The House at the End of the World

by Madeleine Marsh

  Gabe drinks his beer. He isn’t certain he agrees with Joe’s philosophy but short of leaving he doesn’t have all that many options. ‘Was your wife a good cook?’

  Joe nods. ‘She wasn’t Carla Hall but she never let me go hungry.’

  He suspects that Joe, like Em and perhaps even Rick, has built strong defences up around his grief, defences which will soon crumble if it turns out they are safe, if it becomes obvious that it really is all over. But for now they’re holding firm.

  ‘I used to dabble, that’s all. When she died I looked after myself, I didn’t starve, so I know my way around a kitchen. You can stop acting so surprised.’

  Gabe shrugs, raising his hands in mock-surrender. ‘Hey, in the diner—’

  ‘In the diner Matt was happy, having fun. I don’t think that kid’s had much fun in his life. Best to let him enjoy himself while he could.’

  Nodding his understanding, Gabe moves further into the room, brushing his hand over the rough surface of the table before lifting himself back and up to sit on it.

  ‘How did you get involved, Joe?’ he asks, and it’s a question that’s been a very long time coming. They haven’t really talked about their origins before, there have always been other more important topics: the immediate threat, the enemy just defeated, the horror left behind. But he feels like he can ask here, now. This house feels safer than anywhere they’ve holed up before and that last fight felt like it could have been the final one. ‘How did you meet up with them?’ Them. Matt and Luke. The two guys they owe their lives to. The reason they’re all here.

  Joe’s got his head stuck in a cupboard and Gabe doesn’t think he’s going to answer. But once he’s fetched out four plates and dumped them on the worktop, he closes the cupboard door, straightens up and leans back against it, folding his arms.

  ‘I lived in Alpine, a little town east of San Diego. I worked as a car mechanic at a small independent garage, Mick’s Motors, owned by this guy Mick Franks who took it over from his Pop years before. He was a good guy, Mick, a guy you could enjoy a beer and a game with. One of our regulars was an old man, Mr Jacobs, in his seventies, retired. He owned this beautiful silver 1953 Porsche 550. It was his pride and joy. He brought it in for servicing every six months without fail, left it with us overnight and picked it up the next day. He loved that car. Two months ago he brought it in and I did the work, but when he didn’t come to pick it up the next day I thought something must have happened, thought he might have had a fall or a heart attack or something.’

  The timer pings. It’s one of those old fashioned egg-shaped ones in faded blue. Gabe stares at it as Joe checks on the chicken in the oven, the strong aroma of garlic hitting them as soon as the door is opened. ‘You actually seasoned it?’

  Joe shoots him a warning glance over his shoulder and Gabe lets it go. The egg timer has put him in mind of his Ma. She used to have one exactly like it in their kitchen at home in Phoenix, the same duck-egg blue with a slightly off-white face and a crescent handle in the centre to set the required time. He’s only seen one since, in a kitchen in a house where they sought shelter from a pack of rabid dogs a couple of weeks back. Odd that this place should have one too. His Ma died peacefully eighteen months ago and he’s glad of it now, she wouldn’t have wanted to be around for everything that’s happened.

  ‘Gabe?’ He blinks and looks at Joe, who’s obviously been trying to get his attention. ‘You listening or what?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. Go on.’

  Joe nods once and continues his story. ‘So I looked up Mr Jacobs’ address in the files and went round to his house. He lived on Main Street, in a bungalow set back from the road. It was a state. The front gate was broken, hanging from its hinges. There were weeds in the front yard taller than me. The house was in real need of a lick of paint and a whole load of work to the guttering, the windows, the roof.... It struck me how much he must really love that car to take such good care of it when everything else around him was going to shit. I leaned across the porch because I wasn’t sure it would hold my weight, knocked on the front door for a good few minutes. I started to feel like maybe I was trespassing, sticking my nose in where it wasn’t wanted. But when no one answered I went around back. The garden was the same state as the yard, with grass up to my knees and plants running amuck. The back door was open and I thought about calling the cops but then if he’d just fallen he’d be more in need of an ambulance so I went inside.’

  Gabe knows what’s coming next. He’s heard it from others caught up in the mayhem, the same story over and over. He doesn’t want to hear it again but he’s going to listen because the way Joe is looking at him, he knows that Gabe knows and there’s an apology in his eyes.

  ‘Mr Jacobs was lying in his kitchen in a pool of his own blood. Back then I had no idea the human body held so much of the stuff. He’d been... split, straight down the middle from chin to testicles, sliced straight through his clothes and opened up. All his organs were gone, he was just... empty. Not even staring ‘cause his eyes were gone too. I turned and ran. It had been a long time since I ran like that and my muscles were screaming by the time I reached the garage. I called the cops from there. Mick overheard me, looked at me like I’d lost my mind but I knew what I'd seen, won’t ever forget it. Mr Jacobs was the first. But it was that call to the cops that really scared me. It was a local station, local sheriff. I knew most of the officers who worked there because we were the only place in town and we had a small contract to service the cop cars. I got through to Dave Reese – Officer Reese – and when I told him what I’d seen I heard him muffle the phone and shout across to someone else, ‘We’ve got another one’. Sent shivers down my spine when I heard that. When I hung up, I took the keys to Mr Jacobs’ Porsche and told Mick to get the Hell out of Dodge, that something was happening, something was coming. I could feel it. I drove home to grab some clothes and left Alpine. I haven’t been back since. I feel guilty about that. I should have tried to do something, tried to alert the rest of the town, but I was so damn scared. I didn’t want to start a panic for my own selfish sake. I wanted a clear road.’

  There’s so much Gabe can say and before he met them he probably would have said it all. But he’s learnt that words are inadequate comfort. They’ve all done things that under normal circumstances would be considered morally wrong and legally questionable. Desperate times really do call for some hideously desperate measures.

  Despite the subject, despite the raw memories, the chicken smells good and his stomach’s grumbling as if it hasn’t had food in weeks. ‘How did you meet Matt and Luke?’

  Joe shifts from one foot to the other, just making himself comfortable. ‘I was headed north out of state. I knew there was something going on and it was extending much further than Alpine. I kept switching between local radio stations as I drove and while some of them sounded shocked at a first brutal death, others were closer to ‘state of emergency’ type panic. In hindsight the Porsche wasn’t the best car to choose, it drank gas and I was filling up every hundred and fifty miles. Two days out of Alpine I stopped in this place called Coaldale, a two-bit town with a motel, a bar and nothing much else. It was late. I decided to get a room and head off again in the morning. The bar was right across the street, a real dive but they served cold beer and warm Scotch so I pulled up a stool and ordered a couple of rounds. About an hour after I arrived there was a ruckus at the pool table; one guy accusing another guy of hustling. I didn’t pay it much attention and the bartender eventually threw them out. I assumed they settled it out in the parking lot then took off; they weren’t there when I left. But I’ve thought about it since and although I’ve never asked them I think it might have been Matt and Luke. We’ve both seen them do it, hustling for money to buy food and fuel when we still had to pay for those things.’

  When there were still people around who ran businesses. When people still cared about currency and ownership. Good times.

  ‘I went back to the motel and went to bed,
slept ‘til around three when I got woken by this screaming, so shrill it sounded like it could break glass. Didn’t sound human. I ran outside and it was obvious which room it had come from. One of the doors was open, there was light spilling out and as I got closer I could see a dead guy, or a dead something, just inside the room and two living guys standing by the bed in their underwear holding shotguns.’

  Gabe smiles. ‘Matt and Luke.’

  Joe nods. ‘Matt and Luke. They looked as surprised as I felt, though I got the feeling it was me who’d surprised them and not the dead thing on their floor. Without me uttering a single word, Matt started to explain that it had broken into their room brandishing knives. I didn’t see any but after what had happened back in Alpine, everything I’d heard on the radio and the fact they weren’t making a move to shoot me too, I just went with it. By the time they’d done with that short explanation, they were dressed, packed and ready to leave. I grabbed my stuff too, in case anyone had seen us and linked me to them, and I was all ready to follow them out of the parking lot and straight out of town, until they both saw the car I was driving and laughed themselves stupid. I took offence of course but Luke told me to get in the back of the Mustang, that having to stop every few hours for gas was gonna hold them up. I did what he said without question, abandoned the Porsche in the motel parking lot and went with them. You know, to this day I’ve no idea why. Kid’s got to be twenty years younger than me.’

  ‘People do what they say, follow their orders even when they’re not orders. It’s why those people stay alive. I’ve never given it much thought because what they say usually works. If that makes sense?’

  ‘It absolutely does.’ Joe pauses. ‘I wasn’t intending to stay with them. I thought I’d find a more suitable car and take off. I didn’t know them from Adam and though they seemed okay, I got the distinct feeling Matt didn’t want me around. But something happened. Several hours after we left the motel we stopped at a gas station. They'd been filling me in on the whole 'Hell on earth / end of the world' stuff and despite everything I'd seen, everything I'd heard, I'm still not sure I believed them. I stayed in the car while Luke filled up and Matt went in to the store to pay and collect a few things; snacks mainly, and soda. But when he came out of the store he had a brown carrier bag in one hand and a hand belonging to something that definitely wasn't human wrapped around his throat. He was backing out of the door like the thing was pushing him. I got out of the car but I’ve no idea what I was intending to do. I couldn't see Matt’s face from where I was standing but I thought he must have been scared because I sure would have been. Next thing I knew, Luke was across the forecourt with a knife produced from God only knows where and he sliced the thing's arm clean off, one chop, straight through. He didn't stop there, didn't even pause, plunged the blade into its chest, right between the ribs – assuming it had any – twisted it, pulled it back out and took the thing’s head off with one swipe. I could hardly believe what I was seeing; wouldn't have believed it if the thing wasn't still twitching on the ground, its head six feet away! I remember Luke pulled some paper towel from the dispenser on the side of the pump and wiped the knife with it like it was just dirty and not dripping with blood. Then unbelievably I heard him ask Matt if he remembered the Mountain Dew!’

  Gabe laughs, genuine and out loud, and Joe's smiling too.

  ‘That's not the funniest part, because Matt just looked at him, said, 'Fuck! no...' and went back inside! Came out twenty seconds later with a six pack of Mountain Dew and a bottle of Jack Daniels.’

  Amused, Gabe lets the silence linger for a couple of seconds. ‘I watched Matt take out that demon dog in Williams. One shot in the head, no hesitation, no near miss. Gotta wonder where he leaned to shoot like that, when he stopped being scared.’

  Joe sighs. ‘Unfortunately I think it was out of necessity. They've led tragic fucking lives those two. I hope it's over, hope they can find some peace, take a break, have a holiday. Although I'm not sure what their idea of a perfect vacation would be.’

  ‘Safari park?’

  He’s smiling again. ‘Maybe, if we could stop them from shooting the animals out of habit.’ The timer, which he’d reset, pings again. ‘Could you fetch the potatoes? They’re just inside the pantry door.’

  ~..~

  Everything's cooked an hour later. Emilie tucks into the food, her wine glass refilled and the log fire keeping her feet warm. If this is the last place on earth she’s ever going to see, she thinks she’s okay with that. Living on greasy junk food for the last week, and on anything she’s been able to get her hands on for weeks before that, has done nothing good for her skin and she’s lucky her natural size is skinny because otherwise she would have ballooned out to the size of an elephant. They’ve avoided meat recently, at least until they arrived at the diner and found it packaged and frozen, cooked it themselves. She might not be squeamish but watching people tearing other people apart is enough to turn even the staunchest carnivore into a vegetarian, and after what they found in Wallace she did lose her appetite for a good few days.

  She glances up when Rick takes a seat in the opposite corner of the couch, plate in one hand, fork in the other. He doesn’t look cold, doesn’t look as if he needs the fire’s heat like she does, or even wants it. But there aren't many places to sit. Rick was the last one to join their peculiar little gang after Matt dragged him out of a dumpster behind a strip club in Michigan Bar, saving him from what she would have described as a zombie attack if Joe hadn't banned any of them from using the ‘Z’ word.

  ‘Why? That’s what they are!’

  ‘Why?! Because it’s ridiculous, that’s why! There are no such things as zombies! It’s a Hollywood term, made up by overzealous writers trying to make a quick buck. They’re the un-dead and that’s what we’re going to call them!’

  It’s the one and only rule (with the exception of the obvious one: don’t get yourselves killed) that he’s ever tried to impose on them, and even Luke and Matt have attempted to stick to it so she’s done her best too. She feels a knot in her stomach when she thinks about the two of them. After Rick came down and told them he was sure they were up in the turret room, she went up to check for herself. Matt has a distinctive, breathy snore that they all got to know well during the week at the diner and she agrees with Rick, it’s what she can hear when she presses her ear to the intricately carved door. They can’t be one hundred percent certain without breaking the door down, and it looks heavy and solid enough that she doubts they’d be able to. She doesn’t think they should try. She just hopes that it is them up there, enjoying a well-deserved rest. She’s going upstairs too, after she’s eaten, to put her head down on a proper pillow and hopefully sleep for a week. She doesn’t hurt as much as she thinks she should but she’s exhausted and relieved that the war’s apparently over or at least on hold. Whatever’s landed them here, wherever here is, she’s oddly grateful for it. She isn’t sure she has the strength to start fighting again.

  ‘I remember the first time I laid eyes on Luke,’ she announces suddenly, more to the fireplace than to Rick. They have talked a little, now and again, in the back of the jeep and keeping watch at the diner. He knows a bit about her, she knows almost nothing about him, but he’s never seemed interested in telling her anything. She’s usually happy to talk, especially when she’s anxious which she has been for weeks now, right up until the battle today, a battle which feels further back in the past with each passing hour.

  Rick glances up at her. ‘In the hardware store? I am curious how an intern goes from stitching up gunshot wounds to stealing shotguns and ammo.’

  He says it with a smile and she smiles back. She’s never sure if he’s flirting and if he is it’s in the same mild way he has been doing since the day they met, something she put down to habit more than any real interest in her on his part. When they did meet he was covered in trash and she was covered in intestines, which didn’t make for the best of first impressions.

  Not that he�
��s in any way good-looking. His face is thin and his cheeks are hollow. His loose suit hangs off his scrawny body as if he’s lost a few pounds since he bought it. His sparse facial hair looks like it hasn’t made a clear decision whether or not it wants to grow and the fact that they pulled him out of a dumpster behind a strip joint doesn’t help. But in spite of all that he seems genuine enough.

  ‘Short answer, I started to notice that more people than usual were dying in the hospital.’ She smiles at Rick’s expression. ‘I know, people think that patients die all the time but they don’t. Believe it or not, the majority at Inter-Community do get better and get to go home. The hospital provides excellent care. But patients started dying when they shouldn’t have done: on the operating table due to unexpected complications, waiting for triage in the ER, even just in their sleep. I overheard nurses talking about it, doctors using terms like ‘super-bugs’ and other interns saying their departments were losing patients after minor procedures. One week the ICU lost every patient due to one complication or another. The cops and reporters started to take an interest. A friend of mine from med school – Katie – said she thought one of the doctors was killing people off like in that book Coma, where the surgeons pretend patients are dead then take them to this futuristic lab for use in experiments.’

  It still amazes her that the truth is more unbelievable than their theories. One day, if the world survives, someone will make a movie about what’s happening. Chances are someone’s already writing it, sitting in the trashed ruins of a coffee shop in Hollywood. She hopes Mila Kunis will play her even though they look nothing alike.

  ‘We thought it might be Doctor Franklin. He was this creepy surgeon who always wore latex gloves around the place, even when he wasn’t in the OR. We followed him one night but all he did was rent a couple of DVDs, get takeout at the Chinese place around the corner from his apartment block and go home.’