So Long, Lollipops (An Until the End of the World Novella)

by Fleming, Sarah Lyons

  “Nelly, this is Peter,” Cassie said. “Peter, Nel.”

  “Thanks for the drink, man.” Nel shook his hand and turned to Cassie. “Let’s get a cab.”

  Cassie stood and touched Peter’s hand. “It was nice talking to you. Let’s both take my advice, okay?”

  Peter didn’t want her to go. He knew that with her overprotective friend looming in the background, she wouldn’t give him her number. And if he gave her his business card he knew without a doubt she’d never call. “I’ll put you in a car. We have one on call for the office. Stay for one more drink?”

  She chewed her lip and looked at Nel. He gave her an it’s-your-life shrug. Peter squeezed her hand and flashed his most affable smile. “I need more advice. Just think, I’ll work forever at this job I hate and it’ll be all your fault.”

  Her laugh rang out. “Okay. I can’t be responsible for ruining your life.”

  “Text me when you’re home,” Nel said, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. The look he shot Peter before he left was one a big brother or father would have given. This was the guy to win over if he wanted Cassie to like him. He had a feeling that wasn’t going to be easy.

  They stayed until the bar closed. He thought about asking her to go to his place, but then she’d lump him in with every guy in every bar who’d ever tried to get her into bed. Not that he would’ve minded—from what he could see, those thirty dollar jeans would be a whole lot nicer on the floor—but he wasn’t going to scare her off. They stood in the cool early morning air and talked while they waited for the car. Cassie lit a cigarette and explained she was down to one a day.

  “But after a drink, or a whole host of drinks…” She blew the smoke into the air and sighed with pleasure.

  Peter smiled, although he hated cigarettes. He didn’t care what this girl did, as long as she did it near him. She was normal and weird and funny. And she was beautiful, in a way that grew on you instead of smacking you in the face. She was kind of like his mom, he realized, except for how he wanted to kiss her in a most un-motherly fashion, even with the cigarette she sucked down like it contained life-sustaining oxygen.

  The car pulled up, and she stubbed out her cigarette before looking for a garbage can. “I can’t throw it on the ground. It’s a product of being raised by environmentalist parents.”

  He held out his hand. “I’ll get it.”

  “Thanks.” She deposited it in his palm and smiled nervously. “Okay, well, goodnight. It was really nice to meet you.”

  The black car’s engine rumbled behind her. Peter had done this a million times, but he was genuinely afraid of being shot down for the first time since he was a teenager. He cleared his throat. “So, can I call you sometime? I might need more life coaching.”

  Cassie gripped the door handle. “I don’t—I’m not really…” She looked up at the sky and shrugged. “You know what? Sure. I’ll take my own advice.”

  She tapped her number into his phone and handed it back. Then, before he could even consider kissing her, she ducked into the backseat. “Goodnight, Petey.”

  He’d already tried to talk her out of calling him Petey, but apparently she was big on nicknames. “Goodnight, Cassandra.”

  She laughed because she’d mentioned earlier that no one ever called her by her full name. He watched the car drive away, grinning like an idiot; he already liked her more than he thought possible after only a few hours. He didn’t even care that his hand smelled like an ashtray.

  ***

  “We’re all set,” Chuck said, interrupting Peter’s thoughts.

  Peter shook off the memory. Even though things with Cassie had worked out differently than he had once hoped, it was still a good one. He never would’ve guessed that meeting her that night would save his life—in more ways than one. “Want me to take one of the rowboats?”

  “If you don’t mind rowing. We try not to run the engines unless we have to. We only use electric motors—quieter—but those still have to be charged.”

  “No problem.”

  Peter grabbed the oars and gained on the island quickly. Chuck and Nat were in the canoe, and Rich pulled the other rowboat with full, even strokes. Chuck pointed out a natural beach on the shore, and Peter rowed the boat up to the sandy area where he could disembark without soaking his boots.

  “We usually pull the boats into the bushes,” Chuck said, “but we’ll unload and get you to a truck.”

  Peter followed them through the trees with his load and assessed the island. It was about an acre, maybe. He wasn’t great at that kind of stuff, but he’d improved in recent months. These days, he could talk electrics with James, weapons with John and shoot the shit with Nel, all without feeling like he was in over his head or some sort of impostor.

  A path led to a small cabin that was cobbled together out of mismatched boards and outfitted with solid storm windows that were perfect for a cold Vermont winter. The small deck at the front opened into a main room about twenty by twenty feet. There were two doors Peter assumed were bedrooms and another door by the kitchen. Maybe they had a bathroom. It was cozy and bright, even if the sheet-rock was unevenly taped and unpainted. Chuck caught him looking and knocked on the wall in the kitchen area. The kitchen was outfitted with an inset sink that had no faucet, shelves stocked with packaged food and a wood stove for heating and cooking.

  “Not the prettiest house in the world, but, believe me, she’s solid. And warm—insulation’s inches thick. That’s why we sheet-rocked. Nat’s gonna paint it. Right, Nat?”

  But Nat had already disappeared through a door into what was her room. Peter could see a mattress and dresser, along with posters on the wall and a shelf lined with books.

  “How did you get all this here?” Peter asked.

  “We have a larger boat hidden on the other side of the island. Uses a lot of gas, but for big jobs, it’s the best.”

  Peter nodded and surveyed the rest of the house. You could tell it was designed by two guys, and as much as he abhorred the person he’d been, he couldn’t help but want to redecorate it, just a little. The plain brown couch wasn’t bad, but it should’ve been on the wall next to the windows, not stuck out in the middle, and the easy chairs should have been set near it to make a small living area. He’d arrange the dining table so that it opened the room. Paint those hideous brown wood side tables a light color. Some curtains to cover the black cloth they had for blackout shades. Some bright throw pillows. He didn’t sit through Grandma’s boring consultations with decorators and learn nothing.

  “Nice place,” Peter said.

  “Yeah, well, it works,” Chuck said, but Peter could tell he was proud. The same way Peter had been proud when he helped dig the ditch or fix the fence.

  “Do you have solar?” he asked.

  “Nah,” Chuck said. “Don’t know the first thing about it. We got ourselves a nice composting toilet and managed to get that working, but that’s about it.”

  Peter nodded. He guessed they’d be fine, as long as they laid in enough wood and food. Living on an island was pretty clever, but it didn’t leave a lot of space for growing things. He walked to the kitchen window and looked out at the garden. Some trees had been cleared to give it sun, but it would never produce enough to live on.

  There were tomatoes, red and ripe, that made him think of Ana. She loved tomatoes. It now seemed ridiculous that he was thirty years old and hadn’t kissed her, when it was so obvious she wanted him to. Ana was gorgeous, funny and, honestly, kind of insane. But he’d grown to appreciate that about her. There was hardly any gray; her world was all black and white. This was great when she was on your side, not so much if she wasn’t. But even when she drove him crazy, he still admired her single-mindedness.

  Peter had spent almost two decades afraid that no one would like the real him—Grandma certainly hadn’t. He loved how Ana didn’t care; either you liked her or you didn’t, and she didn’t waste time trying to convince you either way. And now that she’d matured out of her b
ratty little sister phase, everyone did like her. She was strong, opinionated and a fervent zealot of zombie killing, but she’d softened, too. It was obvious how much she loved them all, even when she tried to hide it behind her flippant grin and ever-present cleaver.

  He hadn’t wanted to start something with Ana because he could only imagine how awkward it’d be to have to live with two ex-girlfriends. Finally, last night, Cassie had ordered him to be happy and to stop wasting time. And he’d been about to do just that, until the Lexers showed.

  Maybe, when he next saw Ana, he’d take her face in his hands and kiss her, finally run his fingers down that silky brown skin. He wished he’d at least gotten that slow dance he’d asked Ana for last night, the one intended to break the tension that had sprung up between them in recent weeks. He sighed; he could wish all he wanted, but the only way to make any of it come true was to get himself to Kingdom Come.

  “You have any potatoes in?” Peter asked to fill in the silence that had grown as he’d gazed out the window. He was chock-full of introspection today, but he guessed a near-death experience could do that to you.

  “No, we started late. Spent the first part of summer just surviving, you know?”

  “Yeah. You should try to find some in the supermarkets or houses. I don’t know much about gardening, but you can at least try to save them for seed potatoes next spring. You can plant potatoes in a small area, and then let them grow vertically. Just add some more soil or hay on top.”

  “That’s a good idea. We don’t have much space. Next year we’ll start a garden on the mainland, if we’re still here.”

  Another couple of trips finished the unloading. Chuck thanked him and said, “Let’s get you on your way.”

  “I’m coming,” Nat announced and walked out of hiding. She’d changed into a bathing suit with a sundress over top. “I want to go for a swim with a bar of soap.”

  “All right,” Chuck said. “I have some supplies for the trucks, so I’ll take the rowboat. Pete, you want to go in the canoe with Natalie, so she doesn’t paddle in circles?”

  Natalie stuck out her tongue at her dad and giggled. Now that she was there, she seemed relaxed; they all did. He could hear Rich out in the yard, humming under his breath and talking to a dog Peter had glimpsed when they’d approached the cabin.

  The trees lessened the heat; maybe the water did too. What was a beastly hot day in Bennington was warm and breezy on the island. Peter shoved his button-down in his bag as they left for the boats. He’d wear his jacket on the road, for protection, but there was no reason to get all sweaty in the boat.

  Rich rounded the corner of the house. “You leaving?”

  “Yeah,” Peter said, and held out his hand. “Thanks for all your help. You don’t know how grateful I am.”

  Rich shook his hand with a nod and disappeared to the back.

  “Uncle Rich is a man of few words,” Natalie said. She picked her way down the trail in her flip-flops. “Can you not see why I’m starting to go crazy? Can’t you stay for a few days?”

  “Peter wants to get to his little girl,” Chuck said. He pulled a life vest off a tree branch by the boats and held it out to Nat. “Put this on.”

  “I didn’t wear one on the way out, Dad. I’ve been able to swim since I was, like, five.”

  “That’s because it was out here. If it’d been on shore, you would’ve worn it. What’s the first rule?”

  Nat didn’t answer, so Peter did. “Safety. It’s a good one.”

  “Traitor!” Natalie said, but she laughed and clicked the vest on.

  The trucks were a bit farther away than where they’d arrived. Peter dug his paddle into the water as they got close. Nat was paddling, but he hardly needed her. He’d be behind the wheel of a truck in less than fifteen minutes and would drive all night until he reached Kingdom Come.

  Natalie hopped out of the canoe before they reached the shore and then splashed in knee-deep water. This was another grassy clearing, with a similar dilapidated road that led into the woods. Parked on the grass were a pickup and a Mercedes G-Class.

  “Nice truck,” Peter said to Chuck, who’d pulled alongside him in the rowboat. “That yours from before?”

  Chuck laughed. “Oh, sure, a hundred grand was a drop in the bucket. Parked it next to my Rolls. You know cars?”

  “Not much. But I had an S600.”

  “Nice,” Chuck said with a low whistle. “You must’ve been doing okay.”

  “I guess,” Peter said. Except he hadn’t been. He didn’t like this new world, but he was possibly the only person who felt that they were better off than before.

  “It was at a big house outside Manchester. Only way I’d ever own a—”

  A shrill scream echoed. Nat had slipped out of the water and behind the trucks, where her father had warned her not to go without his ‘all clear.’ Her palms hit the truck’s hood, and Peter caught a glimpse of her terrified face before she slid off. Chuck was quick, but Peter was quicker. He leapt across the grass, machete drawn.

  The Lexer had Nat by her vest. It pulled her steadily backward despite her bare feet that scrabbled on the ground. Peter knew he had one chance to get the Lexer off; its teeth were perilously close to her neck, and there was more movement in the woods.

  “Get down! Duck!” he ordered Nat, who reacted immediately.

  He swung the machete into its mouth, bisecting the head, the top of which flew into the trees. The next few headed for where Natalie lay under the corpse of the first Lexer, its hands still tangled in her straps. He drove the machete into an eye, flipped the blade to his left hand and spun to shoot the two behind him at point blank range. It was better to avoid using a gun and calling everything within a few miles your way, but sometimes it was unavoidable. Thank God for Ana and her insanity. All that practice was paying off.

  Chuck had taken out the last two with his pistol, and now he was bent over Nat, disentangling her from beneath the Lexer. He didn’t see the one who came out from behind the other truck. Peter fired a perfect kill shot, but the bullet didn’t stop the Lexer’s forward momentum enough to keep it from knocking Chuck off balance and into Peter’s ankle.

  Searing pain shot up his leg when Chuck’s bulk hit, even with his boot for support. Peter put an arm on the truck and waited for the initial pain to pass while Chuck lifted Nat to her feet. The back of her head was wet with brains, and her pixie face was bright pink from the struggle to catch her breath. Chuck undid the life vest and inspected every inch of her, then raised disbelieving eyes to where Peter stood.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said. His face was almost as flushed as Nat’s. “They had her. Jesus.”

  Chuck opened the truck door and threw Natalie in. He slammed it and turned to face the woods, then fell against the truck. “I wouldn’t have made it in time.”

  “You would’ve,” Peter said.

  Whether or not that was true, Peter wasn’t sure, but Chuck needed to believe it. Chuck stared straight ahead. He wasn’t shaking, but he looked like a man reliving a nightmare. Peter knew; he’d been there.

  “I don’t know,” Chuck said. He looked Peter in the eye, not ashamed of the tears that filled his. “Thank you for saving my baby. You want that G-Class, it’s all yours.”

  Peter gave a small laugh but winced when he put weight on his foot. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the initial pain was getting a whole lot worse. His boot felt much too tight.

  “I nailed you in that ankle, didn’t I?” Chuck asked. “Let’s take a look.”

  Peter sat on a rock to unlace his boot and remove his sock. His ankle was already swollen and an angry pink.

  “God, I’m sorry,” Chuck said.

  Peter shook his head. It was his right foot, too. He’d drive with his left if he had to. “It’s all right. It’ll go down soon.”

  Chuck rubbed his beard and grimaced. “I don’t know. That looks bad. Did you feel or hear a crack?”

  “No, it just bent the wrong way.”
<
br />   “I guess that’s good. Rich could tell us more—he’s a nurse.”

  So, non-speaking, classical music-playing, flannel shirt-wearing Rich was a nurse. Peter smiled despite the pain and the sinking feeling that his ankle was about to throw an extra-large wrench into his plans. “Must have a hell of a bedside manner. Strong but silent?”

  “You’d be surprised.” Chuck guffawed and turned a fatherly look on him. “I think you should come back, at least for the night. It’d be better to leave in the morning anyway.”

  Peter’s chest tightened. He should have been saying goodbye and heading down the road right now. But, he reminded himself, he should have been dead on a dumpster right now, so another night was a lot better than what could have been. He pushed himself off the rock and gingerly placed the toes of his right foot on the ground. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Peter lay with his foot propped on the arm of the couch while Rich looked it over. Although his hands were gentle, it was enough to make Peter grit his teeth. It hurt almost as much as breaking his arm when he was nine.

  “No crunching feeling when I move it?” Rich asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, I can’t say for certain, but I think it’s a fairly bad sprain. You should stay off it for a week, then minimal movement for another week or more, depending. I’ll get some cold water from the lake for you to soak in and then we’ll wrap it up.”

  “I wanted to leave in the morning.”

  Rich had been businesslike during his examination, but now he squatted near Peter’s propped-up head with a sigh and a gentle voice. “I know you do. But you won’t be doing yourself any favors. What if you have to get out of the truck? The roads north aren’t all clear, even the small ones. I know, I’ve tried them. You can’t run with that ankle.”