Until the End of the World (Book 2): And After (34 page)

“Cassiopeia,” I whisper. I’m in awe of how beautiful the craftsmanship is, and I run my finger along the perfect shapes of the stars that must have taken Dan hours and hours to carve.

“This is gorgeous,” I say. “I love it. Thank you so much.”

Dan’s been rocking from foot to foot while I admired the box, and now he asks, “You really like it?”

“Are you kidding me?” I yell. “It’s beautiful! No wonder you’re bored building cabins.”

His nervous smile becomes a real one. “Open it.”

I laugh at the tiny unicorn figurine inside. It’s two inches long at most, but it’s been given the same attention to detail as the rest of the box. The bottom of the box is a carving of two mountains with a rainbow running between their peaks. He’s captured the corniness of my pretend mural, but even so, it’s lovely.

“Thank you.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “It’s my new most favorite thing in the world.”

“So you like it?”

“If you ask me that again, I’ll punch you. I really, truly, absolutely, swear-on-anything love it. You’re so talented, you know.”

I go to kiss him on his cheek, but he turns his head and presses his lips on mine. I leave them there for an extra second, if I don’t exactly kiss him back. He grins when I push him away.

“Dan,” I say. It’s the half-hearted scolding I’d give to a little kid.

“Sorry,” he says, but we both know he’s not. “I have to go. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Are you going to behave yourself, or will I have to kick you out of my birthday party?”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He swaggers out the door. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, and if the glimmer of excitement swirling in my abdomen is any sign, I kind of don’t mind.

***

Everyone’s in high spirits. I’m the only August birthday, and it’s been too long since a party was thrown that wasn’t a wake. The kids are watching their movie in the radio room, and we’re in the restaurant eating and drinking. I pull out the phone to snap a few shots and end up at the picture I took of Adrian by the woodpile. He looks so peaceful, the way he almost always did, and I swallow down the lump in my throat. Most of the time it might be a dull ache, but right now it’s more of a wallop.

I close the photo. Adrian’s gone, and I’ll mourn him forever, but I won’t tonight. He left me here to live, and he was probably pretty pissed that I hadn’t been doing the greatest job of it. I imagine there were a lot of his trademark sighs in the afterlife. The thought makes me laugh. I pick up my beer and wander the room until I find a seat next to Peter.

He rubs my back. “How’s the birthday girl?”

“She’s great,” I answer. “She really is.”

I clink his beer with mine and take a picture of him and Ana. Jamie and Shawn are playing quarters, and I catch her in a triumphant yell when she wins a round. I try to get everyone in at least one shot. Dan moves my way, but stops when I hold up a palm to take one of him.

“Happy birthday again,” he says.

“Thanks again. Guess what I have in my pocket?”

I pull out the unicorn and pass it around so everyone can admire Dan’s handiwork. They exclaim over the tiny details until Dan begins to fidget, so I put it away.

“Is that a unicorn in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” Dan asks.

“I don’t even know what to say to that, so I’m going to pretend it didn’t happen.” He guffaws and pulls up a chair. “Bits wants one. Actually, Bits wants a whole unicorn family. So be prepared for that. She said you have plenty of time to make them before her birthday in November.”

“I think I can handle that.”

Dan rests his hand on my knee. I glance down and then up at him in a pointed way. Dan pointedly ignores me back while he talks to John. I shrug and join in the conversation. We don’t talk about zombies or trenches or anything important. Funny stories, like how I spilled an entire bowl of pancake batter this morning, are the kinds of things we discuss on birthday nights.

We end the festivities when the kids come back from their movie. Bits sashays beside me and gives me a rundown of the entire plot, which, more often than not, takes longer than the length of the movie.

“I really loved my cake, Bitsy,” I say, during one of her few breaths. “Thank you again.”

“Dan said it should have stars because you love stars. Like your ring and the constellations.”

Dan walks on Bits’s other side, and I smile at him. “He’s right. And you did a beautiful job.”

“Cassie’s teaching me the constellations,” Bits tells everyone. “I knew the one on her box was Cassiopeia when I saw it.”

“I’m passing along your knowledge,” I say to Dan. “You can quiz her soon. She’s excited for the next meteor shower.”

Dan tousles Bits’s hair. “I know it’s late, but if you two lovely ladies want to watch the stars tonight—”

“We do! Right, Cassie?”

“Sure we do.”

We sit on a blanket outside Dan’s tent. After he’s pointed out a few related constellations, he takes Bits’s hand and holds her finger to the sky. “Follow your finger while I tell you the story. There’s Andromeda, Cassiopeia’s daughter. Cassiopeia bragged that Andromeda was more beautiful than the sea nymphs. The sea nymphs demanded that Poseidon, the sea god, punish her by sending Cetus, the sea monster, to ravage the shores of Ethiopia. Andromeda’s father, Cepheus, asked for mercy for his kingdom. He was told to chain Andromeda to a rock so the sea monster could eat her instead—”

“Did he?” Bits asks incredulously.

Dan nods and moves her finger to another spot. “But Perseus came along and saved her, using the head of Medusa to turn the sea monster into stone. Then they lived happily ever after.”

“That Cassiopeia was a real piece of work,” I say.

“I can’t believe he did it!” Bits says. “My dad never would’ve done that. And Peter and Cassie wouldn’t either.”

“You never know,” I say, and pull her braid. “That depends on how well you were listening that day.”

Bits giggles. We sit out until it’s too chilly—even the mid-August nights have the bite of autumn up here—and move into Dan’s tent, where Bits snuggles between us and listens to Dan tell the constellations’ myths. He’s a better storyteller than I am, and she stares through the mesh roof in fascination.

“I love the stars,” she says dreamily. “I didn’t know they had so many stories. It’s like a book up in the sky. Is that why you love them, Cassie? There’s always something to read.”

“I never thought of that,” I say, and marvel at her cleverness. “Maybe that’s part of it. I love that there are other worlds out there, maybe other beings. It scares some people, how small we are in comparison to the rest of the universe, but it reminds me that there’s always something beautiful out there, something bigger, even if it doesn’t seem that way here sometimes. But do you know what I really love?”

“What?”

I press my lips to her temple. “You. More than all the stars in the sky.”

“That’s a lot of stars,” Bits says. “Like infinity. Right, Dan?”

“Well,” Dan answers, “as far as I know, they were never sure about whether or not there are an infinite number of stars, but I like to think there are.”

I pull Bits closer. “So do I.”

“Me, too,” Bits says.

“Then it’s agreed,” Dan says. “After all, who’s going to argue?”

Dan, Jamie and I sit around the fire at the main gate. We still walk the fence, but with the trench we never have anything to stab. Until morning, that is. It’s somewhere in the fifties, and I have a feeling this signals the end of our unusually warm summer. I hold my mitten-clad hands over the fire. I know I said I wanted winter to come, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Jamie’s hat almost covers her eyes. Dan wears a light jacket and keeps complaining about how hot he is, just to annoy us.

“Hello?” a voice calls from the other side of the gate.

The wind has covered any footsteps we might have heard approaching. We scramble for the platforms and shine our flashlights over the edge. An older man with a trim, graying beard stands on the dirt road. He wears hiking clothes and a massive pack that he carries easily on his compact frame, as though out for a Sunday stroll with nothing more than a fanny pack. He shields his eyes from the light and waves.

“Hi,” Dan says. “Are you looking to come in?”

I hold my pistol at the ready. I’m wary of visitors since Whitefield. We haven’t had many people come this year, but the few who’ve made it have all been perfectly nice and uninfected, if a little shell-shocked.

The man strokes his beard. “Yes. I’m not infected, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Okay, I’m coming down. I’ll have to look you over.”

Dan steps off the platform and opens the small door. The man carefully lowers his pack to the ground to protect the bow that’s strapped to the side. He takes off his jacket and shirt to show grimy but unbroken skin. He reaches for his belt with a glance at where Jamie and I stand with our guns ready.

“Pardon me, ladies,” he says, and drops his pants.

He’s healthy, which seemed the case, considering his bright eyes and demeanor. Dan motions for him to dress, and says, “Welcome to Kingdom Come.”

The man bypasses Dan’s outstretched hand and hugs him with a cry of joy. I holster my pistol and join them on the road.

“I made it!” the man yells. He begins to cry, big, gulping cries that make his shoulders shudder. The tears stream, but he beams at us as he wipes his nose with a handkerchief. I giggle when he hugs me and dances a jig. He smells terrible, but we’ve all been there at some point in the past year. And besides, nothing smells as bad as a Lexer.

“I’m Cassie,” I say, once he’s let me go.

“My manners! Where are my manners? Mark Golden, teacher of high school history.”

He shakes our hands while Dan and Jamie introduce themselves.

“Nice to meet you, Mark,” Dan says. “Have a seat. Or one of us can walk you up now and get you settled in.”

Mark’s feet dance on the ground even after he drops into a chair. “I’ll have a seat. I want to sit and revel in safety with people. How I’ve missed you, People! I ran into some on the road, but they were heading elsewhere. I always wanted to retire to Vermont. Retirement’s come early, but I’ve done it!”

He punches a fist in the air, and his eyes light up more when Dan pulls out his flask and offers it to him.

“Ah, a libation,” Mark says. “How wonderful!”

I sit next to him. “Where are you from?”

“Tennessee. It’s been a long trek, my dear.”

This guy is a character. I love him already. “We’re happy you’re here, but why didn’t you stop at one of the other Safe Zones?”

He frowns. “Aside from the fact that I love Vermont—as the bumper stickers say—I ran into people from Oklahoma. They said the monsters are moving north, like a tidal wave from the south. Said they’d heard the bridges of the Panama Canal were full, day and night. Traveling north and east made sense.”

All the blood rushes to my feet. I make eye contact with Jamie and Dan and see that they look just as stunned. “They’re coming up from South America?”

“That’s what they said. It must be taken with a grain of salt, though. They were very agitated about everything, always on the verge of a fistfight amongst themselves. This is news to you all. I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. If indeed it’s true, I would think the monsters will freeze before they reach us.”

“I’m going to wake John,” I say. “Mark, will you come with me? I have someone who needs to hear this.”

“May I bring the flask?”

Even with the fear tugging on my insides, I manage a laugh. “Of course. We’re going to need it.”

***

Mark’s answered every one of John’s questions, but we still have no solid answers. He was told that thousands of Lexers are heading north but can’t say whether or not they’re heading northeast. From what he’s heard, they were toward the west.

“They can’t be walking fast,” Mark says from one of the easy chairs in the RV. “I walked as briskly as possible. It’s true that’s not as brisk as it once was, but unlike the monsters, I had to rest, and I still beat them. They’ll go…if not forever, then damn close, I’d say.”

He gives a dramatic wave of his arm. I can picture him in front of a class, making the Revolutionary War come alive for a bunch of seventeen year-olds.

“We’ll be sure to make three runs to the lookout every day,” John says. He looked tired when we woke him, but now he looks exhausted. “We can see for miles on a clear day. It should give us time to bug out.”

Mark takes another sip from the flask and swallows before saying, “And where will you go if you have to leave?”

“Alaska.”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to visit Alaska,” Mark says. He lifts a finger in the air. “That is, if I may come along for the ride?”

John laughs. “How good are you with that bow?”

Mark’s teeth are stained with years of teacher’s lounge coffee, but his smile is bright. “Oh, I’ve won my fair share of competitions. I was a bit rusty, but I’ve gotten a lot of practice recently.”

“You’d be welcome to anyway, but we could use a good archery instructor. If you’re willing.”

“I have a suspicion that the days of American history being fundamental knowledge are behind us. Archery, now, that’s another story.”

“You must be exhausted, Mark,” Maureen says from the other end of the couch. “Why don’t you stay here tonight, and I’ll sort you out in the morning?”

“That would be wonderful.” He turns to where I stand by the door and holds out the flask. “Take this back to your friend. Please give him my thanks.”

I say goodnight and leave. On my way to the gate, I take a sniff of the flask, but whatever’s in there smells terrible. When I hand it back to Dan he holds it by his ear and swishes the contents.

“He’ll be sloshed in ten minutes,” he says. “Looks like I’ll need to refill.”

“You and that flask,” Jamie says. “Why do you have it, anyway? It’s not like you ever drink it.”

“I’m like a St. Bernard,” Dan says. “I use it to rescue people like Mark, who were lost in the wilderness.”

I laugh when Jamie shakes her head in confusion. It’s a much better use than he originally intended.