After the Ending

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  The look on his face was excruciatingly heartbreaking. I threw my arms around him, squeezing him as tightly as I could. “Jake didn’t know for sure, H. You did everything you could. It’s okay.”

  Harper scoffed just as Jake averted his gaze.

  Releasing him, I sat up and waited for him to continue.

  He rubbed his hands over his face. “And then last night, I dreamt of a fire. I knew it was here on base, but I couldn’t tell where. I just know it’ll happen…I can feel it,” he said, shaking his head. “There was death and fear and screaming…I woke up before I could see anything else.”

  I studied Sanchez, who’d been standing silently, and then Jake, who had sat down on the opposite side of the tabletop, his feet on the bench and his elbows resting on his knees. I could feel Jake’s fear as he watched Harper intently. I had the distinct impression that there was something they weren’t telling me.

  When the wind shifted direction, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke, we all straightened in alarm simultaneously.

  “Please tell me Biggs is burning something,” I said, but before anyone could respond, one of the common room windows shattered, scattering shards of glass on the ground below. Black smoke billowed out, and flames lapped up the edges of the window frame.

  “What the fuck?” Sanchez exclaimed quietly, stealing the words out of my mouth.

  Before we could react, more windows burst. The fire spread hungrily, seeming to instantaneously engulf the barracks—the place that had become our home. Greedy flames consumed the walls and windows, and dense smoke filled the sky with a gray haze that blocked out the sun. I was lulled into a horrified trance by the crackling, roaring inferno.

  I heard movement behind me and looked over my shoulder to see Sarah, Biggs, and Cooper running toward us. The terrified look on Sarah’s face as her eyes found the flames triggered my own fear, and my heart seemed to stop. “Where are the others?” I shrieked hysterically.

  “Dave and Stacey were playing pool,” Sanchez said hollowly.

  In an instant, Jake was running toward the barracks…toward the flames…toward the death Harper had seen in his dreams.

  Without thinking, I was up and running too. “No!” I heard someone scream as I chased after Jake. It wasn’t until the second scream that I realized it was me.

  “Someone grab Cooper!” Sanchez ordered, and her arms latched around my chest, ripping me to the ground. I struggled against her, but the more I resisted, the more physical she got, grappling with me on the gravel.

  “Get off me!” I cried, but she ignored my demand.

  From my uncomfortable vantage point, I watched a surreal scene play out. Cooper’s fluffy tail hung low as he sprinted toward the barracks, following Jake. Harper grabbed the Husky and pulled him back, away from the blaze. In vain, I made a final attempt to break free from Sanchez’s stronghold.

  “Stop fighting me, Zoe! He’ll be fine. He’ll live!” she yelled, but I barely heard her.

  I saw Jake open the main doors and immediately step to the side, hesitating. A ferocious ball of flames exploded through the doorway, seeming to reach for him. Instantly, I stopped fighting. Sanchez froze behind me, her arms and legs still tight around my body. The moment Jake lunged into the hungry flames, terror flooded my senses, paralyzing me. Although I hoped he would survive, I wasn’t ignorant enough to think him immortal.

  Dave’s in there. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I considered it—I thought of how scared he must be…and cried harder.

  Something wet dripped on my shoulder, interrupting my horrific thoughts. I craned my neck to see Sanchez’s face, expressionless as tears leaked from her eyes as well. Her grip on me loosened slightly, but I didn’t move, feeling her sorrow. She’d mourned the loss of her friends who had died from the Virus. She’d mourned the team members who had fallen victim to the Crazies, and now she mourned the innocents inside the building who were burning to death after having survived so much.

  “I’m getting medical supplies,” Harper yelled, running in the direction of the hospital.

  Sarah, restraining Cooper by his collar, was sobbing in Biggs’s arms. He held her like the universe was ending—his eyes were glassy and all color had drained from his frowning face.

  “Isn’t there something we can do?” I asked Sanchez, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore my own tears.

  She shook her head. “No,” she said helplessly.

  I stood and started pacing back and forth, attempting to rein in my hysteria. I knew Jake would probably die, and I was so angry at him—at myself—that I screamed. I should’ve told him how I felt!

  “He’ll live, Zoe,” Sanchez said, trying to reassure me again, though I knew she didn’t believe it wholeheartedly.

  After hesitating and looking back and forth at Sanchez and me, Biggs said, “She’s gone,” so quietly that I barely heard him over the roaring flames. At his words, my heart stopped.

  “What do you mean, Sergeant?” Sanchez asked, her face filled with dread.

  “Sarah and I just checked on Clara. She wasn’t in there,” Biggs explained. “We saw the smoke…” He shook his head. “I should’ve taken a goddamn radio with me.” Biggs looked back at the fire, and his eyes widened with realization. “It spread too quickly…shit, our fuel…” Biggs abruptly ran in the direction of our fuel supply.

  Sanchez marched back and forth, completely mystified. “How can she be gone? I’m the only one with the goddamn key!”

  Sarah watched Sanchez nervously. “The door to her cell was open,” she said. “Somehow, someone let her out.”

  In the midst of our confusion, Cooper resumed barking and tugging against Sarah’s hold, nearly tearing her arm from its socket.

  “Don’t let him go!” I yelled and pointed at Cooper before I took off running. I knew he’d sensed Jake before seeing him stagger out from behind the burning barracks. With a body flung over his shoulder, Jake barely took three steps around the corner of the building before falling to the ground. My legs carried me toward him faster as adrenaline took control.

  Nearing him, I compared his sizzling body to the limp form beside him. Tanya was unconscious with sooty smudges on her face and clothes, while smoke rose from Jake—his clothes had burned off, and he was covered in a patchwork of raw blisters, melted flesh, and charred, flaking skin.

  “Oh my God, Jake!” I screamed. I reminded myself that he was different—that he of all people might be able to survive such severe burns. But his scorched flesh only bolstered my creeping doubts. The gunshot wound healed, I reminded myself. But this is his whole body…

  “Harper! Someone! Help him!” I shouted, but Harper was nowhere in sight.

  Falling to my knees, I held my hands over Jake, not knowing what to do. The stench of burnt meat assaulted the back of my nose and clung to my tongue. Trying to bridle the churning of my stomach, I searched in vain for an unmarred part of his body.

  Instinctively, I turned away and vomited until there was nothing left in my stomach.

  “Harper! Hurry! Please!” I begged, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My throat burned, and sweat and tears made my skin clammy.

  As I sat on the ground, shaking, I noticed the spiral-bound corner of a singed book peeking out from beneath Tanya’s legs—my sketchbook.

  My heart felt swollen, and it was difficult to breathe. I thought my heart just might burst open and drown me in misery if I was never able to thank him. You stupid, stupid man.

  38

  DANI

  Before the Virus, I’d never really thought about the world ending…at least the world as I knew it. If I had, I probably would’ve imagined complete anarchy. Well, the world ended, and there definitely were people handling the situation in a more predictable way—raping, murdering, stealing from other survivors—but not on our ranch. Structure and discipline were the backbone of our survivor lifestyle.

  The morning after we ran into Mr. Grayson, we spent hours setting our schedule for the n
ext several days. We were planning to leave for Colorado in a week, agreeing that horseback would be the most reliable mode of transportation. Mandatory riding lessons were assigned to the morning hours every day—we couldn’t afford incompetence or ignorance.

  “No! Holly! Pick a direction and stick to it!” I shouted from my perch atop Wings in the arena. Holly was jerking the reins frantically, causing her horse to trot in a haphazard zigzag at her contradictory commands.

  I jumped when a hand patted the outside of my thigh. “What…oh, Jason…” I stared at the hand that seemed to be searing its print onto my leg.

  “About time to head over to Grayson’s,” Jason said.

  “Now?” I peeked at my watch; it was noon. “Oh…I lost track of time.”

  “Come on,” he said, sliding his hand up to my hip. “Hop down so I can suit you up.”

  Barely concealing the shiver caused by his touch, I swung my far leg over Wings’s rear. I was grateful for the stability of Jason’s grasp as I slid to the ground. He’d been watching over me like my own personal secret service since the internal freezing incident.

  As soon as my feet touched the ground, he let go and led me into the stable. An array of knives, guns, and holsters were laid out on a workbench. As he helped me secure a thigh sheath over my jeans, I had to remind myself that he was touching my leg out of necessity, not desire. Regardless, my body trembled.

  “Nervous?” Jason asked, glancing up as he tightened the final strap.

  “Uh…”

  “Don’t be. It’s just Grayson.” It’s not Grayson that’s getting to me…

  Swallowing roughly, I nodded and shrugged into my usual shoulder holster. I inspected my pistol just like Jason had taught me—checking the chamber, inserting a loaded magazine, chambering a round, and ensuring the safety was on. Even with all the deadly equipment, I looked innocent compared to the lethal badasses that Jason and Ky became. Ever since Dalton and Holly had a nearly fatal encounter with Crazies while hunting, we’d been entering every situation—even the most seemingly benign—prepared for combat.

  We arrived at Mr. Grayson’s house about ten minutes before our scheduled meeting. Briefly scouting the premises for Crazies, we found only soggy grass, dripping trees, shrubs, and a chattering squirrel.

  At exactly one o’clock in the afternoon we knocked on the navy-blue front door. We’d left the horses in the backyard—hidden from the road—with instructions to alert me if they spotted any strangers.

  “Ky, man, what’s going on with you?” Jason asked. “You met the guy yesterday…he’s totally harmless.”

  Ky’s hand hovered near the sidearm at his hip, his eyes shifting incessantly. “I don’t know…it just feels…something doesn’t feel right…there’s tension…and worry…” He trailed off, unable to find adequate words to describe whatever ominous sensations he was picking up.

  “Right. Well…just calm down, okay?” Jason said just before the door opened.

  Mr. Grayson stood in the doorway, wearing the same type of wool cardigan he’d always worn in class, along with an unfamiliar expression of frustration. Two men flanked him—one exceptionally chunky, the other quite thin. Chunky held a shotgun, and Thin held a hunting rifle, though both weapons were aimed at the floor.

  In one smooth motion, Jason stepped in front of me and drew his pistol, aiming it at Chunky. Ky had drawn his sidearm a split-second before, his sights on Thin. Of course, Mr. Grayson’s thugs responded in kind. It was probably for the best that neither Jason nor Ky had chosen to wield the assault rifles strapped to their backs—Chunky and Thin didn’t need further motivation to pull their triggers.

  Shocked, I felt fiery anger flood my veins. How could he set us up?! Immediately after thinking it, I knew the lanky, salt-and-pepper-haired man wouldn’t betray us. His obvious frustration was starting to make sense.

  “Mr. Grayson,” I said calmly from behind Jason. I could feel Jason’s tension and was worried any movement would trigger gunfire. “I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding. We’re not here to hurt you, like you’re not here to hurt us…right?”

  After a shaky deep breath, Mr. Grayson unfurrowed his brow and answered, “As always, Danielle, you’ve seen to the heart of the matter. These fine young gentlemen are here, though unrequested, for my protection.” He shot an angry glance at each of them and continued through clenched teeth, “Clearly, since I’m in no danger, they can put away their weapons.” Each clearly enunciated word seemed to be aimed both at his bodyguards as well as Jason and Ky.

  All four armed men hastily lowered their guns, expressing embarrassment with hushed apologies.

  “Now that that’s over, please come in,” Mr. Grayson said, holding his arm out as he stepped away from the doorway. “I have tea and coffee prepared in the kitchen. If you would, just seat yourselves at the table.”

  An armed standoff followed by tea and coffee…how civilized, I thought, stifling an extremely inappropriate giggle.

  As Chunky turned to lead us down a hallway into the kitchen, I caught his eye and suddenly recognized him—Dan Benson. He’d graduated with Zoe and me, though neither of us had really known him. He glanced back at me, his face full of suspicion and curiosity, and I noted that the nearly nine years since high school hadn’t been kind to him. I offered him a quick, tight-lipped smile before he looked away, and watched as the back of his neck reddened. Odd.

  Once I was seated at the table, with Jason to my right and Ky to my left, I took a moment to examine the other man—Thin—wondering if he was someone I used to know as well. He wasn’t.

  After inquiring, Mr. Grayson served Jason and Ky coffee and made me a cup of tea. He prepared the same for himself and sat in a chair opposite us at the round, walnut table. Apparently satisfied that we wouldn’t hurt Mr. Grayson, Dan and Thin disappeared to some other part of the house.

  “It’s best if you save your questions until the end of this tale,” Mr. Grayson said, his voice sure and resonant like that of an ancient bard. “Otherwise I might leave out something important. Agreed?”

  The three of us nodded. I was eager to listen to his rendition of the past month’s happenings in our sleepy hometown. Based on Jason’s barely discernible expression, he shared my anticipation. Ky, on the other hand, just looked at us, confused. He’d never experienced a riveting history lesson delivered by one of the region’s most-loved teachers.

  Leaning forward, Mr. Grayson intertwined his leathery fingers and rested his hands on the table. “It was the last week of November when we first noticed people catching the Virus. Our numbers of infected seemed on par with the rest of the West Coast, and we weren’t worried. By the end of that week, we’d lost one person—an infant, the first to be infected in Bodega Bay. Sad as it was to lose a life barely started, we still weren’t worried. Infants and the elderly are the easiest prey for any flu.” He shook his head softly, a small, sad smile deepening the creases around his mouth.

  “Entering the first week of December, our town rode on a wave of forced normalcy and departed in a torrent of uncontrolled despair. Most of the young and elderly were dead or dying. From the increasingly sporadic reliable news reports, we gathered that the same had happened everywhere else along the West Coast, if not the whole country. Maybe even the world.

  “Eighty percent of the town’s population had succumbed to the Virus by mid-December, and news from the outside had essentially stopped. A new town council formed by the end of the third week. The council was composed of nine elected members, including me, and we began creating a plan to help the town’s remaining 247 residents survive in this changed world. For a few days, it went well. Everyone was eager to help, willing to fulfill any role they were assigned. We were getting by.

  “By the end of the third week, we started noticing a couple of strange developments: first, some people were displaying unusual talents, and second, others were exhibiting a lack of emotional control and various symptoms of insanity. Some abnormal behavior is, of cour
se, acceptable in such extreme situations, but this was far beyond that.” He flexed his fingers, creating white splotches on the backs of his hands.

  “After the first few people displaying unusual talents were verbally attacked and ostracized by townsfolk—labeled as ‘freaks’—everyone started keeping to themselves. Some of the emotionally unstable survivors tried rallying others against the ‘freaks,’ leading to five violent deaths. Our population was down to 242. After that incident, few people were willing to help with the town’s survival planning. Instead they chose to stay in their homes, defending themselves and their remaining family members, and keeping any new talents a secret. They’d only venture out to attend the nightly town meetings.” He paused, locking eyes with each of us.

  “That all changed on Christmas Eve. The Town Council put together a holiday feast, hoping to create a feeling of community and camaraderie that might help alleviate the recent tensions. Only seventy-four people, a fraction of the remaining townsfolk, showed up. Those present worried about many of their absent friends—people who’d expressed an interest in attending the event. Before eating, we set out in groups to check on the homes of the missing families. What we found was almost too horrible to comprehend.

  “Half of the houses were empty, while the others were occupied by the remains of ghastly atrocities. We called it the Christmas Eve Massacre, in remembrance of those who were murdered. You see, it was the occupants of the empty houses who committed the heinous acts, ripping apart thirty-five of the flu Survivors. We don’t know why they did it; we only know who they are. We call them the Lost Ones.

  “The sane town members, now numbering seventy-four, have relocated to the most defensible position in town—the boats moored at Sand Point Marina. We keep watchmen out at all times and usually travel outside of the defended area only in armed groups. Every person has memorized the names and faces of the 107 remaining Lost Ones. If seen, they are killed if possible and avoided if not.