“Hello?” a voice calls from the other side of the gate.
The wind has covered any footsteps we might have heard approaching. We scramble for the platforms and shine our flashlights over the edge. An older man with a trim, graying beard stands on the dirt road. He wears hiking clothes and a massive pack that he carries easily on his compact frame, as though out for a Sunday stroll with nothing more than a fanny pack. He shields his eyes from the light and waves.
“Hi,” Dan says. “Are you looking to come in?”
I hold my pistol at the ready. I’m wary of visitors since Whitefield. We haven’t had many people come this year, but the few who’ve made it have all been perfectly nice and uninfected, if a little shell-shocked.
The man strokes his beard. “Yes. I’m not infected, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Okay, I’m coming down. I’ll have to look you over.”
Dan steps off the platform and opens the small door. The man carefully lowers his pack to the ground to protect the bow that’s strapped to the side. He takes off his jacket and shirt to show grimy but unbroken skin. He reaches for his belt with a glance at where Jamie and I stand with our guns ready.
“Pardon me, ladies,” he says, and drops his pants.
He’s healthy, which seemed the case, considering his bright eyes and demeanor. Dan motions for him to dress, and says, “Welcome to Kingdom Come.”
The man bypasses Dan’s outstretched hand and hugs him with a cry of joy. I holster my pistol and join them on the road.
“I made it!” the man yells. He begins to cry, big, gulping cries that make his shoulders shudder. The tears stream, but he beams at us as he wipes his nose with a handkerchief. I giggle when he hugs me and dances a jig. He smells terrible, but we’ve all been there at some point in the past year. And besides, nothing smells as bad as a Lexer.
“I’m Cassie,” I say, once he’s let me go.
“My manners! Where are my manners? Mark Golden, teacher of high school history.”
He shakes our hands while Dan and Jamie introduce themselves.
“Nice to meet you, Mark,” Dan says. “Have a seat. Or one of us can walk you up now and get you settled in.”
Mark’s feet dance on the ground even after he drops into a chair. “I’ll have a seat. I want to sit and revel in safety with people. How I’ve missed you, People! I ran into some on the road, but they were heading elsewhere. I always wanted to retire to Vermont. Retirement’s come early, but I’ve done it!”
He punches a fist in the air, and his eyes light up more when Dan pulls out his flask and offers it to him.
“Ah, a libation,” Mark says. “How wonderful!”
I sit next to him. “Where are you from?”
“Tennessee. It’s been a long trek, my dear.”
This guy is a character. I love him already. “We’re happy you’re here, but why didn’t you stop at one of the other Safe Zones?”
He frowns. “Aside from the fact that I love Vermont—as the bumper stickers say—I ran into people from Oklahoma. They said the monsters are moving north, like a tidal wave from the south. Said they’d heard the bridges of the Panama Canal were full, day and night. Traveling north and east made sense.”
All the blood rushes to my feet. I make eye contact with Jamie and Dan and see that they look just as stunned. “They’re coming up from South America?”
“That’s what they said. It must be taken with a grain of salt, though. They were very agitated about everything, always on the verge of a fistfight amongst themselves. This is news to you all. I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. If indeed it’s true, I would think the monsters will freeze before they reach us.”
“I’m going to wake John,” I say. “Mark, will you come with me? I have someone who needs to hear this.”
“May I bring the flask?”
Even with the fear tugging on my insides, I manage a laugh. “Of course. We’re going to need it.”
Mark’s answered every one of John’s questions, but we still have no solid answers. He was told that thousands of Lexers are heading north but can’t say whether or not they’re heading northeast. From what he’s heard, they were toward the west.
“They can’t be walking fast,” Mark says from one of the easy chairs in the RV. “I walked as briskly as possible. It’s true that’s not as brisk as it once was, but unlike the monsters, I had to rest, and I still beat them. They’ll go…if not forever, then damn close, I’d say.”
He gives a dramatic wave of his arm. I can picture him in front of a class, making the Revolutionary War come alive for a bunch of seventeen year-olds.
“We’ll be sure to make three runs to the lookout every day,” John says. He looked tired when we woke him, but now he looks exhausted. “We can see for miles on a clear day. It should give us time to bug out.”
Mark takes another sip from the flask and swallows before saying, “And where will you go if you have to leave?”
“Alaska.”
“Well, I’ve always wanted to visit Alaska,” Mark says. He lifts a finger in the air. “That is, if I may come along for the ride?”
John laughs. “How good are you with that bow?”
Mark’s teeth are stained with years of teacher’s lounge coffee, but his smile is bright. “Oh, I’ve won my fair share of competitions. I was a bit rusty, but I’ve gotten a lot of practice recently.”
“You’d be welcome to anyway, but we could use a good archery instructor. If you’re willing.”
“I have a suspicion that the days of American history being fundamental knowledge are behind us. Archery, now, that’s another story.”
“You must be exhausted, Mark,” Maureen says from the other end of the couch. “Why don’t you stay here tonight, and I’ll sort you out in the morning?”
“That would be wonderful.” He turns to where I stand by the door and holds out the flask. “Take this back to your friend. Please give him my thanks.”
I say goodnight and leave. On my way to the gate, I take a sniff of the flask, but whatever’s in there smells terrible. When I hand it back to Dan he holds it by his ear and swishes the contents.
“He’ll be sloshed in ten minutes,” he says. “Looks like I’ll need to refill.”
“You and that flask,” Jamie says. “Why do you have it, anyway? It’s not like you ever drink it.”
“I’m like a St. Bernard,” Dan says. “I use it to rescue people like Mark, who were lost in the wilderness.”
I laugh when Jamie shakes her head in confusion. It’s a much better use than he originally intended.
72
It’s been a week of canning with no end in sight. I find myself half-wishing we’d run out of jars, but the upper level of the barn is still stacked with boxes. Jamie lifts the blanched tomatoes out of the water and takes a knife to the skins.
“Tell me why you like this again?” she asks.
“It’s food. I like food. You can starve to death this winter if you’d rather.”
“I might, just to get out of this,” she says, and holds up her pruned fingers. “Any more news from the Safe Zones?”
“Nope. Everyone else is fine so far.”
“When’s Dwayne going out?”
“In two days.”
It’s just September, but Mark’s news has unsettled us enough that we need to know if anything’s close. Dwayne says he’ll run almost half the tank down and turn around, so he’ll be able to go anywhere from 450 to 600 miles. We’ll do another flight in a few weeks, and that will be the end of our fuel.
“I hate this.” Jamie throws a tomato skin into the compost bucket. “Not canning—well, I hate that, too—but waiting for something that we don’t even know is coming. Everyone’s so stressed. I tried to talk Doc into giving everyone antidepressants.”
I laugh at her wicked expression. Jamie works with Doc when he needs help. She isn’t trained as a nurse, but she’s close to one now.
“I just wish t
he kids didn’t know about it,” I say. “But at least Bits is doing okay.”
“That’s great. Doc says Chris is having nightmares, even.”
“Did you and Shawn ever want kids?” I ask. Jamie seems like she’d make a great mother, and they both love the kids, but neither of them has ever said a word about it, although they’re in their mid-thirties.
“I’m not having kids until every single one of these motherfuckers is wiped off the Earth.” Her knife slips through tomato and slices her finger. I hand her a towel and she smiles, although it’s more like a baring of teeth. “Sorry, can you tell I feel strongly about this?”
Her reaction wasn’t strong, it was feral, and what I can tell is that she doesn’t want me to ask anything more. “I don’t blame you. I feel the same way. I’ve just got to keep Bits safe until it happens.”
“I’m here to help,” Jamie says. “No matter what.”
I put an arm around her shoulders and feel her tension start to subside. “Thanks, lady. But don’t go thinking that cut’s gonna get you out of canning.”
“Fucker!” she says.
The day is bright and sunny, but the weather six hundred miles southwest is a mystery. Dwayne and Jeff stand by the plane. Dwayne’s found a couple of small airports they might be able to land in and refuel on the way, which would mean he could go farther. They’re unknown quantities, but he has one of the pumps we use for fuel on board, just in case.
“We’ll be back before sundown, most likely,” Dwayne says. “You’ll hear from us when we’re close. But if we’re not back, assume we stopped for fuel.”
“I’ll be at the radio,” John says. “Just come on back if you hit any bad weather. Don’t chance it.”
Dwayne nods. Peter and I watch the field for Lexers while the two climb into the plane. We head back behind the fence and watch them roll down the runway and into the air. When they’ve disappeared from sight, John turns to us. “Maybe they’ll find out something.”
“Maybe,” Peter says, still watching the sky with a frown.
“We’ll go out again in a few weeks. If they aren’t close by then, they probably won’t make it by winter.”
I link my arms through theirs as we walk to breakfast. “There’s nothing we can do about it, right? So let’s go eat pancakes.”
“Someone took her happy pills this morning,” Peter says.
“Someone took his morose pills this morning,” I say. “What’s wrong with being happy to be alive?”
“Absolutely nothing. Being alive suits you.”
“But I’d be an awesome zombie, right?” The words come out of my mouth without forethought, and Peter glances at me quickly. I would feel bad, but Adrian would only laugh if he heard. I chomp my teeth. “I’d eat you all up!”
Peter smirks. “Well, you’re certainly pale enough.”
I trip him with a carefully timed foot. “Whoops! Careful there.”
He trips me back, which isn’t difficult to do. I don’t have any happy pills, but maybe Jamie has slipped something into the water because I haven’t been able to shake this feeling of contentment. Not that I want to. Now that Bits has been in Dan’s tent, she asks to sleep there every night. We slept there once, and true to his word, Dan painted our toenails, but only after he made us scrub our feet. I’ve made it a point to stop by Adrian’s grave. I still miss him more than I’ve ever missed anyone in my life, but my pedicured feet are planted on terra firma.
73
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” Dan says, and tickles my side. “It’s almost ten.”
There was no plane last night. Dan and I stayed up late in the radio room with John, but as of three in the morning there was still no word. I came back to Dan’s tent to sleep for two hours until breakfast shift.
Dan sits on the side of the bed, dressed and wide awake. Rain patters on the tent roof, now covered with the rain fly to keep out the cold night air. The light that filters through the fabric is dim from the overcast day.
“Ten?” I ask. “Shit. I had to do breakfast.”
I start to rise, but he tucks the covers back around me. “I did it for you.”
“Really? Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. Is everyone still alive?”
“Mikayla told me I was beating the bread dough to death, instead of kneading, but other than that, no one died.” He holds up a mug and my toothbrush, complete with a dollop of toothpaste. “And I stole you tea, but I thought you might want to brush first.”
“I’m going to throw caution to the wind,” I say, and take the mug. “Thanks. That was really nice of you.”
He spreads his arms. “I’m a nice guy.”
“I know that.” I touch the hand that rests on the sleeping bag. “Believe me.”
“But I’m still in the friend zone.”
“The other zone is closed for business. You were in the Friends with Benefits Zone.” I wave a finger side to side. “But did that work for you? Nooo. So, tough.”
“I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” Dan says, and pretends to punch himself. “That’s okay, I’ll wait.”
“Well, you’re first on line for the grand opening.”
Those creases appear alongside his mouth; I’ve never said anything like that before. I look down and wish I’d kept my mouth shut. I shouldn’t make any promises, even vague ones.
Dan coughs. “Dwayne still isn’t back. Pennsylvania said they had a storm yesterday afternoon. I guess it’s the one we’re getting now.”
“Did he radio them on his way?”
“Yeah, when he passed by yesterday morning. Said all was well.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
I get out of bed and pick up my jeans. “I have to get ready for art, but I’ll see you at dinner. We’re on guard tonight?” Dan nods absently, and I tilt his chin up in question.
“It just gets to me sometimes, you know?” he says.
“Yeah, I know,” I say.
There’s nothing more to say, and I don’t stop myself from planting a kiss on the top of his head before I leave.
Rainy days are usually fun days. We still have meals to make, fences to guard and clothes to wash, but the outdoor canning can wait until tomorrow. And although I spent a cozy afternoon in the school with the woodstove burning and the kids doing art or playing quietly, every boom of thunder and bolt of lightning made me jump. I imagined Dwayne and Jeff up there, with no experienced air traffic controller to talk them down and no weather reports to guide them somewhere safe. Now it’s evening, and our dinner table has been quiet until Hank and Bits show off their finished comic.
“They haven’t saved the whole world yet,” Bits says. “Just the Northeast, for now. Their power is running out, so they have to find more juice.”
Hank opens the comic to the last page. Comic Book-Bits stands, dressed in black leather, brown hair streaming behind her, next to Comic Book-Hank, who still has on glasses but has suddenly sprouted muscles. The hills behind them are dotted with bodies. The entire table applauds.
“That was excellent,” Henry says.
“Cassie helped us,” Bits says.
I shake my head and say, “No, guys, that was all you. It’s wonderful.”
I was reluctant when they asked me to show them how to make the bodies more realistic. But the kids giggled as we pretended to fall to our deaths and observe how our limbs splayed out. It’s not like they don’t see dead people every day, but I almost couldn’t stand the sight of Bits sprawled on the floor, as though letting her pretend to be dead would be tempting fate. And that fate might be marching our way right now from South America. Ana’s stepped up PE, and the kids can run faster than they ever could. They try harder too, as if they know their lives might depend on it. Maybe they do know.
“Didn’t Bits do a great job on the artwork?” Hank asks.
“Well, you did the writing,” Bits says. She twists a dread on his head that’s frizzing out. “I mean, I helped, but you’re much better with words
than I am.”
They grin at each other and start to talk about their next issue in low voices. They’ve both grown so much in the past year. They’re still kids, but sometimes I get a glimpse of what they’ll be like ten years from now—maybe as close as brother and sister, or maybe more than that. There are so many possibilities, so many things I want for them. But those things can only happen if we’re still alive. If they can run fast enough.
74
Mark Golden, history teacher, may be sixty-five, but he has more energy than I do after seven lattes. He stands by the east fence and rocks on the balls of his feet while showing us how to take apart and reassemble a recurve bow. “I’ll demonstrate later how to string without a stringer, but let’s get our feet wet. Who wants to be first?”
He looks around the group of us who do patrol. Everyone at the farm will learn archery eventually, but we’re his first students. In keeping with every annoying teacher I’ve ever had, Mark notices my attempt to become invisible and points at me. “Cassie, why don’t you go first?”
I sigh and take the bow. I hate doing things like this in front of people. It makes me all flustered and hot. Mark has me string the bow with the stringer and then points to the target he’s set up. At least it’s close. He explains the proper stance, and I do as he says. There’s no sight, nothing to help me figure out how to get an arrow anywhere near the target. I want my crossbow.
“Good,” Mark says, and lifts my right hand. “Now use the tips of your three middle fingers to draw back the string. Your hand will come to your face, elbow level.”
It’s harder than I thought, and this isn’t even a bow with a high draw weight. Mark tells me to let go and hands me an arrow. I fit it onto the string and follow his directions to draw it.
“Now how do I get it there?” I ask.
“Aha,” Mark says. “You’re used to guns, as evidenced by the way you’re gripping the bow to keep it steady. Loosen your left, my dear. There are a few ways to aim, but I use the instinctive method.”
Until the End of the World Box Set Page 73
