The End of All Things

by Lissa Bryan

  They had come to the Juneau-Douglas Bridge. There was a roadblock of concrete lane dividers set up across the center of the bridge and lines of cars on both sides of it. Out in the harbor beyond, a few cruise ships floated where they would wait eternally to be cleared for docking. Carly considered the cars lined up behind the barriers. “Where were they hoping to go?”

  “The problem with quarantine is most people think they should be exceptions to it. They think their circumstances are different, special. They have to go get a sick relative or a child. They have to go to the store or to the bank to get their money. Just a quick trip; they’ll be right back.”

  Carly knew this was true. Her own father had broken quarantine to go to the hospital to see if he could get her mother admitted, and she knew some of her friends had ignored the order because they wanted to go be with their families. Her best friend, Michelle, had set out with her baby, Kevin, intending to drive to Anchorage, where her parents had moved after they retired. Carly sometimes wondered if Michelle and Kevin had made it, or if she had been stopped somewhere along the route, unable to travel onward and unable to come back to Juneau.

  “Some people refused to believe there was a pandemic and thought the government was trying to ‘take over’ and turn America into a dictatorship.” Justin paused for a moment. A hint of a cynical smile tugged at his lips. “You know how it was, Carly. People didn’t trust the government for small things, let alone for something that affects their personal freedom.”

  “But they had to know how dangerous it was. They could have been bringing the Infection to their friends and family.”

  Justin shook his head. “The Infection had a long incubation period in which people were contagious but asymptomatic . . . People felt fine, so they ignored the quarantine orders, and the government was slow to enforce the quarantine. It was an election year, after all. By the time they got serious about enforcing it, it was far too late.”

  An election year. Carly was sickened at the thought that politicians might have been willing to let people get sick and die rather than hurt their chances to keep their offices. She hoped it wasn’t true, but she didn’t ask Justin anything more about it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  Her father had been concerned people were ignoring the quarantine orders. Carly remembered her mother teasing him for being such a Boy Scout about following the government’s directives because of his time in the military. Her father had just smiled and teased her back, but even then, Carly had known there was something he wasn’t telling them. In retrospect, she could see her father had known the situation was far worse than Carly and her mother had realized.

  Carl had gone to the emergency town meeting to lend his voice in support of those trying to convince the mayor to isolate Juneau, but the mayor refused on the grounds that it was coldhearted. The ferry and airport had been shut down only about a week before her parents died, after it was far too late to do any good.

  Justin startled her out of her thoughts when he put a hand on her shoulder. “I think you should keep your eyes on the sidewalk, okay?”

  She followed as he started across the bridge, keeping as far away from the vehicles as possible, trying to pretend they didn’t exist. She kept her eyes glued to the heels of Justin’s black leather boots and kept a tight grip on Sam’s leash, clamped under her hand on the handle of the cart. Sam kept casting concerned looks up at her; maybe he could read the tension in her posture. Carly patted him on the head to try to reassure him . . . and to reassure herself as well.

  She heard a bang from the other side of the bridge and jumped. It wasn’t loud, but in the eerie silence, it seemed exaggerated. She glanced around to search for the source of the sound, and she saw a small shack on the side of the bridge, built for the troops guarding the barricade. The door swung lazily in the breeze. Then she saw a pair of boots sticking out from behind the edge of the barrier and looked away. She caught sight of a car straight ahead of them, emitting a strange humming sound. The windows were blacked out with some kind of undulating material that had a dull glimmer to it. A trash bag, maybe? But as she got closer she realized it wasn’t a trash bag. It was flies. Thousands of flies covering the inside of the windows, and the sound of their wings was the humming she heard. They lined the edge of the small gap in the window, new arrivals and departures.

  Carly gagged and fell to her knees at the side of the bridge. Up came the soda she had drunk in the store, and she continued to retch until her stomach muscles ached and quivered. Her head pounded. Behind her, Sam danced and whined, unsure of how to assist her.

  Touching her shoulder, Justin put a bottle of water into her line of sight. She accepted it with gratitude and took a drink, which promptly came up again.

  “Small sips,” Justin said. He sat down beside her on the curb. She felt his hand on her back, rubbing in small, soothing circles. She took a tiny sip from the bottle, just enough to wet her tongue, and her stomach decided to be gracious about it.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to look.”

  “I know.”

  The loss of electric power and telephones hadn’t done it. The empty stores and streets hadn’t done it. But the fact that human bodies were sitting in a car in the middle of a bridge finally convinced her Justin had been telling the truth. Civilization was gone.

  There was no one left to collect and bury the dead. They would rot where they fell. Her parents’ apartment would be their tomb, but the more she thought about that, the more it seemed appropriate—almost like the pharaohs sent to the afterlife with all of their possessions. Her parents would rest surrounded by pictures of their friends and family and the items that had defined their daily lives. But the people in the car . . . A sob tore from her throat, louder than normal because she had been trying to hold it back. And then she was crying and unable to stop. Kneeling on the bridge over Juneau Harbor, she wept for a world that was dead and gone.

  Justin pulled her into his arms and whispered soft, soothing things. He rocked her and let her cry against his chest until her sobs had diminished into hiccups. A wet nose pressed against her face, and Sam cleaned her tears off her cheeks. His amber eyes were strangely compassionate, as if he understood more about the world around him than an animal should.

  “Better?” Justin asked, smoothing back her tumbled hair.

  “Yes, I’m sorry, I just . . .”

  “It was overdue. You needed to get it out.” His smile was gentle, and she gazed into his eyes, so dark brown they seemed almost black from some angles. Though the color should have made them seem sinister, they were warm and kind. She lost track of time for a moment, gazing into their depths before Sam jarred her back to reality by bumping her with his head.

  Carly realized she was draped over Justin and struggled to her feet. Justin rose, as graceful as a ballet dancer, and took her hand. She held onto it long after they had finished crossing the bridge.

  Chapter Two

  The door to the gun store was solid metal with a set of bars over the top of it. The windows were darkly tinted and menacing, covered with bars as well, and placed high on the walls. Justin couldn’t simply bash his way inside this one. He reached into his pocket and took out a kit of tiny tools. “Hold these for me.”

  Carly held out her hands, cupping the little tool kit of tiny, pick-like instruments. “What is this?”

  “Lock-picking kit.” Justin knelt down in front of the door. He inserted one of the tools into the keyhole and jiggled it before selecting another one and inserting it above the first.

  “Where did you learn how to pick locks?” Carly asked, both impressed and a little horrified.

  “Gymboree.”

  She giggled, and he turned to grin at her before selecting a different tool.

  Within moments, the lock clicked, and he pushed the door open with caution. “Stay out here for a minute,” Justin said, and she certainly wasn’t going to argue. He slipped inside, and she saw his flashlight beam bounce around through the window be
side the door.

  “Come on in.”

  Carly pushed her cart to the side and parked it next to Justin’s. She and Sam walked inside in a pool of light from her flashlight. She flashed it around the room and gave an impressed hum to see almost all of the stock intact. The store was overcrowded with merchandise. Racks of hunting clothing took up most of the floor space. Carly wove her way between them to the back where Justin was selecting guns from the wall behind the counter.

  “Yeah, I know. No looting.”

  “This shop is—was— owned by John Drake. Knowing him, he probably sat outside the door with a loaded shotgun and dared people to try it.”

  “Have you ever fired a gun, Carly?”

  “My dad took me to the shooting range once.”

  “Just once?” Justin seemed surprised. “I would have thought . . . Well, never mind. Do you remember how it’s done?”

  “Just point and pull the trigger.” Carly shuffled her feet. He seemed to be indicating he wanted her to have a gun, and she was a little uncomfortable with the idea. Why did he want her to have it, anyway? So he’d be more comfortable with leaving her behind when he moved on?

  “It’s a tad more complicated, but that’s a good start, at least.” Justin smashed the butt of his flashlight into the top of a glass case containing pistols and plucked one off the velvet liner. “Hold this one and tell me how it feels.”

  Carly took it. She rotated her wrist and looked down at it. “It feels like a gun.”

  “Silly girl, hold it like you’re going to shoot it.”

  She slipped her finger through the trigger guard and gripped the butt with her palm. “It’s awkward. It makes my hand hurt to stretch that much.”

  “Try this one.” Justin handed her a smaller gun, and this one fit into her hand perfectly.

  “It’s a twenty-two, so it’s not going to have a lot of power or range, but it will work well on close targets.” Justin hopped over the counter and began to fill one of the store’s shopping bags with small boxes of ammunition. “Give me your tote. We need to take as much of this as we can.”

  “What kind?”

  “Any of it. If it won’t work in our guns, it will be excellent for trading.”

  “You keep talking about trading. With whom?”

  “We’re sure to meet other people on the road.”

  What road? And then she remembered what he had said about leaving. Going to . . . Where was it? Florida, or something like that? And then she realized he’d said we as though he assumed she would be going along. She felt her temper flare but another idea occurred to her. She forgot about her anger as her eyes widened and her heart sped up. “Do you think there are places where the Infection didn’t reach? Places that are still normal?”

  Justin stopped taking boxes from the shelf and turned to her, his dark eyes full of sorrow. “No, Carly. There aren’t any places that weren’t hit by the Infection. I had contacts in other countries, all around the world. No place was left unscathed. There isn’t any ‘normal’ anymore.”

  Carly blinked hard, trying to force back her tears. She didn’t want to accept it. She didn’t want to believe it. But she couldn’t hide from the truth any longer. She saw the gun lying on the counter, and for just a moment, she considered—

  Justin put his hand over it and said her name, his voice low and soft. Carly shook her head and turned back to the ammunition, raking boxes into her tote bag.

  He selected a few more guns, placing them inside a long tote case he found in the accessories section. Carly winced a little when she saw some of those evil-looking rifles. She was relatively uncomfortable with a handgun. She hoped he didn’t expect her to use one of those black machine guns.

  Justin selected a folding crossbow and took all of the arrows in stock.

  “What’s that for?”

  “It’s silent.”

  Carly didn’t want to think about scenarios where that would be important. She helped him load the guns and ammo into their carts without comment.

  They walked back across the bridge. Carly kept her eyes glued to the sidewalk this time and didn’t look up until they reached the other side. She trudged behind Justin, leaning on her cart handle as she went.

  “Go on upstairs,” Justin said when they reached the apartment building. “I’ll carry this stuff up.”

  “I’ll help.”

  Justin shuffled through the bags and handed her several of the light ones, and then he tied the handles of two bags together and laid them over Sam’s back, who seemed very proud to be carrying part of the load. Carly trudged up the stairs and unlocked her door. Sam bolted inside and went straight to his water bowl, lapping eagerly.

  Carly smacked her forehead. “Oh, Sam, I’m sorry! I should have thought to take along some water for you.”

  “What’s wrong?” Justin asked, a huge mass of shopping bags dangling from each hand.

  “He was thirsty!” Carly pulled another bottle of water from the case on her counter and poured it into his bowl. Sam wagged his tail and gave her hand a lick of thanks.

  “Carly, it’s okay. He was fine.”

  “I’m so inconsiderate!” Maybe it was the combined stress of the day, or maybe she hadn’t cried out all of her tears on the bridge. Whatever it was, Carly felt like she was an inch or so away from collapsing into a blubbering mess.

  “Stop,” Justin said, and his voice was so calm and firm, she felt a little foolish. Her embarrassment actually helped to get herself under control. She didn’t want Justin to think she was a flake. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. He was fine. Now, come here and help me put some of this stuff away. I don’t know where you put things, but I imagine there’s some alphabetizing involved.”

  Carly flushed a little, but she was able to give him a small smile. “It makes things easier to find.”

  “I’m sure it does. I’m more of a shove-things-around-and-swear-until-you-find-it kind of guy.” He started opening bags and placing the items on the counter. Carly smiled at him, though his back was to her and he couldn’t see it. She appreciated his attempts to lighten the situation with humor. A few days ago, she never would have imagined the scary-looking Biker Guy could be so kind.

  She tried for a joke of her own. “It’s not your fault. You’re a man, and you didn’t evolve to be able to find things.”

  “Okay, I’ve gotta hear the explanation for this.” Justin crossed his arms and leaned back against the refrigerator while Carly put away the canned food. He smiled at her in encouragement.

  “It’s simple, really. Our brains developed in different ways because of the different tasks we had. Men just had to run around, find something to bash over the head, and drag back to camp as food, while women had to remember where the berry bushes and fruit trees were. So, we women ended up with a better visual memory, and you guys ended up standing in front of the refrigerator, yelling, ‘Honey, where’s the ketchup?’ ”

  “That is an interesting theory.” Justin chuckled and scratched his chin. “Another theory is we don’t want to waste time looking for stuff, so we yell to ask you where it is since you’re the one who probably put it away.”

  Carly closed the cupboard doors as she tried to smother a grin. “You’d rather be thought of as lazy, than accept women have superior brains?”

  “Ah, but we men are better at bashing things.”

  “Conceded.” Carly went over to the line of bags along the wall that contained the drugs and guns—an awful-sounding combination. “Where do you want to put this stuff?”

  “Do you have a spare bedroom?”

  “Yeah, it’s down the hall, second door to the right.” Justin hauled it all into the bedroom, except for the bag he brought back with the explanation that it contained her girl stuff. Carly snatched it from him with a bit of a blush and took it into the bathroom. There, she stared with longing at the toilet. She really had to pee, but what could she do?

  She opened the door. “Um, Justin, could you come here for a mo
ment?”

  He stepped up to the door. “Yes?”

  “There’s no way to make my toilet work.” Carly bit her lip. “Any suggestions?”

  “Since I suppose using a bucket is out of the question, I’ll walk down to the creek and get a few buckets of water you can use for flushing.”

  Carly beamed at him. “Thank you! Hey, where have you—” She stopped. “Never mind.”

  Justin laughed as he headed out the apartment door.

  Carly thought about it while he was gone and came to a decision as he came through the door, carrying two large pails of water.

  “Justin?”

  “Yeah?” He put both buckets in the bathroom and took off the lid of her toilet tank.

  “I was thinking you could stay in the spare room if you wanted. You don’t have to sleep out in the hall.”

  He nodded. “Thanks, Carly. I’ll do that.” His smile told her he understood what a big step she was taking toward trusting him by allowing him to stay in her home.

  Carly shuffled her feet for a moment and then headed back into the kitchen. She was a little nervous about it, truth be told. No man had ever stayed in her apartment with her, and she still wasn’t certain she could trust him. But he’d been good to her, kind to Sam, and helpful in ways she didn’t fully comprehend yet. She was thinking about her situation with a clearer mind since they’d talked about it.

  Carly opened two cans of pork and beans and poured them into bowls. A cold dinner, but at least they’d have something. If it had been left up to Carly, she would probably be staring with dull helplessness into her empty cabinets, wondering what to do next. She owed a lot to Justin already.

  “What’s for dinner, honey?” Justin asked with a grin.

  “Pork ‘n’ beans. Eat it while it’s cold.”

  He chuckled. “If you’d prefer, I could go outside and start a fire, and we can heat it up and eat hot food like civilized people.”

  “Too much effort.” Carly shoveled in her first bite.

  “Have you given any more thought to your situation here, Carly?”