and stare at the yellow and green quilt.

  “I never thought I’d have a normal life,” he says in a quiet voice. “I mean, I thought it’d be normal—my grandmother’s version of normal. A wife I didn’t like much, probably. Parties. Kids I’d never see because I’d always be working.”

  “That sounds terrible.”

  “I know. Then it all changed, and I was kind of okay with it. It wasn’t going to be normal, but it would be different. I’d have all the things I wouldn’t have had otherwise. Time. Love. A family.”

  “You still have a family,” I say. “And we all love you.”

  “I know. I guess I just thought things were going to be a certain way and now they’re not. They can’t be.”

  “You’ll have the other things again.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s what you said to me after Adrian. Were you lying?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Good. Because you can’t go around spouting off profound things like that and then take them back.”

  His shoulders jump with a small laugh. “Was I right?”

  “Yeah. Well, I can see how it could happen.” I don’t mention how just when I believed it could happen again it was ripped away. Somehow I don’t think that would be helpful. “You, of all people, will get there. Promise.”

  “Why me of all people?”

  “Because you’re an optimist. I would’ve jumped off a ledge by now if you weren’t here.”

  “You’d all keep going,” he says. “Just like we’re going now.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same.” Even with how close we’ve become, we’ve only ever joked about our failed relationship. I feel weird bringing it up because there are things I’d rather not remember—how frustrated he made me, how I wasn’t always nice to him, all the nights we spent in bed—but I want him to know how important he is. “Remember the night we met?”

  “I have a vague recollection,” he says. “Wasn’t it at a bar or something?”

  I elbow him. “When you said that losing people was like having the roof torn off your house?”

  “You remember that?”

  “Of course I do. You were right, it does feel that way, but now we’re all here to shelter you.” I drop my head with a groan. “God, that was so corny. It sounded much better in my head. You know what I mean.”

  “I do. Sorry again I was such a jerk, as long as we’re reminiscing.”

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  “That I was a jerk?”

  “No, that I was.” I nod when he shakes his head. “I had my moments, Petey. Anyway, maybe we’d keep going now, but who would talk me down off the ledge?”

  “Nel?”

  “Are you kidding? Nelly would shove me off the ledge. Nope, it’s your job, whether you want it or not. The pay sucks, but the benefits are immense. Probably more like immensely annoying, but too bad.”

  “I’ll take it,” he says, and puts out a hand to shake on the deal.

  “You’re hired. I’m always here if you want to talk.” I squeeze his arm and start out of the room.

  “Cassandra,” he says. “Thanks. For saying all that.”

  I’m gratified to see he has a bit more spark in his eyes. “I meant every word.”

  CHAPTER 14

  The next houses are the same in terms of food. I’ve found a dress for Bits, who may have forsaken Barbies for superheroes but still loves to be fancy, along with some more appropriate attire. I have clean underwear and wool socks. And Penny now has clothes she fits in, with room to grow.

  “I can breathe. I swear the heartburn is better already.” Penny twirls in her new maternity jeans and blousy shirt. She squeals when Peter hands her the jar of antacids. “Did I ever tell you I love you?” She kisses Peter on the lips and crunches on a few.

  “Hey!” James says. “All I had to do was get you Rolaids and a shirt?”

  Penny gives James an even bigger kiss and takes a book from the cabinet above the couch. After two ungraceful attempts to get into the cabover bed, I give her butt a push and climb up after. Jamie and Shawn are asleep in the bedroom. I assume they’re sleeping, since the RV isn’t a rockin’. A person or animal covers every inch of floor or seating, except for Nelly and Adam, who keep watch from the roof. I’m trying not to worry that it’s been two hours since the others left. There are five gas stations nearby. They might have had to visit a couple before they found fuel.

  Ashley strokes her ponytail while she reads a book in the corner. I know her mind must be moving a mile a minute, but she’s wearing that teenage nothing-can-touch-me veneer. The same goes for Kyle, who stares out the window from the sofa with Nicki in his lap. I had a personal mission to make him laugh his ass off one day, but the chances of that have gotten slimmer now that there’s even less to laugh about.

  Bits and Hank have left a sheet of scrap paper up here. I fold it carefully and launch my paper airplane at Kyle, then snort when it hits him in the temple and drop my head.

  “Where’d it come from, Daddy?” Nicki asks.

  I hear Kyle mumble, but other than quiet voices and the rustle of Bits's and Hank’s papers, it’s silent. “Cassie,” Kyle says. I cringe at his commanding voice; he can’t have that little of a sense of humor.

  I raise my head and screech when five airplanes come for me, three wielded by Bits, Hank and Ash. I make a decent airplane, but these are sleek and fast enough that I’m going to have a divot in my forehead for the rest of my life. I grab one and admire it, then look down to where Kyle stands with Nicki wearing a broad smile.

  “You chose the wrong guy for a paper airplane war,” he says.

  “These are some fine planes,” I say. “But you’ve won the battle, not the war.”

  “You think you’re going to win with these tired old planes?” Kyle holds up my plane and points to where the tip has bent on impact.

  I set his planes in front of me and prop myself on my elbows. “Lesson one in the art of war: Use your enemy’s own weapons against them.”

  I launch them at him one by one until I hear a low chuckle from where he’s folded over Nicki. He straightens and shakes his head. “You’re crazy.”

  It wasn’t quite laughing his ass off, but I’m getting somewhere. “Just wait. It’s gonna get wild up in here.”

  There’s a scraping from the roof and Nelly’s voice comes through a skylight. “Zeke and Margaret are running our way.”

  Kyle’s face reverts to its usual hard expression, and I’m on the floor by the time he’s opened the door. Zeke’s face is red as if on the verge of a heart attack. Margaret breathes easily, although her hair has escaped its ponytail.

  “Tony…under the truck…surrounded,” Zeke pants.

  Nelly looks behind them, his hands gripping his rifle. “Mike and Rohan?”

  Zeke bends double, hands on knees, and shakes his head.

  “They were at the truck, watching one way,” Margaret says. “We were at the other end of the lot. We didn’t hear anything until the screaming. They came out of nowhere.”

  “Could Mike and Rohan be under the truck?” I ask.

  “Rohan, maybe. But I saw Mike—” The corners of her mouth arc downward.

  The thought of Mike and Rohan being eaten alive makes my stomach lurch, as does the guilty relief that creeps in. Relief that the people I care about most are still alive. Peter and I might have been joking about sticking like glue, but I’m not anymore.

  “Let’s go,” Kyle says.

  He has the key turned in the ignition before we’re all in. Bits a
nd Hank have abandoned their papers at the sight of Zeke and Margaret. I sit beside Hank and watch Bits across the table, where Peter has seated himself. “We’re going to help them,” he says. “It’s okay, we’re safe in here.”

  In a perfect world, I’d have the kids in another vehicle, fully-gassed and heading out of Winnipeg as fast as was safe, but we can’t leave Tony and Rohan. And we need the pump and the pickup’s fuel tank. If Tony’s under the truck, we’ll lead them away and have him follow us. If he’s dead, we’ll have to get the truck ourselves.

  “Is the tank full?” Shawn asks.

  “At least half,” Zeke replies. His breathing has returned to normal, but he still looks dazed. “It was going for a few minutes before they came.”

  Kyle follows Margaret’s directions onto a wide road littered with bodies. The wind ruffles what’s left of the corpses’ clothing and swirls plastic bags and wrappers in tiny tornadoes. The gas station is set behind a grassy field at a wide intersection, with a drugstore behind it and a supermarket across the street. It could mean food, and probably does, given that a pod of Lexers streams from the broken glass in front. They may have been trapped in there for over a year with only the noise of the pump, and maybe Mike’s screams, giving them enough incentive to break out.

  “Jesus,” Zeke breathes.

  Kyle pulls into the station. The pump lays on the concrete near the ground tank. The pickup’s hood is up, with the wires that run the pump still connected to its battery. In order to drive the pickup anywhere, we’ll have to disengage the pump and reattach the truck to its battery.

  Lexers wander, except for the one who lies tangled in the pump’s suction hose; it winds over one leg, then twists around and down the other to the ankle. Even if we get the truck out of here, without the pump we’ll be forced to siphon using rubber tubes in deep underground tanks—incredibly time-consuming if not impossible. The hose must be cut if it can’t be untangled, but finding a new hose might prove difficult. This particular hose is reinforced to withstand the vacuum of the pump, as well as equipped with some sort of anti-static metal so we don’t blow ourselves to hell. We need this one intact.