But no one was crazier than Ana. It’s strange to kill Lexers without her to watch my back and make ridiculous comments. She was reckless, but she always survived. I truly thought Ana would outlive us all. Never in a million years did I think she’d end up a zombie.
Adam stands from his corpse, brown eyes sad the way they sometimes are. He takes no satisfaction from this, probably because he had to put a kitchen knife in his boyfriend’s head last year. But he does what needs to be done in his quiet way. Nelly puts an arm around his slim shoulders while we return to our positions.
It’s only another few minutes before they’ve filled every container. In the silence, the wind rustles the branches of the only two trees for block after block of concrete. This town was not designed with aesthetics in mind.
“We’re just about full up,” Zeke says. He smiles under his bushy beard. “We got lucky here, no doubt. Let’s look in the store in case there’s something.”
Margaret, Tony and Shawn head for the store, where the broken windows practically assure us that nothing worth taking remains. Kyle opens the camper door and scoops up his four year-old daughter, Nicki. She rubs a hand on his shaved head and asks, “It’s safe now, Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby,” Kyle says. “Do you have to go potty before we leave?”
Kyle is average height but wide enough to appear tall, with brown skin, well-sculpted features and nice eyes that he hides behind sunglasses much of the day. He’s friendly, but the only time I’ve ever seen him happy is when he’s with Nicki. Otherwise, he acts like a military man on a mission—which I guess is what he is.
“Uh-huh,” Nicki says with a bounce of her two puffy pigtails. “Can I go in the RV?”
We only use the bathroom in the RV when we need to, so as not to waste water. We’ve left a trail of pee between here and Quebec, but since this area doesn’t afford much privacy and we don’t let the kids out with Lexers nearby, we’ll use the toilet and flush only when full.
“I think we could use a little luxury,” I say.
“You need me to come?” he asks.
“I’ve got her.” He nods his thanks and sets Nicki on the steps.
Inside, Ashley’s dark blond ponytail swings as she struggles to keep Barnaby in one spot on the RV’s floor. Barn’s so excited by the sight of his leash that he dances in a circle, tail whipping around. “Barn, sit still!” Ash pins him down and clips it to his collar. “This dog is such a dork.”
Barnaby is a dork, and he’s also not allowed out until we know the coast is clear. He either barks at Lexers or tries to run in a whimpering mess, neither of which is helpful when you’re attempting to be quiet and unobtrusive. Ashley, however, has shown herself to be both in the past day, especially for a sixteen year-old.
“We saw a few out there,” I say. “So give him to someone else to walk, okay?”
“I’ll take him,” Maureen says from where she folds blankets. She puts on her coat and takes the leash from Ash.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I can do it.”
Maureen gives me a motherly look. “I may be an old lady, Cassie, but I can walk a dog around a parking lot. Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re not old. Just well-loved.”
She spanks my behind as she’s dragged out the door by Barn. Maureen’s in her fifties and full of energy, although the past days have aged her more than I care to see. I must look like I’m forty instead of thirty, and I feel like I’m ninety.
“Okay, let’s go potty,” I say to Nicki. “This is so much better than a tree, isn’t it?”
“It’s really hard to go on a tree,” she says, her long-lashed eyes round.
She doesn’t know how adorable she is, which makes her even more so. It’s no wonder Kyle can barely smile. I’m worried enough about Bits and Hank, but I know they can run. They could fend for themselves for a little while, maybe a long while, whereas a four year-old is as good as dead by herself.
“That it is,” I say. “But I still like being a girl.”
“Me, too. I think I have to poop. Can you wipe me?”
I sigh inwardly. Of course she has to poop. Everything has to poop. I’ve spent a lot of time in the past day escorting various life forms—a cat, a dog, small children—to places where they can poop. It’s a good thing Penny’s baby isn’t due until December; cloth diapers would be a nightmare.
“Can’t wait!” I say. Nicki dissolves into giggles as we head for the bathroom.
CHAPTER 3
The sun is almost down when we finally make it out of town. I’m behind the wheel of the VW and remembering why I like automatic transmissions. “I hate myself for saying this,” I say, “but Miss Vera is possibly not the best car for this journey.”
“You think?” Peter asks. I laugh—he’s improved his sarcasm in the past year. “Even with Shawn’s new engine our top speed will be forty miles per hour once we get to the mountains.”
“Say it isn’t so!” Penny calls from the back. She loves Vera as much as I do. “We’ll have to get a minivan or something.”
“Another pickup with an extra gas tank would be good,” I say. “I don’t mind being squished if we don’t have to stop as often.”
“Sparky can sit on my lap,” Bits says. “I don’t want her to ride in a different car. Or I could ride in the RV with her. They have a TV. Hank and I—”
“No,” Peter and I say at the same time. Neither of us is letting her ride in a separate vehicle ever again.
“It’s not a big deal,” Hank says. “We’re right next to each other, it’s not like—”
“Nope,” Peter says. He’s answered by two sighs. On the farm, we let them run free within the fences, but if there was ever a time when being an overbearing parent is called for it would be now.
I slow at brake lights ahead. Zeke’s voice comes from our handheld radio. “Big traffic jam up ahead. Move to the right shoulder and go slow. Gonna get a little bumpy, but it looks like someone cleared the way.”
This part of Canada wasn’t very populated, which has worked in our favor so far. But now, with the sides of the roads an inky black, it feels menacingly desolate. I straddle as much of the shoulder as possible and bump over the grass behind the RV.
A heavy fog has rolled in, making the cars in the gloom resemble a deep-ocean shipwreck. Our headlights pass over open doors and a particularly bad collision. Bodies dot the asphalt along with bags and suitcases that have burst open or been rifled through.
“Did you see that?” Hank yells, nearly giving me a heart attack. “There was one in that car! It was pounding on the windows and its face was all white.”
I hadn’t, but Hank’s aspiring-author description gives me plenty to go on. The stopped cars stretch on for another hundred feet before we’re back on asphalt. I wonder what became of all the people in those cars—another mystery chalked up to the zombie apocalypse. We spend far too much time trying to work these little mysteries out, almost like a game.
“What do you think happened there?” Penny asks.
“Maybe a pod caused it,” James says.
“Yeah,” Bits says. “Or the crash was first and there wasn’t enough time to move the cars before a pod came.”
“Maybe it was a roadblock,” Hank says. “We saw a lot of those when we were walking to Whitefield.”
A few more suggestions are thrown around. There’s never a winner, but it gives everyone something to do besides despair that we’ll meet the same fate as those cars and people.
“That’s it, gang, I’m not giving Vera up,” I say. “We can travel the country, solving mysteries. I’ll paint flowers on the side of our Mystery Machine.”
James breaks into the Scooby Doo theme song, and Bits and Hank join in with the rest of us; Scooby spans many generations. At the end, Peter does a Scooby Doo impression that’s so spot on I can’t see the road through my tears.
“What the heck?” I ask. “How did I not know you could do Scooby?”
“I’m full of s
ecret talents,” he says. “And I would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for you meddling kids.”
Everyone laughs. This trip sucks on so many levels—we’re missing so many, we have no home, we don’t have enough fuel or food, we have no idea what awaits us—but I’m in the Mystery Machine with what’s left of the best people on Earth, which kind of makes everything all right.
CHAPTER 4
The bus is quiet when Peter takes over driving. Bits and Hank have crammed in with Penny and James on the VW’s bed. Midway through the night, Penny and James will drive while we sleep through dawn. I lean my head against the window and watch the taillights of the RV. It’s slightly hypnotic, and with the heat blowing I have to fight to stay awake. I’m not afraid to sleep after my nap today; I’m yearning for it.
“Let’s turn off the heat,” I say quietly. “Just for a bit.”
“I know it’s your voice,” Peter says, “so it must be you, but are you really asking to turn off the heat?”
“I was never gladder in all my life than to find out that running a car’s heat doesn’t use extra fuel, but it’s putting me to sleep.”
“Sleep, I’ll be fine. Our shift’s almost over, anyway.”
It’s tempting, but it’s against the rules. The rules that are intended to keep us alive.
“Nope, one to drive and one to watch and keep them awake.” I switch off the heat and stretch. “Are you tired?”
“I don’t know if I can sleep.”
“Yeah.”
I don’t know what else to say. We drive in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. The spring before last, I never would’ve guessed Peter and I could do anything comfortably. Now, he’s one of the people I love most in the world. We have a special bond in Bits; everyone loves her, but I don’t know that anyone else has the drive we feel to keep her safe at any cost. The relief that she’s only feet away makes me exhale.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asks.
“Nothing. I just…Bits is back there, you know? I really didn’t think—”
I see Peter’s smile in the lights of the dash before it falls, and then I want to kick myself. Saving Bits is all jumbled up in losing Ana and Dan and John. Peter would never say it, but I’m afraid he’s angry at me for being the one to take Ana out of the world for good. Maybe I should have left her like that, but I’d sworn I wouldn’t.
“I promised her,” I whisper before I can think better of it.
“What?”
It’s cooling down quickly, although that’s not why I shiver. I clamp my knees together and slip my hands under my thighs.
“Who? What do you mean?” Peter asks again.
“Ana,” I whisper. “I promised her I’d do it if…I’m sorry.”
There’s a long silence, this one not so comfortable. I continue looking out the window and out of the corner of my eye see Peter glance over, but he doesn’t say a word.
Penny clears her throat. “Hey, it’s almost our turn.”
She perches on the folding seat with her legs by the shifter and rests her chin on my shoulder. I’m glad she heard. It saves me from having to say it twice. I pull my hands from under my legs and hold the arm she’s wrapped around my middle.
“Love you,” Penny says.
I nod because I can’t speak. They deserve to cry more than I do, and they’re not, so I don’t. I wish Peter would say something, anything. Tell me that he hates me or that it’s okay. I watch the road until the lead vehicles slow to switch drivers and gas up. The two-lane road is empty and Tony, who’s been driving the pickup, has chosen an open spot in which to stop. We leave the kids sleeping and spill out into the cool night air.
Tony has spiky, dark hair and cherubic cheeks when he smiles, which is often. He’s pulled the pickup alongside the VW, and now he unhooks the nozzle from the in-bed tank. When the VW is full, he moves to top off the RV while the rest of us watch the fields or get ready for bed.
“We’re making good time,” Zeke says from where he stands in the headlights. “If we keep this up, we’ll get there in a few days.”
“Well, now you’ve jinxed us,” Shawn says with a grin. He stands, feet apart, and stretches his beefy arms above his head. “But I’ll be asleep, finally, so just let me die and don’t wake me.”
Jamie hits his side. He drops his arms with an oof. “Don’t even joke about that, Shawn.”
“Why?”
“Because I have you trained and really don’t want to go through that again.”
Shawn and the others laugh, but Jamie’s mouth is tight. I pull on one of her curls when she passes. “I’m just tired,” she says. “And I hate when Shawn says stupid shit like that.”
She shrugs and climbs into the RV. Peter and I ready ourselves for bed while James drives. I’m glad it’s dark, that Peter can’t see how distressed I am that he still hasn’t spoken. I pull back the covers to find Bits practically on top of Hank. This may be bad for Hank, but it gives us more space. I lie on my side, Peter’s warmth on my back, and have just closed my eyes when I feel his shoulders shake. I hesitate before I flip to place my hand on his chest. He may not want me to hear, but I can’t ignore his crying now that I have.
Peter’s hand covers mine. “I’m glad you promised.”
I can’t see his expression, but the softness in his voice and touch ease my anxiety. His arm moves under me and I rest my head on his shoulder. It’s a comfort to hold on to something, and I know he feels it by the way his heart slows. I wait for its beating to return to normal before I allow myself to sleep.
CHAPTER 5
I jump awake at Penny’s frightened yelp in time to see a Lexer bounce off the left corner of the VW. Shadows move on the side of the road just outside the reach of our headlights. A flashlight points from the pickup’s side window, illuminating hundreds of Lexers on the south side of the road heading straight for us.
“Keep going, keep going,” a voice yells from the radio. “They’re behind us, too.”
Peter laces up his boots and sits at the ready, his machete glinting in the lights of the dash. I find my gloves and boots in the dark and grip my axe. I don’t dare turn on the interior lights in case it attracts more. James accelerates to avoid the onslaught, but the VW is hit by a mass of bodies hard enough to throw us to the right. I slam against Peter and the kids land in a pile on the floor. James curses and yanks the wheel straight. We could have hit a huge pod—one of the pods we think are moving north—and if it’s them, we’re fucked. I press a flashlight to the window. It’s smeared with juices from decaying bodies, but the beam carries far enough to see an end to the sea of white faces.
It’s good news, but it doesn’t mean we’re safe. James fights his way down the clogged road, finding the open spaces so he can push them out of the way without creating a hill of bodies. Out of all our vehicles, the VW is the weakest and lowest to the ground. It would be best to follow in the RV’s wake, but we can’t speed up to get close.
I order the kids to get on their shoes and coats, and then slip our backpacks on our shoulders. A Lexer slams into James’s side window hard enough to crack it with a sound like a gunshot. James curses, but he’s calmer than I could ever hope to be. James is always calm.
I hold Bits and clench my teeth so as not to scream the way she does each time the VW swerves. I imagine the worst—that we’ll be pushed over or off the road and have to fight our way through to the others—and tell myself that we can do it again, as many times as we have to. We’ve done it before and we’ll do it again.
Another window cracks. I shove Bits into Peter’s lap, where he grips her, prepared to run. I raise Hank’s hand to my cheek to be sure he’s put on his gloves and then hold his gloved hand tight in mine.
Rotten faces appear in the headlights, hit the windshield and fall away. One struggles to stay upright, its hands wrapped around the windshield wiper, before it goes down and takes the wiper with it. A head hits the glass and explodes like a rotten jack-o’-lantern, leaving a starbu
rst in the glass and a flood of whatever filled its brain cavity. James tries the wipers, but the wiper on his side is somewhere on the asphalt and Penny’s side becomes only marginally cleaner.
Penny peers through the murky windshield and directs him through the throng in a surprisingly steady voice, until the hailstorm of hands lessens to a gentle patter before it ceases completely. A few miles later, we pull over and exit on shaky legs. I can make out more than just shadows now that the sky is lightening, but I can’t see the full extent of the damage until Zeke turns on his flashlight and lets out a low whistle. Miss Vera is destroyed. Windows are cracked and the beautiful paint job that the previous owner must have waxed weekly is marred by Lexer sludge and dents.
“I’m so glad I wasn’t driving,” Penny says, hand to her mouth.
James puts an arm around her and grimaces. “I wouldn’t have gotten out of that without you.”
“I think we’ve learned a valuable lesson,” Mark, a compact older man with a trim beard, says. He still acts like the history teacher he was before Bornavirus hit. “Driving at night does not seem to be a viable option. Our lights can be seen for miles. A pod that might have missed us in the day will surely race for us at night. We’ll never see them coming.”
I know we’d all been thinking the same thing, but it’s such a demoralizing thought that I was reluctant to bring it up.
“It’ll take us double the time,” Mike says. His long face looks as if it’s lengthened by a couple of inches. His twenty year-old son, Rohan, nods. “I know we don’t have a choice, but we don’t have enough food.”
The RV that arrived from Whitefield hadn’t been a part of their bug out plan, just a place where kids would gather to watch the occasional movie. We have enough food to feed ten people for a week on portions that aren’t generous. It was going to be tight feeding twenty for four or five days. Nine or ten days will be even tighter.
“We do have a choice,” Mark says. “But prudence pays, especially with the monsters.”
Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky Page 2
