Until the End of the World (Book 1) (47 page)

I know he was afraid to ask, and the final bit of worry leaves his face. I want to tell him about how we got here, about Nelly, how Ana helped save him. But there’s time for that.
Time
. That’s something we don’t take for granted anymore.

Pure joy bubbles up, and I see it in his face, too. He laughs and spins me around and around like we’re ballroom dancing but stops short as Bits and Ana come around the bend. Bits flies into his arms with a scream of joy and wraps her appendages around him like an octopus.

He kisses her on the nose and inspects her face. “Bits, you got so many more freckles! I see one named Morris right there.”

Bits’s smile is blinding, and her tomato-stained hands hold on tight. “Peter, I missed you so much!”

Peter hugs her close. “I missed you, too, baby girl. So, so much.”

The rest of our group, and Adrian, have made it down the road. They hug Peter and ask a million questions at once.

I introduce Adrian, who shakes Peter’s hand with a smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m glad you made it here.”

Peter flashes me that gigantic grin again. I wink back and look for Ana. She stands apart, wearing a wide-brimmed hat that keeps the sun out of her eyes in the garden. She’s always out there, when she’s not trying to rope me into some sort of exercise or finding Lexers to destroy. She chews her lip and stares at Peter, uncertainty all over her face.

Peter whispers something in Bits’s ear. She jumps to the ground with a nod and smile. Peter makes his way to where Ana stands and stops a few steps away. Then, in a gesture that’s almost courtly, he holds out his hand.

“You know,” he says, with the hint of a smile, “I never did get that dance.”

Ana laughs and reaches for his hand. Her hat hits the ground when he pulls her to him and waltzes her around. Peter hasn’t forgotten the steps at all, but Ana keeps up, just like he said she would.

“Dance party!” Bits calls out, her voice echoing through the trees.

She takes Adrian in one hand and Nelly in the other and dances like she hears music. My dad used to grab my mom and dance her around the house, me and Eric, too. If we protested, he’d say,
There’s always music playing somewhere. You just have to listen.

I have to believe that still: that there’s music playing somewhere out there. That somewhere else people are dancing. And, as Nelly spins me around, I think I can hear the faintest tinkle coming from far off. Penny and I link arms to skip in a circle and then cry with laughter when Nelly and Adrian copy us. Bits has roped Dan into the party, and he swings her through his legs and throws her in the air.

We must look ridiculous out here, dancing on a dirt road. But I don’t care because we can hear the music, and it’s getting louder. It drowns out the moans of the broken bodies that wander the world, unaware they’re destroying everything they once loved. It soothes the pain of the broken families and broken hearts we all have now.

James lands on Penny’s feet with every step, but I can tell he hears it, too. Even John nods along. Adrian catches me and holds me close, twirling Bits to Nelly as she squeals with delight. I’m full of happiness and hopelessness at the same time, laughing and crying at once. I don’t even know which tear is for what. Adrian smiles and brushes them with his thumb.

The hopelessness begins to recede. I mourn for the way the world was, but I have faith it will go on. When I was a kid and promised to love my parents until the end of the world and after, it was meant to be silly. It was impossible. When the world was over, it was over. But it turns out that’s not true. We may lose this after all; humans may become a mere blip on the radar screen of history.

But I’m not so sure about that, because the world has already ended, and we’re still here.

Born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, Sarah Lyons Fleming now lives in Oregon with her family and, in her opinion, not nearly enough supplies for the zombie apocalypse. She’s working on it, though. She’s also working on the sequel to
Until the End of the World
, so stay tuned.

Visit the author at
www.SarahLyonsFleming.com

Writing a book is exciting, difficult, frustrating and a whole lot of fun. And when you finally have something to show, your brain makes you second guess every word you’ve put down on the page (or at least mine does). Thankfully, I had people who encouraged me and told me I did have a good story to tell and a decent way of telling it:

My mom, Linda Isaacs, who cheerfully read, loved and critiqued every draft. Well, except that first draft, which no one but me and my computer will ever see. She bugged me about when the next one would be ready, and said the story never grew boring. Hard to believe, but she sounded sincere, even if she is my mom.

My dad, Bill Lyons, who read and re-read and told me how awesome I am (I think he might be biased, though). I might never be the crazy human that I am had he not camped with us in a lean-to for a month, or handed me
Malevil
the summer going into fifth grade.

Thanks to my early readers:

Rachel Greer, my first non-family reader, who gave me tons of encouragement in a long email I must have read ten times.

Jamie Arest McReynolds, who sat at her computer and read it in three days, ignoring children and everything else, and then told me what she loved and what could be changed. Jamie’s husband, Shawn, a guy I hope I get to meet before our post-zombie apocalypse meet up, gave great mechanical advice. A bucket and a screwdriver, duh!

Allie Birchler and Danielle Gustafson, whose advice on a few key parts made the book all the better. Paulette Letson, my mother-in-law, who read and added her voice to the ones who loved it. Larry “Big La” Isaacs, my step-dad and all around good guy.

Will Fleming, the King of Grammar (a.k.a. my husband). His observations, suggestions and grammatical corrections are always thoughtful, honest and astute. Believe me, if you find a grammatical or stylistic error the fault is all mine. And, as someone who knows writing, his encouragement and kind words made me believe that maybe I really did have something here. Thank you, Ruggles! (It deserves more exclamation points, but I know better). I don’t think it’s possible to express how much I value your opinion and advice.

And to Sadie and Silas, the children who would only nap with their feet in Mama’s lap. If I hadn’t been trapped under y’all for all those years I might never have decided to see if I could write a book. So, thanks, you goobers. But sleeping through the night would be cool. Just sayin’.