Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  The best thing to do is play it safe unless we have a good reason not to. There’s the fear that we’ll run into a giant pod of Lexers if we travel slowly, but it’s close to a certainty that we’ll run into a smaller pod at night; they’re a dime a dozen.

  The sun has risen by the time we’ve emptied the VW and moved it off the road. Miss Vera has become one of the cars you see by the roadside—abandoned, dented and bloody. A mystery that only we have the answer to. But I don’t feel as sad as I expected at her loss: We’re still alive, and for all her beauty she is, after all, just an artfully arranged collection of wood and metal.

  “Thanks, Miss V,” I say to her. I snap a picture with Adrian’s phone and put my arms around the kids. “Guess you’re gonna get some TV.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “We need better maps,” James says from the table in the RV. “There are tons of back roads, but they’re not on the map. What we really need is a road atlas.”

  We’ve been checking cars and a few houses we’ve passed, but all we’ve found are folding maps that show only main roads.

  “If we can find a phone book, we can find a bookstore. That’s—” I stop. That’s what Ana and I did when we saved Nelly from his infection. “It’s probably the best way.”

  James nods. “We’re coming up on Thunder Bay. There should be a bookstore there.”

  “And a new car, maybe,” Tony says from the front.

  It’s tight in the camper. Five adults in the pickup leaves fifteen in here. Even minus the four kids in the bedroom watching a movie and Penny in the bed over the cab, we’re cramped. But no one’s sold on the idea of using more gas than we need.

  I sit with Maureen. Her brown bob is limp, but her cheeks have gone back to plump from where they’d fallen at the news of John’s death. She’s the caretaking type, and we give her something to do. She’s fed us pasta and cleaned up, and now her arm is around me on the couch. I snuggle in and am reminded of Hank on my lap. I wonder at what age you stop wanting your parents when things are rough. Maybe you never do.

  “A van,” Nelly says. “That way we can all fit if we had to.”

  “And you can ride with us,” I say.

  “What makes you think I want to ride with you?”

  “My delightful odor?”

  Everyone laughs, although it’s true. The RV is full of potable water that shouldn’t be wasted; otherwise I’d even take a cold shower. I’ve changed into a spare outfit because the one I wore when we left Kingdom Come was disgusting enough that I left it in Quebec, and I have one more change of clothes after this. Ana’s bag is here, but I don’t think I can bring myself to wear her clothes. Besides, it’s probably leather pants, which are warm when it’s cold but sweaty when it’s not. It’s sunny and in the fifties; I thought September would be colder up here.

  “Turn’s coming up,” James says to Mike, our driver.

  “Here goes nothing,” Mike mutters. He turns off the highway and slows at two houses with only trees for neighbors. “What do you think?”

  It looks safe enough. I follow Peter and Nelly to the blue house, whose door is easily kicked open by one strike of Zeke’s heavy boot. Inexpensive but nice furniture and a huge television make up most of the living room’s decor. It smells fine, but we call out to be sure nothing’s lurking before we step in.

  “If you were a phone book, where would you be?” Nelly asks.

  “Kitchen,” I say. “Maybe office. There were no smartphones when you were growing up. Don’t you remember looking things up the old-fashioned way?”

  Nelly grunts and moves left to the kitchen, where he drops his machete on the table and searches the cabinets. I poke around in a guest bedroom-slash-office down the hall. There’s no phone book in the drawers or closet, but I grab the ream of paper that sits next to the printer and every writing implement I can find. I’m shoving it all into a pillowcase when Peter appears at the doorway.

  He sets down a litter box, which he must have emptied, a box of litter, and a bin that he opens to reveal dry cat food. “We won’t have to feed Sparky and Barnaby our food.”

  “Or walk Sparky, thank God.” It’s not the walking of the cat that’s so bad, since she has the harness I made, but she plants her butt on the ground or pounces on waving grass instead of doing her business. “What happened to the cat that was here?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  All the people who’ve died is a bigger tragedy, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling terrible about the animals who must have starved or died of thirst waiting for their owners to return. If they weren’t eaten by them.

  “Look at all this paper and stuff,” I say, rather than think about the cat that’s probably curled up in a corner somewhere, desiccated and pathetic. “Bits and Hank can start on their next comic.”

  “Good thinking. They’ll be excited.”

  Peter takes the pillowcase and throws it on the bin, then leaves for the RV. I look around in the living room for something to read, but these people preferred electronic entertainment.

  Zeke stands at the front door, his beard just brushing the arms he’s folded over his chest while he keeps watch. “What, no books, sugar?”

  “Not a one.”

  “We’ll find you something to read.” He points to the coffee table’s lower shelf. “Looks like a magazine under there.”

  I pull out the celebrity magazine. The first few pages inform me that celebrities are just like me—They take out the garbage! They walk down the street!—and I drop it to the floor in disgust. “I’d rather read can labels. Although the thought of all those people becoming zombies is somewhat heartening.”

  Zeke’s laugh follows me into the kitchen, where I find Nelly fighting to open a large drawer. Batteries, scissors, screwdrivers, instruction manuals, and other assorted things leap to the floor.

  “It’s like your kitchen,” he says to me.

  “Quiet, you,” I say. “Every kitchen needs a junk drawer.”

  “Except you had junk drawers, plural, and junk cabinets and junk—”

  I push him out of the way to retrieve the batteries and open the upper cabinets to find plenty of dishes but no food. Nelly checks the cabinet under the drawer and holds up two phone books in triumph. I trace my name in the film of dust on the microwave. Nelly adds his name and then writes were here underneath, and I giggle just as Peter comes up behind us.

  “How old are you guys?” he asks.

  I write his name, too. “We have to leave our marks. That way, one day people will remember us.”

  “Our names will be known far and wide,” Nelly says. “By all seven people still alive. Ready to check the fridge?”

  I make a face. There’s never anything except the smell of death inside. But it’s unwise not to check, especially since we’re low on food. I hold my nose and pull open the door. The stench fills the kitchen even though I slam it after the few seconds it takes to register exploded containers and a colony of mold.

  Peter leans into the living room for fresh air. “That’s never once been a good idea.”

  We trail him to the RV, where James locates a bookstore and a car dealership in town. The houses go from woodsy to houses and apartment complexes. There’s plenty of overgrown lawn on which to drive until we hit a length of road that’s been dug into rock. Even at a few feet tall, the walls are high enough to prevent skirting around the pileup that blocks the way. The RV won’t be able to navigate through the cleared spaces like the pickup can.

  Shawn stops alongside in the pickup and leans out the window. “Now what?”

  “Some of us take the pickup and meet back here,” Kyle says. “I’ll go.”

  I tilt my head to where Nicki stands, thumb in her mouth and eyes wide. Kyle’s jaw twitches, but he stays quiet.

  “I have to go, we might need my superior mechanical skills,” Shawn says.

  Jamie sighs from the back of the pickup. “I’ll go, if only to volunteer you as bait so we can escape.”
<
br />   I start to speak, but Peter coughs and looks to Bits, who might as well be sucking her thumb by the look on her face. “I’ll go,” he says.

  “Not if I don’t,” I say.

  I’m not chomping at the bit to head into a city that used to have a hundred thousand people and now may have half of that number of zombies post-winter, but I’d feel guilty if I didn’t volunteer. And I want to keep an eye on Peter.

  Peter frowns. “Why do you have to go for me to go?”

  “I’m just saying that—”

  “You stay.” Mark picks up his bow from where it rests on the counter. “I’ll come along.”

  “I’m four,” Zeke says. “That’s good enough. If we’re not back in four hours, you start down the road again.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Nelly, Peter and I keep watch from the RV’s roof. It’s a residential neighborhood, and there have to be Lexers in the side streets or backyards, waiting in that trance-like state for a meal. The plan is to make it past Thunder Bay before we find a place for the night. From what we can see on our useless map, there aren’t any roads that head north and skirt the town, so it could take hours.

  “Let’s find a big house,” Nelly says. “With lots of bedrooms.”

  “Bedrooms?” I ask with a wink. “Why? Huh?”

  Nelly shakes his head. “You really never made it past ten, did you?”

  “I did, just not when it comes to you and Penny.”

  “Great.”

  Peter laughs. “I’ll help scout out houses. Maybe a few of us should ride ahead and radio back if we see something that looks good.”

  “You’re not going ahead,” I say. “No one is splitting up.”

  “We’re split up right now.”

  “That’s because it’s unavoidable. Even a few miles are too much if it’s not necessary. You can’t go without me, and you wouldn’t let me go, would you?”

  “Why aren’t you letting me do anything, Mom?” Peter asks. “And why do you keep looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like he’s about to cannonball into a pool full of Lexers,” Nelly says.

  I look down because I know I’ve been caught. “I am not.”

  “Just stop doing or thinking whatever it is that you’re doing or thinking,” Peter says.

  The supply of people I love in this world is rapidly dwindling, and these two are at the top of the chart of those left. I rub at a scuff on my boot with my gloved finger. I don’t want either of them to see how scared I am at the possibility that they won’t make it. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  Peter leans into my line of vision. “I’m okay.”

  I believe him, but that only reassures me that he won’t do something dangerous on purpose. I have no control over the rest of the world, which appears to get its kicks out of throwing dangerous things our way. “Fine. But you’re not leaving me alone to raise two kids, so we have to do everything together.”

  “So they’ll have no one?” Peter asks. “I fail to see the sense in that plan.”

  “We’ll keep each other safe. Nelly’s in charge if we die.”

  “Hold on,” Nelly says. “I’m the gay uncle. I didn’t sign up for gay dad.”

  “Shush,” I tell him. I know he’d take the kids in a heartbeat. “The only option is to stay alive, so that’s what we’re going to do. We’ll be freezing our asses off in Alaska in no time.”

  “Well, someone’s turned into Pollyanna Sunshine,” Nelly says.

  “That’s right, so don’t fuck with me.”

  A pounding starts up from the closest house. The glass window of the garage door shatters and the arms and head of a Lexer poke through. It tries to pull back, but it’s managed to wedge itself in the small space. It’s a perfect kill shot, and we have to take it because its noises will draw any nearby Lexers straight here.

  “I got it,” I say, and climb down the ladder.

  Peter hits the ground a second later and raises his brows when I turn to him. “Everything together, right? I’m sticking like glue.”

  I snort and walk toward the garage. A year of zombiehood has not been kind to this one. Its skin has toughened into leather and only a wisp of hair remains. Nose gone, ear missing. You’d think the teeth would fall out of rotten gums, but those manage to hang on tight. A world of toothless zombies would be great. Or better. The damn thing keeps moving its head side to side, and I have to get closer than I’d like. I place one hand on his forehead and bring the tomahawk spike into his eye.

  “At least he wasn’t a gusher,” Peter says about the body that now hangs out the window. The older ones usually don’t have a lot of muck, but every once in a while you get one that throws out a ton of fluid and it only takes a few drops to make you stink. “I would’ve done it.”

  “Now you tell me,” I say, and wipe my axe in the long grass.

  The sun goes behind a cloud once we’re back on the roof. I wrap my arms around myself. It’s warmer than I thought it would be, but it’s nowhere near the eighty degrees I prefer.

  “What time is it?” I ask Nelly.

  “Time to get a watch,” he says.

  “You’re hysterical.”

  He looks at his wrist. “Ten, they’ve been gone two hours.”

  Another two hours and we’ll have to leave. I stand for a better view, imagining any number of ways they could have died, and see Lexers rounding the corner of a side street.

  “About twenty coming,” I say.

  “Shit,” Nelly says. “Now what?”

  It’s too many to take on foot or from the roof for no good reason, and a waste of good, noisy ammo. Nelly lifts the other handheld and says, “Lexers on their way. We gotta go.”

  They’re over a block away, but we still haul our butts to the door. Barnaby stands at attention and lets out a low bark. It’s his warning bark, soon to be followed by his incessant, incredibly loud barks. Tony fires up the engine and rolls back the way we came.

  “Zeke’ll find us down the road,” Kyle yells over Barnaby, who, sure enough, has moved on to stage two.

  “Quiet!” I clamp a hand around Barn’s snout until the only noise is quiet moofs. When he’s done, I pat his head with a sigh. I don’t want to leave Barn behind, but I’m afraid he’ll get us all killed.

  Tony stops at the highway. It’ll take a couple of hours for that group of Lexers to get here, and by then the others will be back. Or they won’t.

  “He wasn’t too loud, right?” Bits asks, imploring me to agree. “We can’t get rid of him.”

  I don’t want to lie, so I make a sound that isn’t a yes or no. Immediately, her eyes fill and spill over. Peter rubs his forehead. He gives Bits anything she wants, within reason, and even he’s silent.

  “Please,” Bits begs.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Peter says. “Right now he’s fine.”

  “I promise,” I say. “Okay?”

  Bits nods, but she’s still on course for a sobbing cry when Mike says, “How about a story?”

  Hank stops eyeing me and Peter as if we might kill Barn any second and asks, “What kind of story?”

  Mike spreads his arms. “A story of wonder and heroes and fantastical creatures. Of dark and light and good and evil.”

  Mike is a writer. His bug out bag contains mostly notebooks, with survival equipment thrown in as an aside. I get it; I would’ve loved to have brought art supplies. But as it is, I have enough things in my two bags that aren’t sensible.

  “I want to hear,” Nicki says.

  “Well, let’s go in the bedroom,” Mike says, and herds them away. “Once upon a time there was a princess—”

  “This is a good one. My dad told it to me when I was little,” Rohan interrupts. He looks like his dad, with his pale skin and shoulder-length dark hair, and has the same good humor.

  “That’s right,” Mike says.

  “Was she a fancy princess?” Bits asks. “I don’t like princesses that much.”
/>
  “No,” Mike replies. “She didn’t wear a crown. In fact, she wore her hair in two buns and carried a gun.”

  “Like Cassie!” Bits says.

  Mike winks at me. “Exactly. Anyway, like I was saying, this princess was strong and fearless. She was being held hostage by the forces of darkness—”

  “Is this Star Wars?” Hank asks.

  “Are you guys going to let me tell this story or not?” Mike asks. He shuts the door behind them.

  I kiss Barn’s golden-yellow head and turn away before he can give me a slobbery kiss on the lips. “We’ll have to do something if he won’t stop barking,” I say to Peter.

  I don’t know what we’d do; I couldn’t possibly kill him, and leaving him alone somewhere makes a lump rise in my throat. I know he’s only trying to protect us, but these aren’t criminals who are deterred by dogs. They eat dogs, and his bark rings out like a dinner bell.

  “How about a muzzle?” Peter asks.

  “They tried that on the farm. He still makes a lot of noise.”

  “Then I’ll train him to be quiet.”

  “Do you know how many times people have tried to teach him a trick? It never works.”

  Peter scratches Barn’s chin and then wipes his hand on his pants. “I’ll figure it out. I’ve always wanted a dog.”

  “He’s all yours.”

  Peter looks pleased by the idea. Nut job. He looks up when I rise to my feet. “Where are you going?”

  “Have to pee. Want to stick like glue now? Could get messy.”

  He laughs, and I realize I’ve made him laugh a few times today. My mother always said that humor is the last refuge of the damned, but I’ve found it’s the first refuge of the zombie apocalypse.

  CHAPTER 8

  A cheer rises in the RV when the pickup arrives fifteen minutes before our scheduled departure. They don’t have another vehicle, but I’m so glad to see them that I don’t care. Shawn jumps out of the van and salutes us. He reaches into the door and pulls out a thick book. “One back roads atlas, as promised. Two, actually.”