The Girl at the End of the World

by Richard Levesque

  So I kept quiet about it, trying to give Chad meaningful looks throughout the day just to confirm our solidarity. If I was going to fake being sick tonight and risk Donovan’s wrath, I wanted to be sure it was a risk worth taking, one that Chad was going to back me up on. But when I did catch his eye, he didn’t say or do anything to show that he knew what I was getting at, let alone that he was still onboard with the plan. He seemed distant throughout the whole day, and I wondered more than once if I’d made a mistake taking him into my confidence.

  When I couldn’t take the worry any longer, I whispered, “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “Sort of,” he admitted. “But only with part of it.”

  We were sitting side by side on our mats. Dolores dozed on Chad’s other side, the baby asleep beside her in an empty dresser drawer that Donovan had brought in for us to use as a bassinet.

  When I raised an eyebrow, Chad said, “I should be the one inside the outhouse. I can hit him harder with the door.”

  I thought about it for a few seconds, weighing the differences in the plan.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think I could hit him pretty hard from inside. But if it was you inside, and he didn’t go down…I might have a tough time getting him off balance outside.”

  “I don’t think you’d need to,” he said.

  He sounded so sure of himself, almost cocky, not the way he usually sounded.

  “That’s not what you’re worried about,” I said after a few more seconds.

  Chad looked at me quickly, and then looked away.

  “If it goes wrong,” I said, “and it’s you in the outhouse, then it’s you who’s going to get punished. Right? Even if it just looks like I’m following your lead outside? That’s what you’re worried about?”

  His silence was answer enough.

  I shook my head. “Don’t worry about me, Chad. If it goes wrong, it’s bound to get ugly for both of us. But chances are it won’t go wrong if it’s me inside and you out. Odds are way better that way than the other.”

  “You think?”

  “Don’t you? Who’s got a better shot at tackling Donovan once he’s off balance?”

  He nodded. “I guess I do.”

  I let that sink in for a few seconds. “We’re in this together. Right?”

  He nodded again.

  “If we’re worried about anything, then let’s worry about protecting Dolores and the baby, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I wished we could shake on it to seal the deal, but it would have been completely stupid to do something like that with Donovan’s cameras trained on us. It would have been like shouting, “Hey! We’re conspiring here!” So instead, we traded nods, and that was that.

  The rest of the afternoon and evening just crawled by. We didn’t talk any more about our plans, and we hadn’t talked at all about what we were going to do if we succeeded, so I filled the time by imagining the kinds of things we’d need to gather once we made it to Riverside and what we’d do after that. It was hard not to let my nerves get the better of me, hard not to feel jumpy and tense. I forced myself to eat the canned beans and fruit Donovan handed out, but my stomach felt like a tight little ball, so when I was done eating I just leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, just willing the time to pass and steeling myself for the moment when I’d shut the outhouse door.

  Finally, it was time. Donovan’s airlock hissed open, and he came out in his hazard suit with the gun that may as well have been joined surgically to his hand. Out we went, as always with the length of chain joining each of our manacles, passing between our legs to the person behind us. It was me in front, then Chad, then Dolores, who held Kayla. Donovan followed, always watching.

  I let out a little cough as we crossed the tall, dry grass between the bunker and the outhouse, raising my hand to my mouth as I did. This pulled taut the chain between Chad and me, rubbing uncomfortably between my legs. I held it there for a second, and then gave it two quick tugs.

  I waited for Chad to tug back, waited for anything, any signal from him that he was still with me and ready to go.

  Nothing.

  My heart sank, and I began lowering my hands, taking some of the tension out of the chain. And then it jerked, just the littlest bit. And again.

  Two tugs back.

  It was hard not to smile as I lowered my hands all the way and let the chain go slack.

  I stopped in front of the outhouse door and waited for Donovan to unlock the chain connecting me to Chad. He kept the keys in a Velcro pocket, and as he pulled the pocket open, I said, “Please hurry. I don’t feel so good.”

  He just looked at me, no sympathy in his eyes, no concern—only a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding stare, as if my problems couldn’t compare to his in the tiniest way and my asking him to hurry was the height of arrogance. I found myself hoping his plastic facemask would crack when I hit him with the door; then he’d know what real problems were.

  Once he had me unchained, but still with my hands loosely manacled in front of me, I bolted into the outhouse and slammed the door shut, making sure to lock it. I crouched beside the door and gave a few grunts and moans, hoping they sounded like I was in some distress. Then I stayed quiet, just listening.

  Come on, I thought. Get impatient with me.

  It didn’t take long. I’d been inside only a little longer than normal when there came a tap on the side of the outhouse. “Come on,” came the muffled command.

  Not that side, I thought. By the door! Stand by the door!

  “Sick,” I said, trying to sound like I had terrible cramps and could barely get the word out.

  “I’m not gonna stand out here all night. You can get sick in the grass while the others go in. Come on out.”

  I let out a little moan. “I can’t,” I gasped.

  He pounded harder on the plastic wall, and a second later I felt the door move just a little as he pulled at the handle, probably frustrated that he hadn’t thought to remove the lock. If my plan didn’t work, this would be the last time any of us would be locking the door.

  Now? I thought, waiting for the signal from Chad. Was Donovan standing close enough to the door for me to have any hope of doing some damage with it? Or had he reached for the handle from his position beside the outhouse? Come on, Chad, I thought. Come on.

  “I’m gonna hurt somebody out here if you’re not out in ten seconds,” Donovan said, his voice louder but still coming from the side, not in front of the door.

  “I think I need help,” I moaned.

  I could imagine the look of disgust on his face as he wondered what kind of help I could possibly need.

  “Then unlock the damn door,” he shouted.

  Okay, I thought. Unlock it now and wait for Chad.

  I reached my hand to the plastic knob that would unlock the door, but before I reached it, I heard Donovan say, “What the hell?” He no longer sounded angry, more surprised, almost awed.

  Then his voice was farther way. “We’ll get her in a minute. Come on.”

  And then Chad’s voice. “Scarlett?” he called. He sounded farther away than he should have been, and a little scared. Then again, “Scarlett!” but from a greater distance still.

  What the heck? I wondered, filled with frustration. It had almost worked. Why had Donovan taken the others away from the outhouse? And just when I’d been about to whack him with the door? Now there’d be no way to try this again. He’d break the lock off the door the next chance he got; he might even take the whole door off its hinges.

  I crouched there, waiting, wondering, my heart pounding. I wanted a sign, anything. What do I do?

  I pressed my ear to the door. Nothing.

  Slowly, I twisted the lock so the sign outside now read “Vacant.” Then I just waited a few seconds. Maybe Donovan had backed away and was waiting for this. Maybe now he’d pounce.

  But I caught no signs of life through the door, no signal from Chad.

  Carefully, slowl
y, I pushed the door open, just a crack. Again, there was no sign from outside that anyone was around to notice. So I pushed it farther and poked my head out.

  I was alone. The door faced away from the bunker, so I couldn’t see what was going on. All I knew for certain was that I’d been left alone. I could run for it and try to hop the fence with my manacled hands. I remembered the promise Chad had extracted from me: If one of us goes, we all go. But should I keep the promise? If I didn’t take this chance, another would never come. Chad would hate me for it, but if I got away, maybe I could find a way to come back for the others.

  It’s funny how you don’t notice some things when your mind is occupied with something else. I think that’s especially true if you’re excited about whatever is running through your head. That was me as I pushed the door open the rest of the way and carefully stepped out, my mind racing with the possibilities beyond Donovan’s fence. I’d need to find a car with the keys in it, probably a dead person behind the wheel. And then I’d need to drive away from here before Donovan had a chance to catch my trail in his bus. A hardware store in Riverside should have something for me to cut the chain between my wrists, and then I’d look for military surplus and find a way to rescue Chad and Dolores and Kayla.

  So I was completely taken aback when I peeked around the side of the outhouse, wondering what had drawn Donovan back to the bunker and hoping that, whatever it was, it would still be a strong enough distraction to keep him from noticing my flight to the fence. All I saw was Donovan standing in the circle of light that surrounded the bunker, a silhouette against the night beyond. He must have forced Chad and Dolores back into the bunker while I’d been pressed against the outhouse door trying to figure out what was going on.

  Then I saw what he was looking at—and instantly realized I’d been hearing it for several seconds without even realizing it, its distant rhythm almost indistinguishable from the hum of the generator but getting louder now.

  There was a light in the sky, and it was moving.

  It was coming in low from the north and getting lower still. The closer it got, the more its sound broke from the hum of the generator, and I could hear it for what it was. Seconds later I had dropped to the ground, wanting to hide in the grass that did almost nothing to conceal me from the sweeping light of the helicopter as it got closer and closer.

  Had it not been for the dirt digging into my chin as I pressed myself onto the ground, or the dust in my eyes from the artificial wind the rotors created, I might have thought it was all a dream. There were no more helicopters flying in this world, no more pilots to fly them. There were no more people besides me and Chad, Dolores and Kayla and Donovan. They were all dead. This couldn’t be happening.

  But it was.

  The helicopter set down in the wide expanse of grass and gravel that separated the bunker from the fence and the road beyond. Even in the dark, I could see that it was a military helicopter, big and green with white numbers stenciled on the side.

  The army! I thought. How perfect that they’d come to rescue us, how perfect that they’d found a way to survive. Somehow, the military’s scientists had worked it all out, and we were saved. They were probably going around plucking up little pockets of survivors all over the country. How they’d found us, I couldn’t guess at first, but then I remembered Donovan going on about his plans. They’d actually worked. The ham radio antenna had done its job.

  I watched as a big door on the helicopter’s side slid open. I saw some movement and then three soldiers hopped out onto the ground. They wore the same kind of suits as Donovan, but looking even more heavy duty than his, if that was possible.

  Contrary to what I’d been hoping, the soldiers weren’t immune to the disease. They weren’t cured. They hadn’t been inoculated or otherwise protected. They’d survived the same way as Donovan, by shutting themselves off from the contaminant.

  I watched as they approached Donovan, guns pointed at him. They stopped about ten feet from him. Probably following shouted orders that I couldn’t hear, Donovan dropped to his knees.

  One soldier approached him while the other stayed back, his gun still trained on Donovan. The first soldier patted Donovan down, eventually making him lie face down in the dirt; then he waved toward the helicopter, and four other soldiers came out, all wearing the same type of suit.

  They may as well have pointed their guns at me. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I wanted to jump and shout my thanks to them for rescuing us, but at the same time I was too scared. What if this was a case of “out of the frying pan and into the fire”? I’d made mistake after mistake since the plague had struck. The last big one had been to put those lanterns out on the wall of the observation deck in the Hollywood Hills, so sure had I been that any other survivor who saw them would be thrilled to find another person alive, imagining us teaming up and going on together, maybe all the way to Australia. I’d been wrong that time, and wrong and wrong and wrong before with countless things I’d only lucked my way through. This time, I was going to wait and see.

  Seconds later, two of the soldiers came out of the bunker with Chad and Dolores between them. They were still chained together, and now the soldier guarding Donovan found the key ring fastened to his suit, unclipped it, and tossed it to one of the others. Dolores held the baby, and after she and Chad had been released from their chains, another soldier came out of the bunker carrying bags of the baby supplies we’d brought on the bus. Then the fourth came out carrying more. Along with my former fellow captives, the four soldiers moved toward the helicopter, seeming to shepherd Chad and Dolores along, gently guiding them with pointed hands, not pointed guns.

  Chad got inside the helicopter first, turning to take Kayla from Dolores, who followed quickly. Then the two soldiers with the baby supplies climbed inside. The first soldier, who hadn’t moved since Donovan dropped to the ground, came forward now and seemed to be consulting with the two who had just come out of the bunker. They appeared to talk for a moment, and then all three turned and looked around the compound, each clicking on a bright flashlight mounted to his helmet.

  They’re looking for me, I thought. They’d heard the recording Donovan had made of my voice. Chad had probably confirmed to them that there was one more survivor, had probably told the soldiers I was out here somewhere.

  After a few seconds of scanning the compound, two of the soldiers turned toward the helicopter.

  They’re leaving without me, I thought, and a stream of images flooded my brain: me alone in this compound, me alone trying to get back to the observatory, me alone foraging for food in lonesome houses filled with desiccated corpses, me alone remembering conversations with Chad and wishing I could see him again and knowing I never could. Me alone, just alone.

  And I sprang from my hiding place in the grass, feebly shouting, “I’m here!” as though my little voice could penetrate the hazard suits and equipment and the spinning rotors.

  And in the same instant there was a flash and a boom as the soldier who’d been guarding Donovan put a bullet in his head.

  I just stood there in disbelief. One of the soldiers must have seen a flash of movement, as he quickly focused his light on me, and there I was—revealed like a flushed rabbit and staring just as defenselessly into the light, watching as the soldier who’d killed Donovan stepped away from the body and wishing that I’d stayed down for just a second longer, knowing now that these weren’t saviors, that these weren’t good men. Yes, we were saved from Donovan, but what worse treatment did we have to look forward to now?

  There was nothing for it. I could have run, but they’d have caught me, or shot me. I knew they wouldn’t ask me politely to stop. The soldiers were all business.

  Now the one who’d shone his light on me began walking slowly away from the helicopter and Donovan’s body. With one hand he waved me toward him encouragingly, but with the other he still held his rifle; though it pointed at the ground, I knew it would be whipped up and aimed at me in half a second if I mad
e any kind of unwanted movement.

  What could I do? I started walking toward him, shaking as I went. There was some comfort in knowing they already had Chad in the helicopter. Whatever awaited me now that the soldiers had me, I wouldn’t have to endure it alone.

  When the soldier and I got within six feet of each other, he held up a hand for me to stop. I did. Then he motioned for me to turn around. Again, I complied. Then I felt his gloved hand patting me down. He did it quickly but thoroughly, running his hand down my sides, my legs; I didn’t like it and was glad when he stopped. Next, I felt his hand on my shoulder, gently turning me.

  He was close enough for me to see his face through the plastic mask and breathing apparatus of his suit. He was young, maybe twenty. But he looked hard, too, and kind of edgy—not like he was scared right now, not scared of me, but more like he’d been scared for a long time, like it had become his normal mode of operating, and he wasn’t handling it well. I was glad I hadn’t opted to run when he started toward me.

  “Are you Scarlett?” he asked, his voice as muffled as Donovan’s had been.

  I nodded.

  “Come on. You’re safe now.”

  I hesitated a second, looking at those wide eyes beyond the plastic, and then started walking toward the helicopter. I wanted to ask him what “safe” even meant anymore, where they were taking us, why they’d killed Donovan, but I didn’t ask anything. I couldn’t, really. It would have meant turning back and looking into his eyes. It wasn’t just that I was scared of him. I was, of course, but it was more than that. I was scared that maybe I looked the same way after all I’d been through; if I didn’t look at him, the fear of what all this had done to me wouldn’t be so strong. So I kept walking, aware of him and his gun and his eyes every step along the way, and wanting nothing more than to see a different set of eyes when I got inside the helicopter to find Chad waiting for me.