The End of All Things Page 3

  “No problem.” He put the bottle on the ground between them. Sam looked at it and licked his chops in temptation, but a glance from Carly made him lay his head back down on his paws with a sigh.

  Carly picked up her coffee cup and inhaled with something akin to ecstasy. One sip and she was in heaven. “God, I missed this.”

  Justin chuckled. “There’s plenty if you want more.”

  Carly had to restrain herself from gulping down the rest of the cup so she could ask for another. She sipped the coffee and ate her breakfast in silence for a few minutes. Justin scraped the rest of the oatmeal out into a bowl and put it down in front of Sam. Sam looked up at Carly for permission before digging in.

  “I thought about what you said,” she told Justin. “And I’m sorry I was so rude to you yesterday.”

  He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Well, as I said, I thought a lot last night about what you told me, and—” Carly was uncertain of how to proceed.

  “And?” Justin prompted gently.

  Carly swallowed. “You’re right. I don’t know what to do about this winter. I mean, I’m sure everything will be fixed by then, but just in case . . . I need to figure something out. Like a kerosene heater or something.”

  “You don’t have water.”

  “I haven’t figured that part out yet. But I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

  She hated the pity in his eyes. She dropped her gaze down to her plate.

  “You can’t stay here, Carly. It’s not healthy for Sam.”

  She blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “He shouldn’t breathe in kerosene fumes. It’s not good for dogs . . . or wolves, for that matter. It will be almost impossible to ventilate your apartment properly. Secondly, Sam needs space to run. He’s going to get a lot bigger before he finishes growing, and your apartment is just too small for him. He’ll be unhappy there.”

  Carly hadn’t thought of that. She wondered what had changed Justin’s mind about Sam. Whatever had caused it, she appreciated the kindness.

  “You’ll run out of bottled water very quickly. If you give him unfiltered water from a creek or river, he could get sick. He could get parasites, and you can’t take him to a vet.”

  “I have nowhere else to go.” Carly had lost her appetite. She poked at the oatmeal with her spoon.

  Justin sipped his coffee. As he did, the sleeve of his T-shirt slipped up, and she got a good look at the tattoo on his upper arm. It was a snake wrapped around a lightning bolt. “You were in Iraq?” she asked, surprised.

  Justin froze. “How did you know that?”

  “Your tattoo. My dad had a ring with the same symbol on it. He said it was the symbol of his army unit or something like that. He was in the first Gulf War.”

  Justin looked at her sharply. “You said your last name was Daniels? Was your dad Carl Daniels?”

  Carly nodded, her eyes wide. “Did you know him?”

  “Not well. He was getting ready to retire when I joined up.” Justin shook his head. “Small world, huh?”

  “I guess so.” Carly was remembering what her dad said to her once about the symbol; any man who wore it was like a brother to him, someone she could trust or rely on for help. “Is my dad why you’re here?” she asked.

  “No, I didn’t know.” Justin poured more coffee into her cup and then topped off his own cup. “But now that I do know, I can’t just leave you here. You understand that, right?”

  Carly cursed herself for saying anything. The firmness in his tone told her he wasn’t going to let this go easily. “What do you want, Justin? Why are you camped out in front of my apartment?”

  “I told you why I’m here; I wrote it on the sign. I just wanted to talk to you. You’re the only sane human being I’ve seen in weeks.”

  “You’re not from here, though, are you?”

  He shook his head. “I’m from Nebraska, actually. Omaha. I was up here for the Deadhorse Rally. I got here earlier than expected and decided to take a detour and explore a bit.”

  Justin was referring to the annual motorcycle ride from Fairbanks to Deadhorse, a town on the northern coast of Alaska, the most northern point on the North American continent riders could reach. It was supposed to be one of the most challenging and scenic rides in America.

  “Where’s your bike?” Carly asked.

  “I left it in Haines when I took the ferry here.” The ferry was the only way to reach Juneau as none of Alaska’s eleven highways led to the town. He smiled, and it was a bit wistful. “This is a beautiful area. For all the tourists you get, the forests are practically pristine.”

  “I’m sorry about your bike.” Carly knew some riders were attached to their motorcycles the way car buffs cherished a classic automobile.

  Justin merely shrugged. “I couldn’t ride it now, anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “Too loud. Everyone for miles can hear you coming.”

  “The ferry isn’t running, so I’m stuck here.” Carly was relieved, in a way. It was a decision she didn’t have to make.

  “You’re not stuck. There are plenty of boats. You could take one all the way down the coast.”

  “To where? I have nowhere else to go.”

  “South.”

  “You mean, like, Ketchikan?”

  “No, I mean, like, Florida. That’s where I’m headed.”

  Carly was bewildered. “Why would I want to go there?”

  “The climate, for one thing. You wouldn’t have to worry about freezing in the winter, and you can grow food year round down there.”

  “I don’t know how to farm.”

  He shrugged. “Neither do I. We can learn.”

  “I don’t understand why you think I’d need to. Pretty soon everything will be back to normal.”

  “Jesus, Carly, look around you. Do you see society rebuilding itself?”

  “It may take a little while—”

  “No.” Justin’s voice was soft, but firm. “Carly, you have to accept it. Life as you know it is over. America is dead. There isn’t a president or police officers. No one will ever cash those checks you wrote. The power won’t come back on, not for a very, very long time.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said stubbornly.

  “You don’t want to believe me, but you know it’s true.”

  Carly stood, and her forgotten bowl of oatmeal tumbled off her lap. Sam was delighted and looked up at her for permission to eat it, but Carly took hold of his leash. She wasn’t looking at Justin, her face firmly turned away. “I’m going home now. Leave me alone. Just go away and leave me alone.”

  “I can’t do that. Your father—”

  “He’s dead,” Carly snapped. “And you just told me there’s no government, which means there’s no army either. Your obligations are at an end.”

  She tugged Sam away from the pile of oatmeal and went back to her apartment building.

  Justin sighed as he watched Carly retreat to her apartment building. He’d taken a bit of a risk trying to jar her into accepting reality. She was still in shock, still in the denial stage. He had known as much when he saw the detailed list of items she’d taken from the store. She’d even calculated the tax on the non-grocery items. He could see a few cracks in the careful façade she had constructed to hide from the truth, and with more careful prodding, he might be able to break through.

  He picked up her plate and bowl and washed them in the bucket of water he’d drawn from a nearby creek and purified with bleach. He needed to give her time to come to grips with the fact that the world she had known was gone, but it was already the middle of June. They couldn’t wait much longer if they were going to reach a more temperate climate before winter set in.

  He’d known the moment he spotted her, almost two weeks ago, he couldn’t leave her behind. It just wouldn’t be right. But it was clear he was going to have a hell of a time convincing her to leave the only place she felt safe in this new, uncertain wor
ld.

  His first indication that there was something wrong had been the fire. He’d been camping in the silent serenity of the hills around the sleepy little town. Sometimes the noise and bustle of the civilized world got to be too much, and he’d need to retreat for a while, to recharge his batteries in solitude.

  He smelled the fire before he saw it. It was only once his curiosity had lured him in closer to the town that he’d seen the smear of black smoke besmirching the crystalline, blue sky. He’d frowned as he found a comfortable spot and pulled out his binoculars. Seemed like a hell of a big one, but he heard no sirens. Even when the sun had finally set for the night, he hadn’t seen any flashing lights reflected off the nearby buildings or the haze of smoke that hung low to the rooftops. Fortunately, the building had been far enough from its neighbors that the fire hadn’t spread, or the whole town might have burned.

  That was when he’d taken the wind-up radio from his pack, and when he couldn’t make sense of the disjointed babble, he’d turned on his cell phone for the first time in over a month. Dozens of messages. He listened to them at first in shock and then in slowly dawning horror as he realized what was happening.

  After that, he’d watched the town through his binoculars as he lay on a small bluff that provided an excellent vantage point. After a while, the only people he saw were the Infected, shuffling aimlessly through the streets like zombies, and soon they were gone, too.

  He’d seen Carly by chance during one of his brief forays into the town, dashing from her apartment to the little grocery store, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. He’d watched her for a while to gauge how best to approach her. After checking her building for any potential threats, he set up camp in front and settled in to wait. Humans were social creatures, after all, and it was only a matter of time before loneliness would lead her to initiate contact. He hadn’t counted on the wolf pup, however.

  Like most modern Americans, Carly was completely unprepared for survival in a world without technology. To people like Carly, food came from a grocery store, and its origins beyond that point were vague. Water came from a tap, safe and purified, and there was always a doctor to tend to any injuries with safe, FDA-approved medications. People like Carly rarely survived for long when the center did not hold. She’d armed herself with a steak knife and a golf club, for God’s sake! Still, he recognized a spark of strength within her that told him she was a survivor. She just didn’t know it yet.

  He hadn’t lied to her when he’d told her he had an obligation to her father, an obligation that still held even if he was the last surviving member of what had simply been called “The Unit.” It was part of the oath. If a man should fall, the rest of them would take care of his family. He hadn’t even been aware that Carl Daniels had a family. Most of them did not. One of the things that made them so effective was none of them had anything to lose.

  Justin poured himself another cup of coffee and sipped it while he watched Carly’s window to see if she would reappear. The first step would be to earn her trust.

  Carly was dreaming of her parents again. She hated this dream and always tried to fight it off, but at least twice a week, her mind replayed the last weeks of her parents’ lives with horrifying, crystalline clarity.

  Her mother, Gloria, had fallen sick first, but it had been mild, like a spring cold or a persistent case of allergies. Both Carly and her father had watched anxiously, and at the end of the week, her mother had actually seemed like she was getting better. Gloria had been in the kitchen, cooking dinner, when she’d collapsed to the linoleum. Carl had rushed in and scooped his wife off the floor, and she had vomited helplessly as he lifted her. She’d been burning up with fever. Carly had held her father’s gaze in a moment of silent, horrified communication. There was no denying she had the Infection.

  There was still hope. The news had said over half of the people who caught it survived. Carly would wonder later if that was just a way of trying to keep the panic down, to keep the Infected in their homes drinking chicken soup instead of clogging the roads and trying to reach the already overcrowded hospitals.

  The violent illness wracked Gloria’s body as her fever climbed to alarming heights. Then the delirium set in, and she talked to long-dead relatives, screamed that there were spiders crawling on her, and failed to recognize either her husband or daughter. Carl had to tie Gloria’s hands to the headboard to keep her from digging bloody furrows in her arms, clawing away the spiders only she could see.

  They’d tried everything. They tried putting Gloria into a tub of cold water to bring down the fever. They’d given her aspirin, which was the only drug they had in their apartments. They tried to keep her hydrated, though every drop of liquid they put into her came right back up. Carl had tried to contact the hospital, but 911 rang busy. When he drove to the hospital to see if there was any way he could get Gloria admitted, he had come home pale, his eyes filled with the horrors he had seen there. He hadn’t mentioned the hospital after that.

  And then one afternoon while Carly was sponging the sweat from her mother’s shivering body, Carl had looked at his daughter and said, “I have it, too.”

  His illness seemed to progress much faster, or perhaps Carly had been so wrapped up in trying to help her mother she hadn’t noticed when he’d had the lightly symptomatic stage. Carl had known what was coming and faced it with calm stoicism.

  “Listen to me, Sugar Bear . . .” He had used the nickname he’d given Carly as a baby. Carl looked over at his wife, who had slipped into unconsciousness so deep it was probably a coma. He smoothed the hair back from Gloria’s sweat-soaked forehead. Her breaths were shallow and panting. “We’re not going to make it.” Carl’s smile was gentle, even though tears glittered in his eyes.

  “Daddy, please—”

  “I don’t have much time, and I need to talk to you while I still can. I want you to leave, Carly. Get out of here and go home, and don’t come out for anyone. Understand? You stay inside, where it’s safe, until this thing is over.”

  “I can’t. I can’t leave you.” Carly wouldn’t go, no matter how much he begged. To be honest, a small part of her was almost hoping she would become infected herself so this horror would all be over.

  When she took small breaks to get food for herself, Carly watched the news, watched the world fall apart, live, in living color. Her mind replayed some of those images in her dreams. She saw the famous HOLLYWOOD sign ablaze from uncontained wildfires, the riots in Chicago, the refugees trying to pour out of New York across the Brooklyn Bridge, stopped by National Guard troops, and the horrible moment when the crowd had realized they were more powerful in their sheer numbers.

  Carly took care of her parents the best she could. She tried to keep them cool, to pour liquids into them, and clean up the mess when those liquids came back up. Days blended into one another, and it seemed as if she had spent a lifetime in that room of suffering. Carly was so exhausted she started having small hallucinations herself. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw tiny movements that made her jump and gasp. Her overwrought nerves reacted to the shots of adrenaline through her system, which made her more exhausted.

  Her dream mercifully skipped over what had happened next. Sometimes it didn’t, and she was forced to relive their deaths. During the day, she could shove the thought away by force, but her dreams were uncontrollable.

  Carly had clasped her parents’ hands together before covering them with the blanket and returning to her own apartment, numb with horror and grief. She’d tried calling 911 to report her parents’ deaths, but it always rang busy. It rang busy until the day the phone didn’t work any longer.

  She woke with tears on her cheeks. Sam gave a soft whimper and crawled closer to lay his head on Carly’s stomach. His eyes were sad and sympathetic. She scratched behind his ears to show him she was all right and sat up on the side of the bed. Another day to get through.

  Carly scooped out a bowl of food for Sam and went over to the window. She let
out a gasp of distress when she saw Justin’s tent was gone. She was surprised at how upsetting it was. She spun, ran to the apartment door, and flung it open. Sam bounded after her, ready for his morning outside time. She skidded to a halt when she found Justin in a sleeping bag in the hallway. Relief washed over her, a feeling she didn’t quite understand.

  Justin’s eyes opened, and he gave her a sleepy smile. “Morning, Darly.”

  “Carly,” she said, too distracted by his presence to be irritated at him for getting her name wrong again. “What are you doing in here?”

  “The mosquitoes were bad.” Justin sat up and yawned. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “I . . . uh . . . I guess not.” Carly wondered how he had gotten through the locked lobby doors. It was a thought that made her vaguely uneasy.

  “I’ll take Sam outside for you, if you’d like.”

  Carly hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she trusted Justin enough to let him take Sam, but not because she thought Justin might hurt him. Sam meant everything to her. Without him, she might have surrendered to her despair. He had given her a reason to go on, a listening ear, comfort, and companionship. Carly was reluctant to let him out of her sight.

  “Just out to the courtyard,” he said. Carly was a little startled he knew about it, but she supposed he was the type of person who would explore the whole building and search for other exits. Her dad had been the same way. Thinking of him made Carly recall Justin’s tattoo and what her dad had said the symbol meant.

  “All right. I’ll be right back.” Carly went into the kitchen and got a plastic shopping bag.

  “What’s this?” Justin took it from her.

  “To clean up after him. There’s a trash can—”

  Justin shook his head. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

  Carly blinked. “Of course it is. It’s rude just to leave it.”

  Justin stuffed the bag in his pocket and said nothing.

  “Out,” she said to Sam and pointed at Justin. Sam understood and trotted over to Justin with his tail wagging expectantly. Justin patted him on the head, and they started down the hallway toward the back staircase.