I return to the main level. The house is from the seventies and the furniture isn’t far from that decade, either. Margaret’s in the kitchen, gingerly opening and closing cabinets. She points to the counter, where a few cans of soup, the end of a bag of bleached flour and four boxes of macaroni and cheese sit. The few bags that made it in add some small boxes of cereal and two old protein bars to our larder.
The others move around the house, gathering blankets and pillows from the bedrooms and setting them on the shag carpeting. I visit the smoked-mirror bathroom, use the dry toilet and search for anything vaguely medicinal. I come up with expired cough medicine and Tylenol. I can crush the pills, maybe, to bring Bits’s fever down. It’s what I’d been doing with her antibiotics once she found it too difficult to swallow. I have to hope that they’re still in her system, if indeed they’re doing anything at all.
Back in the basement, I grind a pill with a hammer. Peter opens Bits’s mouth for me to dump it in. I follow it with the cough medicine and coerce a bit of water down after. I find a lantern, some citronella candles, two sleeping bags and a camping stove in a box labeled camping, but no propane. I leave one sleeping bag and candle and bring the rest upstairs.
Sheets are hung over the blinds with thumbtacks, making the room and its plaid furniture a ghostly blue. The steady drone of Lexers seeps through the closed window. I lift a corner of fabric to find it’s worse than I thought—well over a hundred roaming around the driveway and sniffing at the vehicles, with who knows how many on the road. The backyard is no better. One bumps into the swing set’s glider, which hits another in the behind and knocks it to its knees. It would be funny if the situation wasn’t so bleak.
But I won’t be hopeless. They aren’t banging in the doors. Right now they’re hanging around and are bound to move at some point. Or they’ll freeze, maybe soon, with the way the weather’s been. I can hear Bits coughing, but it’s almost inaudible if I weren’t listening for it.
Kyle gives every weapon we have a once-over and lines them up on the kitchen table. Thankfully, we all wear our guns, my tomahawk is on my waist and Mark had the presence of mind to grab his bow. I grab every decent-sized knife out of the wooden block on the counter and set them with the rest. Kyle nods and returns to his work, Nicki crouched at his feet.
I kiss the top of Hank’s head before I follow Jamie and Liz to the basement, where they work on getting water from the water heater. Jamie leaves behind a container for us and brings the rest upstairs.
“What’s happening?” Peter whispers from where he lies next to Bits on the mattress.
I crouch next to him. “They’re everywhere but not trying to get in yet.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Wait it out.”
Peter lifts the blankets. I crawl in and turn on my side. “Bits kicks whenever I touch her,” he whispers in my ear. “So stay on this side.”
It’s not as loud down here, nor is it as cold, although there’s only a few degrees difference. I listen to the distant hum of the dead people on the lawn, and when evening comes I find three good-sized rags, hang them on the window frames and light the candle with the lighter I keep in my pocket. Dan’s unicorn is in there, too, the same way I carried the ring from Adrian last summer. It’s still on my right ring finger, the silver star shining gold in the candlelight. The thought that I’m forever meant to carry reminders of people I’ve left behind makes me weary. But the unicorn is for Bits, and I’ll be damned if she isn’t going to get it.
I crush another pill and ready her cough syrup. Her forehead may be a tiny bit cooler. She gags on her medicine and rolls away gasping for air. I pound her back with cupped hands the way my mother did when I had a chest cold, but it’s too loud. If I had access to heat, I’d boil water so she could breathe in the steam. It seems there’s always a reason we can’t get what we need or do what would be best, and I’m so sick of it I want to scream.
Her coughing tapers off to a whimper and rattling chest. I lie down next to Peter, so tired I can hardly breathe myself, and fall asleep.
CHAPTER 48
Another full day passes with even more Lexers holding a semi-silent vigil. Barnaby visits us throughout the day, as do some of the others, but I barely listen to their hushed voices. I put cut newspaper in a bin for Sparky’s litter box. She doesn’t leave Bits’s side and neither do we. Bits’s chest is a symphony of noises now. A low, deep moan, a high-pitched wheeze and a slight rattle. The rattle scares me most of all.
There may not be much food to eat, but I’m not hungry and send it up to Penny and Hank. I don’t know how long we can live without food, how long before we’ll be too weak to fight our way out if we have to. But all of that is a distant concern. I hold Bits when she coughs and watch her breathe when she’s still. She’s so still.
I think about her dying. I’m not sure I would care if the Lexers found a way in after that. I’m completely embroiled in a game of reverse jinxing when Peter lights the candle and says, “You should sleep.”
“You should sleep,” I say.
“You first.”
“No. What if she stops—” I may reverse jinx in my head, but saying it out loud is too real.
“We’ll take turns.” He must see something in my face because he says, “You know I’ll watch her just as carefully.”
I trust Peter with my life and even more so with Bits’s, but I can’t relinquish control over this situation. “You sleep. I’ll wake you.”
“No,” Peter says. “Because I know you won’t.”
“She wants to look at the stars. That’s not so much to ask—just to want to see the fucking stars, is it?” Peter shakes his head, candlelight reflecting in his damp eyes. I’m torturing him the way I’m torturing myself. “I’m sorry.”
“She’ll be all right,” Peter says.
“Promise?” I shouldn’t ask, but I want so desperately for it to be true.
“Promise.”
Peter sits at the head of the bed and pulls me to him, arms around my waist. We watch Bits, my hand resting lightly on her chest. Neither of us suggests sleep. His chest rises when Bits’s does, as though he’s taken on the role of breathing for her. I’m doing it too, and I’m light-headed, which could mean she isn’t getting enough oxygen. We sit until the basement windows are gray with morning light and I no longer think it’s my imagination that her breathing is less labored.
The pounding starts just after dawn. Peter runs upstairs and returns a few terrifying minutes later. “Something fell,” he whispers. “They should stop soon.”
Bits croaks, “Cassie?”
I cover her mouth, although I’ve never been happier to hear someone say my name. “Shh, they’re outside.”
“Water?” she whispers. I hold the bottle to her mouth and she drinks, watching me with round eyes.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. She opens her mouth but thinks better of it and nods.
“Feeling better, Freckles?” Peter asks.
She nods again and her cracked lips rise. I want to shout my thanks, but I kiss her and go upstairs, where everyone’s listening to the havoc outside. I mime a spoon to the mouth and whisper, “Her fever’s gone.”
I’m flashed sixteen silent but huge smiles, of which Hank’s is the largest. I squeeze his shoulder and open the can of chicken noodle soup Penny’s pointed out. It sits on the counter next to macaroni and cheese noodles soaking in a pot of cold water. I add water to some of the soup to create an unappetizing mixture of clumps of congealed broth and noodles.
Back in the basement Bits is propped up, a tiny shadow with even darker shadows under her eyes. She takes a sip off the spoon I hold and grimaces. It may not be delicious, but the smell of the soup has reminded me of how hungry I am—hungry enough to want cold, not fully uncondensed soup. Peter relights the candle and holds the bowl over the flame until it’s a little warmer than ice. She finishes the bowl and is asleep in seconds. It’s a healing sleep, though, not the restless one of the pas
t days. Peter and I watch her breathe, this time in relief.
***
By nighttime, I’m starving. Two boxes of macaroni and cheese spread between nineteen people is little more than a tease. And macaroni soaked in cold water with powdered cheese on top is a chewy, disgusting tease. Baby formula has begun to seem appealing.
The Lexers are still outside. We’ve lived in silence for so long that part of me wants to shout just to be sure I still can. I’ve strained my eyes reading a crime thriller and taken Barnaby for his walk to one of the bedrooms, where he guiltily pooped on the floor. I didn’t dare tell him he was a good boy, just gave him lots of quiet love when he was finished.
Before dark, the pounding starts again. I hear glass shatter and run upstairs to find it was a garage door window, but it would take a lot more agility than Lexers possess to get through those high windows. Bits is asleep, still coughing but bouncing back quickly. Nelly sits with me and Peter now that Adam’s asleep. He’s not afraid of catching whatever it is Bits has; he says he’s immune to everything. And barring that infection last year, I’ve never seen him so much as sniffle. The only good thing—and I mean only good thing—about the pounding is that we can speak quietly in the basement where our voices are muffled. Nelly deals himself in on solitaire while Peter sits with his chin in his hand and a far-off look on his face.
“Whatcha thinking about?” I ask.
“Food,” Peter says. “And how much I want some.”
Nelly groans. “Could we not talk about food?”
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s talk about other things we want.”
“What could you possibly want besides food?” Peter asks.
“A pair of comfy pajamas and—”
“Like those ugly pajama pants you always wore?” Nelly asks, and slaps one card over another. “Those were sexy.”
“The blue ones?” Peter asks.
“God, they were hideous,” Nelly says.
“Can you guys let me have my fantasy here?” I ask. “When it comes to pajama pants, comfort trumps sexy any day. Anyway, I want to get in my unsexy pajama pants and watch a movie. You can come if you don’t make fun of my pajamas.”
Peter stretches and cracks his knuckles. “What movie?”
“We’re watching Groundhog Day or The Big Lebowski. Or a romantic comedy.”
“You’re incapable of watching a movie without eating.”
“So make me some food. What’s it gonna be?” I ask. “We’ll hang out at your place with your big-ass TV.”
Peter’s eyes light up. “I’ll grill steak on the terrace.”
“Stop,” Nelly says.
Peter cooked me a lot of food, steak included, and nothing he ever made was bad. “With those green beans?”
“The sautéed ones?”
I drop my head back in ecstasy. “Yes. And I’ll bake bread because my bread kicks your bread’s ass.”
“True,” Peter says. “I’ll get that Irish butter with the sea salt.”
“Why are you doing this?” Nelly asks. “Really, why?”
Peter watches me with a half-smile. I wink and say, “Popcorn dripping with butter. Gummy worms.”
“You’re pure evil,” Nelly says.
“And Pepsi for you, Nels.” Nelly sighs. “And croissants for breakfast?”
Nelly looks up from his cards, light flickering on his leer. “Oh, are you staying the night?”
Nelly should know better than to allude to things like that, and his grin says he’s getting a kick out of it. I stare at him until he gives me an innocent shrug and continues his game. Thankfully, Peter looks untroubled by Nelly’s remark.
I sink back, stomach growling. “My stomach is eating itself. Nelly’s right. Game over.”
After I’ve yawned twenty times, Nelly stacks his cards. “Are you trying to tell me something? Okay kids, I’m heading to bed.”
Once he’s climbed the stairs and we’re in bed, I ask Peter, “Do you think they’ll ever stop out there?”
“Oh, they’ll stop at some point. Maybe when they freeze and we’re long dead, but they’ll stop.” I elbow him. He reaches across me to rest a hand on Bits. “You’re shivering.”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but it is late autumn in Alaska, which is probably more like early winter everywhere else.”
Peter turns on his side so I can fit into him. After a minute he says, “I’m eating your hair.”
I choose to ignore the fact that my hair must smell vile and say, “Well, it’s better than that macaroni and cheese. Want me to tie it back?”
He twists my hair loosely and tucks it between us, then brushes it back from my temple. “No, it’s fine. Leave it down.”
Peter used to like my hair. He’d curl a wave around his finger and let it pop back into place, tug on it when I walked ahead of him, and stroke it as we fell asleep like he’s doing now. Maybe it’s Nelly’s comment, or the fact that Ana should be here instead of me, that makes me feel a bit guilty for finding his touch so soothing, for wanting Peter close by. I close my eyes and think about how I slept with Nelly almost all of last spring and summer. This is no different. Our past doesn’t mean we can’t take comfort from each other.
CHAPTER 49
“There are fewer Lexers outside,” Peter says in my ear. I wake with a start and headbutt him.
“Jesus!” he whispers, hand to his forehead while Bits giggles quietly.
“Shit, sorry. Have you not learned your lesson about waking me yet?”
“I’m using a pole next time. Kyle wants to scout out the road. I said I’d go, but only if you did. Liz is going.”
“I’ll go,” I say. I don’t see any other choice. We need to eat. We need to get to Talkeetna before it snows. Bits needs warmth and food to recover for good. I turn to her. “How’s my sweetie-pie?”
“Good,” she says. “But the water tastes like spiders.”
Peter raises his hands. “I asked her how that’s possible. It’s old, but other than that it tastes fine to me. Taste it.”
I swish around a sip from my bottle. It’s not terrible, but it definitely has a musty aftertaste. “It tastes like basements and old ladies. I totally see what she means.”
“Of course you do,” Peter says. “Why did I even bother asking?”
I giggle along with Bits and bring her bathroom bucket upstairs to dump in the toilet tank. The two toilets stink, even with the bathroom doors closed. Another reason to get out of here—we’re using pee to flush down what’s in the bowl. I leave as quickly as possible, but there’s no way to feel clean after that experience. I give everyone an update on Bits and find out that today’s menu is just as lacking as the previous.
My stomach growls to the point of nausea when I think of the wafflecake mix and little boxes of Frosted Flakes that sit twenty feet from the door. Penny bustles around like she does when nervous, except that the cute little pregnant lady is lining up sharp knives and guns instead of knitting baby booties.
“Can I see Bits?” Hank whispers.
“I don’t want you getting sick,” I whisper. It’s likely she was most contagious a few days ago, but having to watch another kid struggle to breathe would be more than I can take. “She can’t wait, believe me.” He wraps his arms around my waist. It may be the first real hug he’s ever initiated with me, and I don’t let go until he does.
I peek out the window. The light makes my eyes water after days of semi-darkness. Fifty or so Lexers are scattered around the house, with trees blocking our view of who knows how many on the road. I let the sheet fall and sit on the couch with Kyle. He’d had a befuddled look in his eyes for a while, but his gaze is sharp once again.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask.
“We’ll go through the woods to that dirt road,” Kyle says. “James says there’s train tracks on the map that go right alongside. Maybe we can get out that way.” He watches Nicki cut pictures from an old catalog with her good arm and rubs his face.
“We’ll
get her somewhere safe,” I say. His jaw bulges when he nods. “You’re such a good dad.”
“She’s my light,” he says with a shrug, as if there’s no other way to be. But not every father is like him. Mine was. Peter is. Not everyone is as lucky.
There’s a thump from outside and then what sounds like a door rattling along with zombie noises. “We’ve got to get out of here,” Kyle says. “Or else I’m gonna go dinky dau.”
“You’re gonna go what?”
“My dad was in ‘Nam. Dinky dau is what they called crazy over there. If I have to hear that sound,” he gestures to the window, “for another twenty-four hours, I’m going to go crazy.”
“I like that,” I say. It even sounds crazy. “I don’t blame you. It’s not as bad in the basement.”
Kyle crosses his arms over his wide chest. “They don’t fucking stop.”
“Well, you know what they say: Ain’t no party like a zombie party, ‘cause a zombie party—”
“Don’t stop,” Kyle finishes. His laugh is quiet, but it still catches Nicki’s attention.
Nicki climbs on his lap. “What’s funny, Daddy?”
“Oh, just something Cassie said, baby.” He returns the kiss she bestows upon him with a smack of his lips.
“Cassie’s funny,” Nicki says.
“Cassie’s dinky dau,” Kyle says. I punch him in his rock-hard side, which hurts my knuckles but doesn’t make him flinch.
“Dinky dau,” Nicki repeats under her breath. “Cassie’s Dinky dau.”
“Thanks,” I say to Kyle.
“If the shoe fits,” he says. I’d punch him again, but I’m going to need my hands later.
Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky Page 24