Until the End of the World (Book 2): And After (35 page)

It’s been a week of canning with no end in sight. I find myself half-wishing we’d run out of jars, but the upper level of the barn is still stacked with boxes. Jamie lifts the blanched tomatoes out of the water and takes a knife to the skins.

“Tell me why you like this again?” she asks.

“It’s food. I like food. You can starve to death this winter if you’d rather.”

“I might, just to get out of this,” she says, and holds up her pruned fingers. “Any more news from the Safe Zones?”

“Nope. Everyone else is fine so far.”

“When’s Dwayne going out?”

“In two days.”

It’s just September, but Mark’s news has unsettled us enough that we need to know if anything’s close. Dwayne says he’ll run almost half the tank down and turn around, so he’ll be able to go anywhere from 450 to 600 miles. We’ll do another flight in a few weeks, and that will be the end of our fuel.

“I hate this.” Jamie throws a tomato skin into the compost bucket. “Not canning—well, I hate that, too—but waiting for something that we don’t even know is coming. Everyone’s so stressed. I tried to talk Doc into giving everyone antidepressants.”

I laugh at her wicked expression. Jamie works with Doc when he needs help. She isn’t trained as a nurse, but she’s close to one now.

“I just wish the kids didn’t know about it,” I say. “But at least Bits is doing okay.”

“That’s great. Doc says Chris is having nightmares, even.”

“Did you and Shawn ever want kids?” I ask. Jamie seems like she’d make a great mother, and they both love the kids, but neither of them has ever said a word about it, although they’re in their mid-thirties.

“I’m not having kids until every single one of these motherfuckers is wiped off the Earth.” Her knife slips through tomato and slices her finger. I hand her a towel and she smiles, although it’s more like a baring of teeth. “Sorry, can you tell I feel strongly about this?”

Her reaction wasn’t strong, it was feral, and what I can tell is that she doesn’t want me to ask anything more. “I don’t blame you. I feel the same way. I’ve just got to keep Bits safe until it happens.”

“I’m here to help,” Jamie says. “No matter what.”

I put an arm around her shoulders and feel her tension start to subside. “Thanks, lady. But don’t go thinking that cut’s gonna get you out of canning.”

“Fucker!” she says.

***

The day is bright and sunny, but the weather six hundred miles southwest is a mystery. Dwayne and Jeff stand by the plane. Dwayne’s found a couple of small airports they might be able to land in and refuel on the way, which would mean he could go farther. They’re unknown quantities, but he has one of the pumps we use for fuel on board, just in case.

“We’ll be back before sundown, most likely,” Dwayne says. “You’ll hear from us when we’re close. But if we’re not back, assume we stopped for fuel.”

“I’ll be at the radio,” John says. “Just come on back if you hit any bad weather. Don’t chance it.”

Dwayne nods. Peter and I watch the field for Lexers while the two climb into the plane. We head back behind the fence and watch them roll down the runway and into the air. When they’ve disappeared from sight, John turns to us. “Maybe they’ll find out something.”

“Maybe,” Peter says, still watching the sky with a frown.

“We’ll go out again in a few weeks. If they aren’t close by then, they probably won’t make it by winter.”

I link my arms through theirs as we walk to breakfast. “There’s nothing we can do about it, right? So let’s go eat pancakes.”

“Someone took her happy pills this morning,” Peter says.

“Someone took his morose pills this morning,” I say. “What’s wrong with being happy to be alive?”

“Absolutely nothing. Being alive suits you.”

“But I’d be an awesome zombie, right?” The words come out of my mouth without forethought, and Peter glances at me quickly. I would feel bad, but Adrian would only laugh if he heard. I chomp my teeth. “I’d eat you all up!”

Peter smirks. “Well, you’re certainly pale enough.”

I trip him with a carefully timed foot. “Whoops! Careful there.”

He trips me back, which isn’t difficult to do. I don’t have any happy pills, but maybe Jamie has slipped something into the water because I haven’t been able to shake this feeling of contentment. Not that I want to. Now that Bits has been in Dan’s tent, she asks to sleep there every night. We slept there once, and true to his word, Dan painted our toenails, but only after he made us scrub our feet. I’ve made it a point to stop by Adrian’s grave. I still miss him more than I’ve ever missed anyone in my life, but my pedicured feet are planted on terra firma.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” Dan says, and tickles my side. “It’s almost ten.”

There was no plane last night. Dan and I stayed up late in the radio room with John, but as of three in the morning there was still no word. I came back to Dan’s tent to sleep for two hours until breakfast shift.

Dan sits on the side of the bed, dressed and wide awake. Rain patters on the tent roof, now covered with the rain fly to keep out the cold night air. The light that filters through the fabric is dim from the overcast day.

“Ten?” I ask. “Shit. I had to do breakfast.”

I start to rise, but he tucks the covers back around me. “I did it for you.”

“Really? Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. Is everyone still alive?”

“Mikayla told me I was beating the bread dough to death, instead of kneading, but other than that, no one died.” He holds up a mug and my toothbrush, complete with a dollop of toothpaste. “And I stole you tea, but I thought you might want to brush first.”

“I’m going to throw caution to the wind,” I say, and take the mug. “Thanks. That was really nice of you.”

He spreads his arms. “I’m a nice guy.”

“I know that.” I touch the hand that rests on the sleeping bag. “Believe me.”

“But I’m still in the friend zone.”

“The other zone is closed for business. You
were
in the Friends with Benefits Zone.” I wave a finger side to side. “But did that work for you? Nooo. So, tough.”

“I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” Dan says, and pretends to punch himself. “That’s okay, I’ll wait.”

“Well, you’re first on line for the grand opening.”

Those creases appear alongside his mouth; I’ve never said anything like that before. I look down and wish
I’d
kept my mouth shut. I shouldn’t make any promises, even vague ones.

Dan coughs. “Dwayne still isn’t back. Pennsylvania said they had a storm yesterday afternoon. I guess it’s the one we’re getting now.”

“Did he radio them on his way?”

“Yeah, when he passed by yesterday morning. Said all was well.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

I get out of bed and pick up my jeans. “I have to get ready for art, but I’ll see you at dinner. We’re on guard tonight?” Dan nods absently, and I tilt his chin up in question.

“It just gets to me sometimes, you know?” he says.

“Yeah, I know,” I say.

There’s nothing more to say, and I don’t stop myself from planting a kiss on the top of his head before I leave.

***

Rainy days are usually fun days. We still have meals to make, fences to guard and clothes to wash, but the outdoor canning can wait until tomorrow. And although I spent a cozy afternoon in the school with the woodstove burning and the kids doing art or playing quietly, every boom of thunder and bolt of lightning made me jump. I imagined Dwayne and Jeff up there, with no experienced air traffic controller to talk them down and no weather reports to guide them somewhere safe. Now it’s evening, and our dinner table has been quiet until Hank and Bits show off their finished comic.

“They haven’t saved the whole world yet,” Bits says. “Just the Northeast, for now. Their power is running out, so they have to find more juice.”

Hank opens the comic to the last page. Comic Book-Bits stands, dressed in black leather, brown hair streaming behind her, next to Comic Book-Hank, who still has on glasses but has suddenly sprouted muscles. The hills behind them are dotted with bodies. The entire table applauds.

“That was excellent,” Henry says.

“Cassie helped us,” Bits says.

I shake my head and say, “No, guys, that was all you. It’s wonderful.”

I was reluctant when they asked me to show them how to make the bodies more realistic. But the kids giggled as we pretended to fall to our deaths and observe how our limbs splayed out. It’s not like they don’t see dead people every day, but I almost couldn’t stand the sight of Bits sprawled on the floor, as though letting her pretend to be dead would be tempting fate. And that fate might be marching our way right now from South America. Ana’s stepped up PE, and the kids can run faster than they ever could. They try harder too, as if they know their lives might depend on it. Maybe they do know.

“Didn’t Bits do a great job on the artwork?” Hank asks.

“Well, you did the writing,” Bits says. She twists a dread on his head that’s frizzing out. “I mean, I helped, but you’re much better with words than I am.”

They grin at each other and start to talk about their next issue in low voices. They’ve both grown so much in the past year. They’re still kids, but sometimes I get a glimpse of what they’ll be like ten years from now—maybe as close as brother and sister, or maybe more than that. There are so many possibilities, so many things I want for them. But those things can only happen if we’re still alive. If they can run fast enough.

Mark Golden, history teacher, may be sixty-five, but he has more energy than I do after seven lattes. He stands by the east fence and rocks on the balls of his feet while showing us how to take apart and reassemble a recurve bow. “I’ll demonstrate later how to string without a stringer, but let’s get our feet wet. Who wants to be first?”

He looks around the group of us who do patrol. Everyone at the farm will learn archery eventually, but we’re his first students. In keeping with every annoying teacher I’ve ever had, Mark notices my attempt to become invisible and points at me. “Cassie, why don’t you go first?”

I sigh and take the bow. I hate doing things like this in front of people. It makes me all flustered and hot. Mark has me string the bow with the stringer and then points to the target he’s set up. At least it’s close. He explains the proper stance, and I do as he says. There’s no sight, nothing to help me figure out how to get an arrow anywhere near the target. I want my crossbow.

“Good,” Mark says, and lifts my right hand. “Now use the tips of your three middle fingers to draw back the string. Your hand will come to your face, elbow level.”

It’s harder than I thought, and this isn’t even a bow with a high draw weight. Mark tells me to let go and hands me an arrow. I fit it onto the string and follow his directions to draw it.

“Now how do I get it there?” I ask.

“Aha,” Mark says. “You’re used to guns, as evidenced by the way you’re gripping the bow to keep it steady. Loosen your left, my dear. There are a few ways to aim, but I use the instinctive method.”

“What’s that?” Shawn asks from behind me. “Point the arrow and hope for the best?”

Mark gives him a talking-out-of-turn-in-class look and raises a finger. “If your stance is correct, young man, you’ll be able to tell where the arrow will go. Now, Cassie, let it fly.”

The arrow misses the target, but hits the hay on which the target rests. Between all the eyes on my back and being first to go, there’s no way I’ll ever hit it.

“Okay,” I say. “Who’s next?”

“Keep going,” Mark says. “Get the feel of the bow. Tell the arrow where to go. It will do your bidding if you work at it, that I can tell you.”

I turn to the others. “Don’t watch. Face the other way.”

They stare at me before Dan winks and spins. The others follow suit, until it’s just Mark and me and the target.

“Again,” he says. “Let your middle finger touch the corner of your mouth when you draw back. That will be your anchor point. When it hits your mouth, release the string.”

I take another arrow and draw the bow. This time I hit the blue. I loose another arrow, and then another. Three more and I’ve hit the red. I see what he means: sometimes when I shoot a gun I know when I have it; the bullet does my bidding. The tenth arrow hits the yellow center, and a cheer rises from behind me. I knew they wouldn’t stay turned, but I could pretend that they were.

“Wonderful!” Mark says. “You got the feeling, didn’t you?”

“Cassie can shoot,” Ana says.

“Two very different methods,” Mark says, “but the same zone of concentration. Now, who wants to go next?”

I hand off the bow and watch the others take a turn. My fingers itch to try again, although my shoulder tells me it’d like to rest. When archery lessons are over, I ask Mark if I can practice more.

“Yes, my dear,” he says. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but I’m impressed. I know you like that crossbow of yours, but those bolts are short and quite impractical to retrieve out there. I left home with three dozen arrows and arrived here with two dozen left.”

“And it’s quiet,” I say, “without having to get close. Do you think we can practice in the trench tomorrow, if anything’s in there? Moving targets are harder.”

Mark’s weathered face is alight. “We most certainly can. Nothing makes me happier than an eager pupil.”

Dwayne and Jeff have been gone for over a week and not a single Safe Zone has heard from them. Everyone hopes that they had engine trouble and landed somewhere safe, and I secretly hope they found a nice, zombie-free tropical island on which to drink Piña Coladas. Sadly, the first is as unlikely as the second.

We’ve sighted some large groups of Lexers from the lookout, but they number in the hundreds, not thousands. All we’ve done so far is waste the gas that could be used in the winter. One day we’re going to have to wash our clothes without the use of generators, and I’ve read enough Little House books to know how much that’s going to suck.

Dan knocks on the side of the ambulance. “Ready?”