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

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  Kyle murmurs his thanks and asks, “Does she need a cast? Will it heal on its own?”

  “I don’t think we should take the chance. I’ll stay in here in case Nicki needs me. Let me go tell Shawn.” Jamie pulls me out the door and walks up the rocky grass on the roadside, her breaths coming in giant bursts of fog. She stumbles back to where I stand on the asphalt. “Oh my God. I had no idea what I was doing. I think we got it, though.”

  Her face is pale, eyes perfect circles. She takes her hair out of its messy bun and shakes out the sweat. Now that it’s over, mine has turned to ice. “You were great,” I say. “I wanted to faint.”

  “I kept talking just so I didn’t. I saw Doc do it last year, but that was before I was his official nurse.” She leans on the RV and blows out a breath. “Now we have to go to a hospital for that plaster. We can’t let her arm heal wrong.”

  Hospitals are places to avoid at all costs; they’re full of Lexers. But Jamie’s right: you can’t grow up nowadays with an arm that doesn’t work properly. It could be a death sentence.

  “How about an art supplies store?” I ask. “They always have those plaster of Paris strips there. I don’t know if it’s the same thing, but it’ll probably work.”

  “They do?” Jamie asks. “Who knew being an artist would come in handy?”

  I think of the painting I made for Dan of Fenway Park. It didn’t save his life, but maybe it made him happy for what ended up being his last few hours. And Bits has the locket with the painting of her mother; otherwise, she’d have nothing of her past. Inside my second bag, the one I grabbed when I rescued Sparky, is the box Dan made for me. I took it for the phone charger and other assorted things I’d stored in there, thinking I’d remove them when winter came and we were safe until spring. I’d hoped the giant pods wouldn’t make it before the freeze, but I was prepared to be disappointed. I am, after all, my father’s daughter.

  CHAPTER 29

  I want to sob when the mountains become a faded blue as we head northeast to Grande Prairie for fuel and plaster. The mountains here are more like hills in comparison, and even those are flattening out. Everyone either sits unnaturally still or, like Maureen, has busied themselves doing things that don’t need doing. Now that it’s a certainty we’re in a race with the Lexers, we don’t have time to waste. James and Mark have informed us that more could very likely be traveling up the highways in British Columbia—and there isn’t a wide selection of roads to choose from. Had no one taken out those bridges up north, we would’ve never gone to Hinton. But that’s how it is out here—one thing leads to another until you find yourself on a different course entirely.

  It’s afternoon by the time we hit the city. We’ve eaten lunch and given Nicki an MRE dessert, which she ate before falling asleep on Kyle. The other kids refused a taste when she offered, and I plan to reward them by giving them every last dessert when the MREs are finally cracked open.

  The first barren gas station we hit has a phone book. We find a wide, empty crossroads south of the city for the RV to wait while the pickup goes for fuel and plaster. We’ll have to hit the busy sections of town, where there’s a better chance of fuel and there’s definitely a craft store. Or I should say they’ll have to hit it, given that I’ve promised Bits I wouldn’t go—a promise I already regret. Heading out with a purpose is better than waiting.

  Everyone is packed inside the RV, mapping out gas stations or making sure blades are sharp and guns are loaded. “I’d like to stay with Nicki, if no one minds,” Kyle says.

  “And I should stay in case she needs something,” Jamie adds. I know, like me, she’d rather go. Shawn blinks a few times. They’re always together, and he’s not fond of the idea at all.

  “I’ll go, Shawn,” James says. He touches Penny’s shoulder when she pales. “I practically have the map memorized.”

  “All right,” Zeke says. “Me, James, Nel, Margaret and Mark are going.”

  “You could use six people,” Peter says. “Two for the pump and four to watch. I’ll go.” My mouth drops. This is not what I’d call sticking like glue. But I notice Bits’s anxious expression and bite my tongue.

  They fill the RV with all the fuel it will hold before tossing the empty containers in the pickup. I stand on the road beside Bits and smooth down the flyaway hair that the never-ending wind has pulled from her braid.

  “Be good,” Peter says to Bits. He lifts her above his head and then pretends to drop her while she cackles. She still hasn’t grown tired of their game, and she’s still small enough to do it at almost nine years old. “Love you, baby girl. More than all the stars in the sky.”

  “Love you infinity,” Bits says once she’s on the ground, and then she runs off to hug the others.

  Peter turns to me. I haven’t said a word, but it’s obvious he knows how I feel by the way he sucks in his cheeks. “They could use the help. We don’t want what happened to Mike and—”

  “I know.” I watch the grass bend in the wind. I’d thought we left the stupid prairie behind us, but here we are yet again.

  “You’re not mad?”

  I drag my eyes to his. “No. I’m scared.” Now it’s Peter’s turn to stare at the stupid prairie and run a hand through his hair. I clear my throat. “Just come back.”

  He pulls me into a hug. I grab the back of his coat and consider refusing to let go. I could throw a little tantrum right here and maybe get my way, but I won’t. We all have to put ourselves on the line; it’s just that I want Peter’s life to be on the line when I’m there, too.

  “I will. Promise.” I step back with a shake of my head. Peter can’t promise something like that, and he knows I’m a stickler for promises. He pulls me close, jaw set and eyes ink-black. “I promise.”

  It shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does. I’m beginning to think Peter could make me believe anything at all. “I’m holding you to that. If you break your promise, I swear I’ll kill you.”

  Peter’s teeth flash. “Deal.”

  ***

  Dinner has grown cold and the sun is setting. They were supposed to be back by nightfall. I never thought that people actually wring their hands, but Penny and I have become masters at it. I spent my watch shift on the RV’s roof staring down the road for the red pickup. I kept thinking I heard it, only to have my heart plummet when it was once again the sound of the wind rushing over the grass and through the few trees.

  “They might have to stay the night somewhere,” Penny says. “Or they’re heading back right now. It’s just taking longer than they thought. What if they have to leave the city by the north and make their way down? There could be cars to move and…”

  She trails off. It’s not the first time she’s listed all the things that could be happening, but there’s one she leaves out and it’s the most likely of all. We can travel 400 or so miles on the fuel we have, enough to get out of here and find gas someplace else. It won’t be easy with a hand-pumped siphon and only a few of us who can fight.

  We’ve agreed to leave if they haven’t returned by mid-morning tomorrow. When they get close, they’ll call on the radio. The radios have a decent range on flat terrain, but all we’ve heard so far is static. I take out my buns so I can lie down comfortably but leave on my coat and boots because I want to be ready to help if need be. Maybe all they need is help. I refuse to contemplate any other outcome.

  Shawn and Adam leave for their watch shift on the roof. The others are lying down, Maureen and Ashley resting upright on the couch. I sit at the table and study the map by the light of the single lantern; their destinations don’t leave them many ways to get south to us again. It’s possible that they took a circuitous route or had to stop for some reason. I shake my head—I’m running Penny’s speech through my mind now that she’s asleep in the cabover bed with the kids.

  It’s dark and quiet outside but for the scuffling of boots up above. And it’s freezing, but warmer in here out of the wind. I wrap my blanket tighter, rest my forehead in my han
d and stare at the map, praying it will lead them home.

  CHAPTER 30

  The rumble of an engine wakes me with my forehead still in my hand and wrist bent in an unnatural position. I pull out my phone to check the time—it’s late but not yet tomorrow. Barnaby trots to the door, nails clicking on the kitchen floor. Bits is out of the bed like a shot with Hank close behind. Now that they’re back we’ll have to squeeze into the RV to sleep, but I’m positive not a single person minds. Especially Penny, who grins at me from the top bunk and begins to work her way down in awkward pregnant-lady fashion.

  A car door slams. Bits freezes at a growl from Barn, who stares at the door with raised hackles before the boom of a single gunshot sends him into a frenzy of barking. At first I think it’s Lexers, but it’s followed by more booms and the sound of feet running on the roof. A bullet hits the side of the RV with a thud. I shove Bits and Hank to the floor and follow them down. This isn’t zombies—it’s voices I don’t recognize. Jamie races from the bedroom, hair and eyes wild.

  Kyle isn’t far behind, gun already drawn. “Lock the doors!”

  I crawl to the main door and lock it. A volley of shots mixes with Barnaby’s piercing barks. Ashley scrambles for the doors of the cab and sinks between the seats when a bullet smashes the passenger’s side window.

  Jamie runs to her while I drag Bits and Hank into the bedroom and cram them alongside the bed with Nicki. I return to the kitchen at a long, pained scream. Ash is huddled in the passenger’s seat, a man’s hand wrapped around her braid and the other holding a pistol to her head. Jamie crouches behind the seat, out of eyeshot, but there’s nothing to do that won’t get Ash killed.

  “Put your guns down and call off your dog!” a man’s voice yells.

  Heat rises off Kyle, only inches away. He snarls and lowers his gun to the dinette, and I place mine next to his. We both know we don’t have a choice.

  “They’re down,” Kyle calls.

  Ash shrieks as she’s dragged outside through the cab’s open door. It’s followed by the sound of a hand smacking flesh. The RV’s main door rattles. “Open the door,” another voice commands.

  “Cassie!” Bits screams from the bedroom. Penny moves in that direction, but I point her to the cabover bed and motion Maureen to the back. Penny shakes her head, and I hiss, “Hide. Now.”

  I wish the kids had never come down from there. These men might never know they’re here if they were well-hidden behind the jumble of blankets. Kyle unlocks the door and steps back, hands fisted at his sides. I hold Barn’s collar as he strains, looking fierce with white fangs and a low growl vibrating in his throat. Ash is shoved in first. Finger-shaped spots flare on her cheek. The man holding Ash is followed in by five others, the last being supported by two of them as if hurt. They wear stained winter coats and short, unkempt beards. I think they were once average guys, but now they’re gaunt, with watery eyes and rough, broken skin. None are older than fifty, and one appears to be in his twenties, although it’s hard to tell with the hair and dirt.

  “Close the door, Whit,” the man who holds Ash says to the youngest. “Get that dog out first.”

  He’s the oldest, with a gray-brown scraggly beard, rotted teeth, and an authoritative manner that the others defer to. All of them look sick and desperate, but the worst part is the stench. We might smell bad, but we smell like people. These men smell like Lexers. And not just how you smell when you’ve gotten into a scrape with zombies, but like they are zombies. It fills the camper so that I gag.

  I can barely hear over Barnaby’s barks, can barely make sense of what’s happening. I’ve gone from relief to terror in seconds and the adrenaline outpaces my brain. My heart is attempting to escape my chest. The men’s shouts become distant echoes while I try to think of a way out of this situation and come up blank.

  Barnaby squeals when a boot connects with his side. “Take him out!” the boss orders me.

  Barn’s feet skid along the smooth surface of the kitchen floor as I drag him to the door and grope for the handle. The night air is cold and holds who knows how many terrors, but I could slip out and run. I’d love to run, to feel my feet pound the ground as I fly away. Not that I would ever leave. I give Barnaby’s behind a shove. He hits the ground and scrambles back up the steps. Whit, the youngest one, slams the door in his face.

  Barnaby scratches at the door. I will him to run away, to slink off and be frightened the way he always is, but he howls until an auburn-haired man fires out the front door into the night. There’s the sound of paws scrabbling on metal and then nothing.

  I stand beside Kyle, whose tense body is waiting to spring. But they aren’t stupid. They don’t take their eyes off us or lower their guns for a second. One swings his pistol with a hiss when Jamie moves.

  “Shawn!” she yells toward the ceiling. She turns to the men. “Where are they?”

  Another man with a scraggly beard and an eye that twitches constantly says, “You mean the ones bleeding out on the road?”

  A vein pulses in Jamie’s neck before she launches herself at the twitchy-eyed one like a rabid animal. The boss knees her in the stomach and she falls at Twitch’s feet with a gasp. I bend to help her and am rewarded with the barrel of a gun at my ear.

  “Sit,” Twitch says.

  I help Jamie to the couch, Kyle beside me, and Twitch pushes Ash to the floor by our feet. She clasps her knees to her chest and drops her head. I stroke her hair and keep my eyes down, afraid that anything will set them off. They don’t know about the kids in the bedroom. Maybe we can keep it that way, give them what they want and get out of this relatively unharmed. I won’t believe that Shawn and Adam are dead. They could be hurt or devising a plan to help us.

  “Let’s get some lights and heat in here.” The boss turns to the controls built into the wall and the lantern is drowned out by bright light.

  “Put Jay in the bedroom,” Boss says.

  I dig my nails into my palms at the shrill cries when they enter the back. After much yelling, Maureen falls through the short passageway to the kitchen with the kids clustered around her.

  “Leave them alone!” Maureen yells.

  “Get on the couch,” Boss commands. Bits runs for my lap and I set Hank between my feet, but Nicki clings to Maureen’s leg and sobs.

  “Her arm’s broken,” Kyle says, voice hoarse and body rigid. “Nicki! Baby! Just come here.”

  Twitch tugs on her bad arm. Nicki screams, locking her legs around Maureen, and he slaps the back of her head, teeth bared. “Shut up!”

  Kyle is off the couch and makes it three feet before a rifle butt slams him in the temple. He doubles over, droplets of blood splattering on the laminate floor. It’s a terrible blow, one I likely wouldn’t survive, but Kyle raises his head and takes another step before he’s hit once more. He goes down like a felled tree.

  “Nicki,” Jamie says in a quiet voice. “Nicki, come to me.”

  Twitch tosses Nicki by her shirt into Jamie’s lap. Maureen sits at the table as ordered, lips thin and eyes murderous. It looks out of place on the face that’s always pleasant. They drag Kyle to drop him between the front seats. His chest rises. I thought he was dead.

  “Food, fellas.” Twitch pulls everything in the cabinets to the counter. The other men stare at the bounty as though it’s a fully-stocked supermarket.

  “These are good,” Whit says, holding up an MRE. “We used to take them hunting.” A man with dark hair and a giant sore on his cheek slices one open and dumps the contents on the stove.

  “You can take it all. Take it and leave,” I say, and hate how weak and begging my voice sounds.

  No one answers. They don’t bother with the heating pouches, just spoon food into their mouths with open-mouthed chewing. Cracker crumbs hit the counter and floor. An MRE contains a lot of food, but it takes no more than minutes for them to finish them off.

  “We’re not leaving,” Boss says when he’s done. “But we will take the food.”

  “Y
ou can have the RV,” Maureen says. She holds her trembling chin high. “Just drive away with it all.”

  “Don’t worry, we will,” Twitch says.

  And now, with their stomachs full, they focus on us. Every one of them looks sick. Months of starvation, maybe, or some sort of illness. One of them hacks up something with a deep cough and spits into the sink.

  “We haven’t had real food in a week,” Auburn says. I catch a glimpse of bloody gums when he pops in the last bite of his dessert. Not his dessert—the dessert I was saving for the kids. “Know what we’ve been eating?”

  The answer hits my brain and gag reflex at the same time. There’s no way they’d smell this terrible otherwise. You can change clothes, take a cold bath with soap, brush your teeth. You might still reek, but this is more than a dusting of Lexer innards on clothing.

  They’ve been eating Lexers.

  None of us speaks, although the appalled looks on the others’ faces tells me they’ve come to the same conclusion. I didn’t think it was possible without getting sick. But they are sick. You can see it in their eyes, in their almost feral expressions. They’re still human, but only because they’re not dead. It could be something similar to mad cow disease, or it could be that having to choke that down drives you insane.

  “If you cook them you don’t get infected,” Boss says with a rotten smile. He motions to Ashley and when she doesn’t move, yanks her to her feet. “Take off your coat.”

  Ash unzips her coat with jerky movements. Her chest jumps as he inspects her long-sleeved shirt and jeans, then spasms with quiet sobs when he runs a hand down her side. The breathing of the other men speeds up. I’d hoped they were too sick or hungry to think about anything but food and maybe showers, but he looks at her the same way he did the MREs.