Until the End of the World Box Set

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  Dinner is the remaining ramen noodles with the last of our wrinkly vegetables and green tomatoes fried in oil. Peter and I give Bits and Hank an extra bite of ours, which leaves us with five bites instead of seven, but I wouldn’t be able to enjoy being semi-full if I were full of guilt.

  Kyle and Margaret take first watch. I set a lantern and water bottle by one of the sinks in the master bath and hand out floss.

  “I like flossing,” Hank says, running the string through his teeth.

  I gaze at him in the mirror and hold my hand to my heart. “Hank, you are the most awesome human being I’ve ever met.”

  “Maybe you should be a dentist like Zeke,” Bits says.

  “He’d teach you,” I say. “He’ll need an apprentice one of these days.”

  “Maybe,” Hank says. “I can do electric stuff, too. My dad taught—”

  The bathroom is quiet. Peter spits out his toothpaste and puts a hand on Hank’s shoulder. Hank leans in briefly, but his natural tendency toward self-control overrides taking any comfort, and he pulls away with a quick nod before he jumps in the king bed. Right before Peter shuts off the lantern, I catch Hank watching the ceiling, looking younger and more vulnerable without his glasses. Hank is so concerned with the details—knowing our route, how much gas and food are left, thinking about future careers—that it’s easy to forget he’s a kid.

  “Hank,” I whisper.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad you’re here with us.” Silence. I slide an arm under his shoulders. His narrow chest rises quickly and he sniffs a few times. I don’t want to make a big deal of his crying, but I want him to know I care. “It’s okay to talk about it. I know you miss your dad. We all do.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Hank whispers.

  “Say anything. Say you’re sad or even angry, say you miss him, say how he was a brave man. He was a hero, just like in your comics, you know that?” I feel his head bob. “You don’t have to say anything, but I want you to know you can.”

  “ ’Kay.”

  I hold him until his breathing deepens and his body relaxes against mine.

  Peter wakes me sometime in the night, the lantern on the floor so as not to wake the kids. My arm under Hank has gone completely numb. I extricate myself and clench my teeth as the blood rushes back.

  “Our turn for watch,” Peter says. “I have toothbrushes.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed, slip into my boots and rest my head in my hands. I have to get in on the first or last watch shift of the night because this broken sleep every night sucks. “If you said you had donuts it would be much more thrilling.”

  I force myself to stumble out of the room. I hit my knee against a table on the landing and curse. “Wait a second, will you?” Peter says. “I’m right behind you.”

  Nelly and Adam rise when we hit the living room, and I don’t even have the energy to bother Nelly about the fact that he finally has his own bedroom. I give my teeth a brush and curl up beneath a blanket on the couch. If it’s not in the high thirties then it’s damn close.

  Peter makes sure the thick curtains are closed and sits under his blanket. We don’t want anyone to know we’re here, whether they’re alive or dead. I stare at the curtains and strain my ears for anything moving in the darkness, but even zombies are smart enough to be asleep right now.

  “Thanks for talking to Hank,” Peter says. “I’ve tried, but sometimes it’s easier to talk to a woman.”

  I grunt and continue staring at the fireplace. A lit fireplace would be heaven. I would lie in front of it in my blanket and soak in the warmth. I would cook up a hamburger and then make s’mores.

  Peter says something, but I’m so busy eating my imaginary feast that I miss it. “What?”

  “I said it’s usually easier to talk to a woman, except for you, right now.”

  “Sorry. I’m tired and hungry and blah blah blah. I’m tired of hearing myself.”

  Peter stretches an arm along the back of the couch. “What do you want to eat?”

  “I was thinking about hamburgers and s’mores. How ‘bout you?”

  “Steak, chicken, more ramen noodles. I don’t care.”

  “If you want ramen noodles, you must be hungry,” I say, and he chuffs out a laugh.

  “Let’s make tea,” Peter says after a minute.

  “We can’t!”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “We can. C’mon, there are a lot of tea bags, and we’ll reuse them. Your teeth are chattering. You know you want to.”

  I should object more forcefully, but I follow him to the food bin in the foyer with my mouth watering. The popping of the lid seems as loud as a gunshot. Peter raises a finger to his lips and pulls out a box of tea, then tiptoes dramatically to the single burner camping stove on the entryway table.

  He mimes moving the table, and I lift one end so we can walk it to the cracked window, although we leave the curtains closed. It’s doubtful the fumes from a tiny stove in a big house will kill us. He takes a lighter from his pocket and lights the stove with a flourish, like they do in fancy restaurants. Peter’s not always so silly, except maybe with Bits, and I stifle a giggle.

  I hold my hands near the flame. I wish it took longer, but the water boils quickly and my precious heat source is extinguished. Peter drops in a single tea bag while I root out cups. By the time I’m back, the water is a lovely brown. I take a sip from the mug he hands me. It’s not the best cup of tea I’ve ever had, sans milk and sugar, but it has flavor and sends a line of heat down my core. I can pretend it’s food. I take another gulp—there’s no sense in savoring it if it’s going to be cold in five minutes.

  I manage to arrange my blanket without spilling any. “Thanks. Think they’ll be mad?”

  “Why would they be mad? We used one tea bag. It’s everyone’s tea.”

  “I guess.”

  “Stop worrying,” Peter says.

  “I’m not worrying.”

  He assesses me over the top of his mug with a smile. “Yes, you are. You have on your worried face. No one will care, and if they do, we’ll tell them I drank it all.”

  “I won’t let you take the fall. We’ll go down together.”

  He’s right. It’s ridiculous to get all bent out of shape about a tea bag. I wouldn’t be mad if someone else had a cup. My next sip is a good bit cooler, so I guzzle it down before it will do no good. The warmth lasts a full two minutes before I start to shiver again.

  “Let’s double up,” Peter says.

  “You want to play poker? Now?”

  “That’s double down. And it’s blackjack, goofball. Let’s double up our blankets.”

  Peter moves close, then layers our blankets over top before resting his arm on my shoulders. He’s so much warmer than me. I wouldn’t be surprised if I make people colder. I nestle into his side and bring my feet on the couch. It’s not like anyone is here to complain I’ll ruin the off-white damask.

  “Better?” he asks.

  I nod and listen to the nothing outside. Peter’s breaths begin to slow. I check to see if he’s fallen asleep and whack him with my temple hard enough to make him rub his jaw.

  “What was that for?” he asks.

  “Sorry, I thought you were asleep. And ouch, that half-beard of yours is sharp.”

  “I always thought I’d look distinguished with a beard. What do you think so far?”

  I pretend to consider but, honestly, Peter would look good in anything. He has high cheekbones, a straight nose and black eyes that match his hair. He was always handsome and well-built, but he’s acquired a rough edge that pushes him into swoon-worthy territory.

  “Meh,” I say.

  His head drops back with his laugh. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime. Sorry about the stench.”

  “I’m no better.”

  “I meant you,” I say. He pinches me. “Fine, I meant me.”

  “You have a good smell.”

  “I have a smell? What kind of smell? It’s not like
sauerkraut or anything, is it?”

  “No, it’s—” he thinks for a moment, “like something green.”

  “Like what kind of green? Frogs? Mold?”

  He knows I’m messing with him, and he exhales noisily. “You know what I mean, Cassandra. Green. Leaves, cut grass, herbs. But a sweet green.”

  I make a face even though I’m secretly delighted to be told I smell good. “Well, it’s not there now.”

  “It’s your smell. I’m sure it’s there now.” He leans in and pretends to choke. “Somewhere under there.”

  “Jerk.” I’m becoming accustomed to our stink, which is depressing and cheering at the same time. I pull out my phone to check the time. “Five more minutes. And then two glorious hours of sleep before the sun rises.”

  James and Penny creak down the stairs a minute later. “Why are you doing watch?” Peter asks Penny.

  “I’m pregnant, guys. That doesn’t mean I’m incapable of doing things. And, anyway, ever hear of pregnancy insomnia?” We shake our heads. “Yeah, I hadn’t either, but I’ve got it.”

  “This pregnancy thing gets worse and worse,” I say.

  “Right?” Penny agrees.

  We tell them about our cups of tea and James gets to work while we head upstairs. Bits and Hank have moved to one side of the bed. I fall onto the cold pillow in the middle and move close enough to feel the heat emanating from Peter.

  “I’m not trying to get all up in your face or anything,” I whisper, “but you’re warm.”

  He grunts in amusement and throws an arm over me, knees fitting into the crook of mine. It isn’t awkward like it could be, especially after my little trip down memory lane earlier tonight. That old desire has been replaced by an affection that’s almost overwhelming in its intensity. He’s Bits’s dad, my shrink, the straight man to my one-woman comedy act and, somewhere along the line, he’s become my best friend. I catch a whiff of his warm, spicy scent and think about telling him that it’s not just me who smells good, but I’m far too tired.

  24

  The sky is the bruised purple-gray that comes before the sun makes its appearance. It’s time to rise and shine. Peter gets out of bed and puts on his jacket after handing me mine. I want to find something warmer, and I enter the spacious closet once teeth are brushed. The mother of this brood wore nothing but slacks and blouses and expensive ladies’ suits. No wonder she’s dead. I do find a cute silvery-brown down coat with a furry hood and instantly grow ten degrees warmer when I zip it up. Hank puts on his glasses before bounding out of bed, looking back to normal from last night. I remind myself to not always trust his self-possessed facade and to bring up his dad when it looks as if he needs to talk. Peter did the same for me this summer.

  “Nice coat,” Peter says. He touches the fur on the hood. “That’s real fur, I think. Let me see the tag.” He whistles. “This coat was probably two grand.”

  “I can wear it in the Bentley,” I say. “It’s so freaking warm.”

  I didn’t wear real fur before, but I’m not planning to take it off ever again. Unlike leather, this coat is comfortable enough to sleep in. And it’s pretty. The previous owner would probably die all over again if she knew that it’ll be covered in something disgusting soon enough. I head downstairs in my new coat and clean underwear also courtesy of Mom. James and Mark are up to their usual map and phone book tricks, frowning in concentration.

  We tried the boiling water method of wheat berries last night, and I unwind the pot’s blankets to find it’s cooked through and still warm. Maybe I should take the pot to bed with me from now on. I dish it into cups and bowls from the cabinets. There’s no reason to dirty our own dishes when there are so many lovely ones here begging to be used and left behind.

  “Fancy,” Penny says when I hand her a crystal goblet. She takes a bite. “Did you put jam in? It’s good.”

  “Yeah. We could use the energy today.”

  Penny doesn’t complain when James drops a dollop of his breakfast in her glass, although she doesn’t look happy about it.

  “So,” James says, “there were a bunch of gas stations around here. I’m sure they’re empty, but we’ll check them out on our way north. There’s an army base on the northern edge of the city. Maybe someone’s there.”

  “Wouldn’t we have heard about a military base?” Penny asks. “They must have radios and generators.”

  “Yeah, but what the hell, right? You only live once.” James runs a finger inside his glass tumbler and sticks it in his mouth. Once he’s licked it clean, he lifts it in the air. “Okay, twice, if you count that as living.”

  Penny bursts out laughing. James rests his hands on what’s left of her waist, and I make myself scarce when she lifts her face to his. I summon the others at the front of the house to breakfast.

  “Your boot’s untied,” Bits says. She watches me double knot my lace and asks, “You still use bunny ears, Cassie?”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, ignoring Nelly and Peter’s sniggers while we head for breakfast. “What’s wrong with bunny ears?”

  “Just that most people graduate from bunny ears at ten,” Nelly says.

  “I can’t do it that other way. I’ve tried and it doesn’t work.”

  “I thought you knew this kind of stuff,” Peter says. “Shouldn’t you know how to make knots?”

  I turn at the kitchen entrance and raise my hands. “Sorry, people. I missed that class.”

  “Some survivalist you are,” Nelly says. He must have gotten some action last night. It puts him a in a good mood and makes him even more bothersome.

  Hank crosses his arms over his chest and glares at them. “Cassie can make a fire from sticks. Can you?”

  I pull my tiny protector to my side. “Thank you, Hank. Someone appreciates me.”

  I hand the kids their food and eat mine while I watch through the window as Kyle opens the gate at the rear of the property to allow the RV access to the lake. James has rigged something so that we can pump water into the RV’s water tank. We’ll have to sanitize before drinking, but we won’t die of thirst like Peter almost did on his way to Kingdom Come, until he remembered John and I discussing hot water heaters as a source of emergency drinking water.

  I put some of my food onto the kids’ china saucers and turn to Peter. “Hey, know why you’re alive?”

  He stops chewing. “What?”

  “Why are you standing here right now?”

  “Because we drove here?”

  “No.” I point my spoon at him. “Because you knew to get water out of a hot water heater. How did you know that?”

  Peter feeds Bits a bite of his food and puts a glop on Hank’s plate. “You. And John.”

  “Exactly. Survivalism 101.”

  He narrows his eyes, but they glint with amusement. “Okay, why are you standing here right now?”

  “Because you saved all of our lives in a selfless act of love.” Peter opens his mouth and shuts it again. He wasn’t expecting that answer, even though it’s the truth. I turn to Nelly. “I saved you, Peter saved you. You’ve got some work to do, young man.”

  Nelly eats his last bite and rubs his stomach. “I’ll get you both back one of these days.”

  I kiss his bristly cheek. Every guy in this group is growing a beard, which I would find more entertaining if I weren’t growing armpit and leg hair along with them. “Go find Sparky,” I say to Bits. “I’ll feed her and Barn in the RV.”

  Bits runs off to find the cat, who manages to nap in impossible to find places even locked in a room—like inside box springs and on shelves behind clothes. When the RV is back, Barn gulps his food and begs for more.

  “Sorry, Barn. That’s all you get,” I say, and give him a kiss to apologize. He’s better fed than we are at this point, although his kibble is less than appetizing. I’ll eat it if I have to, but I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that.

  Maureen finishes closing cabinets and drops on the RV’s couch. I sit beside her and watch Bits pet Sparky whi
le she crunches her breakfast.

  “You take good care of them,” Maureen says. She looks worse than yesterday. I hate to see her like this, almost as if she’s giving up.

  “You take good care of all of us. Penny’s going to need you when the baby’s born. She’s told me she’s counting on having you for a grandma.”

  A little life comes into her eyes and fades away just as quickly. “I pray for my granddaughter every day. I know she can’t be alive, but I still pray like I pray for all of you.”

  Maureen’s first grandchild was born just before the virus hit. I’ve always wished I could paint her a portrait, but she doesn’t have a picture. “It’s working so far.”

  Maureen shrugs. “I prayed for everyone that’s gone, too. It’s not that I don’t think God listens—I just think we can’t influence what He’ll do by praying. But I do it anyway.”

  “Just in case?” I have my own kind of prayer, a wish I send out into the ether. It’s more a desperate Please, please let everyone be all right than anything else. It doesn’t seem to be any more successful than Maureen’s, but it can’t hurt to ask.

  “Just in case. Maybe I’d have more influence if I was up there, but I promised John I’d look out for all of you.”

  I wish John were looking out for us down here. I’d give anything for one more of his bear hugs. I’ll cry if I speak, and by her watery blue eyes it appears to be the same for Maureen, so we hug instead. It’s almost as comforting as one of John’s.

  After we’ve parted, she says, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  “No, thank you. For being here. We need you here, you know.”

  Maureen leans close, eyes direct. “I want to be here, honey. I do.” She rubs her hands on her thighs and stands. “Well, let’s get everything finished up.”

  “Let the bustling begin!”

  “Smart-ass,” she says with a laugh.

  Once we’re loaded, James guides us to the main road and says, “We’re just over halfway. Another two thousand miles and we’re in Talkeetna. Thirteen hundred to Whitehorse, if we end up staying there.”

  Whitehorse is fine with me: all I want is a home. If we can fill up down here, we’ll make it to Whitehorse with one more stop, maybe two, depending on our route. Cautious relief hangs in the air as we make our way past the expensive homes and toward the gas stations outside the city limits. But that relief begins to ebb when the first two stations are small, with water-damaged signs on the pumps that say No Gas.