At the End of Everything, page 22
“They’re all trying to find ways to get by,” Nia translates for Logan. “I don’t think they did it on purpose.”
“I’m not sure that makes it better,” Khalil says.
“We have a right to survive as much as anyone,” Josie says. She rarely speaks up in these gatherings, but today, nothing can stop her. She has her fingers curled in such tight fists, I can count the bones, and the muscles in her arms flex. “Upstanding citizens. Ha. If they’re handing out food rations, we deserve to get them too. If they’re keeping people safe, we deserve to be safe. If they have medical supplies—” She chokes on the last word.
I place my hands on the cabinet and launch myself forward with a big step to get the restless energy out of my body. “Josie is right.” I grab the torn pamphlet from the table and crumple it in my hand, but I manage to keep my voice from cracking. We need to make this work, all of us. “We deserve a chance. We deserve to live too.”
“So we go get it.” Emerson sits on one of the tables, and they tap their foot against its leg. With their free hand, they’re plucking at their splint. “It says households have a right to rations, doesn’t it? We’re technically a household. If we show up, they can’t send us away.”
“Can’t they?” Riley asks, before I can. Riley’s hair has grown out, and she’s bound it back in a ponytail. She still has dirt underneath her fingernails from today’s work in the garden, and she picks at it. “Might be me, but in my experience, they can, and they will. They’re the ones who write the rules, Emerson. They don’t have to abide by them.”
“What can they do?” Mackenzi sneers. “Arrest us?”
“Shoot us,” Riley throws back. “They can shoot us. Remember? They’ve done it before.”
“I remember,” Emerson says. “I was there. But that’s exactly why we should try. Things were different back then. The military was under orders to confine everyone to their houses. They were scared. This is a different assignment. They’ll want to help us.”
I haven’t heard them so full of trust in a long time, maybe ever. And I wish I could believe it isn’t actually naivete. A reminder of the life they once had. Nothing that happened so far indicates the authorities will want to help. But… “We’ll have to try.”
“They don’t want us there at all,” Riley retorts. “Andrew said so himself!”
“Then it’s a good thing Andrew isn’t in charge, don’t you think?” Casey frowns. He leans back in his chair, balancing precariously on its hind legs.
Riley scowls. “We’re doing fine. We don’t need any more help.”
Logan signs something, but I pause Nia’s translation with a hand gesture. Everyone immediately quiets, and I sigh. “I would love for that to be true. We’re doing far better than anyone might expect, but we’re not doing fine. We’re holding on by threads. If we fail to gather food for a week, if the garden doesn’t pull through the winter, we’re immediately vulnerable. If one of us falls or breaks something or cuts themselves with a saw again, we have no way to treat the wounds. If anyone falls ill, we can’t do anything.” My words are met with absolute silence. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry and tired.”
My shoulders drop. “The fact that we’re here at all is a miracle, and I have to imagine you’re scared, because I am. If we could keep Hope to ourselves and never depend on the outside world again, I would feel better. But we can’t pretend we don’t need this. We do.”
“We could use a stocked medicine cabinet,” Casey adds. “Painkillers. Antiseptics. Antibiotics, just in case. It may take a long time before they have a cure or a vaccine or whatever. With the right supplies, we can keep ourselves safe.”
“So you would risk our lives to hypothetically save our lives? Does that make sense to you? What if they do get violent? What if anyone there is infected? What if—” Riley’s hands tremble with anger or perhaps fear. And I understand it, I do, because it is terrifying. I want to go there and prove to them all that we belong here, but I’m also terrified of bringing the plague back to Hope.
“We can prepare for that. Make a plan and a contingency plan,” Emerson says, not unkindly. “It doesn’t have to be dangerous, and if it is, we can always turn back. All I’m asking is that we don’t give up before we try.”
“According to the sign, rationing is done carefully,” I say. “With masks and distance and other forms of protective shielding, though I’ll admit I don’t quite know what that means. We can send two people in on behalf of all of us, and they can isolate once they come back, to make sure they weren’t infected. Like Logan will isolate now too.” I can’t help it that this last sentence has a bit of a bite to it. But I can’t let my anger make this decision. It needs to be done by all of us.
“We’ve gone into town plenty of times before,” Logan signs with a wince, though she and I are the only ones who’ve ever met others there. “You too, Riley. You know we can get out again if we have to.”
“What if they won’t give it to us though?” Riley asks softly, and the moment she does, a chill settles over the room. This is the question that’s on everyone’s mind but no one wanted to ask. Not: What if something happens? Not even: What if they did intentionally skip over us?
What if it happens again? What if we show up and we’re turned away? What if we can’t count on anyone anymore? Why ask for help, and let yourself be vulnerable in the process, if you know it won’t be given to you?
Every face in the room reflects the same worry, and the worst thing is—it never even crossed my mind. Not like that. Not like the existential dread of being both abandoned and denied.
What if they leave us again?
“We go anyway,” Emerson says. They swallow hard, but they sit up straighter, and they stop tapping their foot. “We try. We try, because I want to believe not everyone will turn us away. I’ll be the one to get in line if you want me to.”
“At least you don’t look threatening,” Josie says, her words snide and teasing all at once. “They may even take pity on you.”
Emerson raises their splinted arm and gives her a one-finger salute.
I slowly breathe out.
Casey chokes back a laugh, and someone else giggles. It defuses the tension enough for the undercurrent of conversations to start up again, but Riley and Mackenzi are still scowling.
“We’ll come too,” Nia says loudly. She nods at Logan, who smiles wryly and signs, “Maybe they’ll take pity on me.”
“I think Emerson is right,” Casey says, adding his voice to the chorus. “We need to try. I would come if I could.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” I say immediately. I narrow my eyes at him. He’s not. Not if I can help it. We can’t spare him. He’s no more a doctor than any of us, but by this point, he’s the closest thing we have. And I don’t want anything to happen to him.
Casey scowls, but I’ll deal with that later. I continue. “As for the others, how about this? A plan and a contingency plan. We send Nia and Logan, if she feels up to it, as representatives of Hope, on behalf of all of us. Emerson can pretend they’re one of the townspeople, in case the authorities are difficult. And Riley and I follow the three of them from a distance to keep an eye out for trouble and escape routes if we need them.”
I turn to Riley, who jiggles her jaw and sucks in a breath. Then she nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Good.” I don’t even have to pretend to smile. “Thank you.”
“We’re going to have to find you some decent clothes, Emerson,” Riley says, eyeing me. “If you want to pass as a normal person, that is.”
Emerson wrinkles their nose. “Normal?”
“A baby-blue polo shirt and slacks,” Mackenzi suggests.
“A three-piece suit. Someone’s holiday outfit,” Josie smirks.
“A jacket made from raccoon pelts,” Khalil throws in. “Thematically appropriate and all that.”
“Whatever people in the real world look like,” Isaiah says solemnly, and it’s so well meant and absurd that we all laugh. It lightens the mood for the rest of the night, while we plot and plan increasingly ridiculous scenarios. It takes the fear out of the situation, but the weight on my shoulders grows heavier.
We need the food. We need the supplies. But most of all, we need this to go right.
If it does, we stand a chance.
* * *
We talk until deep into the morning, until everyone flags with fatigue and filters out. Everything feels like a responsibility now in ways it never did before. I beckon Logan and pull her aside before she can leave for her room too.
Logan reddens, and when the hallway around us quiets, she starts to sign, but I cut her off.
“Logan, wait. I need to get this off my chest.” I’m so tired, my voice is trembling, but I force my temper to stay down and keep my anger in check. “I didn’t get to chance to say this before, and I want to. I know why you left me behind in Sam’s Throne. I understand it—hell, I’m glad you did. Obviously, the risk paid off.”
Logan nods, tentatively.
My hands clench. “But it was thoughtless and dangerous. Not just for you, for both of us. When we go hunting and gathering, we go in pairs so we can keep each other safe. I was terrified and exposed out there. I had no one to keep watch for me. I didn’t know where you’d gone to or how to get you back. All I could do was imagine coming back here to tell your sister and Nia I’d lost you, and it damn near broke me.”
Logan’s shoulders drop at those words. Something in her face crumbles. “I’m sorry,” she signs. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I reach out a hand to her, but I wait for Logan’s nod of permission before I squeeze her shoulder. “It’s okay, it all worked out. But I need you to know I was worried about you. And I will be worried about you when you go into town for the food drop. You and Nia and Emerson. You matter to us, you’re a part of us, and I want you to be safe.” I sigh, and midway, it turns into an exhausted yawn. I frown at my hand. “So, next time you feel the need to go investigating in spite of my disapproval, please tell me. And when you go with Nia, please be careful.”
Some of the tension leaves Logan’s stance, and she nods.
I let go of her shoulder. “Thank you.”
Logan signs a goodbye and makes her way back to her room.
I don’t follow. I step closer to the wall and lean my forehead against the rough stone. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. Once. Twice. Several times. I clench and unclench my hands by my side, but the tension that courses through me refuses to leave my body. It simmers right below my skin, and it settles around my spine.
When I shake my arms out and push myself up again, I spot another figure just around the corner to the room. Emerson leans against the wall, their brow furrowed but a soft smile around their eyes. “You didn’t explode at her.”
“Go do something useful, Emerson,” I grumble, though their words warm me.
“I believe this will work,” they whisper.
I shove my hands into my pockets. “You sounded convinced in there.”
“I want us all to survive, Grace,” they say. “I want us all to live.”
I sigh deeply. “Yeah, me too.”
“Grace?”
They wait for me to look up.
“I trust you to protect us.”
With that, they smile and walk away.
Dear Leah,
I know you hate letters, but Casey promised to read this one out loud to you, so I hope you don’t mind. If you do, get up and come tell me.
We’re going into town to try to get food and other things. The roadblock has been gone for a while now. I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet, but we’ve been stealing from empty houses to refill our own supplies. It’s the same thing you told me once, right? I know we’re not supposed to steal, but we’re not supposed to starve either. We should all be able to eat when we’re hungry.
So I’ve been going out with Grace every five days. And I take inventory with Nia the next day. We plan out food and meals as best as we can. You should see some of the recipes we think up.
What we have is barely enough to eat. I’m worried that it will run out. I don’t want to starve before we can survive.
But this is different. They’re handing out rations, and if we can convince them we deserve to eat too, we won’t have to worry anymore. You can come back to us. I know you think I jump to conclusions sometimes, but it’s true. If we have a steady supply of food, we can survive this. I’m sure of it.
And if something does go wrong after all…I want you to know I’m proud of what I did here. And I would take this chance a thousand times over if it meant saving you. Because I know you would do the exact same thing for me.
I miss you. I love you. I’ll see you soon
Logan
Kitchen Inventory List, Again
Or: How do we feed fourteen people with this?
• 1/2 bag of rice (50 lb)
• 1 bags of beans (50 lb)
• 1/2 bag of lentils
• 2 loaves of bread
• 1 pan of fish soup
• 2 cans of chicken
• 1 can of peas
• 1/2 box of cereal
• 2 jars of peanut butter
• 1/2 container of trail mix
• 3 glazed pecans
• 24 bags of tea
• 1 possum
• 3 fish
• Dreams of cakes and pies
• And cookies
• And pancakes
Stop it, you’re making me hungry.
I am hungry.
I know.
Twenty-nine
Grace
We spend several days preparing for our food run. Riley stole a fancy button-down shirt and pants for Emerson, and they couldn’t stop stroking it. Nia and Logan went over their story at least half a dozen times. We planned our trip to the very second. We ate a full meal tonight so that we’re all focused and attentive.
We’ll leave tomorrow before sunrise.
I pace in the hallway for a bit, my heart hammering, and my hands cold. The temperatures inside are rapidly dropping with the change of weather, and I should ask Isaiah or Mackenzi to figure out the central heating of this place. Tomorrow. Or the day after, rather.
Tonight, I have other things on my mind.
I pause in front of Casey’s door, raise my hand to knock, then turn back again. I don’t understand why this is so difficult. We’ve kept our distance so carefully, and perhaps that barrier extends to our everyday now.
Three more steps, pause.
Another step or two.
The door opens.
I freeze.
Casey sighs. “You shouldn’t be here, and you’re driving me up a wall. Either come in, or get back to your room, please.”
I push my cold hands into my armpits and let my hair fall in front of my face, suddenly self-conscious. This is who we used to be. It’s not who we are. I’m trying to mesh together the me from several months ago with who I am now, and the pieces won’t fit.
“Grace.”
“I’m trying to be strong for everyone else,” I admit. “Tonight, I don’t want to be. But I don’t think that’s fair to you either.”
I don’t have to see Casey to know he’s shaking his head. “Come in, you.”
“Are you okay with that?” My voice is so much smaller than I hoped it would be, but I’m tired and lonely and scared out of my mind.
“It’s been weeks since the last infection. I don’t think either of us is ill, and if we are, well…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. I turn to him, and he rubs his hands over his face. The circles under his eyes are constant, and his shirts hang loosely around his shoulders. We should steal clothes for all of us at some point.
He pushes his door open farther and beckons me in.
“Fuck it.” I stop resisting, duck under his arm, and enter. Casey’s room is as threadbare as mine in its own way. He’s added a second cover to his bed and an extra pillow, which he probably grabbed from one of the empty rooms in the west wing. The wall facing the door has a large water stain on it from a semifixed ceiling leak, while the paint on the window frame is peeling off. Instead of graffiti, his room has names and lewd messages carved into the door.
He steps in and closes the door behind him then leans against it. “What’s up, Star Kid?”
His voice is so familiar, it undoes me. I plop down onto the bed and put my head in my hands. “I’m scared, Case. I’d like to go back to being angry instead.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t come closer. His dark eyes soften. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I almost laugh. “No.”
“This is it, isn’t it? Our best chance?”
It might be. I won’t admit that out loud. “I want to be here with you. I want to remember what life was like before all of this.”
He looks at me through his lashes, with something like relief in his posture. “The good old days?”
“God, no. They were absolutely terrible. But a different type of terrible.” I hesitate. “And a different type of good, maybe.” I reach out to him. “Sit with me? You don’t have to come too close. But I figured we could both use a break.”
He sags down onto the floor. His shoulders drop. The tension around his jaw dissipates, and he rests his arms on his knees. “I’d like that. I’d really like that.”
“Have you slept at all lately?” I cling to the side of the bed to stop myself from joining him on the floor. From letting our shoulders touch and our fingers intertwine. I hunger for his touch so badly, it’s like a physical ache, a gnawing inside me.
He smiles crookedly. “I’ve finally learned to fall asleep when it isn’t quiet outside. Apparently the trick is to exhaust yourself beyond measure. I’ve slept. But I dream about those soldiers and their guns. I have nightmares about the people I’ve lost crawling out of the graves we dug.”
