We pass a guard post cabin that flanks the fence by a wide river. Something that could be an arm or a small log floats past.
“Nothing really stops at this part of the river,” Patricia says. “Unless they’re washed ashore, they’re usually stuck in the current and end up by Anchorage.”
There’s another guard post before the fence turns at the confluence of the three rivers that border Talkeetna. Chuck and Rich sit out front and stand as we approach.
“First guard today?” Chuck asks.
I pull Rich’s sleeve. “Now that this one’s finally cleared me for duty, I’m getting the tour.” Rich smiles but doesn’t speak. I’ve gotten used to his quiet, although it makes me fill in the silence with random thoughts. I point to the gate in the fence. “So that’s Exit Three?”
“Yep, wanna come through? It’s time to check if anything’s washed ashore anyway.”
Here, the river is broken up by narrow islands. It seems slow and shallow, although Terry says that changes during breakup in the spring, when it thaws. The riverbank is sandier than I expected, almost like the ocean.
“Glacial silt,” Terry says.
The tall grasses on the silt islands resemble a marsh at the edge of the ocean. But unlike the ocean, beyond the water there’s a sea of green that ends at the Alaska Range. I stop in awe at the spectacle. The days have been overcast and the weather here fluctuates wildly, so I haven’t yet seen Denali, the tallest peak in North America.
“Beautiful, right?” Patricia asks. She tucks a strand of platinum hair behind her ear and shrugs like she’s said too much. This girl needs to learn how to share her feelings.
I’ve seen mountains, and ones closer than Denali is to where we stand, but the way the white-capped range rises like a solid, jagged wall is something I’ve never seen. John would have taken it as further evidence of God and Adrian would have dropped to the ground in wonder.
“This is why people come to Alaska and never leave,” I murmur.
“That’s what I did,” Terry says. “Came up when I was twenty, went home, packed and never looked back. I flew tourists to the glacier. We still have planes and some fuel in the airport across the tracks.”
I keep my eyes glued to the mountains while we continue on. I’ve seen the advertisements for those glacier tours in the Alaska guidebooks in our cabin. Landing on a glacier smack dab in the middle of the range must be gorgeous and grand and safe and quiet. And freaking cold.
Chuck catches my arm when I stumble and says, “I think everyone who comes here on a clear day doesn’t look where they’re going.”
I laugh and pay attention to the trail. “It’s distracting.”
“It sure is. How’s Pete doing? He seems better.”
I pat his arm. “He is. I’m glad you’re here. He’s always happy when he comes back from your place.”
“Ah, we just shoot the shit, nothing special. Get in a few rounds of cards, maybe. He’s improved. I whipped his ass last summer, but he’s giving me a run for my money now.”
“That’d be Nelly’s tutoring,” I say. “Well, whatever you guys do, it helps.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s just me.”
“Time. It takes time.”
“He thinks highly of you, you know. Says you’re strong.”
I know I’m strong, but when I contemplate all the times I haven’t been, it seems like a whole lot. “I wish I were stronger.”
“Don’t we all?” Chuck asks. “Looks like they found something up ahead. Things tend to wash up right around there.”
The others have stopped at what looks like driftwood but, upon closer inspection, are two bodies. They’re naked and white, limbs made formless by water. They’re the same as the one in the boathouse—swollen to where the subtle bump of a nose is the only indication you’re looking at a face. But even with being so far gone, one’s mouth opens like a hungry baby bird.
I kneel beside the body, pull my knife out of its sheath and gently press it where an eye should be. The mouth closes once more and then gapes open forever. The anger or terror or hate I usually feel is absent. I don’t have to run in fear that there are others, so I silently say a few words for these now harmless creatures. I’m sorry for the way their lives have played out.
Rich bows his head for a moment. I think he understands why I did it this way—they were people, like his own daughter, like Adrian and Ana and countless others. Patricia turns away, blinking quickly, and I suspect that she yearns for someone to crack her tough exterior—don’t we all?
I take in the mountains, the grasses waving above the silvery river, and the bodies on the ground. I’m surrounded by beauty and horror and suffering and love. I was before the virus, but they were never quite so present and closely intertwined.
There are so many things I wish hadn’t happened. I can’t change the past, but I can strive to not live in fear they’ll happen again. I can believe that if they do, I’ll make it all right. A lightness expands in my chest until I’m filled with something I haven’t felt in a while—joy. Joy that I’m here to carry on when so much has been lost.
I wipe my knife in the long grass and take Patricia’s arm in mine before we move on.
CHAPTER 60
By November, the ground is white, the roofs are white and, if you stand still long enough, you’re white. Our cabin is delightfully warm as long as the fire’s going, which has become my top priority. I stomp off my boots and step into the thoroughly domestic scene of two kids doing work at the table while Dad turns a screwdriver on a metal box of some sort. The fire crackles and something smells good. Once the snow flies, many people take their rations of food and cook in their homes during the dark dinner hours. Breakfast and lunch are still noisy affairs, and we often eat those meals at the brewery to confirm that the rest of the world hasn’t frozen to death.
“Did you know that so far this is the snowiest winter they’ve had in twenty years?” I ask, and take off my coat, scarf, hat and mittens. The snow hasn’t let up since it started. The zombies are officially popsicles, and even if they weren’t, they wouldn’t be able to get through the drifts.
“Of course it is, because you’re here,” Peter says.
He goes back to his screw and the kids go back to their papers. Evidently, no one is as appalled as I am by this news. I listen to their chatting as I pull on pajama pants and a clean shirt. I’ve managed to avoid laundry shifts, being classified as First Guard, but when the zombies are frozen we all get our turn with the poop wash.
“I see you’ve dressed for dinner,” Peter says when I reenter the living room.
“I’m sorry, were we dressing for dinner? Is the president on his way, or was that the queen tonight?”
“The potluck, goofball.”
It means I have to go out into the cold again, but it’s only across the clearing to one of the big cabins, and there’s no one there I feel the need to impress. “Right. I’m dressed, then.”
The first thing I do when we arrive is make a beeline for Penny. “So? Anything?”
She rests her hands on the stomach I mistakenly thought couldn’t get any rounder. “Oh my God, would you stop asking me that twelve times a day? You know Glory said most first babies are late. Start asking in mid-December, when I’m actually due. Unless you’re trying to torture me?”
“Fine, fine. I won’t ask again until the kid is hanging out of you.”
“Nice outfit,” Nelly says from his easy chair. “What’d you bring to eat?”
“I have no idea,” I say. “Peter made it. But it smells good.”
“You’re lucky. Adam and I go to the brewery. Hey, Adam, why don’t you cook for me?”
Adam turns from stacking plates. “Because you wouldn’t appreciate it. You’d shovel it down and forget it took hours to cook on the woodstove.”
It does take hours to cook. Sometimes Peter starts it on a kitchen shift and brings it home. I do the same when he’s on guard, or I just grab whatever’s on offer. I’d
rather paint than cook. Once I finished Holly’s portrait, I was deluged with requests from others. They hand me their creased, worn photos and I do my best to recreate them. I wasn’t a portrait painter before, but I like being the conduit between the old life and the new. I won’t take anything for the paintings unless someone has more art supplies, which I always accept.
Nelly tells us that the wildlife is making its way back to the area. They’ve bagged moose, and between that and Terry flying a hunting crew to the caribou herds, we have a lot of meat hanging frozen in the storage area. That salmon will not have to pass my lips is the best news I’ve heard since the zombies froze.
Liz perches on the arm of Zeke’s chair with a hand on his shoulder. She looks softer, more feminine somehow, until she pinches his ear at a comment I assume was teasing.
“What’s with that?” I whisper to Penny.
“I have no idea. They look happy, though.”
I wink at Liz, who blushes—there’s a first time for everything—and get up to help Peter set out plates and utensils.
“Check those two out,” I murmur.
“I saw that coming a mile away,” he says. I put my hands on my hips and frown. “If I’d told you, you would’ve done something stupid like lock them in a closet.”
“No, I wouldn’t have!” I push him. He twirls me so my back is to his chest and Jamie and Kyle are in my line of sight.
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” he says into my ear. “But I will say that they’ve gotten close. I don’t think they’re always together because of Jasmine and Nicki.”
“Ooh, really?”
He nudges me forward. “Go do your thing.”
It doesn’t surprise me that our people are pairing up, even with all the new faces in the mix. Our voyage here may have been on land, but it brought about a sea change, strengthening our bonds. I think for a minute and saunter over to Jamie. “I thought we could have Jasmine and Nicki one of these nights for a sleepover. We’ll make popcorn and play games. You can get them in the morning.”
“That sounds like fun, but they don’t have to sleep there. It might be kind of cramped.”
“We have a floor. You could have an uninterrupted night of sleep. A big bed all by your lonesome.” I spread my arms and let out a big sigh. Peter shakes his head like I’m overdoing it. I shrug. “Well, you guys let me know. Bits and Hank would love it.”
I’m four feet away when Kyle says, “How about Saturday?” He glances at Jamie, who nods and concentrates on smoothing down her unwrinkled shirt.
“Perfect.”
Peter returns my surreptitious thumbs up. He’s getting into the spirit of things. I fill my plate next to Zeke and try not to smile. “So…what’s new, Zekey?”
“Just say it, sugar.”
“You and Liz are getting it on.”
His entire body shakes. “Cut right to the chase, don’t be shy. She’s a great lady.”
“I know. I’m happy for you. And very jealous. I thought we’d be together one day.”
“You’ll always be my one and only Sugar.”
I pretend to sniff. “You can call her Sugar, too. Although she might punch you if you do.”
“You got that right.”
“You look happy, Zekey. You deserve it. Maybe you’ll take that trip one day after all.”
“You never know,” he says, eyes twinkling. “She can ride, that’s for sure. You deserve to be happy, too.”
“I am.”
I kiss his cheek before I make way for the mob of hungry people. That feeling of joy hasn’t left me yet. The people, the mountains, and the town’s quirky little houses have become home more quickly than I thought possible. Even Patricia has warmed up, or at least she doesn’t scowl when I call her Patty, which I do at every opportunity. I may complain that the weather is my worst nightmare come true, but I don’t even mind that so much.
CHAPTER 61
Barnaby and Peter don’t stir when I get out of bed in the middle of the night. The Leonid meteor shower should be starting around now. I want to make sure it’s in full swing before I drag the kids out of bed, and I want one night to myself before that. After the kettle is on the stove, I walk into the dark. I don’t need to go far; the porch steps are swept of the last snowfall and there’s plenty of sky that can be viewed from the clearing in the center of the cabins.
I sit on the bottom step and lean back on the porch. We watch the stars as much as possible, although the weather makes it less enjoyable. The only drawback of Alaska is that the summer nights are light. I might not see all the summer stars again if I live here the rest of my life.
The first meteor shoots across one of Andromeda’s chained arms. I imagine it cutting her loose, the cord snapping the way my bootlace did. Maybe I never would have fought back if it hadn’t been for her story—for Dan—and I hope he knows how thankful I am that he was in my life.
A few more meteors zing past. I wished for so much on the way here, but now I can’t think of a single wish except that I want things to stay the same. Maybe that’s as good a wish as any.
The door opens, lantern light spilling onto the porch. “Everything okay?” Peter asks.
“Fine. It’s the Leonid meteor shower, I think.”
“Oh, okay. Don’t freeze to death.”
“Want to watch with me?”
“Sure. Let me get dressed.” He comes out a few minutes later bearing mugs of tea. “I thought you could use it. I didn’t think you’d be out here.”
“Dan and I had a date to watch the Leonids. I wanted to keep it.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
He starts to rise, but I tug him down beside me. “No, stay. I thought I wanted to be alone, but I don’t. I wanted to give him this night because I’m probably the only person left who thinks of him. There are so many people…he gets lost in the shuffle.” I scoop snow off the ground and toss it into the dark. There are so many people who have no one to remember them. I don’t want one of them to be Dan.
“I think of him. He didn’t have to stay to help us, but he did. You and Hank might not be here if he hadn’t. I think he really did love you.”
I shrug. Not because it doesn’t matter, but because there’s nothing to do about it now. “You know what he once said? That maybe the world ended this way so that the people who belonged together would find each other.”
“Was he talking about the two of you?”
“We were talking about Caleb and Liz at the time.”
“That match was not made in Heaven,” Peter says.
“It was most definitely not written in the stars,” I say with a laugh. Zeke is much more Liz’s speed than overeager, nineteen year-old Caleb. “I don’t know that there is such a thing, but I’m still sitting here just in case Dan can see. I think we go on in one form or another. I hope so.”
I know that if Adrian is watching, he’d understand why I want to remember Dan. Adrian wanted me to live, and Dan is one of the reasons I’m still alive.
“Reincarnation, maybe,” Peter says, and sips his tea.
I groan. “Don’t say that. I am not coming back to this wasteland.”
“I would.”
“Well, you’re crazy,” I say. “Why would you do this again?”
“I want more time. I’m not ready to give this up.”
“I want more time with you guys. But when I’m done, I’m done. Imagine being born into this world? Imagine having a baby? Starting a family?”
Peter’s quiet before he says, “It’s a leap of faith.”
“It’s a trans-Atlantic flight of faith,” I say, to which he laughs. We watch the stars in silence. “Want to know what you’re looking at?”
I lay my head beside his and move my finger as I tell him the stories. He’s gotten quite a few down by now. “You really do know them all,” he says when we’re finished.
“Not all, but I will one day.”
Peter points to just above the trees. “Is that what I think it is?�
�
A faint green line has rippled into the dark. It’s followed by a shimmering yellow cloud and then another. A reddish cast slowly appears and unfurls like a ribbon. They pulse and shift and light up the sky. I could almost believe they’re made of fairy dust.
“We should wake the kids,” I say.
“I’ll get them.”
Peter brings them out a few minutes later, and they watch the Northern Lights in awe before Bits whispers, “I’m going to make my wish. Are you?”
“Sure,” I say.
“It has to be good. You only ever get one.”
“I’ll think about it.” The red turns to fuchsia as I try to think of a big wish, but it’s the same as earlier. I make it anyway—it’s the only thing I want. I pull Hank close to me on the steps and ask, “Did you make your wish?”
“Yes. I wished for X-Men comics.”
“Hank!” Bits gasps. “That was such a waste!”
“It doesn’t work, anyway. But I really do want them.”
Bits sighs. “Did you make yours, Cassie?”
“I did. And Hank can wish for whatever he wants. It’s his wish.” And now I have to find X-Men comics if it kills me.
“I wished for Superman comics,” Peter says.
Bits laughs at his joke. “That’s the best you could think of, Hank? How about graphic novels, at least?”
That whole portion of sky is alight. I want to wake up everyone so they can see, but I don’t want the noise and commotion. There’ll be other nights. Right now I’m happy to sit here with these three, even though two of them argue cheerfully about the best graphic novel choice for a wish this grand.
“Sorry we’ve crashed your party,” Peter murmurs.
“This is much better,” I say. “It’s exactly what I would want to see if I were looking down from…wherever. You know we have to find him X-Men comics now, right?”
“Maybe in Anchorage.”
They’re making a trip south on snowmobiles, which means we can’t bring much back, but the plan is to kill whatever’s frozen in the infested places and then return with trucks in the spring. As First Guard, both Peter and I are invited.
Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky Page 33