The Ending Series: The Complete Series

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  I picked up the can, listening as its liquid contents sloshed around inside. It was half-full of the precious fluid we so desperately relied upon. A triumphant smile spread across my face—a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

  Holding the can away from my body, I left the shed and walked toward the barn. I was trying to keep the dirty container as far away from my white jacket as possible. It’s brand new, I rationalized, realizing my silliness.

  As I neared the barn’s red doors, I noticed icicles hanging from the corners of the roof. I set the gas can down and took a deep breath before entering.

  Although it was dark inside, I could make out a go-cart tucked away in the back, a chainsaw hanging on the wall, and a small snowplow parked in the corner. Assuming there would be much more snowfall before we left, I knew the plow might come in handy. Unfortunately, all the fuel tanks were empty, so I walked back out into the cold December afternoon.

  A crow cawed above me as I closed the barn door. I spotted the black, iridescent bird on a nearby tree branch. Its head cocked to the right and then to the left as it examined me through its binocular vision.

  A chill raced through me, and for once it wasn’t from the frigid air. I thought of the mountain lion attack and wondered what had provoked it. I tried to recall any other animals I’d seen acting strangely. Other than Sammy and the big cat, the lone bird was the first animal I’d noticed since arriving at the cabin. My imagination ran away from me, and I began to feel uneasy standing outside alone. I suddenly felt miles away from the safety of the cabin. Staring up at the bird, I wondered if it had been changed by the Virus too.

  Just as I decided the thought was probably ridiculous, I laughed, and the bird leapt from the flimsy branch and flew away. Its caw disturbed the still, crisp afternoon air.

  Following the bird’s departure, my gaze fell upon a tire swing hanging from another barren tree branch. The seemingly insignificant sight broke something inside me. My heart seemed to seize as memories I’d kept buried for days came flooding to the surface of my mind, unhinging my composed façade.

  My father stood beside me. His eyes seemed lifeless, but he smiled down at me as he pushed me on my brother’s old tire swing,

  “Is he mad that I’m on here?” I cried as Dad pushed me gently, back and forth.

  “No, he’s not mad. He hasn’t used it in years, and besides, he can share.”

  “Then why is he being so mean to me? He’s always so mean!” I held on to the inside of the tire more tightly.

  “It’s not you, sweetie. Don’t cry. He isn’t having a very good day, that’s all.”

  “He never has a good day.”

  I felt something warm on my cheek, but couldn’t break my train of thought…

  “Another scrape, sweetie?” Dad’s scruff had grayed, but his eyes were the same dull, muted blue.

  “I fell,” I whined and pointed to my scraped knee.

  He smiled at me and brushed my hair out of my damp face. “Don’t cry; it’s not that bad.”

  “It’s ugly,” I countered.

  He kissed my knobby knee and whispered the words I would never forget. “Every scar is a memory, Zoe, and a reminder of how strong you are, that’s all. Besides, this one’ll go away. I promise.”

  “But what if it doesn’t?”

  “If it doesn’t? Then, it’ll just be a reminder that you’ll get hurt, but you’ll get better too. Scars remind us we can live life without fear because no matter what happens, we’ll heal. We’ll get better.” Dad’s eyes watered as he stood and walked away.

  While I wished to see my father again, I feared I never would.

  Dad stood in the corner of the tattoo parlor, ignoring the scene taking place before him.

  “Are you sure you don’t wanna watch, Dad?” I teased.

  “Definitely not. I can’t control what you do to your body now that you’re an adult, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch it.” He didn’t look up from the magazine he was pretending to read.

  I glanced over at Dani and smiled. “This is so awesome!” We giggled and whined as we got our matching tattoos. Dad only participated out of guilt for forgetting my eighteenth birthday, as he had other birthdays. I took less offense as the years passed, knowing he was a royal mess when it came to Mom, whose birthday was the day before mine.

  The memories disintegrated into anger, sorrow, fear, and loneliness that gripped my heart and tugged on it as though they were trying to remove it from my chest completely. I dropped to my knees in the snow and gasped for air as my heart fractured. The tears I’d been fighting for days broke free, searing down my cold cheeks. I was exhausted and alone, left with no other option than to face the harsh reality that my dad was likely gone.

  Would he ever again utter words of wisdom to me or shake his head disapprovingly? Would he ever again touch my face, stroke my hair, or tell me how beautiful I was and how much I reminded him of the mother I’d never really known? Would I ever again feel the strength of his arms around me or hear his deep voice rumbling when he scolded me or told me to stop being so dramatic?

  If I ever loved a man or had children, would they ever know the person who had raised me, had loved me in his own way, and had done everything he could to take care of me on his own? Would my dad ever see the woman I would become?

  I feared I would never see my father again, and the thought shattered my heart into a thousand pieces.

  My world shrank, becoming small and empty as my fears seemed more and more like reality. I wished Jason were with me to tell me it would be okay, but even he wouldn’t know what to say. He never did.

  December 18, 1:00 PM

  From: Zoe Cartwright

  To: Danielle O’Connor

  Subject: Checking in…

  Hey D,

  We heard the man on the radio again today. He sounded very serious, but I guess with recent news, I’d sound like that too.

  He said that at least 87% of Americans are dead, and that the rate is still climbing. How does he know this, and how exactly are we alive again? I mean, I know they say it’s because most of us have already had the H1N1 Virus, but seriously, what are the odds? And what about the rest of the world? He said 845 people are alive and well at the Colony, and more are arriving every day. All sane people are welcome.

  Dave still isn’t really talking to me, but I’m hoping to leave within the next couple of days. I figure we can head to Sarah’s house in St. Louis as long as we have enough fuel. I hope we don’t run into any “Crazies” as you called them, and I hope you’re finding a lot of survivors (sane ones).

  I’d better go. Dave keeps hollering that there are strange noises coming from outside, but I don’t hear anything. Now that I’m wearing the pants around here, I guess I get to go check it out. Yay.

  Zoe

  13

  DANI

  Cam’s tacky fingers tangled in my hair, forcing me closer to him. Usually I would’ve found the experience enjoyable, but his extreme and evident deadness combined with his uncommon aggression marred the interaction. A lot.

  “No Cam!” I screamed and beat against his decaying chest. “You’re dead! Cam! Please…” He pulled me closer, threatening to assault me with his melting lips, and I screamed. It was the same blood-curdling scream I’d voiced in my nightmares every night since his death.

  Abruptly, Cam was gone. In fact, all of my surroundings had changed. I was now immersed in a vast, misty grayness. A tall man’s silhouette was visible a dozen feet away, the only distinct thing in the all-encompassing gray fog.

  “Who are you?” I asked. I’d never before been a lucid dreamer, but I seemed to be developing a knack for it.

  The mysterious guy startled me by answering, “I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re ready yet.” He sounded so sincere.

  Drenched in cold sweat, I started awake. I sat up, my heart beating rapidly. I could feel Jack’s head resting on my ankle and could see the faint glint from his eyes in the darkness.

&nb
sp; Chris, tangled in the sheets next to me, groaned with frustration. “D’you have another one?” she croaked.

  “Yeah,” I said hoarsely. “Sorry. It’s just so real. Why is this happening? Why is he always…why do I keep…why…” I trailed off into heaving, silent sobs.

  Jack whined and scooted further up the bed until he was cuddled next to my hip.

  Chris’s hand began the increasingly familiar, slow backrub. “Hush now, hon. Hush,” she soothed, her voice and touch noticeably easing my turmoil. Sometimes, especially when she was comforting me, her Midwestern upbringing truly shone. I was certain she contained some sort of emotion-drawing, mind-cleansing magic.

  Eventually sleep reclaimed me.

  ~~~~~

  The following morning, after consecutive nights of poor sleep, I was feeling restless and ornery. We’d finally arrived at our destination—a winery—and the estate’s huge, white Victorian farmhouse loomed ahead. I hopped out of the Humvee, grateful the lengthy drive from Longview to some Podunk Oregon town was over, and looking around, I stretched my legs. Along with the dense woods surrounding the manicured grounds, the house oozed the potential for ghosts and creepiness…or Crazies.

  It’s not like I’ve been sleeping well anyway, I thought, glaring at the beautifully maintained building.

  “So, isn’t this place great?” John eagerly asked Cece. He’d suggested we stay at the winery, claiming it was “the coolest place in Gold Hill.”

  I rolled my eyes as I stretched, sickened by John’s desire for Cece. In fact, anyone’s desire for the petite but impossibly curvy woman made me want to vomit. Repeatedly.

  Studying John, I wondered if I was judging him too harshly. It was entirely possible that he sincerely cared for Cece and wanted to comfort her—her search group had found her sister’s body in Portland the previous afternoon. Kasey obviously hadn’t died of the Virus—according to Jason, she’d been inhumanly sliced up. Strangely, seeing her sister’s mutilated corpse hadn’t seemed to affect Cece; she was still throwing herself at Jason, John, and anyone else with a penis. I had tried to express my condolences, but I’d been worse than shut down; I’d been ignored.

  Jason exited the same vehicle as Cece and ordered a security search. Ky, along with Hunter and Dalton, two of the Army Rangers, immediately headed for the house with weapons at the ready.

  Instantly and irrationally peeved, I closed the distance to Jason. “If there are people in there, you know they now have no option other than being hostile,” I stated quietly. I hesitated, uncomfortable going against Jason’s judgment, then continued, “I mean, they might be regular people like us, not Crazies or violent on their own, but with our guns in their faces…”

  He stared back with eyes that could have been carved from an iceberg.

  “Come on, Jason! You can’t believe everyone is trying to kill us—we can’t just go around threatening to hurt every person we come across.” Running my fingers through my slightly tangled curls, I glared up at him.

  “I won’t let you make us into them, into those crazy people,” I hissed, standing on tiptoes to get closer to his stony expression. “I won’t let you hurt good people who’re just trying to survive.”

  At first Jason’s only response was a slight flare of his nostrils. A tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth followed a moment later. “And what will you do to me, Red, if I don’t change my evil ways?”

  I poked his annoyingly firm chest as I stuttered for an adequate threat. “I’ll…I’ll…”

  His arrogant almost-smile spurred me on. “I’ll spit in your food, but only sometimes, so you won’t know! And…I’ll put my dirty socks in your bed!” I toed his boot with my own to make the threat sink in.

  With utter seriousness he said, “That’s disgusting…although—”

  His response was cut short by the approach of the recently dispatched scouting trio.

  Jason leaned down and whispered near my ear, “If those socks are still on your feet…” He held my gaze as he stepped back a few paces. “I’ll keep your suggestion in mind.”

  I looked down to hide my suddenly burning face. Damn him!

  “All clear,” Ky reported. He looked like he was trying really hard to not focus on Jason and me—a difficult task considering he was talking to Jason.

  After shooting me one last frustrated look, Jason addressed the whole group. “Alright, listen up. Grab your shit, and find a roommate and a room. You have until tomorrow morning to yourselves. Just stay within sight and sound of the house.”

  I held back, waiting for the clustered bodies to clear away from the trunk before grabbing my pack and duffel bag. Chris waited slightly off to the side with her things.

  “Roomies?” I asked her once I’d retrieved my bags.

  She snorted, “As if I’d sentence anyone else to your pointy elbows!”

  Offended, I rubbed my left elbow with my free hand. It wasn’t that pointy. “At least I don’t tear the blankets away from you—you practically mummify yourself every night!”

  “I do not!” Chris exclaimed. She pointed to Cece, who was hurrying toward the red, barn-shaped winery. “Maybe you’d rather room with her?”

  We shared a speculative look, watched Cece stalk away, and exploded in uncontrollable laughter. The idea was just too ridiculous.

  Wiping happy tears from my eyes, I repositioned my bags and elbowed Chris gently. “C’mon, let’s grab a room before all the good ones are taken.” Calling Jack to join us, we hustled into the house.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was exploring the winery with my dog. Huge steel tanks, presumably filled with liquid happiness, occupied the cavernous space. I passed them by, hoping to find where the bottled wines were stored so I could bring an armful of them up to share with Chris. And maybe Jason. If he was nice.

  Jack scurried around the nearby alcoves, sniffing everything his nose could reach. All I could smell was wine and oak.

  Entering a smaller, darker room, I heard a muffled noise—a scuffle of shoes, a rustle of clothing.

  I paused in the open doorway, but Jack didn’t. He stalked into a room that reminded me of a library, but instead of shelves filled with books, there were towering rows of oak barrels on metal racks. As Jack stalked down the main aisle, silent as a wolf, he abruptly halted, and his ears perked up. He was staring into one of the dark recesses on the right. Too curious to resist, I quietly followed his path, stopping beside him to peer into the shadows. I’d found the cause of the noise.

  Cece was there…and Jason. Barely ten feet away, he stood with his back against the wall, his face tilted up slightly. His expression, with closed eyes and parted lips, turned my insides molten. In front of him, Cece’s mouth was latched onto his neck like she was an oversized leech, and she was murmuring and moaning. Her arm was working methodically, and I didn’t need to be any closer to know which of Jason’s appendages she grasped in her hand.

  I squelched my churning emotions, an extremely uncomfortable mixture of arousal and disgust, but couldn’t tear myself from the scene. Like watching a car crash, I stood by, stared, and felt despicable.

  To my unmitigated horror, a deep, menacing rumble began in Jack’s chest.

  Like lightning, Jason’s eyes were open and boring intensely into mine. He inhaled sharply and seized Cece’s arm with one hand, the back of her neck with the other, immobilizing her.

  Seeing his eyes open and focused on me, I froze for the briefest of moments. Then I fled. I sprinted back out the way I’d come in, not stopping until I was in my shared bedroom. Panting, I leaned against the door.

  “I really…need…some wine…like…right now,” I told a startled Chris between breaths.

  She shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” She set aside the laptop and hustled from the room. Minutes later, she returned with four different bottles of wine and two enormous glasses.

  “Well, hon, what’ll it be?” she asked, displaying her spoils like she was hawking fake designer bags on a street corner.

&
nbsp; “Is there a red? A really big, really fat red?”

  Once I had a generously filled wine glass, I proceeded to describe the whole sickening encounter in the winery. If I held back my inappropriate, voyeuristic response, well, some things are just too embarrassing to admit out loud.

  Date: December 18, 3:00 PM

  From: Danielle O’Connor

  To: Zoe Cartwright

  Subject: Eyeball vomit

  Zo,

  Pervy Dave is lucky that Jason wasn’t sitting near me reading your email over my shoulder. He’s been known to try, the nosy slime ball! But Dave stopped, right? He didn’t try to force you or anything, did he? I’m learning how to fight, so I could kick his ass for you if he did.

  Holy crap! You’re like a member of the X-men! You see people’s memories? Seriously Zo, you’re like a goddess. It’s kind of awesome...except for the part where Dave is such a pervert and has creepy sexual memories playing through his head. But they are his memories. I mean, I have lusty imaginings I wouldn’t want anyone else to see either.

  But now Dave is being a baby? He’s just pissed at you for denying him. I think you should do two things: 1) hide or throw away all of the booze (I’d vote for hiding it) and 2) tell him about your amazing new talent. Maybe knowing what really happened will make him act like less of an uber-douche dickhead. If he really cares about you, which you seem to know because of your superpower, then he shouldn’t react too badly, right?