He must see it, and he whispers, “Please.”
Finally, I see something in his eyes besides malice. It’s fear. He whispers again, his voice cracking. He licks his lips. I hear the other person drawing nearer. I have to act now.
This time he begs. “Please?”
I aim at his chest, considering. Then I raise my gun a few inches and aim for his head. After all, he’s just another kind of zombie.
“No,” I reply. I repeat it again, louder this time, and look him in the eye. “No.”
Maybe he moves for his gun, just an inch. Or maybe that’s what I tell myself so I can pretend I don’t feel something dark blossoming inside me. Something that revels in taking the life of someone so terrible. I pull the trigger.
78
John finds me contemplating the ruin that once was Neil’s head and tells me it’s over. We won. We walk back through the woods with his arm around my shoulders. We pass the body of the one John went after. He’s got a goatee of pink foam on his chin. James and Peter come out from the woods across the driveway as we reach the steps.
“They’re all accounted for, with your two in the woods,” James says. “The little girl, Beth, said that’s all there were.”
“Good,” John says.
I thought the house would look worse than it does. The glass from the sliding doors glitters as Penny pushes it with a broom, and a front window is broken, too. I know there must be bullet holes in the walls and things that are cracked and broken, but I’ll look for those later. Nelly sits on the couch, his leg propped on the coffee table. Beth huddles beside him, wrapped in a quilt, her eyes closed. I don’t know if she’s sleeping, but I don’t want to disturb her. He smiles at me, but the corners of his eyes are turned down with pain.
“Let me see,” I say softly, and kneel down. The bullet didn’t just graze him; it passed through and came out the other side of his calf. But it’s close to the skin, so maybe the muscle isn’t too damaged. Someone’s cleaned and put ointment on it. “I’ll bet that hurts like a fucker.”
Nelly laughs. “A little.”
“That’s why my parents stocked Vicodin. I’ll go get some.”
“I love your parents,” Nelly says. He leans his head back and closes his eyes.
When I get back with the pills, Penny’s dumping a dustpan of glass into a paper bag that James holds. I make sure Nelly has water and go to help. I don’t have to ask Penny how she is; she tells me she’s okay with a look.
“Where’s Ana?” I ask. I want to see her with my own eyes, to make sure she’s still here.
“Lying down. She has a major headache,” Penny replies. “You should see her face. Sit down. We’ve got this. Tell me what happened while I clean you up.”
Once I’m sitting at the table, exhaustion steals over me. My thighs feel like they’re strapped to the chair. The whole thing couldn’t have taken much more than an hour, but I could swear I’ve been running around all night. I wonder what Penny meant by cleaning me up, but then I look at my arms. They’re covered in scratches and scrapes from my shoulders to the tips of my fingers. I must have taken off my jacket at some point.
Of course, now that I see them, the cuts begin to burn. I might have run through the blackberries; those thorns always irritate me the worst. My face and neck burn too. They must look like my arms, but I don’t care enough to haul myself out of this chair to see. I hear Peter and John on the porch, talking and cleaning up. Everyone speaks in low voices so as not to disturb Beth, but the tones almost sound reverent. We’re okay; we made it runs in a low hum under our words. I close my eyes. Laddie. I open them again.
“Where’s Laddie?” I ask Penny, who’s taken a seat next to me with antibiotic ointment and a clean cloth.
She looks around. “I don’t know. He isn’t back yet.”
I force myself to stand, remembering that he ran toward the barn. Penny holds her hands out for me to wait, but I shake my head and step through the doorframe. I whistle and call, but I’m not surprised when I don’t hear an answering jingle. I find his body around the back of the barn, his brown fur matted with blood. He could be sleeping. I crumple beside him and pet his still head, wishing he would make those contented, silly grunts.
“I’m sorry, boy,” I say. My tears are hot on my cheeks. “You were just trying to help.”
I’m going to miss him so much. I’m furious at the men who killed him, who would have killed us.
John and Peter come up behind me. John sighs and kneels on the ground. He runs a hand along Laddie’s side and scratches behind his ear. The wrinkly skin around his eyes has gone soft and pink.
“Good boy,” John says. His voice is gruff from holding back the tears.
Peter raises his hand, as if he’s going to lay it on John’s shoulder, but drops it back down at his side. “John, I’m so sorry.”
John runs a finger and thumb over his eyes and stands up, brushing off his knees. “I know, son. Thank God we’re all okay. That’s what’s most important. It’s no one’s fault.”
Peter stares down at Laddie’s body, lips compressed. It’s only now that something awful has happened that he’s sorry. He didn’t think beforehand. He didn’t take the time to see if his actions would hurt anyone. He didn’t care, because he thought he’d scrape through like he always does. Even in the midst of the end of the world he’s acted like he’s entitled to whatever he wants.
I point at Peter. “No. It’s your fault. I told you we might end up dead. But, as usual, you did whatever you wanted. All you’ve ever cared about is yourself.”
“That’s not true,” Peter says quietly.
My laugh is bitter, and I feel mean. I want to get him back for putting me in a situation where I had to blow someone’s head off, for being the one to tell me that Adrian no longer loves me, for lying about me, for disliking me so much.
“I wish I really had told you not to come with us in Jersey.” His eyes widen, caught in his lie. I nod. “We don’t need you here, ruining everything. You don’t belong here.”
“Cassie, I know you’re upset—” Peter begins. Something in his face tells me he might be trying to make amends, but he’s sounded sincere before.
I hold my hands up for him to stop. “I am way past upset. Way past. Just stay away from me, Peter.”
I storm to the house, half-wishing it were him with the bullet in his side instead of sweet, protective Laddie.
79
Ana’s face looks awful. Her eye on the right side is swollen shut, and her cheek is twice its usual size and three shades of purple.
“Yikes,” I say when she enters the living room, where I sit on the couch next to Nelly and a sleeping Beth.
She smiles, then holds a hand up to her cheek and winces. “You should see the lump on my head. I wanted to sleep, but Penny came in every eighteen seconds to make sure I didn’t.”
It doesn’t have the usual tone an Ana complaint has. She touches Penny’s hand on the arm of her chair and turns to me.
Her one good eye wells with tears. “Cass, I totally fucked up. I know you’re all angry. You should be angry. But I’m sorry, I really, truly am.”
I believe her. I get up and hug her gently, brushing her hair back from her hurt side. I don’t know why I can forgive her so easily and not Peter, but I can.
“Hey, Banana, all is forgiven.” I smile and feel my own scratched face pull a little too tight. “Just don’t ever pull a stunt like that again.”
Her face is serious. “Never.”
I think maybe little Ana has finally grown up.
80
When we return from getting rid of the bodies, it’s early afternoon. Grunting and sweating, we loaded them into the van, and John drove it down the hill while James, Peter and I followed. We left the van in an old meadow down the main road. I thought John might want to bury them, but he said he wasn’t feeling very Christian toward them at the moment. I was glad. Then we came home and buried Laddie in the yard.
When I m
ake it back inside the house, Nelly sits alone in the living room with a book, but it’s killing him to sit still.
The corners of his mouth turn down. “Beth woke up. She scampered along the back of the couch and tried to run until she realized where she was.”
“Where is she now?” I ask.
“Getting cleaned up. Penny said she’d wash her nightgown, but Beth said she wouldn’t wear it again. So I think they’re looking for clothes.”
“I don’t blame her.” The thought of that dirty nightgown, even washed out clean, is not a good one. “We’ll have to get her some clothes tomorrow.”
“And window and door glass,” John says from where he stands eating by the kitchen sink. “As long as you’re up for it.”
“I am,” I say. I want to get out of here, even if it means visiting with Lexers.
Beth and Penny come into the living room holding hands. Beth’s wet hair is combed straight down her back, and her eyes skitter around in their sockets. One of my old t-shirts hangs on her like a dress. Her mouth moves upward a little in response to my smile.
“Hi, Beth,” I say. “Are you feeling a little better?”
She nods.
“Are you hungry?” She nods again. “Come and sit at the table with me. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
I pull out peanut butter and jelly fixings, applesauce, a jar of peaches and homemade hummus and bread. She sits in a chair, her skinny legs dangling.
“I’m Cassie, in case you forgot.”
She shakes her head to let me know she didn’t. Nelly told me she’s seven, but she’s small for her age and looks younger, especially since her eyes are huge with fear and uncertainty.
I smile. “Good. I’m going to make some of everything, and you can have whatever you want.”
She slurps up the peaches and a bowl of applesauce and then gobbles down half a sandwich in four seconds. I open jars and spread stuff so she can eat and eat. I tell her about the house and the garden and the plants while she drinks it all in, her eyes round. But they grow less wary as I talk, so I tell her how we made the jam she’s eating and how silly the goats look when they prance in the yard. When she’s finally slowed down, I ask if she wants to see the garden.
She nods but hesitates. “I don’t have shoes.”
I kick off my boots and wiggle my toes. “Lucky you! I hate shoes!”
It’s her first real smile of the day, maybe her first real smile in a long time.
Beth walks around on the warm soil, her hair drying into a pretty light brown with curls on the ends. I don’t ask her many questions. Instead, I tell her about how we got here. Of course, I leave out the scary parts, but when I mention coming through town she speaks up.
“My mom and I were at the school. Then it got blown up right as the Biters came. I heard them say they did it. That’s when they took us, me and my mom.”
I know they and them refer to Neil and the rest. They must have used all the confusion to their benefit. I wonder what happened to her mother, but I don’t ask. I kneel down to grab a couple weeds.
I look at her, still on my knees. “That must have been so scary.”
She looks away. “Yeah.” I want to hug her, but she doesn’t look like she wants a hug. “Both of them are dead. Both my parents.” She looks like a statue the way she’s frozen in place. Unreachable.
I hold out a hand. “I’m so sorry, Beth.” I understand what it’s like to lose your parents. But not what it must be like when they’re gone before you’re old enough to be on your own.
She puts her small hand in mine but keeps her face turned to the back of the garden, at the forest that covers the hill. The lower forty, my dad called it. Her body trembles down to the warm hand I hold as she sobs angrily. She doesn’t want me to see her cry. Maybe after the past few weeks she’s afraid of showing weakness, of trusting too much. Of being hurt again. Now that I understand.
81
The next morning, John asks Beth if she wants to go to her house to get some of her things. I pull him aside to say it’s too dangerous, but he reminds me she’s seen a lot worse than we have. That maybe it will help her to have familiar things around, especially when she wakes up screaming like she did all last night. I didn’t mind soothing her because I spent half the night awake anyway. I had the dream about Adrian again, except this time Neil’s dead hand had crept out from under the porch steps and grabbed my ankle, followed by a leering grin on what was left of his head.
She sits in the back between James and me. Peter’s in the front. For someone who’s managed to avoid me recently, he’s been very present these past twenty-four hours. Bellville looks the same as it did a few weeks ago, except we don’t see a single Lexer. John pulls into the school. The bodies of the infected we killed are slowly desiccating on the asphalt. We circle the building, bouncing over debris, and come upon a pile of Lexer corpses in the back lot.
“There aren’t any Lexers here,” John says, as he scans the school grounds. “I wonder where they went.”
“They killed them all,” says a little voice. Beth’s face is pinched. “They had a game. They called it—” she chokes on the words, “—Live Bait. They tied someone up, and then the Biters would come. They would shoot the Biters while—they made me watch, once.”
I put my arm around her slight shoulders. She lets her tears go in little hitching sobs. Peter looks at Beth and then the pile. His face is dark, all knitted brows and gritted teeth.
“Can we go?” I ask.
John puts the truck into gear.
Beth’s house is a cute brick colonial. Coming home from school to this house must have been pleasant. The kitchen faces the backyard swing set, and the refrigerator is covered in pictures and drawings and all the things that mark a busy, happy family.
I have a suitcase, but when we’re in her upstairs bedroom she pulls one out of her closet. She opens drawers and silently pulls out clothes.
“Do you want me to leave you to get changed?” I ask.
She nods. She’s been wearing my kitten sweatshirt as a dress. When I gave it to her this morning her eyes lit up, just like mine would have when I was seven.
I peer into a home office and her parents’ room, where the bed is neatly made. The whole place looks like someone is expected home at any minute, but it feels like a museum exhibit: Pre-Apocalyptic Homo-Sapiens.
Beth’s changed into jeans and a t-shirt. She fills her school backpack with books and a stuffed animal. She moves painfully slow, but I’m not going to tell her to speed it up, so I sit on the bright bedspread and wait.
Fairy and flower decals cover the walls. A mosquito net hangs over the head of the bed. It’s the perfectly magical room for a seven year-old girl. A photo of Beth and a blond-haired woman who looks like an older Beth sits on the bookshelf.
“Beth,” I say quietly, not wanting to upset her, “would you like to bring this, too? Or some other pictures?”
Beth nestles it in her suitcase. She looks more and more distressed as the minutes pass. I watch her pick up and discard her belongings, unsure of what to bring.
“You don’t have to take everything now. Just the stuff you want most of all. As long as it’s safe you’ll be able to come back and get more.”
She fingers a pair of socks. “Who will bring me back? Where am I going?” Her voice is a whisper.
Tears spring to my eyes. She thought she was coming to get her things before we got rid of her somehow.
I put a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, honey. We’ll bring you back. We want you to stay with us. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought you knew. I hope that’s okay?”
Her body sags with relief. “Yes.”
That’s why she was moving so slow: she was afraid of what came next. She points to my folded kitten sweatshirt. “Here’s your shirt back, Cassie.”
I put it on top of her clothes in the suitcase. “Would you like to keep it? It looks better on you, anyway. I don’t look good in kittens.”
&
nbsp; She giggles and zips her bag. It was a beautiful sound, that giggle, and I want to hear more.
I point to her dollhouse and Barbies and games. “Do you want some toys?”
She takes them in like she’s never seen them before. “No. I don’t think I want to play with toys anymore.”
I want to take her in my arms and tell her she’s safe. I want to insist that she doesn’t have to grow up so fast, but I simply nod because she’s so serious and aloof. I pick up her suitcase as she puts the straps of her backpack over her thin shoulders. It’s so full that it sticks out like a turtle shell. After she leaves the room I grab a handled vinyl box just like the one I had when I was little, the kind that holds Barbie dolls and their accessories. Maybe she’ll want to be a little girl again soon.
82
John finishes installing the new sliding glass door just after the sun’s gone down. He pulls the tape off the glass and we clap.
“Thanks, John,” I say, as I hand him a beer. We found some of that today, too.
“It was the damndest thing, down in town,” John says. He takes a swig and wipes his beard.
We’ve waited until Beth’s asleep to discuss it. The past few days must have caught up with her, because she was asleep with her head in my lap ten minutes after dinner.
“So there are no infected?” Nelly asks.
He wishes he’d gone and tried limping around when we got back to prove he was fine. When he started wincing with every step, he finally sat and pretended he wanted to read. We pretended not to notice.
Until the End of the World Box Set Page 25
