Until the End of the World Box Set

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  “Parcheesi,” Dan says. “We’re definitely playing Parcheesi.”

  “So, do you like her?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says, but he stretches it out, so it’s more like Yee-aaah. “She’s a really nice girl.”

  The three of us groan. Dan raises his shoulders. “What?”

  “That’s the Dan Death Knell of relationships,” Nelly says. “That’s what you say about everyone you date, right before you break up with them.”

  “It usually lasts three to five weeks,” I say. “Then you’re done.”

  “What number is Meghan?” Nelly asks me.

  “I don’t know. Four, maybe?”

  “What the hell, do you guys keep track?” Dan asks. Nelly and I nod; we’re not ashamed of what we do for entertainment around here. The lines around Dan’s eyes deepen. “So I’m that predictable?”

  “Yup,” Nelly says. “You could set your watch by it.”

  We fall into a comfortable silence and watch the sky. That’s pretty much all we do out here, interspersed by small moments of craziness when we have to kill things that were once people. We still haven’t had any refugees.

  “There’s no one keeping track of the sky anymore,” I say. “You know, like what star has burned out, or where the asteroids are or anything.”

  “Maybe we should do that,” Nelly says, “instead of keeping track of Dan’s love life.”

  Dan punches Nelly’s shoulder and says, “My dad would be, if he were here. He knew all the constellations. He’d quiz all us kids whenever we went camping.”

  “I’ve always wanted to learn the constellations,” Peter says.

  “Me, too,” I say. “Show us some.”

  Dan leans back and points out the Big Dipper, then shows us how to follow it to the Little Dipper and the North Star.

  “I thought the North Star was brighter,” Nelly says.

  “It’s brighter than most of the stars around it, but it’s not very bright. See those stars that make a W? That’s Cassiopeia. She was beautiful, but so vain that she was punished and sent to the sky where she’d hang upside down for half the year.”

  “Those Greeks really knew how to punish folks,” I say. “They were so creative.”

  “I’d say a world full of zombies is a pretty creative punishment,” Nelly says, and looks at his watch. “Time to walk the fence. I’ll go east.”

  “You want west or to sit on your butt?” I ask Peter.

  I’m uneasy when I walk the fence alone in the dark. Usually, I take Barnaby with me, but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s entirely possible he’s snuggling with Adrian, Bits and Sparky tonight. Adrian will let him in, even though Barnaby is filthy and it goes against every tidy bone in his body—he’s a sucker for those sad doggy eyes.

  Barn’s more afraid than I am, but at least he whines when he smells them, which is before I see them. Otherwise, I’m unprepared when I see that sudden glow of a white face, even when I think I’ve steeled myself beforehand. Their hisses and the rattle of metal gets me every time. I’ve never told a soul, but Peter knows me well enough that he’s probably guessed. Or he knows I’m lazy, which is also true.

  “I’ll walk,” Peter says. “You sit on your butt.”

  I gesture to myself. “Done and done.”

  He salutes me with the radio and disappears into the darkness. The guards assigned to other fence sections also walk the line in their area. That way the entire fence is inspected at least three times a day.

  “More stars, please,” I say to Dan. He points out more constellations, until we’ve seen all the ones that the clouds don’t cover. “Thanks. You’ll have to show me them again sometime. I’ll never remember all that.”

  “Sure, anytime.”

  I shiver. The temperature feels like it’s dropped five degrees in five minutes.

  “Cold?” Dan asks.

  “My middle name is Cold. I’m starting the fire.” I move to the metal fire pit and begin to arrange the kindling.

  “You want help with that?” Dan asks.

  “No, thanks,” I say, but he gets up anyway.

  He breaks up a few sticks of kindling and his hand nears my carefully arranged pile. “You know, maybe if you put—”

  “Don’t do it,” I warn, and tap on his outstretched hand with a stick.

  “Do what?”

  He really doesn’t know. Why must every man within a two-mile radius of a campfire try to take over? “Don’t be the guy who tries to show the little lady how to build a fire. I was building fires when you were knee-high to a grasshopper.”

  “I’m older than you,” Dan says. He lets the kindling fall with a rueful smile. “But, point taken. You make a damn good fire.”

  “Damn straight.”

  The kindling takes off and shortly thereafter the fire is roaring. I hold my hands over the flames. “So, when are you going to brave the tents again?”

  Dan pokes the logs with a stick. I ignore his surreptitious rearranging—it must be inbred. “When everyone is sound asleep. I don’t know how I end up in these situations.”

  “What? Yes, you do! It’s because you sleep with multiple people who are all trapped inside a circular fence. There’s no way that can end well.”

  “I guess you’re right,” he admits. “I don’t feel trapped, though.”

  “Me neither. I feel safe.”

  “Me, too.”

  The radio crackles and I pick it up. “Cass, I’ve got a few at the fence,” Peter says.

  “How many? Need help?”

  “No, only three. I’ll radio when I’m done.”

  “Copy that.”

  I imagine Peter using one of the metal spikes we keep at the fences for just this purpose. They slide through the links—and skull bone—easily. On the parts of the fence that are wood or concrete we have to entice them to an area that’s chain link.

  “Okay, all clear,” Peter calls. “On my way back.”

  “See you in a few.”

  I set the radio down and rifle through my bag for lip balm. It’s sunk to the bottom, so I pile all the other junk on the table until I can reach it. There are mittens, toothbrush and toothpaste, a pair of socks, water, a hat, a container of cookies, two books and a smaller bag that contains toiletries.

  Dan looks it over and smirks. “You travel light. You know you’re still on the farm, right? Toothbrush? Two books?”

  “We may have a dentist, but he doesn’t have much novocaine.”

  “Good point.”

  “And two books, in case I finish one. I get nervous if I don’t have a book on me.”

  “I should go by the library. I need a new book.”

  We moved the tiny town library here, along with any other books we’ve found and had space for. Ana tries to collect clothes when we’re on patrol. I try to collect books. I win every time.

  “Hey, you know what you might like? A Short History of Nearly Everything. It’s in there. It’s about the universe and space.”

  “Cool. I’ll check it out.”

  “No pun intended,” I say, to which he groans.

  Peter walks out of the woods and inspects himself in the lamplight for splatter. I double check, but he’s clean. I write down the time and location of the Lexers in the log book and notice that it’s been increasing steadily. Except for that big group that surrounded Adrian and John, they’ve still been no more than a dozen at a time, but they’re getting more frequent.

  James has calculated that they walk about one mile per hour, faster when they’re after something. They don’t always walk, though. Sometimes they seem to be in a trance-like state until they find something to follow. But since they can walk without stopping, even the ones in the Deep South, none of whom froze over the winter, could make it here before next winter. A pod will find its way here soon enough. If it weren’t for the fact that we need the summer to grow food, I’d prefer to skip the season entirely. I try not to worry about it because there’s nothing we can do.

 
Nelly comes out of the east and falls into his chair with a yawn. “And now we wait and do it again.”

  “I like working nights,” Dan says. “Staying up until dawn.”

  Nelly stifles another yawn. “I love to wake up at noon. After a night of drinking.”

  “That world is over,” I say. “At least until you’ll be so old you won’t want to do it anymore. Sorry, buddy.” I pat Nelly’s head and point a finger at Dan. “You know, you’d like sleeping at night if you had someone you liked to sleep with.”

  “There are lots of people I like to sleep with,” he says. Peter and Nelly chortle.

  “Ha ha. You know what I mean. Someone you like like. We have to find you someone.”

  “I’m good, believe me.” I frown at Dan, and he turns to the guys. “Is she always like this?”

  “She practically tied me and Ana together,” Peter exaggerates.

  “She,” Nelly makes air quotes, “ ‘accidentally’ locked me and Adam in the storeroom at Whitefield overnight.”

  “That was an accident!” I say. “I just didn’t rush back when I realized. And it was three hours, you liar. I like people to be happy.”

  I point at the two of them. “You’re both happy, right?” I get two nods, and say, “So, what’s the problem? Oh, and that reminds me, Nelly, we never finished our convers—”

  My bag’s contents are still on the table. I duck for cover when Nelly lobs my mittens at my head, followed by my socks and hat.

  21

  “I think we’re going on patrol this weekend,” Ana says from her chair where we watch the west fence. “Maybe around Montpelier.”

  I knew it was coming. All the early plants are in the ground, and Ana’s been itching to do something.

  “What’s in Montpelier?” I ask.

  “Walmart.”

  “Why do we have to go so soon?”

  “Health and Beauty stuff. We’re low on conditioner.”

  “You and your conditioner,” I say. “You don’t even have long hair anymore.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t want it soft and shiny.” Ana swings her head like she’s in a shampoo commercial. “Doc says we could always use more meds. We need contraception and soap, razors—all that stuff. Plus whatever food we can find. Please say you’re coming.”

  I think of the promise I made to Adrian. Not only do I want to keep it, but I also don’t want to risk my life for no good reason, even without having promised. If we were in dire need of food or medicine I would, but I know we’re not. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why?” Ana screeches. “I need you!”

  “Banana, you don’t need me. You want me there, but you don’t need me.”

  She thrusts out her lower lip and drums her fingers on her jeans. We sit by the part of the fence that’s chain link, but down and back from the barns it’s made of logs, like a fort. I walk to the fence and lean my head against the metal to get a view. I can just make out something standing near the middle of the wood section.

  “Lexer behind the logs, Banana.”

  Ana jumps up and strolls toward the section. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

  We stop where metal turns to wood. Ana wiggles two gloved fingers through the links and clicks her tongue. A head lunges at her hand, and its teeth bite the empty air where her fingers were a second before.

  “Shit!” Ana says. She shakes her finger. “You’re a sneaky fucker.”

  What was once a woman in a flowered wraparound dress throws herself against the fence. She bites the steel with such venom that I take a step back. I know they don’t have any emotions, but sometimes the hunger looks so much like hate it’s disconcerting.

  Ana ignores the woman’s growls and points at her clothes. “That was a nice dress once. I wish we had some nice clothes. We should go on a clothes patrol.”

  “I wouldn’t mind new clothes, but that is the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Unlike you, I’d rather be alive than have clothes. Now, move out of the way so I can put this poor lady out of her misery, or are you going to do it?”

  It not only frightens me, but it also makes me sad to see what people have been reduced to. I want her dead and gone.

  “Oh. Yeah.” Ana pierces the woman’s eye with a handled spike and turns away from the body. “Well, we’ll need new clothes eventually, so why not nice ones?”

  I look from Ana’s unruffled expression to the heap on the ground. I don’t expect her to be remorseful, I know I’m not, but a split second of something—fear, sadness at the state of the world, even shortness of breath, for God’s sake—would be a nice reminder that Ana’s human. I know it’s in there; I just wish she wasn’t reluctant to show it. “Do you even care that you just did that?”

  Ana doesn’t answer as we walk back to our chairs. She drops the spike in the bucket of bleach water with a splash, and when she turns her eyes are dark. “No, I don’t because she was already dead. They want to eat us, Cass. I’ll save my feelings for all the people who are actually alive, you know? Lexers wanna start shit with me, I’m gonna fuck them up.”

  “You just sounded so Brooklyn.” Penny, Ana and I grew up there, but only every so often does one of us say something that gives it away.

  She laughs and sings, “Boricua in the house!”

  Ana hides it well, but on her face I just saw the same desperation I feel. The need to protect everyone she loves, even at her own expense. And with her recklessness she’s bound to do something stupid because of it. I should be there to stop her.

  “Maybe I’ll go on patrol,” I say. “If Adrian goes, too. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

  Ana bounces in her boots and squeals.

  22

  We’re woken up before dawn by an urgent knock at the door. Adrian grumbles and turns facedown into his pillow. I open it to find John fully dressed and pacing the creaky floorboards.

  “Whitefield was attacked,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Lexers. No one’s sure exactly what happened, but a lot of them are dead. Will, maybe all of the 157th, and some more. They’re not sure how many yet.”

  Adrian curses and pulls on pants. I stand with my mouth agape and wonder how that could have happened. They have more guns, ammo, and guards than us.

  “We’ll leave in half an hour?” Adrian asks.

  “That’ll work,” John says. He turns to me. “Can you go wake the others? Maybe seven or eight of us should go.”

  I have a million questions, but I get dressed and head to the cabins. Peter and Ana are ready in minutes, and Ana races off to score coffee from the kitchen for our trip. She and Penny have a coffee addiction, and it kills Penny that she can’t drink any now that she’s knocked up. Coffee is heavily rationed and saved for patrol and guard, but we always sneak Penny some. She mutters under her breath about herbal tea and the apocalypse.

  “You can have coffee, Pen,” I say. “People drank coffee when they were pregnant for a million years. I’ll get Ana to bring some back for you.”

  “No, no,” she says. “I’m just being grouchy. Sorry.”

  The line between her eyebrows deepens, but she looks at Bits and doesn’t say anything. I’m worried, too.

  “Do they need help with the electrics?” James asks. “I’ll go if they do.”

  “I don’t know, but Adrian’s coming anyway,” I say. I think of Henry and pray that he and Hank are okay. “But we’ll have to go back again once we know what they need. They might want you then.”

  James ignores Penny’s pointed look and rubs his hands together; he’s always up for an adventure, but he doesn’t get out much. He’s not the best shot with a gun, but his lack of fear and ability to think under pressure are great attributes. Plus, he can fix anything. He’s already learned everything there is to know about electrical systems, and now he’s moved onto cars with Shawn.

  Bits clings to me like a baby monkey when I say goodbye. We’ve told her as little as possible, although enough to know that we have to help Whitefi
eld.

  “I love you, Bitsy-poo,” I say, and wonder if any of the kids at Whitefield are dead. The thought makes me bury my face in her hair. “Until the end of the world.”

  “I love you, Cassie-poop,” she says with a giggle. Nothing’s funnier than poop to this kid. I should get her to help at the laundry one day; it might cure her of it forever.

  “Be good for Penny, okay?”

  I give her one last kiss and hand her to Peter, who lifts her up to the cabin’s ceiling like she’s a feather. One thing that zombie fighting and farm life don’t do is make you weak. Slightly crazy and tired, respectively, but not weak.

  “Okay, baby girl,” Peter says, “we’ll see you later, or in a day or two. Don’t you dare get any more freckles while I’m gone, or else.”

  “I’ll try not to,” she says, and squeals when he pretends to drop her.

  “I love you,” Peter says. “Now, go back to bed or brush those teeth.”

  Penny hands Bits her toothbrush and looks at us with wide eyes. “Please be careful.”

  We promise we will. I walk out into the night with Peter and turn to look through the open doorway. Penny is exhausted, but there’s no way she’ll go back to sleep now. Bits talks nonstop around her toothbrush. She looks so small and vulnerable in her pajamas, and I want to hug her one more time. Peter watches her, too. We have this in common: a love for Bits so deep that sometimes I can’t believe we didn’t make her ourselves in some strange alternate universe. I almost blurt out how scared I am—for all of us, for Bits, for Whitefield—but I shut my mouth with a clacking of teeth.

  “You okay?” Peter asks.

  “Yeah. I just hate leaving.”

  “I know.”

  Bits spits out her toothpaste and wipes her mouth on Penny’s proffered towel. That won’t have been the last time I’ll ever hug Bits, I tell myself, and walk away. Sometimes it takes a huge effort of will to drive through those gates, and I know if I go back in, I’ll never leave.

  23

  Whitefield is a wreck. Bodies are strewn everywhere, smoke rises from the charred heaps of buildings and the air smells of burning flesh and raw meat. They’re too shell-shocked to have gotten a plan in place. A few people load bodies into the beds of pickups, but the rest stand and watch them in tight groups.