Until the End of the World (Book 1) (44 page)

“You’re like your mom,” John says. “Slow to anger. But the slow burns make the huge infernos. It’s not always a bad thing.”

He’s right: my anger wasn’t a bad thing. Nelly’s back from the dead, and for once in this God-forsaken world, that’s a good thing.

“I love this car,” I say from behind the steering wheel of the VW. It’s all gleaming wood inside, with a tiny fridge, sink and two bench seats. The outside is unblemished white and teal and chrome. Somebody else loved this car.

“It’s not a
car
,” Nelly says. “It’s a
bus,
or
camper,
or even a
van
.”

“Whatever. I love it. It has a spice rack! How many people have a spice rack in their car? If we make it all the way there in it, think we can keep it?”

“Sure. We’ll go on road trips. Visit the zombie-filled countryside.”

He’s still pale and his arm is painful, but after three more days of antibiotics, he’s truly on the mend. We’ve been waiting to leave until he’s strong enough.

“Smart-ass.” I go to give him a light smack but feel his forehead instead. It’s blessedly cool.

He ducks away. “How long are you going to insist on feeling my forehead every ten minutes?” He hasn’t had a fever in two days.

“Forever. Get used to it. Are you sure you’re okay to leave tomorrow?”

He rests his good arm on the window and takes a breath. “Definitely. Tomorrow’s as good a day as any to die.” He raises his eyebrows at me. I can’t tell if he’s serious.

A remnant of that overwhelming sadness and rage passes through me. “No! You’re not allowed to die. I didn’t save your ass so you could just go and die again. Promise me.”

He keeps his eyebrows up. I know it’s ridiculous to make him promise something he has no control over, but I don’t care.

“Okay, Cass. I promise not to die. Ever.”

“That’s more like it.” I ignore the sarcasm in his voice. It makes me feel better, which might be even dumber than exacting the promise in the first place.

Penny comes out of the cabin and throws backpacks in the rear. “We’re ready to go first thing in the morning.”

Her hair hangs greasy and limp in its ponytail. I wish I could shower. Showing up greasy and stinky is not how I hoped I’d see Adrian for the first time in two years. I know it shouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but if he’s not happy to see me, it would be nice not to feel physically repulsive to boot.

Penny gets in the back and sighs. “I love this car.”

James arrives with canned food right as she speaks. “It’s a bus, sweetie. Not a car.”

I ignore Nelly’s victorious look.

“Forty miles to go,” James says, in answer to Bits’s tenth, “Are we there yet?”

She’s been serving us water a few drops at a time so she has an excuse to run the sink incessantly. We’ve had to move a few cars, but as the terrain gets less populated there are fewer obstacles.

It’s a beautiful drive. Adrian and I dreamt about living up here one day. The mountains are green, like in lower Vermont, but they’re craggier and wilder. It seems like you could take a few steps off a trail and be lost forever. But it’s also a place of gentle valleys and neat squares of farmland. That farmland is now overgrown and the farmhouses are empty. I count the miles and translate it to minutes. Forty-five minutes left to go. Thirty-five. My mouth is dry and my hands are clasped so tightly my forearms hurt.

“More water?” Bits asks.

I force my lips into a smile and nod. She pirouettes to the sink for a refill. She’s almost as grubby as the night we found her, but she’s excited instead of terrified. She cries for Peter in her sleep, and since he soothed her most nights, it’s another blow when she wakes and realizes the nightmare’s real. But she’s resilient. I hope resilient enough for this world.

Thirty minutes. The water washes over my parched tongue without touching it. I wish it would drown the butterflies in my stomach. Twenty-five minutes. Twenty.

“Someone’s moved the cars off the road,” John says, and points to the ditches where abandoned cars lay.

The farm-bordered road gives way to the lawns and houses of the town before Kingdom Come. We brace ourselves for the infected. There’s at least one group in every small town, and they always come out when they hear a car. We pass town hall and a village green, but no Lexers lope after us. The general store has a sandwich sign out front. Next to it is a metal drum with a hand pump and hose. The sign reads:

GAS IN DRUM. FOOD INSIDE STORE.

TAKE WHAT YOU NEED.

PLEASE BE CONSIDERATE OF OTHERS AFTER YOU.

“Wow,” James says. “They’ve cleared the town out and even have a pit stop. They must have their shit—” he looks at Bits, who grins, “—um, stuff together, huh?”

We turn onto a dirt road that twists through woods until it opens up at a small farm. The sign reads Cob Creek Farm, but we can’t see it because the tree-lined driveway ends abruptly at a tall wooden fence that surrounds the house and outbuildings. The fields outside the fence are planted with corn. We pass more fortified farms. One has a chain-link fence and another a cinderblock wall. Our barbed wire and shutters seem like child’s play in comparison.

John squints at the sign ahead. “Kingdom Come Road. Here it is.”

He makes the turn. A cabin perched atop a framework of legs stands in a clearing. A ladder leads up to a platform outside the cabin door. A man on the platform raises his hand, and John slows to a stop. A blonde woman climbs down the ladder. She holds a rifle but smiles when she motions us out of the van.

“Hi. Sorry about the guns.” She notices Nelly’s bandaged arm and her smile fades. “Are any of you infected?”

“No,” Nelly says. He peels back the gauze to show his wound, which is obviously healing. “I got sliced with a knife.”

Her grip on the rifle relaxes. “Sorry, we’ve got to be careful. I’m Shelby. Welcome to Kingdom Come. Go up the road about a quarter mile, you’ll see the gate. I’ll radio ahead.”

The corrugated metal gate must be ten feet tall. Two guys in jeans and t-shirts stand next to a door set into the wall beside it. A chain-link fence heads into the trees for as far as I can see. I don’t know how they’ve managed all this, although if you have enough people, I guess you can get anything done.

The one with a handsome, rugged face and blue eyes leans an arm on the van window. “Hiya. I’m Dan. You here to stay or just passing through?”

“Hoping to stay,” John says. “We’re friends of Adrian Miller. You know him?”

Dan laughs. “Of course. It’s his and Ben’s farm. We’re all just visiting.”

He winks at me and Bits then grins when she gives him a lopsided wink back. The gate slides open to reveal more tree-lined road.

“You’ll see a small gate up a bit. Maureen’ll meet you there,” Dan says. “I’ll see you all around. Welcome.”

Penny leans over and puts her hand on mine to unclench it. “It’ll be fine.”

I wish I had her faith.

A shed with a stovepipe sits right before a bend in the road. A smiling, pleasantly-rounded older woman walks out and waves.

“John?” she asks. “I’m Maureen. You’re going to follow me through the gate on my bike. I’ll show you where to park, and then we’ll figure out everything else. Sound good?”

John nods. “Lead the way.”

We gasp as the farm comes into view. A white farmhouse with a huge front porch stands in a clearing surrounded by maple trees. An apple orchard, the trees twisted with age, runs to the left. A greenhouse and two gigantic barns are set back, with animals sitting in pens in the sunshine. Cabins and tents dot the back of the land, and behind them is the biggest vegetable garden I’ve ever seen. A far off fence glints, and beyond it are fields of crops.

The farm itself is beautiful, with its red barns, white house and groves of trees, but most breathtaking is the ring of mountains it sits nestled within. We’re surrounded by a circle of solid green. It makes me feel tiny, insignificant and safe. I know how Adrian felt when he saw this place and wish I’d been there. It’s perfect.

We head behind the house to a post and beam building and park next to an ambulance. I pick my jeans off my thighs as I hit the dirt. The banging of pots echoes out of the building’s back doors.

Maureen points toward the noise. “We call that the restaurant, where we make most of the food. Are you hungry? Lunch officially starts in a couple of hours, but there’s always something around.”

We shake our heads. The only thing I want to know is where Adrian is, but I can’t seem to open my mouth and ask.

“Okay.” Her eyes are kind as she takes us in. “I’m thinking you won’t mind being together in a tent? We’ve got an empty one. They’re actually pretty nice. I bet you guys would like a shower, too.”

“Yes to all of the above, ma’am,” says John, who’s become our spokesperson.

Maureen’s cheeks get even rounder when she smiles. “John, don’t ever call me ma’am again. And I don’t know the rest of your names.”

We introduce ourselves as we follow her to the tent. It’s cozy and light inside, with cots, bunk beds, a small bookshelf and a wood stove that vents out the roof.

“Hm,” Maureen says. “It might be a bit tight. We’re building cabins, but they won’t be ready for a few weeks. There are spaces in other tents if you want to spread out.”

The thought of splitting up makes me uneasy and, judging by the vigorous shaking of heads, I’m not alone. I’m pretty sure we’d cram all seven of us into a two-man tent if we had to.

“This is great,” Nelly says. “Really.”

“Okay. Think of me as your cruise director.” We laugh. “Today you’ll just get the lay of the land. Tomorrow we’ll talk about your jobs here and all that. Where are you from?”

“New York City,” James says.

Her eyes widen. “Have people been getting out?” James explains that we left early on. “Well, I’m glad you made it. You’ll meet some of the people who live here later. They’re all great. We’re like a family.”

I open my mouth, but Nelly beats me to it. “Actually, we’re good friends with Adrian Miller. Is he here?”

“Adrian’s in Whitefield. The plane’s expected back before dinner. We trade our expertise and food with the guys there.” She clasps her hands and beams at us. “He’ll be so happy to hear you’ve come.”

I’m filled with disappointment, but also the tiniest bit of relief, because I’ve been terrified of this moment. And I hope with all my heart that Maureen’s right.

***

Maureen takes Penny and me to find clothes while the others wait at the showers. A room built onto the restaurant holds bins of clothes organized by size. I find jeans, a tank top and hoodie for me and outfits for the others. Maureen and I wait with my stack of clothes while Penny searches for pants for James.

“Thank you for the clothes,” I say. “This is so great.”

“Isn’t it?” she asks. “When I got here this was all in its beginning stages, but we’ve got a system down now.”

“Adrian’s very organized.”

She leans against a table. “Yes, he is. Everyone loves him. How do you know him?”

“We met in college.” I don’t want to tell her the details. If he’s not glad to see me, at least I won’t be known as the ex-fiancé right away.

“You know him well?” I nod and watch the occasional person walk by outside. “Then you know he’s quiet, but somehow he gets everyone to do what needs to be done. Maybe they don’t want to disappoint him.”

I hesitate, but Penny’s still busy, so I ask my question. “Is he dating anyone?” I keep my voice light, like I’m looking for gossip. It must work, because Maureen leans in conspiratorially, her eyes wide.

“Not anyone! Granted, there are more men than women here, but I’ve seen him turn down some very obvious offers.”

The butterflies are back.
There’s no one else
.

“I heard that last summer he had a fling with one of the summer interns,” she continues. “It was hot and heavy for a while, but when summer ended, so did the fling.”

Jealousy flares. I know I have absolutely no right to be angry, but that doesn’t stop me from picturing Adrian,
hot and heavy
, with someone else. I want to throw up.

Maureen puts her hand over mine in a motherly gesture. “And I’m getting the feeling that was not something you needed to hear. I’m sorry. I do tend to go on. TMI, my daughter calls it.”

I squeeze her hand and swallow down the bitter feeling. “No need to be sorry. I asked. Is she here? Your daughter?”

Her eyes fill before she blinks them clear and smiles. “No, she lives in Florida. I don’t know if she’s okay. I lost my husband on the way here.”

“I’m sorry. We lost someone on the way, too. And my brother, he was supposed to meet me but never showed up.”

Maureen sighs. “I don’t know anyone who hasn’t lost someone. We just go on the best we can, don’t we?”

Her gentle voice reminds me so much of my mom that I want to hug her. I don’t think she’d mind if I did.

Penny walks over. “Okay, found jeans for the string bean. Thanks, Maureen.”

The shower is just warm water running from a barrel through a showerhead, but it feels incredible. I lather up my and Bits’s hair and feel some of the horror of the past week wash down with the suds and run under the pallet we stand on. Before she left, Maureen asked if I wanted her to find me at the restaurant when the plane was on its way. When I nodded, she squeezed my hand and promised she would.

We unpack in the tent before heading to lunch. The dining room has exposed beams and an assortment of tables, benches and chairs. Kitchen workers continually refresh the food at tables in the back. It’s the height of summer, so everything is fresh. I pour a big glass of cow’s milk for Bits, who gulps it down and asks for a refill.

“You know, I think you may love that coffee more than me,” James says to Penny, who drinks a mug of coffee with cream like it’s a religious experience.

She cracks open one eye and smiles before closing it again. “You may be right.”

My food looks delicious, but I can’t eat it. The main lunch rush has ended, but the room is still full of people. Most of them look to be between twenty and fifty years old, although there are some kids and older folks mixed in.