“This whole thing sucks.” I didn’t realize I’d said it loud enough for Dan to hear until I heard his watery laugh.
“You got that right.”
“I think we need to lodge a complaint.”
The bed squeaked as he sat on it. “Is there a board that governs the apocalypse? How does one go about finding the forms? Do we submit them in triplicate?”
“Signed in blood.”
“I’ll bet there’s a dude with a big rubber stamp somewhere waiting for us to submit the paperwork.”
“The grim reaper?”
“Nah.” I heard the slide of laces and the thump of his boots on the floor. “He’s busy. Or dead. I mean, he’s probably in jail. I hope he’s in jail. He’s royally fucked up.”
I rolled to my back and stared up at the ceiling, smiling as I pictured the grim reaper in jail, knocking a cup against the bars of his cell. “He so has.”
“If there was a god, I’d find him and punch him in the face.”
My smile faded. I fell asleep listening to him cry.
33
Now
Another week passes. She likes it here. Likes being able to walk on the rooftops with Alex or Mel or two little kids named Suzi and Eddie. She likes feeling safe, likes not being on the road.
Of course, she can’t stop thinking about her boys, won’t stop. But her urgency has faded as if she’s been pulled in by a siren who has made her forget her purpose.
She wants to go, makes preparations to go … but she also continues to convince herself that she needs more time to prepare. She can’t go without supplies. She can’t go without gas and water and weapons. She can’t go without intel from the group who has lived this area and seen what it’s like.
“I’m stalling,” she whispers to the city as she stands on the rooftop and stares in the direction of the boys. “Why am I stalling?”
“You okay?”
She turns to see Peter near one of the greenhouses, his thinning brown hair blowing in the steady spring breeze. “Yeah.”
“Thinking about those boys, right? Wondering why you aren’t headed to them right this minute.”
She pushes her hands into her pockets. “How did you know?”
“I’ve been doing the same thing. Wife and I. We keep thinking it’ll get safer. They’ll die off, rot to the point where they can’t walk, can’t see. We need more supplies. We need to find safe routes and contingency plans and and and.” He stabs a trowel into the dirt and digs in his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. He smokes when his wife isn’t around. Dee has been here long enough to know that. To know that their dogs were in their house when the apocalypse started, the dogs that they loved like babies, the dogs that were probably dead now. “We have to live with the fact that we didn’t try hard enough to get back to them. They starved to death and it’s our fault.” His voice roughened and he turned to gather himself. Eventually, she heard the flick of a lighter and he turned back to her. “You’re ready. You should go.”
He is right. She knows it. “I feel paralyzed, you know? I want to go but I’m afraid of what I’ll find. I’m so afraid …”
“Gloria and I will go with you. Alex too. She already said as much, right? We need to go, try again. It’s been a while. The roads into Kirkland might be cleared out.”
She doesn’t want to be the one that leads people into doom. She doesn’t want them helping her. They’ll die and then she’ll have to live with that.
“Think about it.”
“I will.” She pauses. “Could you do something for me?”
He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t speak.
“I promised someone I would bring their wallet home. If you’re going there anyway … and I know it’s a big place.”
Peter flicked his fingers. “Hand it over. We’ll do it.”
She nods and passes Will’s wallet to him. She tells him Will’s story and he listens solemnly. When she’s done, he holds it in the air like a promise.
“We’ll get it there.”
“Are you sure?”
He gives her a stern look and she smiles. “Thank you. It meant a lot to him to get it home.”
She leaves him to his gardening and goes downstairs where people are gathering for dinner. Alex waves at her from the food line. The residents of the Complex take turns serving each other. Dee has done the deed twice now. She likes meeting everyone, hearing them talk about their day-to-day lives as if the world hasn’t ended outside.
She wants to stay here, damn it.
Of course, once she gets her kids, she can come back, can’t she?
They will love it here.
Shit. She has to go.
When she gets to Alex—she’s serving reconstituted mashed potatoes—Dee says, “Tomorrow.”
Alex plops a lump of taters on her plate with a satisfied smile. “It’s about time.”
“Oh really?” She moves on to the green beans, then gets her muffin and finds a spot near Gloria. “Your husband says you guys want to go with me when I go.”
“Yes. It’s time … we have to try again.”
“I’d like to leave tomorrow.”
She doesn’t look surprised. “All right. I’ll let Peter know. We’ll be ready.”
Dee eats her dinner with relish. Now that she’s finally decided, she doesn’t want to wait. This might be my last meal. This might be my last peaceful night. This might be my last day breathing.
If she dies tomorrow, so be it. She probably will. Horror movies were all about the tragic ending, weren’t they?
They’ve given her an air mattress and tent in a far corner. The tent is blue, nothing like the one
