At the End of Everything, page 18
It reminds me: “You found food! I could kiss you!”
She immediately takes a step back, and I can’t help it. I laugh. It feels weird and uncomfortable, like my muscles have forgotten how, but it makes me feel lighter too. It makes me feel more human.
Food. We have food.
Logan’s eyebrows pull together in a frown, her nose scrunched up in a way that’s adorable.
“I won’t actually kiss you,” I say. “But whatever made you decide to come here… I’m glad.”
Logan starts walking again, head down, and apparently incapable of waiting around any longer. But she extends her arm and points at her wrist. Her hands flap, and it’s a comforting sight.
Emerson. Of course. “You thought you could find better drugs?”
A curt nod.
I pick up my pace to catch up with her. “You dislike the idea of voting, don’t you?”
Another, more empathic nod.
“Yeah.” I mull it over in my head. Her comments during our meeting. The weird, uncomfortable, intoxicating spark of hope in the store. They’re more important than the rage simmering beneath the surface. “I’m scared of making the wrong call though.”
She glances at me through her eyelashes.
“And we can’t let Josie do whatever she wants either.”
Logan snorts. She reaches behind her and pats the backpack. I wince.
“Fair point.”
She swirls toward me and raises her hands like she wants to sign something more, but then she throws them up in clear frustration. I wouldn’t understand it, and we can hardly stop to find paper and pen in the middle of this neighborhood.
“I’ll listen to what you have to say when we get back,” I promise. “We all owe you that.”
Logan slows down her pace, and she tilts her head, mulling over the words. Then she shakes her head.
“We don’t?” I take a stab in the dark. “Or that isn’t why you did this?”
The look she gives me makes it clear it was a nonsensical question to begin with. Of course, she didn’t do it because she wanted gratitude. She did it because she feels responsible for the others. I’m not the only one who does.
But that responsibility means we need to take care of each other. And I can’t let anger—or worry—guide me.
I breathe out hard and run a hand through my hair. “Do you know what I dream about?” I ask Logan.
She shakes her head.
“I dream about Paris.” Paris is an ache that’s settled in my bones over these last few weeks. It’s always been that during the hardest times. When I wouldn’t feel at home somewhere, I would take books about Paris out of the school library, and I would pore over the unfamiliar names and places. The Arc de Triomphe. Les Invalides. The Panthéon. The Place de la Concorde and its guillotined ghosts. I was convinced that even if I couldn’t find my own history there, I would go there and still find some sort of roots. “When I stop worrying about all of us, I wonder what the city looks like now. I want to cling to the idea that it’s still there, you know? With the Eiffel Tower lit up at night. And tourists, still sitting on the steps and the benches in front of the Sacré-Cœur, like nothing bad has ever happened. Because someone ought to live.”
I rub at my neck. “But I realized, it isn’t about Paris. It’s about finding something better than this place. It’s about wanting somewhere to belong.”
Logan nods.
“Maybe…maybe that’s what I want to do when I grow up. Be that person for teens like us who have nowhere else to go to either.”
She smiles, and then, with a slight roll of her eyes, she lowers the collar of her shirt and points at her throat. The bruises from Josie’s hands are still visible, and her message is clear.
We ought to live too.
We’re reaching the edges of Sam’s Throne, and Logan’s eyes flick toward every home we pass with a white dash of paint on the door. Like she’s noting and marking them.
Personally, I’d rather avoid them all. The plague is real in Hope, but it’s overwhelming here. It’s everywhere. And this side of Sam’s Throne might well be a ghost town. Though whether it’s died out or abandoned, I don’t know.
On the other hand…there might be food here. “Can you mark the homes we passed on a map?” I ask, so quietly, I’m not sure Logan could even hear me.
After a while, she nods.
And something of the heaviness returns.
* * *
We pause again once we’re off the mountain path and past the abandoned truck, where dusk creeps in. We sit in the fallen leaves between the oak trees, and my stomach is growling. Logan sorts through her backpack and tosses me the hand sanitizer after she’s used it herself. She takes off her mask and pulls up a box of cereal. It looks like some kind of off-brand frosted Cheerios.
She tears open the box further and holds it out to me. I cup my hands, and she pours the cereal in them like gold coins. It feels as precious. I take the first tiny grain circle and let it melt on my tongue. It’s stale and sweet, and I might be crying.
Logan munches down an entire handful of Cheerios all at once.
And then she laughs.
Her laugh is warm and bright and full of crumbs.
She reaches her fingers up to the corners of her mouth in wonderment.
We eat with handfuls at a time, but it doesn’t take long before we both slow. We have to be careful with what we have—and save it for the others too. Logan’s food will give us all a few days of variety. It will give us time.
“I’m sorry for calling you special back there,” I say softly, before we get up to make our way back home. It’s been weighing on me. “I know you don’t like it, and it isn’t an excuse, but I needed a story. I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t feel threatened by us.”
Logan packs the box away in her backpack and bites her lip. She gestures at the cans and the other spoils of her trip with an almost apologetic wince.
I don’t have to guess at what she’s saying. “It worked, and I’m glad. We both made it work. But I also think it hurt you, and I’m sorry about that. I should’ve thought of something else.”
Logan stills and considers it. Then she nods. The corner of her mouth pulls up into a lopsided grin, and I want nothing more than to know what she’s thinking. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it, and I smile too.
“When we get back, please teach me—and all of us who want—more signs? We have to find better ways to communicate.”
In all ways.
Twenty-four
Emerson
Word spreads through Hope like wildfire. Both Grace and Logan are gone, and no one knows where. The afternoon fades to dusk to nightfall, and everyone is distracted by it. At least the others have their assigned duties. Isaiah wrestles with the computers to find the latest news on the plague and doesn’t say much else. Mackenzi tries to call home—even though the phones haven’t worked for the past few days, and while she may be our handyman, she has no way to fix it. Khalil protects Josie from our righteous indignation. Riley works in the garden. Casey tends the ill.
Nia prepares the fish that Sofia caught in a nearby creek, with the last few potatoes from storage. The spuds were all sprouted to be little gardens on their own. The ones she didn’t cook, she gave to Riley to try to plant.
No one eats well. Casey and I sit in silence away from the others. My wrist aches, and it makes me feel faint.
Everyone gives me a wide berth, like no one quite knows what to say to me. Mackenzi smirks in my direction once or twice.
After dinner, I lean against the serving counter and cradle my arm against my body. The pain is a constant, dull throbbing, with stabs whenever I move too much. It spreads through my body like restlessness, like wanting to do something. I want to talk to Grace about what will happen to Josie. Not later. As soon as she’s back.
It’s why I stayed in the cafeteria, despite it being almost an hour past dinner. I can’t face the emptiness of my room with the emptiness inside of me.
“It’s different when we know you and Grace are out hunting,” I say to Sofia, who is cleaning up the room with intensity.
She grunts. She’s usually one of the ones who avoids me.
Nia echoes that from the kitchen. “Logan never leaves. She would want to stay close to her sister.”
Sofia shrugs. “They must have had a good reason, I’m sure.”
I don’t want to go back to my room. “We could play cards in the recreation room, while we wait for them?” I suggest.
Nia scrunches up her face. “I want to prepare tomorrow’s food.”
“I’m not done here yet,” Sofia says, though the cafeteria looks cleaner now than it did in the weeks before we were abandoned.
“Never mind,” I say.
Sofia runs her hand through her hair and sighs. “Maybe after. I want to stay up until they get back anyway.”
“Or you can help us unpack?” Grace says from the doorway.
We all swirl around, and a sharp pain shoots through my wrist again. It leaves me dizzy, and I bite back a hiss.
Grace and Logan walk into cafeteria, making a very odd couple. Logan has dirt smeared all over her face, and Grace has crumbs in her hair. They’re carrying a backpack between the two of them, and they both look exhausted—but happy.
The sight of it is so foreign, it leaves me breathless.
“We went shopping,” Grace says, raising one shoulder in a half shrug.
“You went what?” Sofia leaves the rags behind and stares at her friend incredulously.
“It was Logan’s idea, actually. She wanted to help Emerson get painkillers.” At this, Grace throws an undecipherable look in my direction. The type of look that promises, We’ll talk later. “She ended up in Sam’s Throne, and we also…found more food options. It isn’t a lot, but we’ll enjoy them while they last.”
Only then do the words really settle in.
I say, “Logan. You went to get painkillers for me?” at the same time as Nia shouts, “Food?!”
Sofia rushes forward to grab the bag, and Grace plops onto one of the seats. Logan stands a little awkwardly in between them, moving her weight from one leg to the other and back, but she’s smiling too. When Sofia overturns the bag on one of the tables, grains of rice and Cheerios spill out, followed by cans of food. They all ooh and aah like this is a treasure they’ve never seen before.
Nia grabs cleaning products to wipe down all the cans and boxes. No one knows if it makes a difference, but she’d rather be safe than sorry.
Logan comes to stand by me, and she takes a small, blue bottle out of her pocket. When she hands it to me, I can read the label. Advil. Hopefully this’ll help with the pain.
She smiles so hesitantly, but it feels like a gut punch. “You went into town, for me?”
She nods, and I don’t know how to wrap my mind around that kindness.
“Thank you.” It hardly feels sufficient.
Grace looks up from the can of tomatoes she’s holding. “It comes with conditions though.”
“Such as?”
To my right, Logan raises her eyebrows, and Grace nods at her.
“We’re not going to vote on what to do with Josie,” Grace says, determination in her voice. She pulls herself up taller and folds her hands behind her back.
I cling to the bottle in my hand and feel that pit inside my stomach grow again. “Don’t you know—”
“You weren’t the only one she hurt,” Grace interrupts me. “She attacked Logan too. Logan, who, by the way, risked her life to get you those painkillers. She faced down a guy with a gun for you.”
My mouth clamps shut.
“What Josie did was wrong, but can you honestly say you wouldn’t have done the same thing for someone you cared about? Someone you loved? She wanted to survive. We want to survive. We’re all making hard choices.”
“I never hurt anyone,” I snap. Her questions sting, and it’s the type of pain that Advil won’t cure.
Grace tilts her head. “So she’ll take over your job. If you want her punished, that’s fitting, don’t you think?”
I open my mouth to comment, and she holds up a hand.
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be the type of person who decides whose life is valuable and whose life can be discarded. I don’t want to be like the people who locked us up here and then forgot about us. I want no part in that.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to forgive her, but Josie can work to repair what she did.”
“So what?” I demand. “We’re just supposed to trust her to be better?”
“Yes.” She says it so simply. She lowers her voice. “I know you don’t trust me, Emerson. I know you’d rather not trust anyone. But we’re all trying.”
“Maybe that isn’t enough,” I say. “Not when mistakes get people hurt.”
Grace colors hotly. “I’d like to think not all mistakes and faults are unforgivable.”
“Some of them are.”
She doesn’t deny that, but she glances at Logan, who nods encouragingly.
Grace swallows. “If you don’t trust me, that’s fine. But there are people here who care about you. I hope you can find a way to trust them. Here or when we get out.”
I scoff, too raw to be polite. “When we get out of here, sure. Do you even hear yourself, Grace? Miss me with your fairy tales.”
Of all the things I expect Grace to say or do in response to my anger, she does the absolute unthinkable. She laughs.
“The store guy who threatened Logan? He told us he survived the plague. He had a bad cough still, but that was the only thing. Can you imagine? There are people out there who still thrive. All we have to do is make sure that’s us.”
Her words hit me hard, and I stumble back to sit down. “He survived? Are you sure?”
“Yes! He said so!” Next to Grace, Logan is nodding vehemently. “And I’ve been thinking. We’re not sick yet. Maybe we won’t get it. Not everyone gets sick; not everyone is infected. Even Isaiah will tell you as much. All we have to do is keep it that way.”
“All we have to do…” I shake my head. I feel faint. “I admire your optimism.”
“I need something to keep me going,” she admits, and briefly I can see the pain beneath her anger.
Logan pulls at Grace’s shirt and signs something. From the other side of the table, already writing down a list of our new haul, Nia interprets. “Elias was the last of us to get sick five days ago. We haven’t gone more than a day or two without anyone coming down with it since the start.”
Sofia narrows her eyes. “Are you sure?”
Logan shrugs but nods.
“We’ll have to make sure none of us catch the plague from Saoirse then,” I snap.
Logan flinches, and guilt flickers through me.
Grace stares at me with steely eyes. “We’ll have to make sure of that. Logan and I will be extra careful these next few days too. But we will survive. And while we do, Josie will take over your duties.”
“Fine.” I pocket the bottle of Advil. I’ll give Casey the ones I won’t need, but for now, I need them. “Thanks for the painkillers, Logan. I appreciate it.”
With that, I stalk out. Away from them. Away from it all. Away from that dangerous sense of hope, because it hurts more than my wrist does. It’s harder to bear than hopelessness.
Leave Grace to sort it all out, because she will anyway.
* * *
She does. I don’t know how she convinces the others that this is how we do things now—I don’t even know when she does it. But after breakfast, Josie follows me out. She’s shadowed by Khalil, and her steps are marked by Riley and Mackenzi’s glares. She looks pale and tired but determined.
She doesn’t say a word, so I don’t either.
Grace’s question last night rattled me. I understand Josie. I would have done the same for my friends, once upon a time.
But that doesn’t mean I have to like her.
We pass through the garden to the other side of the fences. Riley and I cut through the fence to create a better passage after only a couple of days. It was too much of a fuss otherwise—and cutting through all that wire was cathartic.
When we get to our small cemetery, I point to the oldest grave. It’s the only one that’s slightly overgrown. Weeds more than flowers, but I’ve come to like it. It makes it look like she’s still part of us here.
“That’s Serenity.” I clear my throat and add, “Hi, Serenity.” I always greet them all, one by one. I promised them I wouldn’t forget them, and I intend to keep that promise.
I count them off. “Aleesha and Walker and Chloe and Faith and Mei.”
One grave looks freshly dug, with the ground only settling now. The smell of newly turned earth still lingers in the air. “That’s Elias. He came down with it five days ago and died within a day. We’ve never lost anyone so quickly before. I didn’t… No one anticipated it.”
Josie sniffs, but she turns away before I can see her wipe at her eyes. “I don’t know how you do it. I don’t know how any of us are supposed to. When we left with Hunter… Saoirse wasn’t the only one. Others started coughing too. Some of them must have gotten sick, but I don’t know anyone who died. We were abandoned before…” She draws a shuddering breath. “I need to know. Has anyone ever died after being sick this long? Did anyone hold on for weeks only to die after all?”
It’s the first time she fully looks at me, and there’s so much heart in her eyes that I have to close mine. I don’t want to answer this question, because that’s a type of cruelty that goes too far, even for me. But to not answer would be crueler still.
“Yes.”
Josie’s shoulders drop. “Oh.”
She angles her face up toward the pale, autumn sun, barely cresting the trees around us, and she doesn’t speak. She shivers. In the silence we hear birdsong, and Khalil and Riley, arguing.
