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

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  The shot is deafening. It’s loaded with .38 instead of .357, thankfully, or we might never hear again. Boss’s head explodes out the other side, bathing the dinette and Dark-hair in brain and blood. Dark-hair points his gun my way, but Penny’s already behind him. She tangles her fingers in his hair and slams his head sideways into the window frame. He has no time to react before she does it again. This time the crack is loud enough to hear over the ringing in my ears.

  The RV door flies open just as Twitch enters from the bedroom. When he sees Nelly and Peter, he drops his gun at their command. Dark-hair lifts his hands in a daze. Penny’s knuckles are white, her glasses askew, chest heaving. Her eyes spark with more fury than I thought she had in her. She unclenches her hands reluctantly when James reaches her side. I think she wants to finish the job.

  CHAPTER 33

  Adam is alive. He was shot through the shoulder and ended up under the RV. He’s unconscious but stable, and they bring him into the RV after Mark drags Jay, now dead of his wound, from the bedroom. Shawn isn’t as lucky. I find Jamie weeping on the road with Shawn’s head in her lap. She gently lowers it to the ground and insists on seeing to Adam and Kyle over our protests.

  I still clutch Zeke’s gun and wear the blanket Margaret wrapped around my shoulders after she made sure Ash was all right. Ashley’s shirt was cut open, but her jeans were on and belt still buckled. I couldn’t hug her with my covering of blood when she burst into tears at the sight of me.

  Peter drags the four dead men to the side of the road while Mark and James keep watch where Twitch and Dark-hair kneel on the asphalt. I don’t know why they’re still alive. I stalk toward them and duck away when Peter tries to head me off with a hand on my shoulder. I don’t want anyone to touch me. I want to be left alone, but first I want these men to be erased from the face of the Earth.

  “Go inside,” Peter says. “Get cleaned up.”

  My hair has formed into long, blood-thickened ropes that remind me of Medusa’s head of snakes. It was Medusa’s head that Perseus used to kill the sea monster and free Andromeda. Seems fitting. I strangle the wild laugh that bubbles up in my throat. Dan would understand, but no one else would get my sick joke.

  “Not until they’re dead,” I say.

  Twitch glares at me in the lantern light. “Just finish it,” he hisses.

  If that’s what he wants, I’m happy to oblige. I drop my blanket and raise Zeke’s gun, but Peter pushes my arm down. “Go inside. Please.”

  “Not until they’re dead,” I say again. Dark-hair recoils, but Twitch only twitches.

  “Fine.” Peter’s voice is scarily calm. He tucks the blanket around me like he’s swaddling a baby, then drops his coat and walks forward, rolling up his sleeves on the way.

  His machete chings when he pulls it from his side. He runs it across Twitch’s neck without taking his eyes from mine, as though an offering to appease a bloodthirsty monster. I even feel like Medusa—cold and vengeful and full of death, protector of virgins and hater of men. The blood splatter almost hits my feet, but I stay put. It’s not like any more will make a difference.

  I don’t feel a lick of pity when Dark-hair begs. Shawn didn’t get the chance to beg. Maureen might have begged, but she’s still dead, body in a blanket shroud by the RV steps. Peter’s blade whips deep before Dark-hair can finish his plea, and he has to brace his foot on Dark-hair’s shoulder to draw it out. He drops his machete beside the body and strides my way while James and Mark gape in astonishment.

  “Now, please, go inside,” Peter says.

  The shadows on his face would be frightening if I didn’t know him better. Any second now he’ll snap out of it, I think, but he waits for my answer with no change of expression. I pivot and walk up the RV steps. There’s no space in the tiny bedroom where they’ve moved Kyle and Adam. Zeke tells me they’re okay so far. I return to the kitchen that’s soaked with Maureen’s blood and Boss’s head cavity, where the smell of Lexer and bodily fluids make me woozy.

  I sink to a clean part of the floor and rest my head on my knees. There’s no victory here—only shock and sorrow and violation. If I sit long enough, I’ll cry, and the tight feeling of someone else’s blood on my skin will send me over the edge. I need to get it off. I lean at the kitchen sink and start on my arms. The water is warm—maybe it turned on along with the heat. I fill a bowl to conserve water and scrape at my knuckles with a fingernail. Peter steps in and watches me. I keep my eyes on my chore and wait for him to say something. I’m not sure what I want him to say, but somehow he always knows what I need to hear.

  “You should get in the shower,” he finally says, which falls way short of what I was hoping for.

  “I don’t have any clean…I was going to wash out my other jeans tomorrow. I’ll see if Maureen has—” Had, I remind myself. Had.

  “I’ll find clothes and put them in the bathroom. Just go.”

  I look up. Peter is already on his way to the cabinets. I think about calling him back because I no longer want to be left alone, but I’m afraid the dam holding back my tears might give out if I let so much as a trickle through. I murmur thanks and walk to the shower.

  ***

  I’m covered with streaks of reddish-brown that remind me of how Eric and I would paint ourselves with ground-up river rocks when we were kids. I scrub until the soap’s lather turns from pink to white, but it isn’t enough. I check every speck of skin to be sure no trace remains and then quickly scrub again. Zeke said to use all the water I needed because we’re getting a new vehicle tomorrow, and then he touched my bloody shoulder.

  “I’m glad you’re okay, sugar,” he’d said. I nodded and closed the bathroom door before I admitted I wasn’t.

  I step out of the shower and run a hand along the fogged mirror. Now that the blood is gone, I’m able to see the large pink welt under my eye and the bruises forming on my sides. The finger marks above and below my collarbone won’t wash off. I shiver although the bathroom is a sauna. I got off lucky, I know I did, but I still want to scream. I hum tonelessly to distract myself from the thoughts that creep in.

  I freeze when I reach for the bag Peter’s left—Ana’s bag—and sit on the toilet lid with it in my lap. Her scent rushes out when I unzip the top, and I close my eyes against the onslaught of memories. God, I loved that girl. She was bananas, for sure, but I think I loved her because she was bananas. I smile at the leather pants and bottle of hair conditioner. Her jeans are a little short but they’ll tuck into my boots just fine. Peter left those in here, too. My left boot has a new red lace to replace the broken one, and they’re cleaner than they’ve been in a year. I take out underwear and a bra, tank top, shirt and cozy hoodie I can wear under my leather coat since my new coat is destroyed.

  I find a tiny baby dress wrapped in tissue paper—fancy French linen embroidered with a delicate pattern of flowers and adorable forest animals. Ana had loved this dress when she found it at that boutique in Stowe. I don’t know that there will ever be suitable weather in Alaska, but I promise Ana her niece will wear it, even if I have to jam it over a baby-sized parka. Even if she’s a boy.

  A jewelry box at the very bottom holds a pair of small silver hoops with a blue bead in the center. Of course Ana packed earrings. But then I realize they weren’t for Ana. They’re the kind of earrings you get at a piercing shop, made of titanium or something similar. We’d promised to pierce Bits’s ears for her ninth birthday, and the beads match Bits’s eyes. Ana must have put them in here so we’d have them wherever we were.

  I clutch the box so hard it dents. I want to tear this fucking bathroom apart, to smash the mirror and kick in the shower door. I want Ana to be here. I want Maureen to have been able to keep her promise to John. I wanted Ash to have birthday cookies. The MRE desserts that I’d wanted to surprise the kids with are gone. Shawn, who always had a joke, who loved Jamie with all his heart, is gone. So many people are gone that I can’t even mourn them properly. It would take every hour of every day to d
o it. I want to hold on to them, to think of them, but I would never get any living done if I gave them all the time they deserve. Especially now, when we’re barely living as it is—barely surviving.

  I hug Ana’s bag to my chest and sob. I cry over the things in my dead friend’s bag and for all the things we’ve lost so far. I don’t know why I thought saving my tears for Alaska was a good idea. It was stupid as fuck. There’s no point in saving things for later if later never comes.

  CHAPTER 34

  The sun rises over blood-stained asphalt and two holes dug by the side of the road. It’s too dangerous to find a new vehicle in the dark, so we used the night to dig these graves. Maureen and Shawn are lowered in while Mark says some fitting, eloquent words. I watch Zeke throw the first shovelful of dirt over Maureen’s body, and then I can’t watch anymore. Jamie stands over Shawn’s grave, face swollen. She spent all night with Kyle and Adam, insisting she had to do something. We made Nicki’s cast, which turned out serviceable if somewhat lumpy.

  The force of the bullet that passed through Adam’s shoulder knocked him off the roof, and he’d managed to roll under the RV before losing consciousness. He’s pale and in pain, but Jamie and Zeke think he’ll be okay. They think Kyle will be okay, too, although he still hasn’t fully woken.

  “For whatever the opinion of a dentist is worth,” Zeke had said, but he’d smiled.

  He’s not smiling now. My knuckles are smashed from Bits’s grip on my hand, but I don’t mind. I don’t mind when Hank leans into me so hard that I stumble. I held them for hours last night in the pickup, until Bits no longer looked at me as if I’d abandoned her. Until the color returned to her face and she would smile at one of my jokes.

  Once the graves are filled, we walk to the vehicles. We’re heading around Grande Prairie to a used car lot that sold RVs, according to the phone book, because we have two people who need to lie down. Whether or not we find one, I won’t set foot in this one ever again. I’ll ride in the pickup’s bed before I do that.

  I hug Ash to me. She says she’s okay, but she isn’t. Twitch had barely had time to touch her, but Jamie says he said plenty of things a sixteen year-old shouldn’t hear. After I’d dug out one of her new tank tops and gave her a shirt of Ana’s, she asked for another. I scrounged up one of Maureen’s, and she put the layers on one by one, zipped her jacket and wrapped her arms around her waist like a shield.

  We check Boss’s pickup for anything useful we might have missed in the dark. Peter accidentally knocks the lid off a cooler and steps back with a gag. I catch a glimpse of a blackened arm and the smell of the men before I rush to the side of the road and throw up my tiny breakfast. Another thing they’ve stolen from me. I may not be hungry, but I’m livid that they’re dead and still taking our food.

  I flinch when Peter touches my back. He dug graves and cleaned up all night, barely speaking to anyone except Barnaby, who stayed by his side. Everyone gave him a wide berth; the set of his face and shoulders made it clear he wanted us to.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I wipe my mouth and keep my eyes on my breakfast. “I’m fine. Thanks for the clothes and my red shoelace.” I kick out my boot. “I think I’m going to start a new trend.”

  It’s the wrong answer, I can tell by his harsh exhalation. I look up to find him squinting at me in the early morning light. He lifts his hand and lowers it, then splays his clenched fingers by his thigh. If I tell him how angry I am, how I can’t shake the powerless feeling from last night, it’ll make him worse. I need Peter, not this angry person I barely know.

  “I’m clean,” I say, and force a smile. “Cleaner than all of you. I know you’re jealous.”

  Peter watches me with a frown. “What did he—”

  “He didn’t get far. I don’t want to talk about it.” What I want is a hug, but I don’t want to have to ask for it. “I’m fine.”

  He chews his cheek and turns away. “We should go,” he says over his shoulder.

  I watch him walk to the pickup. If he looks back, I’ll muster the courage to tell him everything. I’ll ask him to hold me for a minute before we go. But he doesn’t.

  ***

  We find an RV north of Grande Prairie, in amongst a couple newer RVs we can’t get running no matter what we try. No one says that Shawn would be able to, but Jamie stands with her hand on his toolbox and tears in her eyes. The RV that does start is almost thirty years old, with fake wood grain cabinets and brown-striped upholstery. It has a full propane tank and needs water, but water hasn’t been a problem so far. The fluorescent numbers on its windshield that advertise a “Low, Low Price!” don’t make me confident in its ability to take us the last thousand miles.

  They’d found enough gas last night to get us to Whitehorse and were on their way back when they heard voices on the radio. They thought they were picking up other survivors until they heard Penny’s voice and found Barnaby limping along the road, possibly following their earlier trail. They parked as close as they dared and ran the rest of the way on foot, Barn straining on his rope leash until Peter let him go to take down Auburn.

  I ride in the pickup. I don’t like the idea of sitting in any RV right now, no matter how different. James drives, with Penny riding shotgun and Peter in back with me and the kids. Penny put on a shoulder holster this morning after breakfast, and I saw her slide one of the men’s knives into her pack before she’d zipped it up.

  We tire of playing I Spy and start on a round of Twenty Questions. I’m doing my best to be cheerful for the kids, but Peter doesn’t bother to pretend. His voice is flat and he curses loud enough to make Bits bury her face in my side when we have to spend an hour backtracking. He stands watch at a pit stop, and when I offer him coffee in lieu of lunch he waves it and me away.

  We stop at a Walmart in Dawson Creek. We have no choice but to risk our lives for food now. Besides what they ate, the wheat berries were soaked in Maureen’s blood on the floor. It’s left us with salsa and tiny amounts of rice, flour and pasta. It’s astounding how much food those men consumed in so little time.

  I step into the parking lot. Peter walks to my side and says, “Stay in the truck.”

  “Why?” I don’t ask why he thinks he’s in charge, although I’d like to. I cross my arms when he doesn’t answer. “I don’t want to stay.”

  “Do what you want.” He shrugs and walks to where Zeke and Mark stand blinking in the sunlight.

  I join the group and try to catch his eye, but he studiously avoids my gaze. Margaret puts a hand on my arm—I don’t think Margaret has ever touched me. I’ve spent the day acting normal in response to all the troubled looks. We all had a bad night. Maureen is dead. Jamie lost her husband. Adam has a bullet wound. I’m not going to complain when I’m still alive and practically untouched.

  “What’s the plan?” I ask, and pat Margaret’s hand with a big smile.

  “We’ll look for food and then skedaddle,” Zeke says. “C’mon, sugar, you can be my partner.”

  “I’ve been waiting a year and a half to hear those words,” I say. Zeke’s chest rumbles with a laugh and he takes my arm as we near the doors.

  The Walmart has skylights; it’s nice to not have to peer into complete darkness for once. The food section is full of debris from the fights that must have ensued when people got desperate. Freezer doors hang open and one aisle’s shelves are on their side. Everything edible is gone, including pet food and birdseed, but we do find some overlooked fuel stabilizer.

  We decide to try the hotel across the street whose sign touts a deluxe continental breakfast, as it’s the first hotel we’ve seen with undamaged doors and windows. Peering through our cupped hands on the glass reveals a lobby that’s untouched except for the ten Lexers that wander around the check-in counter and couches. The day’s newspapers sit on a table with a sign that says they’re free for the taking. Carafes of coffee also advertise themselves as complimentary.

  A Lexer moves to the door, stumbling over the body of
one who didn’t make it past thawing. The others follow suit until the doors rattle with their fists and faces. More enter from the hall, but we can take them if we let them out slowly.

  “I’ll pry the doors,” Zeke says over the pounding. “Y’all want to get them?”

  He leaves and returns with a crowbar. I’ll take zombies over living people any day. They have no interest in our flesh besides eating it.

  Three come out at Zeke’s first heave. Peter jumps in front of me and takes out mine so quickly that I almost hack him in the back. I move near Mark, but Peter does it again with the next few that emerge.

  “You’re in my way,” I say to him after Zeke lets the doors shut.

  He ignores me. I change position and get close to the entrance when he tries to follow. If he wants to block me, he’s going to get eaten. He steps to the side with a scowl. I want to kill something, and God help me, it will be Peter if he tries that again. I can’t tell if he’s trying to protect me or infuriate me, but I can protect myself just fine.

  The doors stick open with Zeke’s next grunt, and then there are too many for Peter to concern himself with my whereabouts. I drive my spiked end into the eye of a hotel employee still wearing a nametag that says Jackie. I turn to the next one, grab the back of its hair and dig into the base of its skull, like I tried to do to Whit. A man with a bathrobe still knotted around his waist gets the blade in his forehead. I push him to the side and look for another, but they’re all down.

  My breath is easy. I feel like I’ve barely moved a muscle and almost wish there were more, but I’m not crazy enough to really want it to be so. I grin at Zeke, who crinkles his eyes like a biker Santa Claus and says, “Normally I’d say ladies first, but you’ll pardon my manners this time.”

  There have to be others in the building, but so far the coast is clear. The breakfast area has a wall of windows and counters that hold cereal dispensers and drink machines. Margaret throws open the door to the storage room.