The Ending Series: The Complete Series

by Lindsey Fairleigh

Strangely, I felt better, so it wasn’t a lie when I nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

  After a moment’s pause, my dad rose to his feet and stretched his back. “Better get these horses put away before I can’t see anymore. I’m getting old, you know. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be.” It was nice to have my dad teasing me, lightening the mood.

  I stood and followed him over to Brutus and Poppy. “Hey, Dad? If you didn’t unlock the memory of Mom, then why can I remember it all of a sudden?”

  My dad didn’t have to think about his answer. “You have two parents with well-honed Abilities, sweetheart. I guess it’s not really that surprising that yours is developing into something so strong. It’s only been a year or so that your Ability’s been active. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day it puts mine to shame.”

  5

  DANI

  NOVEMBER 28, 1AE

  Hope Valley, California

  “Wait, Jason!” I scrambled over a soggy fallen log and swerved around a couple of moss-covered boulders. “Not those ones! They’re death caps!” I skidded to a halt, breathing way too hard and heart racing. When it came to deadly poisonous mushrooms, I didn’t mess around. Besides, Grayson had made them sound like pretty much the worst thing ever.

  Crouched at the base of a sprawling live oak, Jason craned his neck to peer up at me. He looked perfectly baffled. “I thought they were porcinis.”

  Shaking my head, I looked at the plump, slightly yellow-tinged mushroom caps mere inches from Jason’s fingertips, then followed the wide trunk of the oak up from its exposed roots to its sad excuse for foliage. I couldn’t talk to trees like I could to animals, but I had the impression that the poor dear was on its way out of this world. Following an inexplicable urge, I leaned forward and patted the oak’s rough bark.

  Jason stood, and I couldn’t help but shift my attention to him when he was towering over me and being so, well, towery. He glanced down at the harmless-looking mushrooms. “So…death caps, huh?”

  I exhaled heavily and rolled my eyes. “Didn’t you pay attention to Grayson’s foraging lessons at all?”

  Jason’s broad shoulders rose and fell. “Must’ve missed that part.”

  My hands found their way to my hips all on their own, my foraging basket dangling from the crook of my arm a little askew. “This is our livelihood we’re talking about here, man, our livelihood!” I said, flinging my free arm out melodramatically. “But seriously”—I relaxed my arm—“it wouldn’t hurt you to pay attention when Grayson shares his mountain man wisdom, you know.”

  Jason settled his Ice King stare on me. It was a look I didn’t receive often, and a year ago, it would’ve intimidated me to the point of taking a step or two backward…then maybe running away. But not anymore. “I’ve been a little distracted,” he said. There was the hint of an eyebrow raise, the suggestion of a head tilt. “Zoe…my mom…the fucking General visiting our house all those years ago…”

  And I suddenly felt like an insensitive butthead. My breath escaped me in a whispered, “Your dad messing around with Zo’s memories…”

  Jason looked away, focusing instead on the live oak’s expansive trunk. He stared at the poor, sickly tree like he was plotting the most grisly way to murder it. And considering that Jason’s self-prescribed decompression sessions generally resulted in the dismemberment of an innocent tree, well…

  I reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together and giving a firm squeeze. “He was doing what he thought was best for Zo.” I hesitated, held my breath, then let it out in a rush. “And I think he did the right thing…that time.” I gave Jason’s hand another, harder squeeze.

  Jason laughed bitterly. “I know.” He tugged me closer and wrapped his arms around me. The hug was a little awkward with the basket hooked over my arm, but we made it work. After planting a kiss on the top of my head, Jason sighed.

  His sigh seemed to soak into me, sour my mood, then escape once more, this time from my throat. I pulled back just enough that I could see his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make us both so grumpy.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time we’d been off the farm, just the two of us, and I just had to go and drag us down the nearest doom-and-gloom rabbit hole. So much for our peaceful, relaxing alone time.

  Jason pressed a gentle kiss against my forehead. “Tell me about these death caps.”

  I relaxed against him, resting my cheek on his heavy raincoat. It was the first period of no rain in weeks that had lasted longer than a day, and we’d jumped at the opportunity to spend the morning together, foraging in the mile-long stretch of woods atop the hills to the east of our valley. But we also weren’t about to risk being caught in a surprise downpour unprotected.

  “Well, death caps look like normal mushrooms, I guess. They’re not ugly or anything.” I glanced down at the aforementioned mushrooms. “They’re kind of nice-looking, actually, don’t you think? I mean, as far as mushrooms go…”

  Jason held me tight against him with his left arm around my shoulders while his right ventured under my coat, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on my lower back. “Sure…”

  Smiling, I shivered, just a little. I loved when his voice took on that distracted quality, but only when I was the distraction. “They tend to grow at the base of oaks,” I continued, “especially live oaks, and their caps have a brownish-green or yellow tinge…and there’s a bulbous bulge at the base that makes them look a bit like, well…a bit phallic.”

  Jason grunted a laugh. “Somehow I doubt Daniel mentioned that.”

  I shrugged as best as I could in his hold. “That might’ve been a personal observation.”

  With another laugh, this one low and throaty, Jason brought his lips to my ear. “Gutter-brain.”

  I grinned against his jacket. “Takes one to know one.” Thunder rolled in the distance, and I hoped it wasn’t an omen of impending rain.

  “That it does, Red.” Without warning, Jason picked me up and turned in a half circle, earning a surprised squeak from me and sending chanterelles and oyster mushrooms flying out of my basket, and pressed my back against the oak’s rough trunk. Beneath our boots, death caps littered the forest floor, scattered and crushed. “That it does.” He leaned in, his hand cradling the back of my skull, and I relaxed my arm, letting the basket fall to the ground.

  “Wait!” I hissed. Two blips had just appeared on my telepathic radar. I hadn’t noticed them until it became obvious that they were moving toward us. “Someone’s coming.”

  A hairsbreadth from my lips, Jason whispered, “Someone we know?”

  “I—” Brow furrowed, I shook my head. “There’s two of ’em, and there’s something familiar about one mind—maybe someone we’ve crossed paths with in New Bodega?”

  “Hmmm…” Jason didn’t sound pleased. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t feel very pleased, either. In fact, I felt decidedly displeased. Gaze scanning my face, lingering here and there, Jason tucked a few flyaway curls back into my braid before stepping away and releasing his handgun from his thigh holster. I did the same.

  Squinting, I focused more on my telepathic radar than on the pistol in my hand and, once again, shook my head. “Must just be a couple New Bodega people.” At least, I hoped that was the case.

  “What direction?” Jason asked, scanning the spaces between the mossy trees and gnarled, leafless branches.

  I pointed to the southwest. “They’re close. Should be able to hear them soon.”

  “I know you’re out there,” Jason called, his focus on the woods intent. “Either identify yourselves or start moving in another direction. The choice is yours, but you’d better make it now.” He glanced at me, his eyes filled with questions.

  I could only answer one. I shook my head. “They’re still coming.” I did a quick scan of the animal minds lingering nearby. There wasn’t much in the way of predators, but I requested that the few hawks in the area and the murder of crows looting a patch of overgrown and rotting pumpkins head ou
r way, just in case.

  Jason raised his gun, his eyes never straying from the gloomy trees. “Remember, Red—shoot first, feel—”

  “Feel bad about it later,” I murmured. “I know.” Of course, the last time I’d stuck to that survival philosophy, I’d shot a little girl dead. Sure, she’d been a Crazy who just happened to be lunging at Zoe at the time, and sure, I’d been fairly certain that she was the cannibalistic variety of the post-apocalypse’s less-than-sane brand of survivors, but still, she’d also been a little girl. And I’d killed her without hesitating. The blood blossoming across her chest…her body landing on the forest floor…Zoe’s aghast reaction…that single moment was forever etched into my memory.

  “Hello?” a man called ahead. “Who’s there? Can you tell us where we are? We seem to be a little lost.”

  I split my attention between watching the woods for the intruders and studying Jason’s face. The skin around his eyes tightened, and his nostrils flared. The man’s words hadn’t put him at ease in the slightest. If anything, they’d only fanned his apprehension.

  A man came into view between one of the few pines in the forest and a robust oak tree, a woman a few paces behind him. The man was tall and slender, with silver hair that nearly reached his chin and a closely trimmed beard, while the woman, younger—in her mid-thirties, I thought—was brunette and broad-shouldered, looking like she could put up one hell of a fight.

  When the man caught sight of us, he raised his hands defensively. “Whoa, whoa, friends…no need for guns. We’re simply lost and, well, you see, we were looking for mushrooms to trade in town, and—”

  “You’re a trader,” I blurted. “I’ve seen you before.” I tapped the muzzle of my gun against my thigh. “You traded my friend and me a bottle of antidepressants for—”

  “Tincture of white willow bark.” The man’s face lit up, and he continued walking toward us, though the woman hung back, lounging against a tall pine tree. “Yes, yes, I remember. You were with that pleasant young doctor.” The trader smiled broadly. “Quite effective, that tincture. I’ve had very happy customers. You’ll have to give me the recipe.” He tilted his head to the side, just a little. “Tell me, how did the Sertraline work on the poor dear? A girl, yes—a teenage girl, if I remember correctly?”

  “That’s close enough,” Jason said, his gun lowered but still drawn.

  I holstered my own gun, then waved my hand at him. “It’s fine, Jason.” I looked at the trader. “Unfortunately, the pills didn’t seem to make any difference for Vanessa. On to the next, I guess.”

  It had been Harper’s theory to try Vanessa on the same medications that had worked so well to equalize the brain chemistry of people before the Virus. Chris had been skeptical—which was quickly turning into smugness—saying that something was broken inside Vanessa’s mind, and it was something that made her brain function so differently from the rest of ours that she doubted anything but a time machine would fix the teenage Crazy. Not that Chris’s pessimism stopped her from spending every spare moment studying Vanessa, looking for a way to return her to a state of normalcy. She loved Carlos like he was her own son, and she was bound and determined to give him his sister back. And a determined Chris was a sight to behold.

  “Hmmm…well, I have a few other drugs you could try,” the trader said. “I’ll take whatever’s left of the Sertraline back.” Not more than a couple dozen feet away, he reached behind himself. “Exchange it for the same amount of—”

  In the blink of an eye, a small, black pistol was in his hand, and it was pointed directly at me. I took a step backward and reached for my own sidearm.

  Before I could call for help from our rapidly approaching avian reinforcements, before I could do much of anything, Jason leapt in front of me. The earsplitting crack of a gun firing exploded among the trees.

  Crows darkened the sky, filling the late morning air with their scratchy caws.

  Two more explosive cracks, and the trader dropped to the ground, his companion already fleeing.

  Jason grunted, going down to one knee.

  “Jason!” I dropped to my knees, trying to hold him upright, but he was too damn heavy. Somehow, I managed to lay him back, against the dying oak. He’d been hit in the leg and the abdomen, and his blood, thick and slippery, stained my hands crimson. Without thought, I yanked off my belt to use as a tourniquet on his leg.

  “Got…him,” Jason rasped, then coughed. “But the woman—I don’t know where…”

  Eyes going wide, I tightened and secured the belt, then scanned the woods around us. My fingers, slick with blood, gripped the handle of my gun, my hands possibly the only parts of my body not shaking. The woman wouldn’t be hard to find, not when I could sense her mind and when I had an army of crows circling overhead.

  Except I couldn’t sense her mind.

  Jason grabbed my wrist, demanding my attention. “Red…” His eyes shifted from mine to the woods behind me, a warning.

  I spun on my knees, my gun raised and aimed directly at the chest of the trader’s companion. But instead of focusing on her, my stare was glued to the barrel of the sawed-off shotgun she was aiming at my head.

  “You won’t shoot me, and you won’t use your Ability,” she said, her voice softer than I’d expected. “I’m sorry. This was never what I wanted.”

  “I will kill you,” I swore through gritted teeth. Hot tears burned a path down my cheeks, and my heart pounded a primal, vengeful rhythm, but I couldn’t bring myself to fire at her. I wanted to shoot her, desperately. But it was as though I didn’t have control of my finger; I couldn’t pull the trigger.

  Dread slithered around in my chest, cold and unyielding. It was her, doing this, stopping me; it had to be. She was like the General. She was in my mind. She was controlling me.

  The woman shook her head. “I’m going to go now.” She smiled at me, her eyes sad, and I hated her for pretending she cared at all. “You’ll find that your telepathy won’t work for a while. I’m sorry about that, too, but it’s the only way.” She started backing away, her gun still locked on me. “I, um—” Her eyes flicked to Jason. “Good luck.”

  I tried to tell the crows to take her down as she retreated, I tried to call out to the hawks who should have reached us by now, I tried to reach out to any creature that might help us…but I couldn’t sense anything. I couldn’t even sense Jason.

  “Red…” Jason touched my leg. “Dani, you have to go.”

  Tearing my gaze away from the section of forest where the woman had disappeared, I shook my head, refusing to look into his eyes, and reached for the zipper of his coat.

  “It’s no good,” he said. “We need Harper. You need to run back to the farm and—”

  “No!” I shouted, but my hands fell away from his coat, shaking uncontrollably as I scanned his body. There was far too much blood. “No, Jason. I can’t leave you. Just—just no.” The final word came out as a sob.

  There Jason was, his blood smeared and smattered on the poisonous mushrooms and the oak tree and my jeans, and I felt like I was the one who was bleeding out, my desire to keep fighting, to survive, draining away. My life was tied to his so intrinsically. He was a part of me. I couldn’t do this again, couldn’t keep going.

  “Dani…”

  My eyes flashed up, finally meeting his, and for an infinitesimal eternity, it felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating. There was no more oxygen left in the world…no more air at all.

  “Dani!”

  I blinked, tears streaming down my cheeks. “What do I do?” My voice was barely audible.

  “Get help,” Jason whispered.

  Nodding, I yanked the dish towel out from the bottom of my foraging basket and pressed it gingerly against the wound under his coat. “Keep pressure on this, okay?”

  “Dani, if I’m gone when you—”

  “Okay?” I said, my voice too high, too loud. I refused to accept the possibility that he’d be anything other than here, alive
, when I returned with help. The alternative was abhorrent to my mind. Logic and reality shifted, making him dying an impossibility.

  Jason’s hand replaced mine on the towel. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” I leaned in, careful not to touch any part of his injured body, and kissed him gently. His lips tasted salty and metallic. They tasted like blood. “Hold on,” I demanded. “I’ll be right back.”

  And then I stood, and I ran.

  6

  ZOE

  NOVEMBER 28, 1AE

  The Farm, California

  For three hours, I’d been sitting at the dining room table, my sketchpad washed in the baleful color of late morning that shone through the narrow windows, overlooking what appeared to be a deserted farm. Everyone was hiding indoors, dehydrating food, wrenching, painting, and—in Annie’s case—playing with kitties, all sheltered from the sudden downpour.

  Hearing the creak of the front door opening, I looked up. Tavis stepped inside, rain dripping off his coat as he leaned forward and peered into the dining room at me, his feet planted firmly on the welcome mat.

  “Hey,” I said, folding my arms in front of me.

  Tavis smiled, his warm, customary greeting. “Morning.” But even in his natural, easy air, there was something about the way he looked at me that made even the slightest linger of his gaze and the quickest glance seem like something more. I could’ve pried, could’ve peeked and prodded, but I was a little too hesitant to learn the reason.

  “You seen our animal whisperer anywhere? We’ve got a horse with colic out here. We could use her Ability.” Tavis pointed to his head.

  His facial expressions always made me laugh, and I couldn’t help but smile back at him as I glanced outside. Darker clouds approached quickly from the west. “She’s out with Jason,” I said, “foraging. Hopefully they’ll be home soon.”

  “Ah, foraging,” he said with a wink. “Got it.” And then he was out the door, and I watched as he strode back toward the stable.

  I took a sip of lukewarm coffee, settling back into work mode, and let out a sigh as I stared down at the start of my second blueprint of the day. I tapped my charcoal pencil on the tabletop and glanced between Jason’s hasty, ill-proportioned sketch and my own, hoping I was interpreting his floorplans for the new smokehouse accurately. I’d gotten quite good at looking past his scribbled letters and numbers, relying mostly on the arrows and the drawing itself to help me decipher the rest.