“You have a fever!” he says, and cuts off any response with a glare that manages to convey concern. His fingers graze my cheek while he assesses my temperature. I close my eyes at the painful chills they leave in their wake. No wonder Bits couldn’t stand it. “And when were you planning to say something?”
“I think I’m getting what Bits had. But I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not fine.” I don’t have to see his face to know he’s furious. “How long has it been?”
“Just before.”
He huffs and leaves for the living room. “Take these,” he says upon his return.
I open my eyes and dutifully swallow the pills he hands me with water. “Thanks.”
“Let me take your temperature.” He holds out a thermometer and practically growls when I shake my head. “Really? You’re not going to let me?”
“It’s just a number,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I know how I feel. I’m fine.”
He stares like I’m from another planet. “I can’t believe y—You know, I wondered why all you ate was soup. You never say no to cornbread. You didn’t just get sick, Cassandra. You’re staying here tomorrow.”
I sit up and cross my arms. “Don’t even try it. I’m going.”
“You can’t go with a fever.”
“Why? Do the zombies have a rule that you have to be fever-free for twenty-four hours before you can visit?”
“Jesus Christ, make a fucking joke about it. If you’re sick, you might get hurt. I’m not fighting about this. You’re staying with the kids.”
A large part of me wants to acquiesce, to not leave Bits and Hank behind. Glory said she wouldn’t kick us out mid-winter, but I don’t know how much say she has in the matter. A town full of hungry people wouldn’t hesitate to send me packing, and possibly the kids, too, no matter what they’ve promised. We’ve seen what hunger can do to people firsthand. This is the only way to ensure that Bits and Hank will be safe and fed for the foreseeable future.
“At least you’d be here if we don’t come—” Peter begins.
“You don’t know that! They’ll kick me out if they run low on food, even if they let the kids stay. I’d rather die trying than freeze to death by myself.”
“You’re one person. They won’t kick you out.”
“Can you guarantee me that?” I ask. Peter doesn’t answer. He knows he can’t guarantee me anything. “Frank would probably murder me in my sleep. You think everyone’s going to want to give us the food out of their kids’ mouths? They’re not.”
Peter crosses his arms. I wish I could stay, but he’s going and so is Kyle. It wouldn’t be fair—they have just as much to lose as I do. The only legitimate reason would be if I was at death’s door, and I’m not. One extra person could be the difference between coming back fully-stocked and not coming back at all.
“I’m not sitting here when I could be helping,” I say. “You might need me.”
Peter’s eyes flash. “Right, maybe you can cough the zombies to death. Obviously, you are going to fight. If that’s the way you want it, then—”
“I’m not fighting.” I try a placating smile and wonder what his ultimatum was going to be. “I just need sleep. If I’m worse in the morning, I’ll stay here.”
Peter studies my face. He doesn’t believe me, and rightly so, because there’s no way in hell I’m staying here when one of the most important patrols we’ve ever done goes on without me.
“Promise?” he asks.
I stare at him, working up the nerve to lie, and finally answer, “No.”
He breathes through his nose. “You know what? Fine.”
“Fine.”
I turn on my side and stare at Bits’s peaceful features. The thought of not being the person who raises her makes my chest heavier. I don’t want to fight with Peter on top of this. He must feel the same because he turns off the light and puts his arm around me. I hug it to me like a teddy bear.
“I just want you safe,” he whispers.
“We’re safest together,” I whisper into the dark. “Please don’t ask me to stay.” The thought of never knowing what’s happened to him and the others is agonizing. The thought of never knowing if the kids are okay is devastating. The only option is to get that food and come back. If there was ever a time to believe it’ll be all right, it’d be now—and I’m going to believe.
Peter is silent until our breathing has slowed, then he finally says, “Okay.”
CHAPTER 54
Something wakes me before the sun is up. It could be the achiness, the fever that may be a degree or two warmer, or the tight burning in my lungs that makes breathing a chore. It could be nerves, but I’m almost as nervous that Peter will try to make me stay as I am about heading to Anchorage.
I rummage through the medicine bag. I take cold and cough capsules, followed by ibuprofen and Tylenol, and top it off with a Vicodin for my throat. It’s a cocktail that has to get me through the day and then I swear I’ll heed any and all sickbed advice this afternoon. I put extras in my pockets and pop another Sudafed because it says you can take two. Of course, they probably weren’t taking into consideration that the cough syrup has some in it.
“Fooled ya,” I say to the directions on the box and then realize how crazy it is that I’m talking to a box of medicine. Crazier than usual, at any rate.
Maybe it’s the fever, which should go down soon. But today’s agenda would make anyone loony, so I blame it on that and wait for the meds to kick in on the couch. Sparky climbs on my chest and Barnaby stares woefully until I invite him up. Once the sky has lightened, I feel somewhat better. There’s the low-level buzz of pseudoephedrine, the pain-relieving cushion of Vicodin and the fever-reducing effect of ibuprofen. I give a tentative cough. The rumble in my chest sounds no better than it did, but the pressure has lessened. I’m good to go—or at least as good as I’m gonna get.
Peter stumbles out of the bedroom and stops when he sees me. “Oh, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He runs a hand through his hair and scratches his scruffy cheek absently, then hitches up the wrinkled jeans he threw on.
“You’re very rumpled this morning,” I say.
“Have you seen your hair?”
I can feel the frizz before my hand is two inches from my scalp. Sweaty, fevered sleeping has not improved my morning look. I didn’t glance at myself when I brushed my teeth; I was too concerned with taking medicine before Peter caught me. I would smooth it down if I had the energy to care.
“How do you feel?” Peter asks.
“Dirty,” I say. I’d like to die clean, but no one offered us a shower or whatever it is they have here.
“You know what I mean.”
“Better.” I may be sicker, but I feel better thanks to the miracle of modern medicine, so it’s not a total lie.
Peter feels my forehead. “You are cool.”
“What, did you think I was lying?”
“Of course I did,” he says, his laugh a bit strained. In fact, all of him is strained, from his anxious expression to his rigid stance.
I’m bordering on petrified, but I concentrate on that tiny kernel of faith from last night. I can still feel it—a glimmer of peace and quiet amidst the noisy fear. Of course, that could be the Vicodin. But, whatever the case, it looks like Peter needs a dose of faith—it was his to begin with, after all. I take his hand for a moment before letting him move toward the bathroom. “It’ll be all right, Petey.”
Even rumpled and half-grouchy, the smile he flashes me before he closes the door is radiant—white teeth, black stubble, shining eyes. I pull on Ana’s leather pants, my boots and a black shirt. I load the extra magazines for the .22 and hang my axe off my belt. I’ve just finished winding up my hair when Nelly strolls in looking handsome and ready to kick ass in his work boots, leather coat and machete.
“Glory brought breakfast to the big cabin,” he says. He opens the kitchenette drawers, inspects the pictures and flips through the Alaska tourism magaz
ines on the coffee table. “Nice place. Tell me you’re ditching those moose paintings.”
I take in the sarcastic curve of his lips. I’ve made it this far with him by my side. We might be dead later today, but I’ll always be thankful that we were together to the end. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.
“I just love you. I really, really love you, Nels.” I want to say all the things that need to be said. The only thing worse than dying is not saying what you should’ve said before doing so.
Nelly purses his lips. “Oh, God, really? Don’t start with that shit.” I choke on my laugh and end up doubled over with the force of the contractions in my chest. Peter comes to stand beside me and shakes his head.
“You okay, darlin’?” Nelly asks. “You sound like you’re dying.”
“She’s sick,” Peter says, “but she won’t stay here.”
“She’s even more stubborn when she’s sick. You really think that pain in the ass would stay here?” Nelly may be calling me names, but he’s on my side.
“I can hear you,” I sputter between coughs.
“We know,” they both say. I give them the finger and spit the coughed-up phlegm into the garbage can.
“Attractive,” Nelly says.
“Thanks,” I say. He’s jesting as usual, but he has circles under his eyes from worry and lack of sleep. “It’s all going to be fine.”
Nelly opens his mouth just as Bits and Hank appear. We wait for them to wash up and head for breakfast. “Why are you so happy?” Nelly asks me on our way through the damp grass.
“Nothing’s going to bother me today. Well, except zombies.”
“Just that one small thing.”
“An itty-bitty detail.”
Nelly pulls me to his side with a chuckle. “I love you, too, Half-pint.”
“I know.”
Everyone is ready in order to leave after we’ve eaten. The mood isn’t as somber as I’d feared—we’re all trying to make the best of it. I force myself to eat eggs and a piece of jerky under Doctor Peter’s watchful gaze. What I’d like is buttered toast, but Glory has told us flour’s saved for special occasions. Unlike Vermont, they haven’t been able to grow wheat. There’s probably a ton in that warehouse, though.
I motion Penny into one of the bedrooms and pull some things out of my pack. Penny stands by the window and watches a woman walk a dog with a baby in a carrier on her back. At Kingdom Come there was no escaping the feeling that it was a Safe Zone—no matter how much I loved the place—but this could be the same town it was before the apocalypse.
“It’s nice here,” I say. “I’m sure everyone’s still in each others’ business, but at least there’s room to spread out.”
She ekes out a pale-lipped smile. “I don’t care where we live. Just come back.”
“We’ll do our best. We’d have to do this anyway, even if we weren’t here. Right?” She nods and wipes under her glasses.
“I have some things for you,” I say, and open the jewelry box. “Earrings for Bits’s birthday. You’ll have to pierce her ears for her. Just don’t do what you did when we were fifteen.” She’d tried to give me a fourth hole in my ear, but she’d jammed the needle in at such an angle that it never came out the other side.
“You’re going to bring that up now?” Penny shoves me and laughs through her tears.
“Just putting it out there,” I say, and have to stop for a few deep breaths when I imagine not being here for Bits’s ninth birthday. No, I will be here. “The constellation book is for Hank. I don’t want to give it to him before I go because it seems…I know he wants it.” I pull the unicorn from my pocket. “This is for Bits, too.”
I set them all on the windowsill and lay the tissue-wrapped baby dress in her hands. “This is for the baby. From Ana. She found it in Stowe.”
She folds the edge of the tissue then smoothes it back into place, whispering, “I’ll wait.”
I hold her as close as possible with the baby in the way and then rest my hand on her belly. I’m going to meet this baby, too. I’ll be here for its birth day, and all the birthdays thereafter. But, just in case, I say, “Don’t take shit from them. You don’t either, baby.”
“Don’t worry. No one’s giving me shit. I’ll cut those bitches.” I can see she means it, but I laugh anyway. It’s so much better than crying.
“I’ll take care of Bits and Hank,” Penny says, eyes fierce. I nod. Of that I have no doubt, but a tear still works its way out as we hug one last time.
The tension mounts as plates are cleared, and my symptoms return with a vengeance. I pull a handful of pills from my pocket and take a few on the short walk to the first gate, where we pulled our vehicles once they’d been unpacked.
I hug Adam gingerly. “I’ll see you in a while,” he says.
“Yes, you will.”
“I wish I were coming.”
“I know,” I say, and think that Adam’s hunched shoulders and obvious distress are another reason why I don’t want to stay behind.
I hug the others, including Nat, who’s chewed her nails down to the quick. Her expression lightens when Chuck speaks softly in her ear. She may be seventeen, but she still thinks her dad is invincible. I know I did. I hope he is this time, too.
I almost fall from the force of Bits’s hug. I’m not going to drag this out. If I don’t do it quick, I’ll never let her go, and I don’t want her to see my worry. “I love you so much, Bitsy. More than anything, ever. I’ll see you later, okay?”
She nods and steps back with a swallow. “I love you. And I’ll see you later.”
I expected tears and pleading but other than her bloodshot eyes, her face is set. Maybe she believes we’ll always come back, that Peter and I are invincible. I can see she’ll be all right if we don’t, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to prove her wrong.
When I whisper the same words in Hank’s ear so as not to embarrass him, he clings before he lets me go. The kids wave as James pulls the VW through the gate between the pickup and semi. There’s a roar over the sound of Chuck’s engine and another semi pulls across the railroad tracks.
Terry jumps out and makes his way to us. “We’re coming. We can bring back more that way. Frank, Patricia, Tara and Philip are in the truck. We’ll lead you down there. We know a better way to go.” He grins and ambles back to the truck.
“Well, look at that,” Nelly says from the passenger’s seat.
I cross my arms. “So the two people who most don’t want us here—Frank and Patricia—are coming to help? I don’t like it.”
“Me neither,” Jamie says. “It’s like they want to be sure they get their shit no matter what.”
“Maybe they felt bad,” Peter says from beside me on the bench seat. “And Tara and Philip are Canadian. I thought that was enough for you. Why don’t we give them the benefit of the doubt?”
“Okay, you do that, and I’ll be ready to shoot them.” It’s going to be a long ride and I already need a nap. I close my eyes, but the zinging in my gut won’t let it happen. I open them again to find Peter eyeing me.
“What?” I ask.
“I promised I wouldn’t ask, but—”
“So don’t ask. I’m fine.”
“She’s sick,” Peter explains to Jamie, “and she won’t stay home.”
“We don’t have a home,” I remind him.
“I wouldn’t,” Jamie says.
I give her a Girl Power thumbs up and hold back a cough. The old medicine is wearing off, but the new should be here shortly. Peter sighs. He sighs at me a lot.
“You have control issues,” I say to him.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re constantly sighing at me when I don’t do things your way.”
His eyebrows come down. “I have control issues? The person who has a fever and should be in bed but refuses to do so because she’s going to change the entire day’s outcome by herself thinks I have control issues?”
“Well
, you do.” My red shoelace is undone and I bend to double-knot it. “It doesn’t mean I don’t.”
“At least I know how to tie my shoes like a grownup.”
I look up open-mouthed. “That was a low blow, Petey.”
Peter laughs. We hit the highway and turn south. I watch the scenery and only realize I’ve been drumming my fingers on my leg when Peter stills my hand with his. He laces his gloved fingers through mine and stares out the window. Forested highway becomes occasional houses and businesses. I close my eyes, even though I know sleep is a lost cause, and practically leap through the roof in fright when James stops the VW with a holler. Terry screeches to a halt ahead, as does everyone behind.
James grins while he points at a grouping of fireworks stands. “John was always on the lookout for fireworks to use if we were trapped. They might come in handy.”
“He said, ‘Light ‘em, throw ‘em, then take off the other way.’ We have to check,” I say, and send John silent thanks for still looking after us. Now if only there’s something left inside.
We step into the gravel parking lot and explain the plan to the others, all of whom agree it’s worth a shot.
“Good old John,” Zeke says. He kicks in a door, not bothering to use his cat burglar skills, and our flashlights illuminate shelves that have enough inventory for a whole lot of distraction.
Back in the VW, we rip open boxes and choose the fireworks that look least likely to trap us in a blazing inferno. “Look at this,” Jamie says. She holds up one called Death’s Door. “Fitting.”
Nelly calls out names as he separates them. “Mother Lode, Civil War, Blown Away.”
Peter opens a box labeled Zombie Zingers and a few green paper balls spill into his hand. “I’m kind of partial to these.”
“Lemme get some of those,” James says.
We avoid the main highway until we’re forced to pick it up thirty minutes later in order to reach Anchorage. The foliage is a frosty brown and the mountains are tipped with solid white, as if winter’s come overnight. We eventually turn onto the city streets due to stopped traffic, where taller buildings are interspersed between fast food chains and strip malls. Following the Talkeetnans’ semi, we drive a network of side streets to easily avoid blockages. Lexers hit the empty sidewalks as we pass; the engines call out everything within shouting distance. I’m not sure how far we would’ve gotten without Terry’s help. Maybe I should give them the benefit of the doubt, like Peter said.
Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky Page 28