Until the End of the World (Book 1) (9 page)

“Until the end of the world,” I whisper down the empty hall.

“And after,” Penny whispers from behind me.

I turn and smile. When I was a little girl I would argue with my parents about who loved who more. As big as the universe, we’d say. Forever and a day. Infinity plus one. Until the end of the world and after. Right now it seems fitting.

My block is still quiet, so we load the van quickly. Nelly’s behind the wheel as we head for Queens. Shadowy figures fill the blocks far ahead. Nelly drives to the next avenue, but it’s the same: a terrifying parade, headed our way.

“Yeah,” I say, “Jersey it is.”

There are a few infected people on every block. Some almost look normal, but their stiff bodies and staring eyes give them away. Others look dead and decomposing. I wonder how I didn’t realize Half-Neck was dead; in retrospect it seems so obvious. You can’t be alive when your carotid artery has a bite taken out of it.

I’m relieved when we’re off the streets and on the expressway. The infected haven’t made it here yet, and the bridge is only minutes away. I’m beginning to relax when the interior of the van flashes with police lights. A layer of sweat forms under my clothes, and my legs tremble. We’ve barely made it anywhere.

“Shit,” Nelly says, and pulls to a stop on the shoulder.

Four police cars race up. I hope they’ll let us go home instead of arresting us, but they whiz past without a glance. I drop my head back with relief and hear the exhales of my friends as we pull onto the road and cross the bridge.

The Verrazano has always been my favorite of all the bridges. It’s tall and graceful and painted a light silvery blue, the exact color of the river and sky at dusk. It looks as if it’s grown there organically, water turned to metal. I imagine it tomorrow, a twisted hulk, with cables and chunks of concrete hanging down to the water beneath.

This seems too easy by far. I spin in my seat, but the road is empty except for a few cars far behind us. I face forward as we pull into the tolls. A police officer stands in the one open booth. He looks like the kind of guy who becomes a cop so he can legally fuck with people.

“Whatchoo all doing out here?” he asks. He has a name tag that says Spinelli, and he looks at us with absolutely no expression.

“Hi, officer,” Nelly says. “Hoping to get to Jersey, we’ve got some family there.”

He stares at Nelly without blinking. “What, you didn’t hear about the curfew?”

“Well, yeah, we did. But you know New York City traffic. I figured this was the only time in my life I was going to get to speed on the Turnpike.”

Officer Spinelli’s veneer cracks a little bit. He’s doesn’t smile, but some sort of tough guy thing passes between them and he relents.

“All right. Listen, I’m not taking you guys in. We’re supposed to, but after this shift I’m going home, and I’m not staying in the station filling out paperwork if I don’t got to. I’m the only one here now, anyway, so I don’t know what they expect me to do. Anyone asks, you got on the highway in Staten Island.”

James leans toward the window from the passenger seat. “Thanks, officer. Are you planning on staying home or going somewhere?”

“Staying home. Like you should be doing. Why?” he demands.

“We have it on good authority that they’re closing off New York tomorrow. Blowing up almost every access point and leaving the infection to die out on its own.”

Officer Spinelli looks like he might be reconsidering not taking us in. It’s obvious he thinks we’re off our rockers. I know James is trying to help him, but it might make things worse.

“This is straight from a FEMA guy high up. You might want to leave tonight,” James says.

Spinelli’s eyes don’t change expression. “I’ll take that under advisement. Godspeed.” He lifts the arm on the lane and waves us through.

“I thought for sure he’d listen to me,” James says, disappointed.

I turn back and see the arm hasn’t come back down. A few cars have pulled into the lane and he waves them through. Then he rushes out of his booth to a police cruiser parked on the side of the highway.

“He is,” I say. “Look.” I hope he gets his family out in time.

Nelly was right: I don’t think I’ve ever gone this fast on the Staten Island Expressway. I cross my fingers as we turn onto the road that leads to the Goethals Bridge.

“We’ve got a roadblock,” Nelly says.

Two cop cars block the road, surrounded by police barriers. A cop rises up from behind them and limps toward us, dragging his right leg. Nelly takes his foot off the brake, but the figure raises its arms and waves. The leg of his uniform is shredded. He leans against Nelly’s door and pants.

“We were attacked by some guys,” he gasps. “One bit me, but I shot him right in the head. I radioed for backup, but it hasn’t come yet. My partner’s dead and I can’t drive with my leg.” He points back at the cars.

“National Guard was here, but they were called away to some disturbance. You can’t go through.” He has a mustache that bobs up and down as he talks. “Curfew. Plus, I need medical help. You gotta take me to the hospital.”

They must be telling the cops the same thing they’re telling everyone. He doesn’t know his bite is a death sentence.

“We can’t,” Nelly says. “We have to go to Jersey. We’ll take you that way.”

“You can’t go that way. I just told you that. Stay here, I’ve got to get my stuff.” He limps back to his cruiser.

James turns to Nelly. “Just go, dude.”

I pull the revolver out of my bag and hold it on my lap. Maybe I could use it on someone who isn’t already dead, if I know he’ll be dead soon. Dead, and trying to eat me.

“Hang on,” Nelly says.

He knocks the traffic cones out of the way and an orange striped barrier hits the van with a clunk and flies off into the grass. The cop waves his arms and yells. He gets smaller and smaller as we race across the bridge. I feel sorry for him; he has no idea why we abandoned him.

James turns to me, on the bench seat behind him. “He didn’t even know there’s no cure. What. The. Fuck?”

Peter’s been silent the whole trip, but now he speaks up from behind me. “If they told you that you were fighting a losing battle and that they were about to lock you and your family on an island of infection, how many cops do you think would stay on the job?”

“True.” James leans back in his seat. “Do you think that’s it? Just that roadblock?”

“That’d be pretty hard to believe,” Peter replies. “But who knows? Everyone in the know may have left already. I wouldn’t have flown back to New York, had
I
known. I would have hopped on one of those choppers with a senator and be cooling my heels somewhere in Montana right now, perfectly safe.”

I can feel his eyes boring into the back of my neck. That makes two of us that wish he was in Montana. He’s taking the breakup well.

“Well, since they can’t spare the manpower to stop the infected eating people on the street, I’m betting they don’t have the time to stop people who are driving along minding their own business,” Nelly says. “That cop said the Guard was called away. It must have been pretty important for them to leave a major roadblock.”

My shoulders come down a centimeter on the other side of the Goethals, and I loosen my grip on the pistol. I’ve been waiting for an explosion to rip up the roadbed underneath us. There are few cars on the Turnpike, but that wouldn’t be surprising this late on a normal night. A convoy of Army trucks passes us southbound. Maybe they’re heading for the bridge. Maybe they’re setting up the explosives.

“We’ve got about twenty miles until the Palisades Parkway,” James says.

The only sounds are Penny and Ana’s sniffles. There’s nothing I can say to make it better. Maria’s all they’ve got left besides each other, and I know exactly how that feels.

The van slows as we come up on the George Washington Bridge. The highway beyond our exit is blocked. When we make our way down the ramp, we’re stopped at the intersection.

What looks like a kid in an Army uniform shines a light into the car. “Sir, the bridge to New York is closed. Where are you headed?”

“We know, we’re heading to the Palisades,” Nelly replies.

“Sir, that road is closed. All civilians need to go home and stay there. A curfew is in effect in New Jersey.”

“Well, seeing as how we’re from New York, we need to go somewhere else. We don’t have anywhere to go in the area. We’re heading upstate to our house.”

The soldier nods. “Sir, we have temporary quarters for anyone traveling through. Make a left, head up that road about a mile, and you’ll see big tents and an office building. All persons without valid local identification are required to go there until morning.”

Swell
, I think.
They’re forcing us into a government corral
. Now I sound just like my dad and his friend John, our closest neighbor up at the house.

“C’mon,” Nelly argues. “We do have a place to go. We’re trying to get there right now. I’m sure y’all could use the room to house someone who doesn’t have somewhere to go.”

“Sir, those are my orders.” He motions to an older man who’s been talking on the radio. “These folks say they’re heading upstate. They don’t want to head to the temporary quarters.”

The man, who’s not much more than a kid, says, “You have to go while the curfew’s in effect. Besides, roads are only for official vehicles right now. You won’t get far.” He runs his hand over his crew cut and smiles apologetically. “Sorry I can’t help you out. We’re getting a lot of sick around here. They’re not taking any chances. Turn left and head down. Can’t miss it.”

Nelly sighs and puts the van into drive.

A few tents surround a two-story, suburban office building. The road beyond is blockaded with Road Closed signs. An older soldier with a beard flags us into a parking lot and then gruffly demands the keys to the van. We all gape at him.

“Our keys?” James asks. “Are you nuts?”

“I give you a tag, I give your van a tag, and you give me the keys. You get the keys back when you leave,” he says, like we’ve somehow missed the point.

“You’re basically taking our vehicle away,” James argues. “You can’t just demand our property.”

The big man sighs, like he’s heard this from every driver of every car in the lot. “Listen, the keys are hanging in that tent right there.” He points to a tent at the lot entrance. “We need them in case we have to move things around. Think of it as the U.S. Army running a valet service.”

Nelly reluctantly hands over the keys. The soldier nods his thanks and points us in the direction of the building. Four soldiers stand at the entrance. Thankfully, they don’t demand to search our bags.

“Do you know when we’ll be able to leave?” Peter asks one. He’s got on his Important Voice, but the soldier only shrugs and motions for us to follow him inside.

The lobby narrows to a carpeted hallway lined with doors. We’re led through one, into a large unfinished space. A dozen people sleep under army-issue blankets in cots against one wall. Chairs are grouped in the front of the room.

I swing off my pack and sit down. People eat at the folding tables that fill the back. A woman at one holds a little curly-haired boy on her lap. Next to her a kindergarten-aged girl swings her legs and chatters away while she eats a plate of cookies. For her, at least so far, this is an adventure that involves unlimited cookies, and that’s all she needs to know. The woman smiles fondly at her. Above the table she seems calm, but on the floor her feet are restless. Underneath the glare of the fluorescents I can see her cheeks wobble with the effort of keeping that smile on, of not giving into the panic.

Against the far wall stand a few more tables loaded down with food. My stomach growls loudly enough to turn Nelly’s head in the chair next to me.

The soldier who brought us here motions at the tables. “There’s plenty of food. Someone will fill you in soon.”

“Do you have another cigarette?” I ask James. “I’m sorry I’m grubbing. It’s not like you can just run to the store or something.”

We stand outside the building, having just feasted on bagels and cold cut platters. There were fruit baskets, which was pretty surreal, like we were at some corporate symposium on our lunch break.

“I grabbed what was left of my carton at the office,” he replies, and hands me one with his lighter. “I’ve got plenty.”

I light it and sigh. I could get used to this again.

“I’ll take one, too,” Nelly says. He looks like the Marlboro Man with the butt hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

“How long has it been?” James asks.

“Five years,” Nelly says. He sinks back against the building as he exhales and closes his eyes. “How can they still be this good after so long?”

“Isn’t it evil?” I ask, as the smoke hits my lungs.

“And awesome,” James responds, clearly having none of the guilt Nelly and I have.

My laugh is cut short by Peter, who comes out of the front door of the building and makes a beeline for us. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks me, with a look of distaste at the cigarette.

I’m thankful I have it. If it doesn’t keep me calm while talking to Peter, I can always put it out in his eye.

We walk away a bit, and when he stops I stop and wait for him to speak.

He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re smoking.”

“Is that what you wanted to say? Because, yes, I think I can have a cigarette right now without feeling too guilty about it.”

“Whatever, Cassie. That’s not what I wanted to say.” His dark eyes flash and his lips thin. “I think I’ll go my own way now. Thanks for helping me leave the city, but I’ll figure it out from here.”

I know it has to be hard being here with my friends, but it’s just like him to pick on me about smoking because he’s annoyed. Maybe he wants me to beg him to stay. Not happening.

“Fine,” I say. “Good luck.”

He looks at me coldly and shrugs. “You, too.”

He turns on his heel. Now I feel guilty. Someone has to be the mature one here; we’re both acting like babies.

“Peter.” He turns around, but his face gives nothing away. I take a deep drag and crush out what’s left of my cigarette on the side of the building. “Come on, this is silly. You can’t go off by yourself. Just because we…well, we can still be friends, no?”