The End of All Things

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Info

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  First published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop, 2013

  Copyright © Lissa Bryan, 2013

  The right of Lissa Bryan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Writer’s Coffee Shop

  (Australia) PO Box 447 Cherrybrook NSW 2126

  (USA) PO Box 2116 Waxahachie TX 75168

  Paperback ISBN- 978-1-61213-141-2

  E-book ISBN- 978-1-61213-142-9

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the US Congress Library.

  Cover image by: Amanda L. Spitz, ©Depositphotos/Vukasin Ilic, ©Depositphotos/Kotenko

  Cover design by: Jada D’Lee

  www.thewriterscoffeeshop.com/lbryan

  About the Author

  Lissa Bryan is an astronaut, renowned Kabuki actress, Olympic pole vault gold medalist, Iron Chef champion, and scientist who recently discovered the cure for athlete’s foot . . . though only in her head.

  Real life isn’t so interesting, which is why she spends most of her time writing.

  Dedication

  To my True Love, whose support has made all of this possible.

  Acknowledgments

  Endless gratitude to Kathie, who’s always there to cheer me on, soothe my nerves, and keep me on track. Thanks also to Verushka and Jen, whose input and talents made this a much better book. And to Amanda Spitz, for the lovely base cover image, and Jada D'Lee for making it all come together.

  Turning and turning in the widening gyre

  The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

  Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

  Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

  The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

  The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

  The best lack all conviction, while the worst

  Are full of passionate intensity.

  Chapter One

  “He’s still out there.”

  Sam wagged his tail.

  “What do you think he wants?” Carly asked Sam as she let the curtains fall closed. “Never mind. I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that question because it’s probably nothing good.”

  It had been a week since the Biker Guy appeared and set up camp on the sidewalk across the street from her apartment building. He was the first healthy person she’d seen in weeks. At first she wasn’t sure. His behavior was odd enough to make her think he was one of the Infected. Why would he set up a tent across from her apartment building when there was a motel right down the street? It made no sense. He would wave at her and smile cheerfully whenever Carly peeked through the curtains. He would be reading, cleaning a gun, or cooking over the fire he had built on the sidewalk, but as soon as she looked out the window, his head would snap up and he would stare right at her, as if he had some sort of weird sixth sense about when she was looking.

  He was trying to starve her out, waiting until she had to leave, and then he would . . . what? She wasn’t sure. She had a bad feeling she was going to find out very soon. She and Sam were out of food. Carly could have tolerated the hunger a while longer, but Sam had gone over to his bowl a few times today and batted at it with his paw, and she couldn’t stand the idea of the puppy being hungry.

  Carly went to the closet and got out one of her dad’s golf clubs, the closest thing she had to a weapon. She’d taken it from the trunk of his car the first time she’d gone out. She slipped a steak knife in the back pocket of her jeans, though she wasn’t sure it would be effective if someone got close. Some of the Infected had seemed impervious to pain, and the little flimsy knife didn’t seem like it would inflict much damage. She thought about the long, wickedly-sharp knives her mother had hanging on the magnetic rack in her kitchen, but there was no way Carly could go back into her parents’ apartment.

  Sam pranced by the door. He thought she was going to take him out. The apartment building was built in a square around a small, grassy courtyard where Carly walked him. Those blank windows staring like sightless eyes always made her nervous. There could still be Infected inside some of the apartments, which was why she tried to keep Sam’s visits outside to the early mornings and late evenings, when it was almost dark and less likely she’d be seen. He used a pan lined with newspaper the rest of the time, but the garbage hadn’t been picked up in months, and the newspaper machine in the building’s lobby was empty.

  “I’ll be back soon, Sam,” Carly said. She knelt down and hugged him. He licked the underside of her chin as she stood. “Be good, okay?” She closed her apartment door after her and twisted the knob to make sure it had locked. At the end of the hall was a fire door that led to the stairs, and Carly took the three flights down to the ground level. She wished there was another way to get out, but her building only had one street-level exit, aside from the fire escape, and she wasn’t brave enough to try them. She had a pathological fear of heights that was so bad she would rather face the Biker Guy than try to climb down a rickety metal ladder.

  She peeked out the window in the lobby. Yep. Still there. And currently staring right at her. She clutched the handle of the golf club like a baseball bat.

  For a moment, Carly considered turning around, going back upstairs, and just hoping he’d leave before their situation became desperate, but she’d given the rest of the food to Sam yesterday and the little guy was growing. He needed to eat.

  She had to do it. She had no choice. But she couldn’t force herself to open the door. Biker Guy got up from his seat on an overturned bucket and walked straight toward her. The guy was huge. Carly swallowed a gasp and backed up until her heels bumped against the stairs.

  He was even scarier up close. Her dad had been six feet tall and this guy was even taller, built like a linebacker with heavily muscled, broad shoulders. He had tattoos on his arms and a scruffy beard on his jaw, which matched the dark, tousled hair on his head. His eyes were so dark, they seemed black. “Hello,” he said through the glass door.

  Carly scrambled up the stairs to the landing and backed into the corner. Nope. No way was she going out there. She trotted back up the stairs to her floor, listening carefully for any sounds that might indicate he was forcing his way in, but she heard nothing beyond her own raspy breathing.

  She took out her key ring, pausing when she saw the key next to her own. She bit her lip and looked across the hall at the door the key unlocked. The apartment belonged to Mrs. Lincoln, a retired elementary teacher. Carly had been in her class when she was in the second grade, and there had been a mutual affection between them ever since. Carly had a key because she ran occasional errands for Mrs. Lincoln and watered her plants whenever she was out of town.

  She hadn’t seen Mrs. Lincoln since the st
art of the Crisis due to the quarantine, and she hadn’t answered her phone when Carly tried to call. Carly fervently hoped the elderly widow had gotten away before the Infection reached Juneau. There were supposed to be some areas in Canada that weren’t affected. Maybe she and her son had holed up in his fishing cabin in Vancouver.

  She knew if she asked Mrs. Lincoln, she would encourage Carly to get what she needed from her cupboards, but it still made Carly very uncomfortable. It felt like . . . looting. It felt wrong. But she had a hungry puppy to feed and no choice unless she wanted to face Biker Guy. Carly gritted her teeth and used the key.

  With her next breath, she knew Mrs. Lincoln hadn’t made it to Canada. Choking, gagging, Carly held her arm over her nose to try to block the stench. She held her breath as she darted inside to the little kitchen and opened the cupboards. Only a few cans remained inside. Carly felt tears gather, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of poor Mrs. Lincoln or her disappointment in the lack of food.

  She took what was there. It would tide them over for a couple of days. She dashed back out into the hall and shut the door. An explosion of breath left her, a ragged sob which sounded horribly loud in the silent hallway.

  Carly unlocked her own door and slipped inside. Sam bounced joyfully, as though she’d been gone for weeks, his tail wagging so hard he was hitting his flanks with it. She smiled at him and gave his ears a rub. He looked at her quizzically. “I’m okay,” she reassured him. “I’m okay.”

  She didn’t have a choice but to be okay.

  Sam wasn’t fooled. He leaned against her leg and looked up at her with a soft whine.

  She felt tears sting her eyes. “You never met Mrs. Lincoln, but she was very nice. I just wish . . . I just wish she could have been with her son if she had to . . .” Carly couldn’t say the last word.

  She turned away and began to sort the cans she’d found. There were kidney beans, beef stew, corn, and green beans. She fished her can opener out of the drawer and before long was pouring the can of beef stew into Sam’s bowl. He dug in with relish. Carly opened the kidney beans for herself and ate them right out of the can. She’d never been much of a cook before the Crisis, but since the electricity was gone, she couldn’t even warm up her dinner. At least the beans were filling, she thought. Pretty tasty, too. Her mother had always said, Hunger is the best seasoning. Carly cut off that line of thought abruptly.

  She threw the empty cans into the trash and went over to sit down on the sofa. She stared at the blank screen of the television in front of her. Her watch no longer worked but she had learned to tell the approximate time by the shadows on the wall. Troy Cramer’s News Hour would be on right about now, she thought. During the Crisis, he had been the nation’s most trusted source of news. He had seemed indefatigable, staying on the air for inhumanly long stretches, especially toward the end, when he had been the last man standing. And there had been no one left to turn off the camera when he began raving in delirium. She was almost glad the power had gone off before she saw the inevitable conclusion. She would have felt compelled to watch, to be with him in his final moments, even in this remote fashion.

  Sam hopped up on the sofa beside her and laid his head on her thigh with a contented sigh. He had a full belly, and Carly petted him as he drifted off to sleep. All was right in his world. Carly envied him.

  His fur had been darker when she first spotted him on the sidewalk in front of her building, and his eyes had been blue. He was a lonely little puppy trying to tear open a trash bag, looking for something to eat. He must have remembered humans since he’d run right to Carly when she dashed outside to scoop him up. She had to take him in. She knew what would happen to him if she didn’t.

  She’d named him Sam, after Frodo’s loyal friend in The Lord of the Rings, the last movie she and her father had watched together. And Sam had kept her going when giving up seemed like a much more attractive option. She couldn’t leave him with no one to take care of him. Until Biker Guy had arrived and set up camp across from her building, she had seemed to be the only person left in Juneau.

  Two days later, they were out of food again, and Carly was faced with the prospect of trying to make it out to the store.

  Sam swatted his metal bowl with his paw, and then stared down at it with a hint of expectation, as if rattling it would make food appear. Perhaps, in his little doggy head it did, because Carly had always filled it whenever she heard the bowl clatter on the floor.

  Carly went over to the window to peek out at Biker Guy. Still there. Yesterday, she had gathered all of her courage and gone down to the lobby door again, but he had met her there with another Hello, and she’d panicked and darted back upstairs.

  He was looking up at her window. He waved and reached down beside his bucket to pick up something that looked like a large white sheet of poster board. He held it up, and she could see the words he’d painted on it in black: PLEASE DON’T BE AFRAID. I WON’T HURT YOU.

  He dropped the top poster to reveal another beneath it: I JUST WANT TO TALK TO YOU.

  Carly thought that was highly unlikely. Whatever this guy wants, it isn’t just a scintillating conversation.

  He held up another sign: I’M REALLY A NICE GUY. HONEST.

  Yeah, like he’d tell me if he wasn’t.

  He grinned as he held up the last board: SURRENDER, DOROTHY.

  Carly had to giggle, but it faded as she realized it was the first time she’d laughed since the Crisis. She retreated and let the curtain drop. Indecision gnawed at her. She had to get food, and that meant confronting Biker Guy, whether she liked it or not.

  She decided to wait until the middle of the night, when he’d hopefully be asleep and wouldn’t see her leave the safety of her building.

  Carly slept during the afternoon and evening, setting her wind-up alarm clock for after midnight when it would be dark. Well, as dark as it ever got in Juneau during summer, anyway. She sat up, and Sam, who slept at the foot of her bed, thumped his tail against the mattress. She could see the question in his eyes. Out?

  “No,” she replied. “I can’t take you with me.” He was around three months old, knee-high with big, clumsy paws. He was still vulnerable, and it tore at her heart to think of someone hurting him. She told him to stay and went into her closet to change into dark clothing. She took her large canvas shopping bag, the steak knife, and her dad’s nine iron. As the old saying goes, God hates a coward, she reminded herself.

  Carly patted her pocket to make sure she had her keys and then shut the apartment door behind herself. She crept down the stairs and approached the lobby door. Biker Guy was nowhere in sight. His fire had burned down to red embers. She took a deep breath and pushed the lobby door open a crack. She waited, looking around the dark and silent street. No movement, no sounds. Carly pushed the door open wide enough to allow her to slip through. She froze again, but nothing happened. So she set off down the street, walking as quickly as stealth would allow, with the nine iron over her shoulder like a soldier carrying a rifle.

  The grocery store wasn’t far, but then again, nothing in Juneau was very far from anything else. Carly gagged at the smell of rotten meat, spoiled produce, and sour milk. The stink hadn’t dissipated at all since her last visit over a week ago, before Biker Guy had trapped her in her apartment building.

  Her lantern was by the door where she’d left it. Carly picked it up and turned it on before she put it into the child seat of an empty cart, along with a fresh pack of batteries in case the lamp began to dim. Being in the dark in there was a terrifying thought.

  Carly went to the dog food first and heaved the largest bag of puppy food they had into the cart. There was still plenty of that left, though the selection of human food left was slim. Troy Cramer had shown video footage of grocery stores all over the country cleaned out by shoppers or looters at the height of the Crisis.

  Carly didn’t take time to make selections based on her preferences. She grabbed whatever cans were still on the shelf and dumped them i
nto the cart. She’d been back in the stockroom on a previous visit. It was empty except for a few cases of bottled water.

  A dark feeling of unease was stirring within her. What was she going to do once it was all gone? She doubted if what was left would last until the end of the summer. But surely things will be back to normal by then.

  There was a gas station up the street. She wondered if she should check it to see if there were more groceries there, but it made her feel uneasy since she was already breaking quarantine to come here and the gas station was even further away. And after that’s gone, then what? Carly didn’t know. She’d expected the Crisis to be over by now and for things to be getting back to normal, and she wasn’t prepared for the world to be out of order for the long term.

  She swallowed back a gasp when she heard something—a foot crunching down on the spilled rice that she had seen in the next aisle. She realized then she had left her golf club by the door when she picked up the lantern. She pulled the knife out of her pocket, her hand shaking.

  Another step and a small sound, like a moan or a sigh.

  Time to go. Carly pushed her cart toward the front of the store. Before now, she’d been diligent about writing down the UPC codes of the products she took and always left a check to cover the cost, but not today.

  “Mother?” She recognized the voice of Merle Campton, who owned the automobile service garage. His mother had been dead for years. “Mother?”

  Carly knew better than to answer. She hurried past the darkened dairy cases.

  “Mother!” Merle’s boots clomped on the tile as he ran after her.