The lights in the room came on, and she looked down atthe gun in her hands. It was nice, a loved thing, like she had been once, butit was just a tool, just as she had also once been. She twisted it and turnedit in her hands, trying to figure out how it worked just by looking at it. Shethought she could figure it out. From another part of the house, she heardanther gun shot. It was only a matter of time before that Rick fellow came tocheck on her. She got down on one knee and balanced the rifle on the bed,aiming it at the door. When she saw his red face, she was going to put a bulletright through the fucking thing.
She cursed silently when the door was thrown open and theface that appeared wasn't red. It was Lou, and he jerked backwards a secondwhen he saw Katie with the gun. In his eyes, she had glimpsed the truth. He wasafraid of her. That was good. She stood up and slung the rifle's strap over hershoulder, smiling as cheerily as she could muster.
The others didn't know what to say as they stepped intothe room.
Mort pointed at J.B.'s dead body and asked, "Why ishe naked?"
Katie just smiled, grabbed J.B.'s FBI hat, and walked outof the room.
Chapter 23: Let It Burn
The white Jeep puttered along, its engine roaring on,sounding like it was going to die at any moment. It had half a tank of gas, andthe countryside, dotted with the dead, flew by them. The sun was going down,but they were fine with that. They would look forward to the end of that day,the end of that final glimmer of hope. They would let it fade, until the orangewas gone, and all that remained was a distant memory, like a half-forgottendream, about the time they thought there would be a cure.
"You got a smoke?" Mort asked.
Clara dug in her pocket without speaking. She hadhonestly forgotten about her haul with everything that had happened. She pulleda pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. The brand didn't matter. Brands wouldnever matter again, and she packed them by slapping the box against the palm ofher wrist. She peeled the cellophane from the pack, flipped the lid, and thenripped the foil inside free, exposing 20 symmetrical circles, arranged in threerows of 7, 6, and 7. She pulled one free and slapped it into Mort's hand.
Mort grabbed the cigarette from her, lit it, and thenturned sideways, hiding it from view. When he had turned back around, she sawthat Mort had fashioned her a makeshift birthday cake from a Hostess cupcake,the brown kind with the swirly line of white frosting on top, and the burningcigarette.
"Happy Birthday, Clara."
Joan laughed in the driver's seat, and began singing"Happy Birthday." Katie, Mort and Lou joined in.
When the song was done, they all fell silent, waiting forher to make her wish. She watched as the smoke swirled in the air.
"Aren't you going to make a wish?" Mort asked.
Clara's voice caught in her throat. She swallowed andthen said, "What is there to wish for?"
Katie, unconcerned about the smoke affecting the childinside of her, turned around and said, "Just let it burn."
So they did... they watched as the cigarette turned toash in front of them. It started bright orange, and then it began to fade. Whenit looked like it was going to go out finally, Clara pursed her lips and blewgently on the cigarette, sending bits of ash tumbling onto the cupcake.
Eventually, the cigarette madeit down to the butt, and Clara threw it out the window. Let it burn, shethought. Let it all burn.
Epilogue
Rudy awoke. His arms and legs didn't want to work atfirst, but he eventually managed to push himself upright. He didn't recognizehis surroundings. Green fabric, filled with heat. He rubbed his hands over hiseyes, trying to make sense of what he saw.
When he sat up, his whole body ached. He noticed he wasnaked. Somewhere he could hear the sounds of gunfire. For a second, he wonderedif he had missed his finals, but then it came back to him. There were no morefinals. No more video games. No more apartment building, as it had burned toash.
The sound of gunfire became more intense, and he couldhear men's voices shouting. Rudy threw aside the filthy sleeping bag and lookeddown at his naked body. He seemed smaller than he remembered, and suddenly hewas hit by an insatiable thirst. Water. He needed water.
His lips were chapped, and he tried to moisten them withhis tongue, but there was nothing there. Even swallowing seemed to beimpossible. In the corner of the tent, he found his clothes neatly folded, alarge pair of jeans, his ruined underwear, and his shirt, a bloodstained, brownpolo shirt. He stumbled over to the clothing, and tried to put it on. He had torest a couple of times throughout the process.
When he finally stood up, he had to hold his pants upwith one hand. The shirt was baggier than he remembered, and his tennis shoes,originally a wide width, were now like slippers on his feet. With one handholding up his pants, he reached out and pushed the flap of the tent aside.
Fresh hell greeted him. He remembered it now, jumpingfrom the building, floating through the air, the dirty gray roof of asemi-truck meeting him face first. How did he get here?
In front of him, a line of vehicles were pulled in acircle. Nightmares crawled over the hoods of the vehicles and underneath themas well. He was a dead man. He heard gunfire, and he stepped out into thebaking sun.
He turned in the opposite direction, and saw two olivegreen vehicles weaving in and out of wrecked and stalled cars. He was on abridge, in the middle of it in fact... and the only humans in sight weredriving away
