The Earth's End

by Tara Brown

  It’s dark and the mist has rolled in from the sea, making this harder.

  He turns a corner, screaming back again, “Faster!”

  I don't have anything left, but my feet pick up and I lean forward, my body responding to the fear. I pass Cynthia on the outside, driving myself to get closer to the man peering back, waving his arms for us to follow. He’s a gazelle, impossible to catch.

  He cuts across a lawn and through the courtyard of another hotel or apartment building.

  I’m exhausted but a scream in the distance, off to the left, brings a fresh dose of terror.

  I pass Mitch, almost catching the Canadian as he turns to the right, headed for the ocean. He jumps a flight of stairs and lands with a thud on a dock. I don't jump the stairs so Mitch passes me as he lands and pushes with his legs. A man at the end of the huge wooden walkway is screaming at us to hurry.

  He’s standing aboard a large boat with a rifle in his hands, aimed right at us.

  My stomach lurches.

  The Canadian jumps from the dock onto a plank, climbing onto the boat. He boards and spins, helping Louis who is next. Then Mitch. Then me. I’m gasping for air as I stagger to the other side of the boat and cling to the edge. I can’t look back; I can’t see them running for us. I can’t see who is missing. Because I won’t unsee it.

  My chest tightens as I gag. I’m not sure if it's the exertion or the fear but when I lean forward, off the side of the boat, I lose the water I drank in Ms. Mara’s room. It’s not much but it mixes with tears and rains down into the calm waters below.

  Someone behind me screams.

  I close my eyes and for the first time since my parents’ divorce, I pray. It’s silent and private and just between me and whoever is listening to my quiet desperation.

  Please, don’t let me die.

  It’s selfish and I’m ashamed but not enough.

  Everyone screams over one another, shouting, “HURRY” and “GO!”

  The boat makes a roar.

  The gun fires multiple times.

  More screams.

  I don't know what’s happening. My eyes are closed and my lips are moving though the sound is lost, begging God to spare me.

  “Tanya!” Louis screams and I spin, but he’s spinning me. I open my eyes to see his, wide and bloodshot, scared and watery. “Are you okay?” He tries to sound calm.

  “No.” My lip trembles and he pulls me in, hugging me tightly.

  “We made it. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  Over his shoulder I watch the dock getting smaller and smaller. The horde on the end is huge, unmoving. They stand motionless in the mist and watch us leave. It’s beyond eerie.

  “Holy shit!” The Canadian laughs bitterly, wiping his face and catching his breath. “I can’t believe we made it.” He’s holding the gun now. The other man is gone, I assume he’s the one driving the large fishing boat.

  The small lights on the deck reveal the terror-filled faces of my fellow students. One face is missing.

  “Where’s Ms. Mara?” I ask Louis.

  He shakes his head slowly as he pulls me back. His eyes tell me the whole story.

  “Oh God.” The scream! I slip a hand over my spit-coated lips, wiping them. A shudder creeps over me, through me, as my gaze moves to the dock. I wonder if she’s there. If she’s changed like my old neighbors did. “Poor Ms. Mara.” What will her kids do without her? What would I do without my mother? I can’t think about that.

  “You guys okay?” the Canadian asks. “I mean, I know you’re not okay but is anyone bit or injured?”

  My eyes lower to my body as Louis pulls back and does the same thing. I check, doing inventories of my extremities. I’m okay. The things that are sore or tired are explained away easily. I don't have any injuries. My brain does a slow walk-through of the events.

  Creeping through the hotel hallways, delicately walking the stairs to the main floor, listening with the taste of terror on my lips like a scream waiting to break free. The lobby was empty when we crossed to the side entrance. Something moved above us but we couldn't hear it well enough to tell how close it was. The street was chaos, cars and trucks and screams, but we slinked through an alley, hugging buildings.

  That was when we saw the first one. It was frozen, a man in a suit with a deadened stare.

  He flashed to life in front of us, running for us. The Canadian hit him with a piece of metal and we got away. But the running and the screaming was too much noise. That’s when the rest of them came.

  They moved so fast, as though they didn't feel pain or tire.

  My brain refuses to let out the rest of the images.

  The scream.

  Tears push from my eyes.

  She’s gone.

  “Okay, no bites. Good stuff.” The Canadian nods. “I’m Jeff, by the way.” He seems nervous.

  “Louis.” Louis holds his hand out. “So you’re cool to help us get to the mainland and then find transportation to the border near Montana?”

  “I mean—I guess—we’ll see what we can do.” Jeff shrugs.

  I notice for the first time many of the kids are crying quietly. A few are throwing up over the edge like I did. Everyone is soaked in sweat and mist and dank ocean air. We’re starting to shiver, all similarly. My legs almost buckle as the boat turns.

  The ride feels like it has only been a second or two but we’re already slowing down.

  “This is the Esquimalt military base.” Jeff points to the front of the boat where the light shines on a bunch of other boats.

  “Stop!” someone shouts in a weird robotic voice. Lights flash, coming from the front and surrounding us, blinding us with the glare. “You can go no further. This is a protected area.”

  Jeff’s cousin comes out of the cabin and shouts, “We need to get in there. We’re all fine. No one’s bitten!”

  “No one can enter here. You have to turn around,” the robotic voice shouts back.

  “To what, man? Go back to the city and die? Let us in!” Jeff’s cousin is losing it.

  “No one is permitted past—”

  “Fuck you! This is a boatload of kids, ya bunch of assholes. Children!” Jeff’s cousin shouts, throwing something at the boat in front of us but they do not move. “Dammit!” he screams and goes back into the cabin, slamming the door.

  Our boat roars and he turns us around in a way it feels like it isn’t meant to. He screams something else from the cabin and my legs buckle, sliding down the wooden wall of the deck. I sit in the wet and cold water on the floor, shivering and terrified and unsure of everything.

  The second part of the boat ride is much longer, and bumpier. The air is cold, but I think I’m frozen from trauma.

  Jeff comforts some of the other kids with Louis, talking and trying to make them laugh or distract them. He’s good at this. Not that there is anything he could say to me to make me feel better.

  Trying to stay awake is tough, I’m losing. I end up staring at nothing and blinking for long periods of time. Coasting in the bumpy darkness isn’t helping. It makes me want to sleep more. The nausea hitting me is the only thing keeping me awake.

  Mitch comes and sits next to me.

  He makes a long scratching noise as he slides down the wall. “My phone lost signal about fifteen minutes ago,” he says and I realize I haven’t looked at mine since we got on board.

  “Maybe it’s because we’re so far out,” I answer, hoping I’m right.

  “What if service is gone? No more signal. No more cell phones. Then what? Water or power? I haven’t seen a single light in an hour.” He sounds genuinely worried which makes me even more uncomfortable.

  “Don't you have a bunker somewhere?” I joke, trying to lighten this for us both before I start crying again. I’m way too queasy to cry.

  “I never got past the planning stage.” Mitch grins, his smile lightening this a bit. “I was a little short on funds. Bunkers are expensive.” He tilts his head back, staring at the s
tarry sky above. The mist is gone but the moisture remains, making me cold in places I didn't know got cold.

  My eyes want to follow him to the stars but instead I check my phone. There’s no service but there is a message from my mom. It must have delivered when we were running and screaming. It’s three hearts, black ones because I told her those were cooler. Seeing it brings a grin to my lips and a little warmth to my heart. The feeling is fleeting because I can’t help but wonder if I’ll see her again. And what the world will look like if I do.

  We sit in silence until I finally ask the question I have wanted to for about an hour, “Do you think this is it?”

  “It?”

  “You know, like in a video game where the world has ended and now you have to fight your way through the zombie lands?” The question is absurd but the evening has proven it’s possible. More than.

  “Yeah I guess. I do, actually.” Mitch tilts his head a little and stares at me with the one dark eye that can see me from this angle. “I think maybe this is it. Maybe.”

  “That sucks. Because I don't know how to fight. Not even a little,” I confess, noting the measure of shame this brings with it. “I don't know how to stay alive. I don’t know if I would have run on the bus if Jeff hadn’t grabbed my hand.”

  “That’s okay. I do.” He lowers his voice, “I can fight and shoot and hunt and I know how to survive the winter. How to ration and what’s important. I’ll keep you alive, Tan.” Mitch turns, facing me. “I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “If we can get to Laurel, my friend Lou is like you. Her dad’s a military scientist. He’s crazy smart. She knows how to stay alive.”

  “Then that’s where we go.” He nods.

  “We’ll get her and her family and then we get our families in Billings.”

  “Okay.” He holds up a pinky finger.

  “What are you doing?” I cock an eyebrow at the meaning of the finger.

  “Don't we have to pinky promise? Isn’t that what girls do?” He cracks a grin, a real one.

  “You suck.” I laugh and let him move a little closer. Something about Mitch makes me think we might be okay. Just maybe.

  5

  Day Two

  I wake to a boom.

  Mitch and Louis are holding me tightly in a group hug like they’re bracing for something, but I think the something has hit already. Everyone is moving and falling over as though from impact. I jerk to life, preparing for some unknown crisis but everyone’s calm.

  “Where are we?” I ask softly, scared of my own voice.

  “Somewhere near something about a white rock. Near the border at Whatcom County, I think,” Louis offers, helping me up from the soggy spot where I was sitting long enough for my legs and butt to go completely numb.

  “It’s light out!” I sound more excited than I should be and realize I’m treating this as some sort of horror movie. We made it to the light of day so we should be safe.

  “Yeah.” Neither of them shares my enthusiasm.

  “Okay, everyone, there’s a staircase that leads to a fancy area. We should be able to find some bigger vehicles here, rich people and all,” Jeff calls out to us as he helps Cynthia and Vanessa up. “Follow me, stay quiet and alert.” He swings a leg over the edge and starts to climb down.

  His cousin isn’t with us when we all climb down onto the rockiest beach I’ve ever seen. Huge logs of driftwood and massive boulders line the water’s edge leading up to a dense forest. It’s the kind that screams Pacific Northwest with old-man’s beard and cedar trees older than Canadian heritage. Another joke the tour guide made. Yesterday. Back when there were tour guides and jokes.

  “Let’s move!” Jeff shouts as he runs toward the forest, making me worry about his destination. I have to assume he knows where he’s going.

  “Where’s his cousin?” I ask Louis.

  “We dropped him off near a marina. He swam to some other boats. Looked like yachts. Said he was gonna stay out on the water. Jeff thinks that's a bad idea. He thinks we should hit a Costco and hide in there.”

  “That’s probably smart,” I say and gaze back at the boat that looks like Jeff drove it right up onto the beach, crashing it. That had to be what woke me.

  When we get to the forest’s edge, we cross train tracks and climb some wooden steps onto a walkway, a boardwalk. It’s not like the ones you think of in California. This one isn’t as wide and it’s glossy from the dewy air that never seems to go away.

  Our feet are noisy as we follow him into the trees. The air is cold in here and the wet clothes aren’t helping. My shoes squeak and my feet hurt, and I’m tired in a way I’ve never felt before. It’s weakness, actual dead-assed exhaustion.

  My legs move like I’m wearing cement shoes, and yet somehow, I push past it and hurry. The want to complain or take a break remains, but there’s something else now, a new drive I have never felt before.

  It’s survival.

  It has to be.

  I want to live and not just live, I don't want to die being eaten. I always imagined I might die in my sleep, similar to my elementary school teacher who drifted off into an afternoon nap and had a massive stroke. He was in his favorite chair, wearing his favorite sweater, facing a sunny garden. It’s exactly the opposite of dying by zombie and then becoming a zombie yourself. Wandering the earth as bits of you rot off until there’s nothing left.

  When we reach the end of the boardwalk, we walk out onto a street but it’s more of an alley. A dead end with an annoying number of No Parking signs.

  The houses must be huge because they’re all fenced in behind tall, fancy brick walls and gates that would have been manned once upon a time.

  My heart races again seeing civilization, but the alley is empty, except for garbage and recycling cans waiting to be picked up. I’m scared they might be waiting forever.

  Jeff runs to the heavy black gate of the house on the left, a Spanish-inspired mansion with tiled rooftops and a view of the ocean. “It’s open!” he calls and rushes in.

  We follow as if this is normal, twenty American kids and some random Canadian dude invading an estate. He closes the gate after us and pauses. “Let me go clear the house. You guys wait here.”

  Clear the house? I have questions about that. Is he going to kill the people who live here, and we’re going to take it to live some twisted version of Lord of the Flies? Or does he mean in case the people in there aren’t people anymore? If that’s the case, I don’t want the gate closed. I need to be able to run.

  “Be right back!”

  Louis nods and we freeze, not one of us moves as we wait at the gate, just in case maybe. Clearly, the others are thinking the same way I am.

  “Why do you think he’s helping us?” Mitch asks softly, maybe not wanting to alert the other kids to his skepticism.

  “He’s Canadian. They’re nice,” Louis offers with a shrug.

  “Is that actually a thing?” I ask, watching the house.

  “Yeah. I read a fairly convincing study that said there is a marked difference between Canadians and Americans.” Louis glances at me. “Canadians are nicer. They took tweets and social media posts and articles in newspapers from both countries going back a number of years and found trends that showed they’re kinder and more supportive. The article said there was a chance that living in a cold-ass country, where survival sometimes depends on other people, makes Canadians politer.”

  “Like people in North Dakota,” Mitch points out as if he knows that people from North Dakota being friendlier is a thing.

  “North Dakota?” I ask. “I’ve never heard of this.”

  “You never noticed how nice people are in North Dakota?” Louis lifts an eyebrow at me.

  “No. You’re both insane.” I want to laugh at them, but Jeff is still in the house and I don't know where we’re at safety-wise, so I can’t. Not yet. I might need to run.

  The minutes pass slowly. Every noise is our impending doom or a moment where we�
�ll have to run again.

  My mind races, coming up with scenarios on how I will get out first if this doesn’t go well. I can’t be last. Which then makes me feel bad for not wanting to die for my classmates. And with all that churning in my brain, I wonder how my mom and brother are doing. My imagination answers all those questions, leaving me terrified.

  A bang makes us jump. One kid starts to run for the gate latch, but it’s just Jeff. He smiles and motions at the house. “Come on in. We can close this place up for the night and sleep here. They have a ton of food and there’s no one.”

  We scurry after him. Everyone is at different levels of exhaustion and starvation.

  Louis secures the gate using the lock. Jeff hops into an SUV and drives it to the large black gate, parking right in front of it. I don't know what he’s doing it for, a quick getaway maybe? In case. But the gate moves in?

  “Smart,” Mitch says turning to Jeff.

  “What?”

  “If he parks the SUV there, no one will be able to ram their way through the gate. Extra caution.” With his hand at my back, he steers me toward the house, but I don't understand. Are the zombies going to be driving now?

  The thoughts and worries fade when I see the house. It’s stunning. I’ve never been in anything this fancy. The house is a Mediterranean mansion with walls of windows and a view of the gray ocean that we just sailed on.

  The entire backyard is laid out with bushes and trees placed perfectly to accent the handful of decks and patios and sitting areas. Everything is manicured and pristine. I don't understand why these people left. They even have a pool, though why anyone would swim in this dank-ass place is beyond me. It’s freezing.

  The great room is also full of seating spots, conversation pits, and stunning furniture. There are two double-sided fireplaces and more leather furniture than a showroom. One of the sectionals is a full U shape. I’ve never seen such a large sofa in my life.

  The kitchen is white and marble and sparkling, and for some reason, in this house it feels as if the world isn’t ending. There aren’t any photos of the family we’ve invaded but instead, priceless looking art. Everything glistens with money and opulence being played out in a really down-to-earth rich people sort of way.