The Reverse of Everything

by Tara Brown

  “Right. If they find adults who don't die, they might not need us.” Milo wrinkled his nose. “Although, we’re probably fine. Helen likes us. I could tell. She’ll let us stay if they put her in charge.”

  “Whatever the reason is for being nice to us, it feels weird. Something feels off.”

  “I feel it too,” I agreed. “My stomach has been hurting since we got here.”

  “Anticipation aches?” Celeste asked.

  “Yeah.” That was exactly what it felt like.

  “I read once that those are old instincts left over from a time when mankind was still hunter-gatherers.” Milo spoke in a hushed tone, “Those instincts were made, formed over centuries of experiences. Like why women go to the bathroom together and why kids shy away from certain people. We need to be on guard if you’re feeling that.”

  “And find Rozzy.” Celeste glanced at the hallway.

  We got up and walked out to the living room as the front door opened and Tasha came in. “Hey, just wanted to check on you guys. They have us next door. Everyone’s getting settled in.”

  “How’s Rozzy?” Celeste asked, anxiously.

  “Fine, they had to do a little minor surgery to the leg, put some pins in and make sure the bones were set correctly. The possibility of her living through this was taken into consideration. Just in case.”

  “Pins?” Milo winced.

  “Yeah. When they pulled her from the wreckage, they did a bit of damage to the leg. It’s mending, but she will always have a limp. If she lives,” Tasha’s voice trailed off. “Anyway, the reason I’m here is you need to get assignments tomorrow.”

  “Assignments?” Celeste asked.

  “Yeah, this place runs because of teamwork. I’ll be in the hospital. Aaron is going to the kitchens. A few of the girls with us used to teach at a camp, so they’ll be with the kids teaching them how to do basic things so they can make it the week they have.” She paused and cleared her throat. “And they have lists for sign-up. People who had a past in sanitation are the most sought after.”

  “Garbage collection?” Milo said with skepticism.

  “Yes. And pilots. They need pilots.”

  “I can fly both planes and helicopters,” Milo offered sheepishly. “I mean, not like military level of flying. But I could probably be of some use.”

  “What?” Celeste gasped. “Why didn't you say something?”

  “You didn't have a helicopter.”

  “Well, that might have been useful info.” She sounded really annoyed.

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “I can fly. I haven’t done it in about a year, but I’m sure I still can.”

  “And you two?” Tasha asked Celeste and me.

  “Art student and librarian,” Celeste spoke with a sigh before I could answer. “And I’m not really crazy about kids so don’t say daycare.” And there it was. Celeste’s flaw. I was waiting for it. I’d spent days with her, basically crushing on how cool she and Rozzy were. Roz’s flaws were obvious but Celeste was practically perfect.

  “I’m fine with kids,” I took the awkwardly quiet moment to say, “But I can’t cook at all.”

  “I can cook,” Milo added another skill. “And I’m great with kids.”

  Tasha wrinkled her nose at the comment and muttered, “I think being a pilot will be more than enough help. They’re not really letting guys care for kids.”

  Milo nodded, lowering his face as he had when West gave him the stink eye right after we met them. It pissed me off but it was Celeste who spoke up.

  “Why?” Celeste demanded.

  “It doesn't matter.” Tasha was obviously exhausted and cranky, but her comment and the way she’d wrinkled her nose wasn't cool. And Celeste wasn't letting it go.

  “It does matter. Are you saying men shouldn't be allowed to be around kids? Because Milo has every kind of paternal instinct. He’s caring and sweet and—”

  “I’m not fighting with you,” Tasha scolded us, sounding motherly. “I’m going to be dead by tomorrow night. We’re not doing this. Go to bed and in the morning, register for jobs.” She turned on her heel and left, slamming the door.

  “I really don't like her!” Celeste shouted at the door, likely so Tasha could hear.

  “Me either,” Milo sighed. “But she’s right. She’s going to be dead in a matter of hours. So we cut her some slack. And we go and get jobs to earn our bread and water and shelter.”

  I didn't know what to say to him, but I wrapped my arms around him the way Owen would have and held him.

  “Before we volunteer for anything, I have an idea.” Celeste gave Milo one of her mischievous looks.

  My stomachache worsened the moment she opened her mouth again.

  “You can fly.”

  “Right.” He was confused. I wasn't.

  “We can go and see my family, and Zoey can see her mom one more time. And maybe meet her brother and see her dad. And we can get some conflict resolution going. One more day. One final act of bravery and craziness?”

  His face contorted into protest but she was right. “Milo, please,” I pleaded, I think surprising us all. “The world is over in three weeks. You’ll both leave me here alone in a week. I die in two. What can they do to us that nature or God or the aliens aren’t already doing? So we steal a helicopter or a plane? We’ll come back and help. But please, help us see our families once more.”

  He sighed, lifting his face to the ceiling. “Fine. I saw a FedEx plane next to the base; there’s an airport just next to us. We steal a plane from them. We have to do it right before dawn.”

  Celeste and I both hugged him. Stan started hopping about like he was excited too, nudging us all.

  It was our worst best idea ever.

  31

  The plan

  Celeste

  We woke at 4:00 a.m. and got ready to leave. I wrote my note to Roz, leaving an explanation that we were fine and would be back by dinner. I taped it to the underside of the top bed in our room and put her things on the bottom bunk. It was the best I could do, and I hoped she would see it when she finally got there.

  The base wasn't manned or guarded as it ought to have been, so leaving in the dark wasn't too difficult.

  While there was life milling about in every corner and the odd jeep with weapons mounted on top driving by every few minutes, generally security was slack. Which made sense. Most people were dead.

  They really only needed to protect the kids with no parents and the weaponry.

  We headed to the western side of the base, where the parking lots and a long runway were. Not anywhere near the missile defense or the command center or daycares.

  We strode quickly past a pool, a gym, and a bowling alley, pretending we were walking in a direction we were supposed to go.

  My insides burned but my brain was calm and rational. I could see my family in a matter of hours if this worked. That was motivation enough to keep me from turning around and changing my mind.

  Milo didn't have the same motivation, and he kept glimpsing back as if he regretted everything and hoped to turn and run away; it made me uncomfortable. Stan was just ahead, keeping the pace and somehow going in the direction we needed. He was the best dog I’d ever met.

  Zoey was coming back around. Knowing she would see her family was perking her up a little. She had something extra in her step, hurrying and focusing on the plan.

  A jeep was doing its laps when we reached the airstrip.

  “Against the building,” Zoey whispered. Her years of video-game training, forced on her by Owen, were saving us. I wished I’d spent more time playing them myself.

  The jeep passed and continued on its way, giving us a window to break into a sprint. We all ran as hard as we could across the dark tarmac to the lonely FedEx lot Milo was aiming for. And he was right. There were planes there, just sitting in a row.

  Milo sprinted toward them, opening one of the doors and climbing in, calling back to us after a minute, “Jeeze, they left the keys in it and ev
erything. Lemme see if the fuel tank is full.”

  Zoey and I paused, standing far back as he turned the plane on, making lights glow and sounds occur.

  Nervously, I bit my lip and scanned the area, hoping no one was noticing the sudden onset of lights and power in this one corner of the airport.

  “This one is full. I don't know the gas consumption on this model, I’ve never flown one. But if we run low, we can steal another plane in Boise.”

  He was calmer than I’d expected.

  “How will you fly with no GPS?” Zoey asked a question I wouldn't have thought of.

  “The GPS is actually satellite based and if the military is still flying, which we know they are, that means it’s fine. So long as the weather is good in Boise and Spokane, we can land in daylight. Taking off in the dark is one thing, landing is another. We can take off now, but we will have until an hour before sunset to get back here. I can’t land in the dark because there’s no nav or air traffic. Anyway, we don't have time to discuss this all. Zoey, sit up front. You played video games—that might be somewhat more useful than painting.” He sounded annoyed as he hurried out of the plane again.

  Trying not to be offended by the slight of us both basically being called useless, I plopped down into one of the weirdly uncomfortable-looking seats. It was a cargo plane with no cargo and no seats beyond the two in the open cockpit and the two back where I was.

  Zoey seemed hesitant as she walked nervously to the front of the plane. I patted the seat next to me and called the dog, “Stan!”

  He looked between Zoey and me before coming, climbing up into the chair next to me and sitting with his noble head high in the air. He was a regal dog.

  Rubbing his fur, I strapped in and tried to take my mind off the fact I might pee my pants or run from the plane screaming.

  As he closed the door and saw me trembling, Milo grinned. “You’re dead in a week anyway.” He threw our words back in our faces.

  “Shut up, Milo,” Zoey said, obviously scared too.

  “Get a new line, Zoey,” he said the thing Owen always said, making us all smile. “If we die, we die. It doesn't matter. You were right. We might as well die doing something crazy.” He took a deep breath and nodded. Almost as if he was boosting his own confidence, causing mine to lessen slightly.

  It was a terrible idea.

  I chanted that, my sweaty hands rubbing against Stan the entire time.

  Milo did a thousand things, clicking and tapping and looking and talking to Zoey about planes. She nodded blankly, clearly as scared as I was. And the moment we started to move, the fear worsened. My heart tried to escape my ribs, pounding so hard I was dizzy.

  We moved faster as Milo chanted, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

  Zoey was silent and I was pouring sweat.

  When we lifted off, the engines roared and the plane shook so brutally, I thought we might be lifting off in a space shuttle. My stomach hit a new level of discomfort and something I’d not battled became a possibility. Focusing so hard on not pooping my pants, I didn't notice we were cruising at a comfortable altitude until Stan pulled free of my grip.

  “Sorry,” I apologized to him and let my hand relax, noticing how much fur coated my sweaty fingertips.

  The sun was rising as we flew over the small city—large town—of Colorado Springs, heading for the mountains.

  Zoey gasped when she saw them for the first time. White glossy peaks became the sharp and jagged Rocky Mountains. Her face was pressed to the glass as Milo yammered on about flying, giving her a lesson she neither needed nor heard. He was nervous-talking again. That made me anxious.

  I gripped the chair, leaning into Stan while holding my stomach tight, praying whatever was happening in there, stayed in there until we were on the ground. Which was a joyful experience since the flight was a couple of hours.

  The longest hours of my life.

  When it was over, Milo called out, “Seat belts!” as if I’d taken the damned thing off.

  He started our descent into Boise. My heart and bowels were in the same place they’d been as when we took off. It was misery, but it kept me occupied until we thudded down and Milo and Zoey cheered.

  The second the plane stopped moving, I released the door and sprinted for a spot no one could see me.

  It was the worst non-bathroom related experience I’d ever had.

  But it was the cold reality of the apocalypse.

  You went to the bathroom in weird places.

  As was Milo bringing me toilet paper, covering his eyes as he rounded the corner.

  I wanted to be embarrassed, but what was the point . . . ?

  32

  My people

  Zoey

  Stan held his head out the truck window, smiling the way dogs did when the wind was in their faces.

  I studied the map, the paper map I didn't really know how to read, but fortunately, as far as I could tell, the road I was searching for was right off the main road out of Boise.

  Technically, I was heading back to Colorado Springs alone. Well, with Stan.

  Milo and Celeste were flying to Spokane in a private jet Milo found abandoned at the Boise airport. He was all kinds of excited. I suspected Celeste was too. The cargo plane had been horrible. But Milo was a far better flyer than either of us had expected. Her diarrhea had been proof of the faith we’d had in him.

  And now they were flying and I was driving, something I didn't want to do. I gripped the steering wheel too tightly, wincing and easing off again.

  Fortunately, the house had appeared close-ish from the airport. And all I had to do was drive out of the airport in my stolen vehicle and turn right.

  It had been easier than I was prepared for, but exactly as easy as I needed for my skill level. Particularly, the stealing the truck part. Finding one with keys should have been impossible. But the moment I saw it, I somehow sensed the silver truck with the beat-up door would have keys. West and Owen were guiding me. I knew it in my heart. Even Stan knew the truck was ours. He walked right to it. It had nearly a full tank of gas and keys sitting on the driver’s seat. It was unlocked, waiting for me.

  After about fifteen minutes, I passed the road and slowed down, putting the truck in reverse, on a highway, and turning at the road.

  My uneasy stomach tightened the moment I saw the sign: South Orchard Access Road.

  I gulped and gave Stan a fear-filled look. “Ready?” I asked.

  He whined, making me nod. “I know.” I started driving again, coming to another stop the moment the farm came into view. It sat off the road a ways, a couple of trucks were in the driveway. It had some large trees surrounding it, giving it shade from the morning sun. My heart ached, my stomach was pure acid, and there was a chance I might also shit myself the way Celeste had.

  But this was it.

  The moment I’d been waiting for since fifth grade. Almost seven years.

  What would I say?

  Or do?

  Why had I thought this would be a good idea?

  Regretting everything, I forced myself to continue on, turning into the driveway and slowly rolling in, barely able to touch the gas pedal. Every bit of me wanted to turn around, leave and never come back.

  But the world was ending and I deserved an answer to how and why.

  People came out on the deck. I recognized him right away.

  Then her.

  She pushed through the small crowd of five or six people, her face filling with something as I got closer. She burst into a sprint, arms wide and fully animated. She screamed, shouting my name, making Stan’s and my ears perk.

  I stopped in the middle of the driveway, not near where the other vehicles were parked. She ran to the window, ripping open the door and dragging me from the truck.

  “Mom,” I sobbed the moment she made contact with me. Tears flooded my face, ripping my throat apart, strangling me with relief. It was years of buildup. A word I didn't say anymore. A pain I ignored. A heartache I would never
repair.

  “My baby girl,” she said through her sobs. “You came. You made it.”

  Stan barked and sniffed, unsure if I was in trouble or not. I reached into his fur, trying to settle him as she mauled me.

  “I can’t believe you’re here!” She pulled me back. “And you’re okay.” Her eyes lifted over my head, searching behind me. “Where’s Owen?”

  His name made my eyes lower, telling her a story I couldn't repeat with my mouth.

  “Oh God.” Her hands lifted to her lips. “His dad?”

  I shook my head in small twitches.

  “How?”

  “Trucker,” was all I managed.

  “Oh, my sweet girl. I am so sorry. Did you see it?” she asked and hugged, so I didn't have to answer. “You poor thing. Come on. You might as well come and say hello.” She turned us in the direction of the house.

  In the direction of him.

  He was standing there, in the middle of the driveway with a sheepish grin on his face.

  The woman, the other wife I assumed, was behind him. Her face was filled with something else. Excitement or joy. There was a guy behind her, he looked like me. But he was big, taller. Like Owen. Thick and tall with dark hair and eyes. He didn't have the same expression as his mom or dad. He was confused, visibly. I suspected we shared the expression.

  What was this mess?

  And why had I come?

  “Hey, peanut,” Dad said, and all the strength and hatred and worry washed away. That was why I’d come.

  My knees buckled but I caught myself as Stan came behind me, nudging me. It was like Owen was right there, forcing me forward. Everything crumpled with my loss of strength and I let him hug me.

  I wasn't sure how to absorb this, survive it, cope with it, manage it until it was time to die. Or rather it was time for me to be back at the airport. We agreed on one thing before I left them at the airport, just enough time to fly home—back—whatever the hell that place was to us.

  “I missed you,” he whispered and kissed the side of my head. He smelled the same as he always had. Nothing had changed, except he appeared a bit older. A little bit. “This is Arlene, my wife. My son, Jack. Your brother actually. And Arlene’s brother, Hugh, and his wife, Lonnie. Everyone, this is my daughter, Zoey.” He hugged me to his side and held a hand out to them all.