Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky (17 page)

“What’s wrong with you guys?” I ask. “Why would you walk to the edge of a precipice for no good reason?”

Peter faces us and rocks back on his heels, arms whirling to stay upright. I scream—a high-pitched screech that echoes off the water—and rush forward. As I reach him, he plants his feet on the ground and laughs. He actually laughs.

“You’re such an asshole!” I yell. I’d shove him if he weren’t still six inches from the edge.

Nelly’s stupid Texan hoots are louder than my scream. I march past Zeke, who also finds this amusing judging by the way his beard trembles. Jamie rolls her eyes at Shawn and Nelly’s high five. I slam the RV’s door and flop on the couch. “What is wrong with men? My dad was right when he said they never mentally make it past the age of twelve.”

Mark looks up from his map. “A valid theory, and one I won’t argue with in most cases.”

The others troop into the RV, Peter last and still looking delighted with his prank. He sits and elbows me in the side. I cross my arms and stare out the window. “C’mon, it was a little bit funny,” he says. I don’t answer and he elbows me harder. “A tad funny?”

“No, it really wasn’t. What if Bits or Hank did that?”

“They’re kids. I’m thirty-one.”

“In actual years, maybe.”

“Fine, sorry,” Peter says. I give him a sidelong glance to find him not looking sorry at all.

Bits and Hank watch us bicker. In fact, everyone does. I stand. “Who wants to watch a movie?”

I sit and seethe while the TV plays. I might have overreacted in the supermarket, but I don’t get why you would pretend to be in trouble when we have plenty as it is. It takes the length of a movie to reach the other bridge, only to find it’s the same story. I don’t leave the RV; hearing about the Lexers trapped in the steel and concrete supports is enough. I understand why someone destroyed the bridges—the river is a natural barrier to the Lexers—and I suppose if I were north of the bridge, I would think that cutting off access was a fine idea. But on this side it just sucks.

As we drive south, the road rises with mountains that remind me of the rolling hills of Vermont. The sky is darkening with late afternoon storm clouds. I put on the remainder of our rice, dump in a can of pinto beans from the supermarket and politely brush off Peter’s offer to help. I’ve started dishing out the food when I hear a collective gasp.

Everyone’s gaze is focused on the windshield. At first I think it’s a cloud, but then I make out the very tip of a mountain far in the distance. We’re almost at the Rockies. Those mountains I’ve dreamed of for a week have become a reality. Shawn gives the pickup’s horn three long, joyous blasts and giddiness replaces my fatigue.

We pull to the side of the highway to eat. The cold air smells of trees and mountains and moist earth instead of dry, windy prairie. Once I’m outside, I don’t want to go back in the RV. I don’t want to sit down. I only want to stare at that distant peak until I’m absolutely sure it’s not a mirage.

Peter swallows his food in a few bites and turns to me. The coming storm bathes everything in a bright, unearthly light, making the highlights in his hair almost silver. “Forgive me yet?”

“No.” I eat a spoonful of rice and watch the mountain. I’m so happy that I want to forgive him immediately, but he still has to make his penance. “That was stupid. What if you fell?”

“I—”

“I wasn’t done. Why make danger when there isn’t any? Aren’t we in enough danger?”

Peter crosses his arms. “Says the girl who went out looking for trouble all summer and almost fell in the quarry.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he’s right. “Okay, fine. But I was killing zombies. If you’re going to do something stupid, can you at least make it have purpose?” I point at him. “Plus, I don’t know if you remember, but you promised me. I’m upset that you were willing to take the chance. We’re three quarters of the way there.”

I can’t tell what he’s thinking with the way the silver clouds are reflected in his eyes, but he looks sad or serious, or both. I move closer and look up at him. “I want us to live. I want you to live. But do
you
want to live? Tell me the truth. I understand if you don’t or if you’re not sure, believe me.”

A raindrop splatters on my scalp. Lightning flashes where the clouds are darkest. My coat will be close to useless if it gets too wet, as wet down does the opposite of warming you up, but I’m not moving until he answers. I need to know if I should prepare myself to lose him. It might make it easier if I do.

The silver light turns gray and a roll of thunder crashes loud enough to make me jump. Peter’s lips are pressed together, gaze bouncing around as if he’s afraid to look at me for too long. I know he’ll tell me the truth, but now I’m not so sure I want to hear the answer. I wrap my hand around his damp leather sleeve. “And maybe answer before Mother Nature makes the decision for us with a bolt of lightning.”

“I want to live.”

“You sure?”

A slight smile spreads until his face is alight. “I’m sure.”

The lightning moves closer. Every hair on my head rises and every cell in my body zings with the power of the coming storm. We need to find a safe place to sleep, but I wish we could drive all night. The Rockies are so close that I know we’re going to get there. Peter wants to live. Bits and Hank are with us. Penny’s baby is going to be born. Nelly will torture me for the rest of my life. It makes me want to shout with joy. Or have a dance party. I imagine staging a dance party right here on this lonely stretch of road.

“Why are you smiling?” Peter asks.

“I wish we could have a dance party. But, sadly, we don’t have the time.”

“I’m heartbroken,” Peter says.

“I know you are.” I pull out Adrian’s phone and wipe away a drop of rain. “Let’s get a picture with that mountain.”

I take a shot of us before the phone is soaked. Shawn honks. “Really? It’s picture time?” he calls out the window.

“It was either that or a dance party,” I yell back. I drag Peter toward the RV before we really are struck by lightning now that it flashes directly overhead and the rain has begun in earnest.

“Well, then, I support your decision,” Shawn calls.

He revs the pickup’s engine and we follow him down the next dip. We lose sight of the mountain, but that’s okay. I know it’s still there.

I think we’d be able to see the mountains, if they weren’t obscured by sheets of rain, while we head toward the town of Hinton. It’s far too late to check for fuel, so we exit the highway and end up on a street of large new homes, all different but identical in that planned community way. Every house has been broken into and the cars are either gone or in garages.

“One of these might do for the night,” Zeke says from the pickup.

Kyle has insisted on driving the RV all day, and now he stretches his arm above his head and opens the door. The rain has lessened to a drizzle, and the thunder is a distant rumble. We choose a sage green house with a privacy fence and a deadbolt that still clicks into place. It’s not fancy like last night’s house, but it’s spacious and nicely furnished with microfiber couches, Ikea-type furniture and nary a coaster in sight.

The only pictures are of a couple around retirement age posing on beaches and sailboats and what Mark recognizes as Machu Picchu from his travels. The dark kitchen cabinets are empty and the fridge holds a fossilized box of baking soda. The whole place is as cold as a refrigerator. Just once, I’d like to waste the RV’s propane and be warm from my toes to the top of my grimy head.

I remind my growling stomach that we’ve already eaten dinner. I’ve tried not to think about it or complain, but we’ve got an hour or so until bedtime, and all I want is something to eat. Going to bed hungry sucks. Waking up hungry sucks. I think about suggesting we eat something else, a couple of MREs maybe, but we should save them.

“Early watch shift for you tonight, sugar,” Zeke says, his bulk filling the doorway of the kitchen. “Nothing good, huh?”

“Not a crumb,” I say. At least I’ll get a full night’s sleep instead of waking up to be hungry for two hours during the night. “You must be starving, Zekey.”

He spreads his thick arms. “Could do with a meal. But I’ve got more padding than you. Plenty to live off of for a while.”

“Well, you’re the first one we’ll eat. No point in letting all those good calories waste away.”

Zeke guffaws and moves into the kitchen so Nelly can pass. “Who are we eating?” Nelly asks.

“You’d make a decent second course,” I say.

I laugh when they flex their muscles and argue about who’d make the better meal. I don’t know how I would have gotten this far without them, in both the literal and figurative sense. And I know what I realized a week ago is true—the more people we have in our hearts, the more likely we’ll have someone left to help us through.

***

After I’ve set the kids up with Mad Libs, James calls to me from the hallway. I find him in the master bedroom, a conspiratorial look on his face. He wiggles an open pack of cigarettes in the air. “Someone was a closet smoker, for real. I found these on the top shelf in the guy’s shoebox.”

“Or they were emergency cigarettes. I had emergency cigarettes.” I’d tucked a pack under my clothes in my closet in Brooklyn after I quit and forgotten all about them until now.

“Well, this dude must have been eaten right away because if there was ever an emergency, this was it. You in?”

It’s not food, but it’s something to put in my mouth. “Are you crazy? Of course I’m in. Let me check for clothes first.” I open drawers and push hangers aside. When I find a couple pairs of jeans I throw them on the bed along with a sweater that looks cozy.

“James, this guy was tall and skinny. You should try on some of his clothes.”

He takes a pair of flannel-lined jeans and some Levis. I hold the woman’s jeans up to myself and groan. It may be superficial, but there’s no way I can bring myself to put on these high-waisted, pleated jeans that puff at the hips and taper off at what would be way above my ankles. Not unless I was naked and freezing to death, and even then I wouldn’t want to be caught dead in them. Nelly strolls in and stops, his trademark smirk appearing at the sight of the jeans.

“It’s the pleats that make them, isn’t it?” I ask.

“I’d pay good money to see you in those. Try them on for me.”

“Not happening. Too bad money isn’t worth anything.”

“Please?” Nelly clasps his hands together. “Please? Let me take a picture of you in them. I’ll give you my dinner.”

“No way. And we already ate.”

Nelly laughs. “Breakfast and lunch tomorrow, then.”

“So you have a picture to hang over my head for the rest of our lives? I’ll never be that hungry.”

He fingers the denim sadly. “You need clothes. You should bring them just in case.”

“Why? So my other jeans can have an unfortunate accident?” I’m down to my last clean outfit, but I’d wash out and wear my slightly stinky jeans before I’d touch these with a ten foot pole.

“You know me too well.”

He’ll bother me about this all night, but Nelly can always be distracted by mind-altering substances. “James found cigarettes. Want one?”

Nelly perks up, the jeans forgotten, and drags us into the backyard. I sink into one of the chairs on the covered patio and light up. The stale cigarette crackles, but it tastes fine. Nicotine and lack of food give me a head rush that doesn’t quite reach the level of nausea, so I help myself to another drag.

Nelly puts his feet up on the table and squints through his smoke. “How many were in there?”

“Six,” James says. “Now three.”

Zeke comes through the sliding glass door. “Now two, you mean.” He settles into a chair and lights up. “Ten years ago I swore I’d never smoke again. It’ll send you to an early grave.”

“So will zombies,” Nelly says.

“True enough.”

Peter steps out. Nelly holds his cigarette down by his side. “Narc.”

“Are we not past that now? Enjoy.” Peter waves at the cloud of smoke that’s trapped under the patio roof, then sits in a chair and turns to me. “But I thought you wanted to live.”

“This
is
living. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Peter reaches for my cigarette and I look at him in disbelief. “Really?”

“Hand it over.”

We watch Peter take a drag, holding the cigarette awkwardly between his fingers. It’s more than I would inhale, even having been a smoker myself. His face goes red and smoke comes out in choking, coughing spurts. I pluck it from his hand and help myself to more while I laugh at him.

“Amateur,” Nelly says.

“Why the hell would you want to smoke?” Peter says between gasps. “It’s like licking an ashtray.”

“A delicious ashtray,” I say. “Want to try again?”

“I think I’m good.”

“Are you on watch with me?”

“I am.”

“Well then, I guess we should get inside.” My mouth does taste like an ashtray now that I’m done. “I want to brush my teeth.”

Peter stands with his lips quirking. “It’s gross, isn’t it? Admit it.”

“Never,” I say.

The next morning, we hit our first service station. Kyle turns off the ignition and rolls down his window. Everyone gearing up for our usual procedure freezes when he sniffs the air and swivels his head. “You smell that?”

I hear them before I see them. The same sound I heard on our last day at Kingdom Come—a droning hum that gets louder by the second. The first few stumble from the wooded area on the south side of the highway and are followed by a whole lot more. They spill out between the businesses down the road to the west.

“Sit down!” Kyle calls.

I hold Nicki in my arms while we screech out of the lot. Voices call from the radio, but I can’t hear a thing over Nicki’s wails. Nelly turns from the windshield, face pale. “There’re more coming. Hold on.”

Thankfully, last I saw there weren’t many cars on the road. A swerve in a giant box like this RV, at this speed, would surely send us rolling. Peter holds the counter, eyes out the side window, and his face slackens a moment before the rear of the RV is hit from the left. I thud headfirst into the cabinets on the opposite side and Nicki flies out of my arms. When I can focus again, I crawl to her.