The End of All Things

by Lissa Bryan

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said. Sam trotted up and ate the organs in one gulp. He took the head with him and laid down for a satisfying chew. She blanched. “Should we let him have that?”

  Justin washed his bloody hands with foaming antibacterial soap before rinsing them with bottled water. “He’s a wolf, Carly. It’s what he’d be eating in the wild. Wolves get most of their vegetation from the stomachs of the animals they eat.”

  “Yeah, but what if he gets worms or something?” They both gathered branches and bits of wood from the patch of trees beside the road, putting together the beginnings of a fire.

  “I’ll see if I can find some medications for him if we pass a veterinarian’s office or a pet store.”

  Carly had never had a dog. Her mother was allergic, and when she’d been out on her own, her hours were irregular and she couldn’t have taken care of a pet. “Do you remember all the stuff he’ll need from back when you had your dog?”

  “I think so.” Justin pulled the Zippo from his pocket and held it steady until the tinder caught.

  “What kind of dog did you have?”

  “A mutt.” Justin smiled at the memory, though the smile was tinged with sadness. “He was a stray I found in Darfur. I named him Winston.” At her questioning gaze, he shrugged. “It seemed to fit. He just looked like a ‘Winston’ to me. Great dog, not terribly bright, but very affectionate. He helped me through some tough times because I could talk to him the way I couldn’t talk to a human. And he’d sit there with this interested look on his face—like he’d been a shrink in a former life.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Old age. He was probably already around six or seven when I found him, and he’d had a rough life from what the vet could determine. He got to the point where he didn’t want to get up off his dog bed anymore, and I knew it was time.”

  “Oh, Justin, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s part of having a pet, honey. We try to give them long and happy lives, but we also have the responsibility of easing their way when we know their lives aren’t healthy and happy any longer.”

  Carly couldn’t bear to think of Sam as too old and miserable to get out of his bed. Like everyone who’s ever loved a pet, she hoped Sam would be healthy and vibrant up to his final day, when he would pass in his sleep.

  “You’re taking good care of him, Carly,” Justin said, with that uncanny ability of his to follow her train of thought. “He’s getting good exercise, a healthy diet, clean water, and a safe place to sleep. Wolves can live up to twenty years if they’re with humans, twice what they’d have in the wild.”

  “We need to get him some vitamin tablets to make sure he’s getting everything he needs as he grows.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for them.” Justin erected a spit and suspended the rabbit over the fire. “Guess what? Next one, you get to clean.”

  “Ugh.” Carly shuddered.

  “There’s no crying in baseball,” Justin said. “And there’s no being grossed out in an apocalypse.”

  That evening, Carly gagged and grimaced her way through cleaning the young raccoon Sam brought them. Justin said it was a perfect animal for her to practice on as it was large, and they weren’t going to eat it anyway. She perforated the organs in a couple of places—any one of them would have tainted the meat and rendered it inedible, but Justin declared it a good first try. He brought her a bowl of bleach-purified water and the container of antibacterial soap, and Carly spent a good twenty minutes scrubbing the blood from beneath her fingernails.

  Sam seemed insulted they hadn’t eaten his catch, so he took the bloody corpse from Justin with a huff and went over to lie down and eat it himself.

  As their dinner cooked, Justin showed her their progress on the map, and she was surprised to see they were near the U.S. border. They’d been traveling for a month and a half, and it seemed like Canada was endless. She couldn’t believe they’d actually completed half of their journey.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to keep on going?” Carly asked. “Another month and a half and it will only be the middle of October.”

  Justin shook his head. “We’re going to be traveling slower now since there are more cities in our path. We’re going to have to take side roads and sometimes leave the roads entirely.”

  She tilted her head. “We can’t ride the bikes through a field.”

  “We’re going to have to do a lot of walking, Carly. I’ll load up Shadowfax as much as possible and pull the wagon myself until the terrain gets too rough, but we’re probably going to have to carry a good bit ourselves.”

  Carly took a deep breath. “All right, then.”

  Justin smiled at her, pride gleaming in his eyes. “We’re not going to make it as far as I’d hoped, but I’d like to try to make it through North Dakota before we hole up. It just depends on how much progress we make.”

  They retired to the tent to snuggle inside their joined sleeping bags after dinner instead of playing their usual card games or reading. They zipped the tent flap closed and heard Sam’s indignant huff on the other side of the nylon.

  Justin drew back from a sweet, passionate kiss and traced his fingers over her cheek. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this until we have a backup,” he said reluctantly.

  “There are other things we could do, you know.”

  He grinned and blinked his eyes at her with exaggerated innocence. “Such as?”

  “Shall I demonstrate?”

  “Please do.”

  Carly smiled wickedly and disappeared beneath the sleeping bag.

  In the morning, Carly found Justin in front of the campfire, doing some sort of elaborate martial arts dance. For such a large man, he moved with incredible grace, probably the product of years of training.

  “Whatcha doin’?” Carly asked as she emerged from the tent, still in the tank top and pajama pants she had donned last night. She’d woken earlier than usual this morning. Usually, she slept until Justin woke her, so she’d never seen his early morning routine.

  “Tai chi.”

  “Mmm. I used to get those from Starbucks.”

  “You’re thinking of chai tea,” Justin said automatically and laughed. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

  “Yup.” Carly grinned at him. He arched out one leg and followed it in a turn—a flowing motion that reminded her of a slinking jungle cat.

  “Smartass. Get yourself some coffee. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

  She eyed the pot sitting on some hot embers. “We’re not having oatmeal again, are we?”

  “Yes, we are.”

  Carly grimaced, but said nothing.

  “Oatmeal is a good, hearty breakfast. Sticks to your ribs.”

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sip. “That sounds like a terrifying medical condition. Do you do this tai chi every morning?”

  “Whenever I have the chance.” Justin’s smooth, slow movements were almost hypnotic. “It’s very good for you. Improves circulation and keeps you limber.”

  “I’m limber enough.”

  Justin cast her a naughty grin. “Yes, I think you are.”

  Carly blushed and ducked her head.

  He finished his routine and took his seat in the chair beside her. They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Carly took off her necklace and pulled the soda tab off the chain. She tossed it into the fire and fastened the chain around her neck again.

  “I need to get you a new symbol,” Justin said.

  Maybe a ring? The thought popped into her head unbidden, and she ducked her head to hide anything her face might reveal about her thoughts. Fortunately, he was involved in dishing out their breakfast and didn’t notice.

  They crossed the U.S. border at mid-morning. Both sides had long lines of cars, frozen where they’d waited to be allowed to cross. Carly kept her eyes carefully to the side of the road, so she didn’t notice what Justin did.

  “These cars have already been looted. There’s not
hing left.”

  “Perhaps the occupants took their stuff with them when they got out and walked.”

  “Maybe some of them, but most of them are still sitting in the cars.”

  Months after the Crisis. Carly remembered the flies and pressed the back of her hand over her mouth as nausea swept through her. Before they had approached the border, Justin had stopped them. He got a jar of menthol jelly from the medical supplies, and dabbed a smear of it on her upper lip. She hadn’t understood why at the time, but as they passed the line of cars, she did. The menthol numbed her nose so she couldn’t smell anything.

  They passed through the border guard station. Justin reached into the pocket of his duffel bag. “Good thing I have this with me.” He held up his passport and then tossed it down on a pile of them lying near the door.

  “Wait, Justin, don’t.” Carly picked it up and put it in her back pocket. “We may need it someday.”

  Justin sounded a little amused. “For what?”

  “Well, the government will start up again one day. We’ll want to be able to prove we’re citizens.” Carly didn’t have a passport—she had never needed one—but she had her birth certificate and driver’s license sealed in a plastic bag, buried deep within her pack.

  Justin nodded. “You’re right in one respect, if survivors gather together, they’ll form a government, but it won’t be the same government we used to have, Carly. The United States is dead.”

  He spoke with such finality that she stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “The survivors will be forming something like the Kingdom of Springfield, if anything. Democracy is a luxury for wealthy civilizations. In this new world, where we all cling to survival, strength will determine the ruler, not a tally of votes.” Justin’s voice was indifferent, as though he were delivering a lecture to a class of students, not talking about the fate of their society.

  Carly, who had been raised to revere democracy and the Constitution, was horrified. “So, we’ve devolved back to warlords and fiefdoms?”

  “It’s what I’ve seen in every nation when the centralized government went to hell,” he said, and his voice was grim. “Society has been stripped to its bare bones. There’s nothing to stop the strong or more aggressive from preying on the weak. People will band together under a strong leader and hope for safety in numbers. And the criminals will band up as well.”

  Carly tilted up her chin. “We can still be Americans if we want to be. We’re starting over and this time, maybe we can get it right.”

  His eyes held a touch of pity, which irritated her. “Maybe.”

  “I don’t understand this, Justin. You served the U.S. and its government, shed your blood for it, judging by your scars. I would think you would want the government to be restored to what it was.”

  “And perhaps my familiarity with it is one of the reasons why I’m not so eager to see it restored.”

  “You’re such a pessimist,” she retorted. That offhand tone of his was really starting to irk her, but it occurred to her that he might be trying to feign indifference to hide how he really felt. She watched him more closely, but if it was a mask, it was firmly in place, and she didn’t catch a glimpse of any other emotion.

  “I prefer realist. Successful self-governance requires a civic-minded populace willing to personally sacrifice for the greater good. It goes against human nature. You say maybe we can get it right if we try again, and I say we did very well in the old days. With basic survival uncertain, we’re not going to improve on the system any time soon.”

  Six months ago was the old days, as hard as that was to believe. Carly glanced up and saw a tattered and faded American flag flapping listlessly in the breeze.

  “Did you bring the cookies?” the man asked her.

  Justin cocked his revolver. “Back the fuck off.” His harsh tone should have been more than sufficient warning, but the man was too far gone to pay any attention.

  The man had rushed out of a house along the highway when he saw them, his face crumpled in anxiety. Justin had already shoved him away once, but he was intent on Carly. He grabbed at her again, and Carly darted behind Justin.

  “They should be here by now!” The man’s agitation seemed to be increasing by the moment. “Why didn’t you bring them?”

  He was filthy—his clothes spattered with vomit, his hair matted to his head. He was probably in the same clothes he’d been wearing when he had the Infection. “I ordered them two months ago! You should have brought them!”

  Sam jumped between them, his legs splayed and his head lowered as he snarled. The man swiveled his head to look at him and confusion replaced the anxiety.

  “I had a dog. I can’t find him.”

  “We haven’t seen him,” Justin said. “Why don’t you go look for your cookies and your dog over there?” He pointed to the woods behind the house from which the man had emerged. The man wandered off, successfully distracted.

  Justin and Carly remounted their bikes and increased their speed until the house was a dot in the distance behind them.

  “It’s terrible,” Carly said. “There isn’t anyone to care for him or for others like that poor woman with Jeremiah. I wish there was something we could do for them.”

  “Shooting them would probably be the kindest.” Justin’s tone was grim.

  “That’s awful!”

  “But the truth. They’re not going to get better, Carly. Without anyone to take care of them, they’ll freeze or starve. And some of them may hurt others, like that man in Fraser.”

  “I can’t believe compassion has died, too.” Carly kept her eyes on the road and blinked hard to force back tears, “It’s like everything that made us good has dried up and withered away, and all that’s left is the basic, animal drives.”

  “That’s not true, Carly. Our society has undergone a setback, that’s for sure, but there are still people who are good.” He gave her a faint smile, and Carly smiled back. Pessimistic about human nature he might be, but Justin tried to look on the bright side for her sake. “Think of the number of times we’ve traded. Most of the people we’ve met have been decent people trying to survive under difficult circumstances. If society manages to rebuild itself into a civilization again, it will be through the efforts of those people and people like you, who want to help others.”

  “What about people like you?”

  Justin hesitated. “I’m not really sure how to answer that question. You’re one of the builders. But I don’t know what my role would be. ‘Town Pessimist,’ perhaps?”

  As he’d intended, Carly smiled. “I think you’d be one of the leaders.”

  Justin snorted.

  “No, I’m serious. You said people would gather around a strong leader for protection. Well, you’re a strong leader. You know all of this survival stuff, and you’ve been in the military, so you know about battles and defenses. You’d make a very good leader.”

  “I’m not patient enough, and I’m not compassionate, like you, Carly.”

  Carly held back a snort of her own, just barely. Justin saying he wasn’t patient enough was like the Pope saying he wasn’t Catholic enough. “Well, maybe I could be your vice president and help you with that.”

  “Sure you wouldn’t rather be first lady?”

  Carly stole a quick glance at his face. What did he mean by that? Did he mean—?

  “Think about it. You could cut ribbons and make inspiring speeches to schoolchildren. And everyone would copy your outfits.”

  “Ugh.” Carly wrinkled her nose. “I’m no good at speeches.”

  “You’re great at talking.”

  Carly laughed. “That’s different.”

  “Only because you think it is. Giving a speech is just talking to more than one person.”

  “Well, anyway, I’d rather not waste time doing it. I’d rather work on stuff that matters.”

  They rode along in silence for a few moments. The only sounds were the whirr o
f their bike wheels, the clomp of Shadowfax’s hooves as she ambled along behind them, and the sigh of the wind through the trees. Such a beautiful day.

  They crested a hill and saw a car accident at the bottom—one car on its side that blocked most of the road and another with its nose crumpled against the bottom of the flipped car. Both were blackened by fire.

  “Something’s not right,” Justin murmured. He scanned the area, searching for the source of the uneasy feeling he had. Sam seemed to feel the same way. He tossed his head back and sniffed the air, then gave a soft whine, but the wind was at their backs, driving away any scents from what might be ahead.

  They climbed off their bikes to wheel them along the road’s shoulder, and Carly heard Justin gasp. She turned around to spot an arrow sticking out of his chest.

  Carly let out a startled scream and dropped her bike with a clatter to the pavement. “Justin! Oh, my God!”

  Justin fell to his knees, his face still blank with shock. He fell over onto his side, and blood saturated his shirt. Sam snarled, and Carly followed his gaze to find a man and a woman emerging from their hiding place behind the vehicles. Sam crouched to leap at them.

  “Call off your dog, or I’ll shoot him, too,” the woman spat. She wore a long brown peasant-style skirt with a man’s suit jacket. The man she was with was tall and thin to the point of emaciation. His face was oddly narrow, as though his head had been pressed between two boards. He grinned at Carly and licked his lips lewdly. Carly’s stomach turned.

  “Sam, stay.” Sam tilted his head and gave a bewildered whine as he shifted on his paws.

  “Go unhook the wagon from the bike,” the woman ordered, and the man hastened to obey. She held her crossbow pointed at Carly’s chest.

  “Holy shit, Jeanie. We hit the fuckin’ mother lode.” The man had peeled back the tarp covering the wagon and was admiring the things inside. “Booze! They got a shitload of booze in here! And drugs! All kinds of drugs! Oh-ho, baby!”

  Jeanie grinned back at him. “Grab it and let’s get out of here.”

  Carly saw her chance and took it. She whipped the gun out of the pouch on her belt and shot Jeanie in the chest before she whirled around and fired at the scrawny man. The impact of the bullet spun him around and off his feet, and he collapsed onto the gravel on the shoulder of the road.