Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky (16 page)

We tried the boiling water method of wheat berries last night, and I unwind the pot’s blankets to find it’s cooked through and still warm. Maybe I should take the pot to bed with me from now on. I dish it into cups and bowls from the cabinets. There’s no reason to dirty our own dishes when there are so many lovely ones here begging to be used and left behind.

“Fancy,” Penny says when I hand her a crystal goblet. She takes a bite. “Did you put jam in? It’s good.”

“Yeah. We could use the energy today.”

Penny doesn’t complain when James drops a dollop of his breakfast in her glass, although she doesn’t look happy about it.

“So,” James says, “there were a bunch of gas stations around here. I’m sure they’re empty, but we’ll check them out on our way north. There’s an army base on the northern edge of the city. Maybe someone’s there.”

“Wouldn’t we have heard about a military base?” Penny asks. “They must have radios and generators.”

“Yeah, but what the hell, right? You only live once.” James runs a finger inside his glass tumbler and sticks it in his mouth. Once he’s licked it clean, he lifts it in the air. “Okay, twice, if you count that as living.”

Penny bursts out laughing. James rests his hands on what’s left of her waist, and I make myself scarce when she lifts her face to his. I summon the others at the front of the house to breakfast.

“Your boot’s untied,” Bits says. She watches me double knot my lace and asks, “You still use bunny ears, Cassie?”

“Uh-huh,” I say, ignoring Nelly and Peter’s sniggers while we head for breakfast. “What’s wrong with bunny ears?”

“Just that most people graduate from bunny ears at ten,” Nelly says.

“I can’t do it that other way. I’ve tried and it doesn’t work.”

“I thought you knew this kind of stuff,” Peter says. “Shouldn’t you know how to make knots?”

I turn at the kitchen entrance and raise my hands. “Sorry, people. I missed that class.”

“Some survivalist you are,” Nelly says. He must have gotten some action last night. It puts him a in a good mood and makes him even more bothersome.

Hank crosses his arms over his chest and glares at them. “Cassie can make a fire from sticks. Can you?”

I pull my tiny protector to my side. “Thank you, Hank.
Someone
appreciates me.”

I hand the kids their food and eat mine while I watch through the window as Kyle opens the gate at the rear of the property to allow the RV access to the lake. James has rigged something so that we can pump water into the RV’s water tank. We’ll have to sanitize before drinking, but we won’t die of thirst like Peter almost did on his way to Kingdom Come, until he remembered John and I discussing hot water heaters as a source of emergency drinking water.

I put some of my food onto the kids’ china saucers and turn to Peter. “Hey, know why you’re alive?”

He stops chewing. “What?”

“Why are you standing here right now?”

“Because we drove here?”

“No.” I point my spoon at him. “Because you knew to get water out of a hot water heater. How did you know that?”

Peter feeds Bits a bite of his food and puts a glop on Hank’s plate. “You. And John.”

“Exactly. Survivalism 101.”

He narrows his eyes, but they glint with amusement. “Okay, why are
you
standing here right now?”

“Because you saved all of our lives in a selfless act of love.” Peter opens his mouth and shuts it again. He wasn’t expecting that answer, even though it’s the truth. I turn to Nelly. “I saved you, Peter saved you. You’ve got some work to do, young man.”

Nelly eats his last bite and rubs his stomach. “I’ll get you both back one of these days.”

I kiss his bristly cheek. Every guy in this group is growing a beard, which I would find more entertaining if I weren’t growing armpit and leg hair along with them. “Go find Sparky,” I say to Bits. “I’ll feed her and Barn in the RV.”

Bits runs off to find the cat, who manages to nap in impossible to find places even locked in a room—like inside box springs and on shelves behind clothes. When the RV is back, Barn gulps his food and begs for more.

“Sorry, Barn. That’s all you get,” I say, and give him a kiss to apologize. He’s better fed than we are at this point, although his kibble is less than appetizing. I’ll eat it if I have to, but I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that.

Maureen finishes closing cabinets and drops on the RV’s couch. I sit beside her and watch Bits pet Sparky while she crunches her breakfast.

“You take good care of them,” Maureen says. She looks worse than yesterday. I hate to see her like this, almost as if she’s giving up.

“You take good care of all of us. Penny’s going to need you when the baby’s born. She’s told me she’s counting on having you for a grandma.”

A little life comes into her eyes and fades away just as quickly. “I pray for my granddaughter every day. I know she can’t be alive, but I still pray like I pray for all of you.”

Maureen’s first grandchild was born just before the virus hit. I’ve always wished I could paint her a portrait, but she doesn’t have a picture. “It’s working so far.”

Maureen shrugs. “I prayed for everyone that’s gone, too. It’s not that I don’t think God listens—I just think we can’t influence what He’ll do by praying. But I do it anyway.”

“Just in case?” I have my own kind of prayer, a wish I send out into the ether. It’s more a desperate
Please, please let everyone be all right
than anything else. It doesn’t seem to be any more successful than Maureen’s, but it can’t hurt to ask.

“Just in case. Maybe I’d have more influence if I was up there, but I promised John I’d look out for all of you.”

I wish John were looking out for us down here. I’d give anything for one more of his bear hugs. I’ll cry if I speak, and by her watery blue eyes it appears to be the same for Maureen, so we hug instead. It’s almost as comforting as one of John’s.

After we’ve parted, she says, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“No, thank
you
. For being here. We need you here, you know.”

Maureen leans close, eyes direct. “I want to be here, honey. I do.” She rubs her hands on her thighs and stands. “Well, let’s get everything finished up.”

“Let the bustling begin!”

“Smart-ass,” she says with a laugh.

Once we’re loaded, James guides us to the main road and says, “We’re just over halfway. Another two thousand miles and we’re in Talkeetna. Thirteen hundred to Whitehorse, if we end up staying there.”

Whitehorse is fine with me: all I want is a home. If we can fill up down here, we’ll make it to Whitehorse with one more stop, maybe two, depending on our route. Cautious relief hangs in the air as we make our way past the expensive homes and toward the gas stations outside the city limits. But that relief begins to ebb when the first two stations are small, with water-damaged signs on the pumps that say
No Gas
.

“There are another two coming up,” James says.

He hooks a hand on the cabover bed and watches the six-lane road out the windshield. There are fewer cars than on the main road. The people who made it out of Edmonton must have kept going once they were free of the city.

“There, on the right.” James points to two large stations that sit next to each other, where more signs claim that the gas is long gone.

“At least Canadians are nice enough to let you know not to waste your time,” I say because if I don’t joke, I’ll kick something in frustration.

“Now if only we could get some of that free healthcare,” James says, and moves back to his map. “Keep going north. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

We get lucky-ish at the next one: Fifty gallons of questionable gas in a neighborhood that houses only industrial buildings and auto body shops. We put this in our new tank so as not to mix it with the fuel we know to be good and pick up a few new gas cans while we’re at it.

“If you could see the number of gas stations in the city, you guys would cry,” James says. His expression is composed, but he presses his finger to the center of Edmonton hard enough for the tip to blanch. “But I doubt we can get in without killing ourselves.”

We’ve seen a few Lexers going about their zombie business, but I imagine the stations in town are chock-full. Close to a million people, especially with roadblocks in place, must have created a lot of zombies.

We head south because the North Saskatchewan River cuts through Edmonton and the road to the north bridge is blocked. When I swear this stupid river is following us, James shows me how it winds up and down across the map and assures me that this will be the final crossing, after which we’ll swing north and east to check out the military base.

The seats are all taken, so I plop myself on Nelly’s lap on the couch and fling my arm around his shoulder. “How you doing, darlin’?” he asks.

“Great. Remember how we always wanted to take a cross-country road trip?”

“It’s exactly how I envisioned it,” Nelly says.

“It might even be better.” It’s not anything like how we envisioned it, but his presence makes it much better than it would otherwise be.

The trees become numerous as we cross the bridge. The yellows and oranges of the autumn leaves mix with the green of the firs to create a postcard-perfect view. Even so, I’d have been happy never seeing the river again. Maybe third time’s the charm.

The closer we get to West Edmonton, the more Lexers we see. A group of twenty watches us go past, their heads turning slowly, mouths agape. Sometimes it’s a shock to the system to see them again when we haven’t for a few hours. I can pretend we live in an empty world, which is bad enough, until I get a reminder that dead people want to eat us.

We maneuver our way down a wide road that isn’t completely clogged and hit an overpass. The highway above is the perfect place to survey the road ahead. Six of us climb the grassy embankment and stand on the guardrail. The lanes are cars, the shoulders are cars, but there isn’t anything undead except one Lexer still belted in a hatchback. It scrapes a claw against the window, wisps of long hair covering half its face.

I step from car to car. I’m not taking the chance of living out the childhood nightmare of a hand wrapping around my ankle from a dark space. Peter follows until we’re in the center of the overpass on the roof of a green sedan.

“Can I call you Elmer from now on?” I ask, and raise the binoculars to my eyes.

“Why would you want to do that?”

“You know, like Elmer’s Glue.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re weird?” Peter asks.

“I don’t think so.”

I take in the Edmonton skyline, where I can make out details of the buildings that are miles away, and then focus on the road. These binoculars are the best money can buy, apparently. That’s one good thing—you never have to skimp on quality as long as you can get to what you want without being eaten.

What looks like a roadblock is a mile or so ahead, and behind that are zombies. They cover the street and parking lots. A face with one eyeball and a hole where the nose once was fills my lens, and I take an involuntary step back. It looks close enough to eat me.

Peter drops his binoculars with a sigh. “Well, that’s out.” We make our way back to share the news with the others.

“We’ll go north,” Mark says. “Then to Grande Prairie. It’s possible that if the roadblocks kept people in, there’ll be gas up there.”

The thought had crossed my mind that we’d get far enough to think we were going to make it and then get no farther. I’d refused to give it credibility because of my new upbeat attitude, but now the possibility begins to eat away at my optimism. I never wanted to be a cheerleader, anyway.

“We only need another hundred gallons,” I say, and mentally wave my imaginary pompoms. “We should be able to find that much. Then we’re as good as there.” Bits believes it even if the others don’t.

We waste time and gas, but in the end only have twenty more gallons to show for it. By the time we hit the town that should have taken us three hours of travel, half of the day’s sunlight is gone. The brick sign on the town’s outskirts welcomes us. The spray-painted sign that says
We shoot thieves
with a skeleton tied to the post beneath doesn’t.

“Someone went all medieval,” Nelly says.

Our hands move to our weapons. The sign looks old and chances are that if they once would have shot, they might not now or they’re out of ammo. And we’re not thieves. The first buildings we see—a few hotels, a gas station and a restaurant—are all burnt to the ground.

“Those fires look intentional,” Mark says. He rests a finger under his nose and watches the next burned-out building come into view.

We pull to a stop at a roadblock that’s abandoned but impassable because of the shells of burnt-out cars that stretch out behind it. Zeke leaves the pickup for a better view and returns with hunched shoulders. “It goes on for a mile. And there’s a whole slew of bodies on the other side. I say we get the hell out of here.”

“There are two rivers ahead,” James says quietly. “We need the bridge.”

“More fucking rivers?” Zeke yanks his beard. “I’m beginning to hate Canada.”

“We can either go farther north or down south, but both will double our time to Grande Prairie.”

“I’d bet the last of our food this bridge is blocked, too, but is there a different way to hit this one?”

“Not without going through the city. Or so far down south that we might as well just go the southern route anyway. And we might as well forget about the military base—we’ll never get there.”

Zeke balls up a fist and gently rests it on the camper door. It looks like he’d rather punch something. “So we have no fucking choice in the matter, that’s what you’re telling me?” Zeke’s eyes narrow to slits and his jaw works under his beard. Right here is the guy who traveled 1,000 miles to safety in the months after the virus, who used to be a hellraiser, and I, for one, wouldn’t want to mess with him.

“Oh, we have choices,” James says. “It’s just that, as usual, they all suck.”

Zeke bellows out a short laugh, good humor restored. “Well, that’s better, then.”

It takes us half an hour to get to the first of the two bridges that go north, passing a tiny town that can barely be called a town and halting at a bridge that can’t be called a bridge, since it no longer connects the two sides of the river. The structure itself still stands, but a stretch of the road has been chipped away as if someone took a jackhammer to it. We walk the asphalt. I want to grab Peter by the back of his coat when he peers over the edge. Nelly follows, but I pull him back.