I can’t swallow, and it’s not because of my throat. I’d hug him if I wouldn’t scald him with my soup. “I know you will, sweetie. But I want to take care of you, too.”
His downturned face is hidden by his glasses, but a tear plops from his chin. The nearby tables have gone quiet. I set my meal on one of them and wrap him in my arms. “And if I can’t, Penny and Adam will. You’re not alone. I promise you’re not alone, okay?”
He nods against my neck. I can feel the eyes of the diners on me when I retrieve my food, but none meets my gaze when I look up. I stand there for a second and walk away shaking my head. I don’t expect them to come, but it’d be nice not to be treated like we’re already dead.
I pull out the chair Peter’s saved for me and sit facing the room, teeth gritted. “I see you’ve already made some friends,” Nelly says.
I burst out laughing and the rest of the table joins in. You can always count on Nelly to bust up a perfectly good moment of rage. I taste the soup, which is so much better than the cold, uncondensed kind, and close my eyes at the warmth sliding down my throat. It makes swallowing worth it; otherwise, it’s become agony. I attempt the cornbread but don’t think I can get it down.
“Good luck tomorrow,” Terry stops to say. He points to the couple behind him, both in their early thirties. “This is Tara and Philip.”
The man is brown-haired and scruffy, with a friendly face and an upturned nose. The female counterpart is tall and willowy, with long, auburn hair and full lips. “Hi,” she says. “We just wanted to say welcome.”
Philip surveys the room, then turns back with his eyebrows up. “They’re usually not like this, don’t take it personally. We were in Whitehorse on holiday last year from Ontario. I guess we still are. But we hope you’ll come around for a beer when you get back. I’ve got some put away.”
We murmur how that’d be great. “They were nice,” Peter says once they’re gone.
“That’s because they’re Canadian,” I say to make him laugh.
We finish our meals and are almost out the door when a voice booms, “Peter?”
A man stands at a table, hand on the head of a teenage girl with chin-length blond hair. Everything about him is square, from his broad shoulders and barrel chest to his head. But his formidable presence is canceled out by the friendly grin under his trim beard. I can count the number of times Peter has been flabbergasted on one hand, but whoever this is has made his mouth drop. He spreads his arms when the teenage girl launches herself into them and then swings her around.
“How did you end up here?” Peter asks after he’s put her down and hugged the man. Another guy as square as the first, but with blond hair rather than brown, waits for his turn, looking just as delighted.
I think I know who they are, but it’s unbelievable that we’d meet up with them on the other side of the country. Peter steps back from the trio. “This is Chuck, Rich and Nat. The people I stayed with in Vermont.”
“The island people?” Bits asks.
“Uh-huh,” Nat says, her small, pretty features alight. “And I know who you are—you’re Bits, right?”
Bits nods, eyes huge. Nat laughs, a tinkling laugh that matches her little self completely, and says, “I’ve seen you before, you know. You just didn’t see me.” She bites her lip after her eyes scan the group—maybe she can see who’s missing.
I feel a bit under scrutiny when Peter introduces me, but I move close to Nat. For once in this world, I’m going to get to do something I was sure would never happen. “I smell horrible,” I say, “but I’ve been waiting a year to give you a hug for saving Peter’s life.”
She flings herself my way. “I feel like I’m meeting celebrities or something! I know all about you! Peter said you like to read. I have tons of books you can borrow.”
I smile over her shoulder at Peter. He was right when he said she was nutty in a good way. Chuck elbows Peter. “Peter knows all about those books. Don’t you, Pete?”
Peter laughs, completely at ease. I see him through their eyes, people who didn’t know Peter before the world ended, and can tell how happy they are to be around him. He’d already changed before we parted in Bennington, but by the time he’d arrived at Kingdom Come his metamorphosis had been complete. Maybe finding that people liked him for nothing other than being himself had been the final stage.
“Wait a minute,” Chuck says, brow wrinkled. “You’re not the new arrivals who volunteered to go to the warehouse?”
Peter shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I know the nuances of his body language well enough to see that his shoulders are weighted down with worry.
“Jesus.” Chuck shakes his head slowly. “Come on back to our place. We need to catch up.”
***
Chuck, Rich and Nat live in a small log cabin with a green metal roof only a few blocks away. The furnishings are nicer than I expected—an overstuffed sage green couch with an expensive coffee table flanked by striped chairs. I remember what Peter told me about Rich’s propensity for decorating and direct my comment to him. “Nice place.”
Rich scratches his chin. “Thanks.”
After they’ve lighted the lanterns, we sit and sip water. Rich offers us something stronger, but we decline because we don’t need hangovers tomorrow. Ash has come with us, and she, Bits and Hank follow Nat to the loft, where the giggling is nonstop.
“So, tell me what’s going on,” Chuck says. He stands, arms folded and face impassive while Peter explains the deal we made. He reminds me of John, soaking in information quietly before passing judgment. Then he curses, which is all the judgment we need to know we’re screwed. The surety that we’ll be able to complete this job evaporates.
“From what I hear, it’s next to impossible,” Chuck says. “We’ve been here since the end of August. The first group went down on a lark, as I understand it, since they didn’t need the food. Then when the people from Whitehorse came, they tried again. Sent down the youngest and strongest, which is why they didn’t let me go. I offered.”
Rich mumbles something I can’t hear.
“Yeah,” Chuck says, “this is bad timing. Crops weren’t too bad this year, but the hunting and salmon catch weren’t good. Once everything freezes, I think we’ll get in some good hunting.” He pushes out his lips and stares at the ceiling. “I’m coming with you.”
“No,” Peter says. “I won’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking, I’m telling.”
“But you have Na—”
“And why do I have her? You saved Nat’s life and almost broke your ankle for it. You put off your trip north to make sure we were set for winter, Pete. You were willing to take her with you if we didn’t come back. Now I’m going to help make sure you’re set for winter.”
Peter nods at the floor. Nelly, Penny and James straighten, as bewildered as I am. Peter never mentioned those parts. He’d only said he hurt his ankle and had to recuperate. It’s no wonder they love him. I thought I knew how kind and selfless Peter could be, but it’s even more than that. He’s a beautiful soul, as my mother would say. I give him a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you head shake. He shrugs but returns my smile before looking away.
“I’m going,” Rich says. We wait for more, but that’s all we get.
“They won’t like that,” Chuck says. “Rich is the nurse here—we have a medic, nurse and midwife.”
“Too bad,” Rich replies.
“You’re taking a truck, I guess?” Chuck asks. We tell him about Zeke’s limited skills. “I’ll drive. I drove a truck years ago. That’s how we got out here.”
“How did you end up here?” Peter asks, looking relieved that we haven’t pressed Chuck for more details of his stay. He’s not getting off the hook so easily, but I’ll bother him about it later.
“We left the island just past midsummer,” Chuck says, “We were coming to your place, Pete. Nat insisted, not that she had to, but she said it would be like never getting to the end of a book if she
didn’t know what had happened. ‘Like if Breaking Dawn had never been written,’ she kept saying.”
Peter snorts. Breaking Dawn is the last of the Twilight books. He’d said Nat was obsessed with them.
“Anyway, we set out in the G-class, which you should’ve taken when you had your chance. Rode like a dream.” Chuck winks. “We ended up south of Albany, between blocked roads and a pod of zombies, and bumped into a group from Mexico. They told us the giant pods really were coming. We’d listened to the radios and thought Alaska was the safest bet, so we took off straight from there. We thought if we waited, we might never get cross country. Found a tanker half-full of diesel and made it here three weeks later. We hitched up a trailer for supply runs once we got here.”
He makes it sound easy when it couldn’t have been. But either he doesn’t want to go into detail or is saving them for another day. Peter tells him a similar story of our travels and glances at his watch when he’s finished. “It’s ten. We should get some rest.”
Chuck gives a long whistle. Natalie pops her head out of the loft a moment later and rolls her eyes at us. “He thinks I’m a dog. Yes, master?”
“Time for your friends to go. We have an early start tomorrow. I’ll explain what’s going on later.”
She comes down, followed by the others. “We were listening. Ash and I think we should be able to help.”
“And just how were you planning to do that?” Chuck asks.
“Help kill zombies, Dad. How else?”
“Not happening.”
“When I’m eighteen, you won’t be able to stop me.”
“Too bad you’re not eighteen,” he says.
Ash doesn’t look disappointed. I think she’s had enough adventure for one year and knows we’d never let her go, anyway.
“You guys can help by babysitting the kids while we’re gone,” I say. Nat groans. “It’s not so bad. We’ll pay you in stuff we find. You can have first dibs.”
“Seriously?” Nat asks. “Okay.” She grabs Ash’s arm and her eyes widen at the thought of all the goodies that might be available this time tomorrow. It looks like Ash might have found a candidate for best friend.
“See you bright and early,” Chuck says. He holds the door while we file out and stops me with a hand on my arm. “Good thinking with that babysitting gig. Pete told Nat you were smart.”
“I’m afraid to know what else he said,” I say lightly, but I can feel the flames in my cheeks.
“It’s all good,” Chuck says. “Don’t worry.”
“Well, he said you were all great, and he was right. Thank you. I know you don’t have to do this.”
“I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”
CHAPTER 53
Peter takes my elbow when I stumble on the way back to our cabin. “You’re tired,” he says. “You should go to bed.”
He has no inkling of how tired I am. If I could sink down on the street and sleep, I would. I try to remember how long it took Bits before she was incapacitated; I should have at least a day. I flop on the couch when we reach the cabin. This one is much nicer than our cabin at Kingdom Come and would be even more improved with the cheesy moose paintings that decorate a few walls taken down. Or, better yet, painted over. Bits and Hank feed Sparky and Barnaby the tidbits of food they saved from dinner.
“Are we watching the stars?” Bits asks.
“Of course,” I say. I haul myself up for ibuprofen and then half-sleep, half-listen to their noises. Peter pokes around in the kitchen drawers and organizes things. I can’t imagine what it is he’s organizing since we have almost nothing, and I come to the conclusion that I’m doomed to forever be roommates with neat people.
“Do you want to put your stuff away?” he asks.
“Why bother?” I say without opening my eyes and am answered by a heavy sigh, but I’d rather he think I’m in a bad mood than sick.
We head into the night and lie on the grass. The stars are just as vibrant as the other night. I try not to think about Whit’s hands, the knife, the blood. I’ll add it to the list of terrible things I’ve had to see and do, acknowledge it, and let it go—my mom always said that the best way to move on was to go straight through. I won’t let it ruin my love for the night sky, especially for nights like this, when it looks as though there are more stars than space. There are so many suns, maybe so many worlds—worlds that might not be as fucked up as ours. I decide not to share that cheerful thought and say, “Tell me what you see.”
Bits points out the Big Dipper and moves around the sky. Whatever she falters on, Hank’s encyclopedic mind fills in.
“There’s Canis Major,” Bits says. “The good dog. We should call that constellation Barnaby, since he’s a good watchdog now.”
“Who’s a good boy?” Hank asks. Barnaby wags his butt and spins around.
“Who is a good boy?” Peter asks. “I heard there was a good boy around here.” Barnaby lets out an ear-splitting bark, races twenty feet away and then back, barking the whole time.
“Okay, okay. Quiet!” Peter says. Barnaby stops and pants happily when Peter puts an arm around his neck and points to Canis Major. “It’s really bright.”
“It’s Sirius,” I say. “They call it the Dog Star sometimes. It’s the brightest star in the sky. At least in our sky.”
“I wish I knew what I was looking at,” Peter says.
“Cassie knows almost all of them by heart now,” Bits says. “We’ll teach…” No one speaks when she trails off, and dread weighs down what was a light moment.
“Look, it’s the Arrow,” Hank says. “It must be a good omen. Like, for killing zombies.” It’s so unlike him to make something like that up that we agree emphatically.
We brush our teeth with the jug of water Glory left. Bits and Hank stand in the living room, dead on their feet, but they don’t attempt to climb to the loft. It feels so far away, and although I know they’re safe up there, I’m not ready to be in a separate bed from them, Peter included.
They eagerly agree to cram in the big bed. I give them both kisses and by the time I get in my spot between them, they’re sound asleep. Peter looks over the duplicate drawing I made of the warehouse. “See you in the morning,” I whisper.
He reaches across Bits to pat my head. “Goodnight.”
Sickness beats out worry, and I fall asleep quickly only to wake from a dream involving buildings with no escape. Hank throws an arm over me. Bits’s rear is jammed in my side. Peter still pores over the map. My throat is raw and every breath I take feels like a stab in the lungs. I guzzle half my water bottle and ask, “How long have I been asleep?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
“That’s all?” I’m overcome by a rush of heat that forces me to struggle out of the blankets and stand at the side of the bed. Peter looks alarmed at my dramatic escape. “I was hot.”
“You don’t say.”
The heat turns to chills as only a fever can. I pretend I’m cold and rub my arms. “I’ll go upstairs.”
Peter sets the map on the nightstand and folds back the covers. “You don’t want to sleep up there.”
I don’t at all. He flaps the blankets. I climb in and close my eyes, hoping to fall asleep as quickly as before, but I’m wide awake. Peter hasn’t yet shut off the lamp, and I roll over to find him staring at the ceiling. “What are you doing?”
“Staring,” he says.
“I got that part. You’ll never fall asleep with the light on.”
“I don’t want to be in the dark.”
“Literally or figuratively?” I ask.
“Both.”
I nod and tuck my hands under my cheek. Now I’m hot and dry like the desert. I stretch to relieve the ache that’s sprung up in my hips.
“I don’t want to die,” I whisper. My voice sounds so wretched that I want to take it back. But I don’t want to die, and if there’s anyone to whom I can admit how scared I am, it’s Peter.
He faces me, looking so misera
ble I would take his hand if I didn’t think he would feel my fever. “Me neither.”
“So let’s not die, then. Why didn’t we think of this before?” I clamp down my urge to giggle. Hysteria lurks underneath, vying for a chance to run free.
He forces a chuckle at my terrible joke. “Don’t leave my side tomorrow.”
“I’ll stick like glue, Elmer.”
“Good.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about Nat?” I ask, since neither of us appears to be going to sleep.
“It wasn’t important.”
“What? You saved someone’s life in a heroic manner. You should be screaming it from the rooftops and trying to work it into every conversation.”
“Like, ‘Oh, mashed potatoes for dinner? That reminds me of the time I saved Nat’s life.’ ”
“How about ‘That shirt reminds me of the time I saved your asses in Bennington?’ ” I say. “You go around saving people’s lives, don’t you?”
“You saved mine.”
“With the water heater? I was just being silly.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Peter says.
“The mouthwash? You can’t forget that one.”
His lips twitch. “I wish I could.”
“Ha ha. So how did I save your life? I need to know so I can work it into a conversation.”
“Nothing, it’s stupid.” Peter rolls to the nightstand to check his watch. “It’s late. We need to get some sleep.”
“No way. You can’t say something like that and then tell me to forget it.” I poke his back until he faces me again, head propped on a hand and eyes on the wall. “What did you mean?”
“If I hadn’t been with you when this all started, I’d be dead. And I have you to thank for it.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Yeah, I do,” he says softly.
“Oh.” It’s all I can think to say. I once thought that Peter was the only good thing to come out of the end of the world. That he thinks I had something to do with it makes a non-feverish warmth spread to my toes and the tips of my fingers. I draw a shaky breath and try to hold back the subsequent cough, but it’s impossible. I try not to suffocate on the crap in my lungs while Peter looks on suspiciously and puts a hand to my forehead.
Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky Page 27