Until the End of the World Box Set

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  68

  The sound of the air horn makes me jump, even though I knew it was coming. I leave my crate of zucchini in the garden and walk toward the school. There’s another burst, and then another. Three bursts means move straight to your assigned bug out vehicle. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

  The kids pour out of the school with Penny herding behind. She has a list in her hand and reminds everyone where they’re to go. They chatter, but when I raise my eyebrows they quiet down. I take Bits’s hand and head for the VW bus. Peter, Ana, Penny, James and Maureen join us. We only need John and we’re all accounted for. It’s a lot of people to cram in the bus, but we refuse to separate; too much can go wrong out there. Shawn souped up the VW’s engine this winter, and it zooms up and down hills like a dream. Or at least better than it did.

  I wave at where Hank and Henry stand near the large school bus. The bus holds half the farm and enough diesel to get them far into Canada is strapped to the roof in metal cans. Josephine stands beside Henry with her hand clamped on Jasmine’s shoulder. Jasmine winces and pats her mother’s hip, but, if anything, it makes Josephine more anxious.

  Dan leans against the ambulance with Mike, Rohan and three others. All of the vehicles have been stocked with a week’s worth of supplies and sharp weapons. Some have guns, but most of us wear ours, now that it’s summer. Our packs are small; otherwise, we’d have no room for passengers.

  The last stragglers meet up with their vehicles. John checks his watch and calls out, “Ten minutes, not bad. But three bursts is serious. You might not have ten minutes in a real emergency. Remember, I’ll always announce a drill beforehand. If you hear those three bursts, and there’s been no announcement, it’s not a drill.”

  Heads move up and down. The sun filters through the trees that border the lot, and birds call to each other. It’s so peaceful, unlike what it would be if this was for real.

  “Okay,” John says. “Good job, everyone.”

  People walk away from their assigned vehicle, the somber mood replaced by laughter. Barnaby and Gwen, another dog, sit on the gravel, tongues lolling. There’s no way Barnaby can fit in the VW with us, so he’s been assigned to the small school bus. I’m glad—I want Barn to make it, but I’d prefer he shed and slobber somewhere else.

  “What about Sparky?” Bits asks. “I have to get her.”

  “No, Bits,” Peter says. “You come straight here. If it’s two bursts, you still come straight here and one of us will find her.”

  Her eyes fill immediately. “But we can’t leave her here! She’ll die!”

  “Bits, this is very important,” I say, and take her shoulders. “I’ll get Sparky, okay? You get to the VW. That’s your only job, understand?”

  “Promise you’ll save her?”

  I can’t promise that, but I don’t mind lying this once if it’ll get her here. “Promise. Now back to school, Bitsy.”

  I shrug at my vehicle partners after she’s left. “You know there’s a good chance she’ll go after Sparky anyway, right?”

  Peter watches her skip up the steps of the school cabin. “She doesn’t want anyone to die, including that cat. I’ll get Bits. You get Sparky, but only if you can.”

  “And I’ll drive,” Ana says. She takes in everyone’s horrified expressions and sighs. “Kidding. Relax, people.”

  There haven’t been any more giant pods like the last, but dozens of Lexers fall in the trench every day. We’ve taken to leaving them until there are enough to warrant a trip down the road.

  “Let’s take them to the new field,” John says, while we load the trailers with the latest bodies. “The holes are dug. We’ll use it until they’re full and then find another one.”

  The field to which we move the corpses is devoid of grass and dotted with deep holes. We used to burn the bodies when a hole was full, but it takes a lot of fuel to get a hot enough fire going. Otherwise we end up with barbecued Lexer and no space to burn the next group. Now, with so many Lexers, it doesn’t make sense. We just make sure they’re far enough away not to contaminate anything useful.

  We drag and toss them into the deep holes. I can usually distract myself from what I’m touching, but I gag when the meat of a particularly mossy one’s arm slips off the bone and remains in my grip.

  “That’s disgusting,” Jamie says from the corpse next to mine.

  I gingerly grab the wrist bones and pull. The woman slides to the ground, and her shirt falls open. The moss has eaten a gaping hole in her belly that’s filled with writhing maggot-type bugs. I gag again, but it’s good news, no matter how disgusting. I’ve never seen a single insect on a Lexer.

  “Look,” I say. “Something’s living in her.”

  By the looks on everyone’s faces you’d think we were staring at a newborn baby or something miraculous. But it is miraculous, if you think about it—it could mean the birth of a world without zombies.

  69

  Nelly sent a message yesterday saying he needed to talk during John’s radio shift. I stand next to John and pick up the handset at the sound of his voice. “Hey, Nels.”

  “How goes it, Half-pint?”

  “It goes good. How about you?”

  “I have some news.” He pauses for a full minute. I’m about to shriek at him to tell me already, when his voice comes again. “So, do you want to hear it?”

  “Nelly, stop messing with me!” I yell into the radio. John chuckles at my look of exasperation.

  “We’re moving back in October.”

  I jump up and down with a squeal. Nelly can’t hear me, but John sticks a finger in his ear like I broke his eardrum.

  “Adam found someone to take over the school,” Nelly says. “You guys are going to need a teacher anyway, with Penny having the baby.”

  “Oh, that’s cool.” I say in a bored voice and wink at John.

  The radio is silent. I can almost see Nelly’s expression of bewilderment. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

  I press the button. “Yes.”

  “And on our precious radio time, too.”

  “You started it.”

  He laughs. “So, less than two months.”

  “Two months,” I repeat. “I can’t freaking wait!”

  “That’s better. I almost changed my mind for a minute.”

  “Don’t you dare. I’ll come get you myself if you try.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re coming,” he says. “Come hell or high water. I have to go, they need the radio. I just wanted to let you know. Hate you.”

  “Hate you back,” I say. “Bye.”

  I hang up the handset and turn to John. “Well, that’s good news,” he says.

  “It’s the best news.”

  I leave to tell Penny, who was looking for an excuse to let the kids do whatever they wanted for the rest of the afternoon. We decided to run school all summer to keep the kids away from the fences, but it’s more like summer camp.

  “I was worried about the kids. I mean, I knew between everyone here they wouldn’t end up dumb, but still,” she says with a grin. “What if she’s colicky or something? I couldn’t teach with her screaming all day.”

  We all refer to the baby as a girl. They haven’t even picked out a boy’s name.

  “If she’s colicky you’ll hand her off to me. That’s the nice thing about commune living—there are plenty of arms.”

  “Maureen’s practically salivating at the thought,” Penny says. “Her daughter had just had her first grandchild last spring. She’d only seen her once.”

  “You’ll be lucky if you get to hold her an hour out of every day.”

  “You can have nights.”

  “Thanks a lot.” I pat her belly. I’m allowed to pat at will, unlike the rest of the farm who have to ask first. “She can stay with me anytime because she’s going to be a perfect angel. Right, Maria?”

  “That’s the first time anyone’s called her Maria out loud.” Penny looks down, but not before I see her l
ips tremble, and I touch her arm in apology. “It’s okay. I just wish my mom were here. I’m scared, especially for when this kid wants to come out. I don’t even want to think about that part. You know she’s going to have to come out, right?”

  I wince and then laugh at the terror on her face. “I know. But I’ll be with you the whole time.”

  “Promise?”

  Now that’s one I intend to keep. “Promise.”

  70

  The morning of my thirtieth birthday is hot even before the sun’s up. I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. I’ve been dreading this day. A twin bed, alone, is definitely not where I saw things going, but the ache in my chest is no longer suffocating. It’s more of a gentle ache most days, something I never thought I’d get to, especially not in so short a time. I guess Peter was right when he said we move on more quickly than we used to, and I’ve made a decision to embrace thirty instead of feeling guilty. Birthdays used to come whether you wanted them or not. These days you have to work for them, and I’m going to enjoy the fruits of my labor—Adrian’s labor.

  I head to breakfast, where I make pancakes and receive birthday greetings. The first few are hard, but it gets easier. By the end of breakfast shift I’m more than ready for my fourth decade.

  Dan enters the restaurant, paper bag in hand, while I’m finishing the cleaning. “Happy birthday, Dingbat. How’s it going so far?”

  “Thanks. It’s good. And when I’m done here, I get to do nothing for the rest of the day.”

  “Lucky. I’m on my way to guard, but I wanted to give you something.”

  He hands me the paper sack. I want to tell him that he shouldn’t have, but he’s practically glowing with excitement. I pull out a wooden box, no more than four inches long. The dark wood has been so finely sanded and shellacked that it gleams like polished stone in the window light. A border of itty bitty stars runs around the lid, and in the center is a constellation I recognize.

  “Cassiopeia,” I whisper. I’m in awe of how beautiful the craftsmanship is, and I run my finger along the perfect shapes of the stars that must have taken Dan hours and hours to carve.

  “This is gorgeous,” I say. “I love it. Thank you so much.”

  Dan’s been rocking from foot to foot while I admired the box, and now he asks, “You really like it?”

  “Are you kidding me?” I yell. “It’s beautiful! No wonder you’re bored building cabins.”

  His nervous smile becomes a real one. “Open it.”

  I laugh at the tiny unicorn figurine inside. It’s two inches long at most, but it’s been given the same attention to detail as the rest of the box. The bottom of the box is a carving of two mountains with a rainbow running between their peaks. He’s captured the corniness of my pretend mural, but even so, it’s lovely.

  “Thank you.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “It’s my new most favorite thing in the world.”

  “So you like it?”

  “If you ask me that again, I’ll punch you. I really, truly, absolutely, swear-on-anything love it. You’re so talented, you know.”

  I go to kiss him on his cheek, but he turns his head and presses his lips on mine. I leave them there for an extra second, if I don’t exactly kiss him back. He grins when I push him away.

  “Dan,” I say. It’s the half-hearted scolding I’d give to a little kid.

  “Sorry,” he says, but we both know he’s not. “I have to go. I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Are you going to behave yourself, or will I have to kick you out of my birthday party?”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  He swaggers out the door. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, and if the glimmer of excitement swirling in my abdomen is any sign, I kind of don’t mind.

  Everyone’s in high spirits. I’m the only August birthday, and it’s been too long since a party was thrown that wasn’t a wake. The kids are watching their movie in the radio room, and we’re in the restaurant eating and drinking. I pull out the phone to snap a few shots and end up at the picture I took of Adrian by the woodpile. He looks so peaceful, the way he almost always did, and I swallow down the lump in my throat. Most of the time it might be a dull ache, but right now it’s more of a wallop.

  I close the photo. Adrian’s gone, and I’ll mourn him forever, but I won’t tonight. He left me here to live, and he was probably pretty pissed that I hadn’t been doing the greatest job of it. I imagine there were a lot of his trademark sighs in the afterlife. The thought makes me laugh. I pick up my beer and wander the room until I find a seat next to Peter.

  He rubs my back. “How’s the birthday girl?”

  “She’s great,” I answer. “She really is.”

  I clink his beer with mine and take a picture of him and Ana. Jamie and Shawn are playing quarters, and I catch her in a triumphant yell when she wins a round. I try to get everyone in at least one shot. Dan moves my way, but stops when I hold up a palm to take one of him.

  “Happy birthday again,” he says.

  “Thanks again. Guess what I have in my pocket?”

  I pull out the unicorn and pass it around so everyone can admire Dan’s handiwork. They exclaim over the tiny details until Dan begins to fidget, so I put it away.

  “Is that a unicorn in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” Dan asks.

  “I don’t even know what to say to that, so I’m going to pretend it didn’t happen.” He guffaws and pulls up a chair. “Bits wants one. Actually, Bits wants a whole unicorn family. So be prepared for that. She said you have plenty of time to make them before her birthday in November.”

  “I think I can handle that.”

  Dan rests his hand on my knee. I glance down and then up at him in a pointed way. Dan pointedly ignores me back while he talks to John. I shrug and join in the conversation. We don’t talk about zombies or trenches or anything important. Funny stories, like how I spilled an entire bowl of pancake batter this morning, are the kinds of things we discuss on birthday nights.

  We end the festivities when the kids come back from their movie. Bits sashays beside me and gives me a rundown of the entire plot, which, more often than not, takes longer than the length of the movie.

  “I really loved my cake, Bitsy,” I say, during one of her few breaths. “Thank you again.”

  “Dan said it should have stars because you love stars. Like your ring and the constellations.”

  Dan walks on Bits’s other side, and I smile at him. “He’s right. And you did a beautiful job.”

  “Cassie’s teaching me the constellations,” Bits tells everyone. “I knew the one on her box was Cassiopeia when I saw it.”

  “I’m passing along your knowledge,” I say to Dan. “You can quiz her soon. She’s excited for the next meteor shower.”

  Dan tousles Bits’s hair. “I know it’s late, but if you two lovely ladies want to watch the stars tonight—”

  “We do! Right, Cassie?”

  “Sure we do.”

  We sit on a blanket outside Dan’s tent. After he’s pointed out a few related constellations, he takes Bits’s hand and holds her finger to the sky. “Follow your finger while I tell you the story. There’s Andromeda, Cassiopeia’s daughter. Cassiopeia bragged that Andromeda was more beautiful than the sea nymphs. The sea nymphs demanded that Poseidon, the sea god, punish her by sending Cetus, the sea monster, to ravage the shores of Ethiopia. Andromeda’s father, Cepheus, asked for mercy for his kingdom. He was told to chain Andromeda to a rock so the sea monster could eat her instead—”

  “Did he?” Bits asks incredulously.

  Dan nods and moves her finger to another spot. “But Perseus came along and saved her, using the head of Medusa to turn the sea monster into stone. Then they lived happily ever after.”

  “That Cassiopeia was a real piece of work,” I say.

  “I can’t believe he did it!” Bits says. “My dad never would’ve done that. And Peter and Cassie wouldn’t either.”

  “You nev
er know,” I say, and pull her braid. “That depends on how well you were listening that day.”

  Bits giggles. We sit out until it’s too chilly—even the mid-August nights have the bite of autumn up here—and move into Dan’s tent, where Bits snuggles between us and listens to Dan tell the constellations’ myths. He’s a better storyteller than I am, and she stares through the mesh roof in fascination.

  “I love the stars,” she says dreamily. “I didn’t know they had so many stories. It’s like a book up in the sky. Is that why you love them, Cassie? There’s always something to read.”

  “I never thought of that,” I say, and marvel at her cleverness. “Maybe that’s part of it. I love that there are other worlds out there, maybe other beings. It scares some people, how small we are in comparison to the rest of the universe, but it reminds me that there’s always something beautiful out there, something bigger, even if it doesn’t seem that way here sometimes. But do you know what I really love?”

  “What?”

  I press my lips to her temple. “You. More than all the stars in the sky.”

  “That’s a lot of stars,” Bits says. “Like infinity. Right, Dan?”

  “Well,” Dan answers, “as far as I know, they were never sure about whether or not there are an infinite number of stars, but I like to think there are.”

  I pull Bits closer. “So do I.”

  “Me, too,” Bits says.

  “Then it’s agreed,” Dan says. “After all, who’s going to argue?”

  71

  Dan, Jamie and I sit around the fire at the main gate. We still walk the fence, but with the trench we never have anything to stab. Until morning, that is. It’s somewhere in the fifties, and I have a feeling this signals the end of our unusually warm summer. I hold my mitten-clad hands over the fire. I know I said I wanted winter to come, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Jamie’s hat almost covers her eyes. Dan wears a light jacket and keeps complaining about how hot he is, just to annoy us.