Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky (33 page)

“Thanks,” I say.

“Cassie’s a painter,” Nelly says.

“Yeah?” Terry asks. “There were a bunch of artists here. I know there are a lot of art supplies around. I could find some for you.”

“That’d be great,” I say. “If I’m alive to use them.” Terry grimaces and looks away. I’d apologize, but I don’t feel like apologizing. The only thing I feel like doing is going to sleep.

“So, if that’s all you need from me, I’ll get going,” Terry says. “Dinner’s in a half hour. I’ll see you there.”

We study the building for a few more minutes. We have no earth-shattering ideas. Basically, it’s get inside, open the loading doors and kill them as they come into the parking lot, then finish off the ones trapped behind the fence.

The living room of this four-bedroom cabin is high-ceilinged, with comfy couches and a long dining table just off the full kitchen. One wall is made entirely of glass, but with its enormous area rug and muted colors it feels as cozy as my little cabin. I walk to a window. The grass courtyard between the houses isn’t mown, but it’s not overgrown, probably due to the goats I saw wandering when we came in. Talkeetna is the kind of town in which I’d want to live, full of cute, interesting houses tucked into the trees, but I don’t want to like it here. I know I already do, and it pisses me off that I want to be somewhere I may not be wanted.

“If we can’t get in, we’ll figure out something else,” Peter says. “We’re not dying for these people.”

“Fucking right,” Zeke says. “We’ll die for us, not them.”

These are the people worth dying for. After four thousand miles, we’ve become an even larger family than I had before. I trust every single person here, and I know they trust me. And the faintest glimmer of faith pushes through the discouragement. We can do this.

We head to the brewery for dinner. Terry told us that Talkeetna’s population is close to 300 with the refugees from Whitehorse, and they need an overflow restaurant to serve all the residents. People on the streets watch us go past. A few say hello, but many look away. I’m irritated until it dawns on me that they might feel guilty for not volunteering. After all, this food will feed them, too. I can’t blame them, as much as I want to be angry at somebody. I might not leave if I didn’t have to.

Inside the brewery, the wood walls and festive atmosphere remind me of Kingdom Come, but the way the voices cease when we walk in doesn’t give off the same vibe. Glory rises from a bench near the door. “Let’s get you some food.”

The food is set up on the bar and nearby tables. I take a plate and follow Bits and Hank, who chat happily, unaware of the stares or pretending they are. I slow at Patricia’s glare from a nearby table.

“Calm down,” Penny says from behind me, but she sucks her teeth in Patricia’s direction.

“Hand me the Vaseline,” I say, and pretend to tie my hair in a ponytail. “I’m about to go Brooklyn on someone.” Penny shushes me while she laughs.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Nelly asks.

“The older girls in our neighborhood would rub Vaseline on their faces, take out their earrings and tie their hair back so it wouldn’t get pulled during a fight,” Penny says.

“This I’ve got to see,” Nelly says. “Go challenge someone to a duel.”

We swordfight with our forks until he gets me in the side and I’ve forgotten about the people staring, most of whom have gone back to their meals. I head straight for a pot of soup, anticipating how good it’ll feel on my throat, which is worsening by the second. Anytime after tomorrow is fine, but getting sick now would be the world’s worst timing.

“Try the cornbread,” Glory says. “We still have some cornmeal left. We tried growing corn this summer, but it’s tricky up here. We saved seed for next year. Those greenhouses your friend mentioned would come in handy.”

I want to tell her that we’d be happy to help out if we weren’t dying tomorrow, but I know she means well. And my mother always said I’m notoriously cranky when I’m sick. The only thing keeping me from crying or yelling is that I refuse to show anyone in here how scared I am.

I grab a piece of cornbread and some butter. “You have cows?”

“Four, and two bulls. They came from Homer Safe Zone last year.”

“Homer’s still going?” My brain begins to hatch a plan of taking us all there in the gassed up vehicles tomorrow.

“They’ve moved off the coast now. I’m sorry—we’re all that’s left besides some people out in the bush that we trade with. And the islands, but getting there is next to impossible.”

“Where should we sit?” Bits asks, eyes scanning the room.

“I saw some tables in the back room,” I say. “This place is nice, right? And look at all that food!”

My tone sounds false to me, but she walks carefully past all the tables with a smile that most people return. Hank glances at me before we follow. “I’ll take care of Bits, Cassie. Don’t worry.”

I can’t swallow, and it’s not because of my throat. I’d hug him if I wouldn’t scald him with my soup. “I know you will, sweetie. But I want to take care of
you
, too.”

His downturned face is hidden by his glasses, but a tear plops from his chin. The nearby tables have gone quiet. I set my meal on one of them and wrap him in my arms. “And if I can’t, Penny and Adam will. You’re not alone. I promise you’re not alone, okay?”

He nods against my neck. I can feel the eyes of the diners on me when I retrieve my food, but none meets my gaze when I look up. I stand there for a second and walk away shaking my head. I don’t expect them to come, but it’d be nice not to be treated like we’re already dead.

I pull out the chair Peter’s saved for me and sit facing the room, teeth gritted. “I see you’ve already made some friends,” Nelly says.

I burst out laughing and the rest of the table joins in. You can always count on Nelly to bust up a perfectly good moment of rage. I taste the soup, which is so much better than the cold, uncondensed kind, and close my eyes at the warmth sliding down my throat. It makes swallowing worth it; otherwise, it’s become agony. I attempt the cornbread but don’t think I can get it down.

“Good luck tomorrow,” Terry stops to say. He points to the couple behind him, both in their early thirties. “This is Tara and Philip.”

The man is brown-haired and scruffy, with a friendly face and an upturned nose. The female counterpart is tall and willowy, with long, auburn hair and full lips. “Hi,” she says. “We just wanted to say welcome.”

Philip surveys the room, then turns back with his eyebrows up. “They’re usually not like this, don’t take it personally. We were in Whitehorse on holiday last year from Ontario. I guess we still are. But we hope you’ll come around for a beer when you get back. I’ve got some put away.”

We murmur how that’d be great. “They were nice,” Peter says once they’re gone.

“That’s because they’re Canadian,” I say to make him laugh.

We finish our meals and are almost out the door when a voice booms, “Peter?”

A man stands at a table, hand on the head of a teenage girl with chin-length blond hair. Everything about him is square, from his broad shoulders and barrel chest to his head. But his formidable presence is canceled out by the friendly grin under his trim beard. I can count the number of times Peter has been flabbergasted on one hand, but whoever this is has made his mouth drop. He spreads his arms when the teenage girl launches herself into them and then swings her around.

“How did you end up here?” Peter asks after he’s put her down and hugged the man. Another guy as square as the first, but with blond hair rather than brown, waits for his turn, looking just as delighted.

I think I know who they are, but it’s unbelievable that we’d meet up with them on the other side of the country. Peter steps back from the trio. “This is Chuck, Rich and Nat. The people I stayed with in Vermont.”

“The island people?” Bits asks.

“Uh-huh,” Nat says, her small, pretty features alight. “And I know who you are—you’re Bits, right?”

Bits nods, eyes huge. Nat laughs, a tinkling laugh that matches her little self completely, and says, “I’ve seen you before, you know. You just didn’t see me.” She bites her lip after her eyes scan the group—maybe she can see who’s missing.

I feel a bit under scrutiny when Peter introduces me, but I move close to Nat. For once in this world, I’m going to get to do something I was sure would never happen. “I smell horrible,” I say, “but I’ve been waiting a year to give you a hug for saving Peter’s life.”

She flings herself my way. “I feel like I’m meeting celebrities or something! I know all about you! Peter said you like to read. I have tons of books you can borrow.”

I smile over her shoulder at Peter. He was right when he said she was nutty in a good way. Chuck elbows Peter. “Peter knows all about those books. Don’t you, Pete?”

Peter laughs, completely at ease. I see him through their eyes, people who didn’t know Peter before the world ended, and can tell how happy they are to be around him. He’d already changed before we parted in Bennington, but by the time he’d arrived at Kingdom Come his metamorphosis had been complete. Maybe finding that people liked him for nothing other than being himself had been the final stage.

“Wait a minute,” Chuck says, brow wrinkled. “You’re not the new arrivals who volunteered to go to the warehouse?”

Peter shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I know the nuances of his body language well enough to see that his shoulders are weighted down with worry.

“Jesus.” Chuck shakes his head slowly. “Come on back to our place. We need to catch up.”

***

Chuck, Rich and Nat live in a small log cabin with a green metal roof only a few blocks away. The furnishings are nicer than I expected—an overstuffed sage green couch with an expensive coffee table flanked by striped chairs. I remember what Peter told me about Rich’s propensity for decorating and direct my comment to him. “Nice place.”

Rich scratches his chin. “Thanks.”

After they’ve lighted the lanterns, we sit and sip water. Rich offers us something stronger, but we decline because we don’t need hangovers tomorrow. Ash has come with us, and she, Bits and Hank follow Nat to the loft, where the giggling is nonstop.

“So, tell me what’s going on,” Chuck says. He stands, arms folded and face impassive while Peter explains the deal we made. He reminds me of John, soaking in information quietly before passing judgment. Then he curses, which is all the judgment we need to know we’re screwed. The surety that we’ll be able to complete this job evaporates.

“From what I hear, it’s next to impossible,” Chuck says. “We’ve been here since the end of August. The first group went down on a lark, as I understand it, since they didn’t need the food. Then when the people from Whitehorse came, they tried again. Sent down the youngest and strongest, which is why they didn’t let me go. I offered.”

Rich mumbles something I can’t hear.

“Yeah,” Chuck says, “this is bad timing. Crops weren’t too bad this year, but the hunting and salmon catch weren’t good. Once everything freezes, I think we’ll get in some good hunting.” He pushes out his lips and stares at the ceiling. “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Peter says. “I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, I’m telling.”

“But you have Na—”

“And why do I have her? You saved Nat’s life and almost broke your ankle for it. You put off your trip north to make sure we were set for winter, Pete. You were willing to take her with you if we didn’t come back. Now I’m going to help make sure you’re set for winter.”

Peter nods at the floor. Nelly, Penny and James straighten, as bewildered as I am. Peter never mentioned those parts. He’d only said he hurt his ankle and had to recuperate. It’s no wonder they love him. I thought I knew how kind and selfless Peter could be, but it’s even more than that. He’s a beautiful soul, as my mother would say. I give him a
what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you
head shake. He shrugs but returns my smile before looking away.

“I’m going,” Rich says. We wait for more, but that’s all we get.

“They won’t like that,” Chuck says. “Rich is the nurse here—we have a medic, nurse and midwife.”

“Too bad,” Rich replies.

“You’re taking a truck, I guess?” Chuck asks. We tell him about Zeke’s limited skills. “I’ll drive. I drove a truck years ago. That’s how we got out here.”

“How did you end up here?” Peter asks, looking relieved that we haven’t pressed Chuck for more details of his stay. He’s not getting off the hook so easily, but I’ll bother him about it later.

“We left the island just past midsummer,” Chuck says, “We were coming to your place, Pete. Nat insisted, not that she had to, but she said it would be like never getting to the end of a book if she didn’t know what had happened. ‘Like if
Breaking Dawn
had never been written,’ she kept saying.”

Peter snorts.
Breaking Dawn
is the last of the
Twilight
books. He’d said Nat was obsessed with them.

“Anyway, we set out in the G-class, which you should’ve taken when you had your chance. Rode like a dream.” Chuck winks. “We ended up south of Albany, between blocked roads and a pod of zombies, and bumped into a group from Mexico. They told us the giant pods really were coming. We’d listened to the radios and thought Alaska was the safest bet, so we took off straight from there. We thought if we waited, we might never get cross country. Found a tanker half-full of diesel and made it here three weeks later. We hitched up a trailer for supply runs once we got here.”

He makes it sound easy when it couldn’t have been. But either he doesn’t want to go into detail or is saving them for another day. Peter tells him a similar story of our travels and glances at his watch when he’s finished. “It’s ten. We should get some rest.”

Chuck gives a long whistle. Natalie pops her head out of the loft a moment later and rolls her eyes at us. “He thinks I’m a dog. Yes, master?”

“Time for your friends to go. We have an early start tomorrow. I’ll explain what’s going on later.”

She comes down, followed by the others. “We were listening. Ash and I think we should be able to help.”