At the End of Everything, page 25
“I could make peach cake.” The words are filled with so much longing, and they’re so blatantly absurd coming from her, that we all laugh. Isabella giggles and coughs and giggles again. It’s relief and hope and joy.
“Let’s make sure we have enough first,” Casey says, attempting to remain practical.
But, of all people, it’s Isaiah who opposes him. “We could make something special since we didn’t collectively celebrate any holidays. We could celebrate our own.”
“Food day?” someone suggests.
“Peach cake day!”
From there, everything else we unpack is magic. No chocolate, unfortunately, but animal crackers and a carton of fruit juice in each box. Enough for all of us to have a sip. Toilet paper, soap, and toothpaste. The soap is of a better quality than anything I’ve ever seen here. Laundry detergent and hand sanitizer. Even pads and tampons for those of us with periods. Mine is infrequent at best, but it’s good to have the option.
Finally, inside both, a smaller box: supplies for our medicine cabinet. Casey clings to those a second longer than he needs to. He has Tylenol, Advil, Band-Aids, antiseptic solution, and bandages. Other pills in marked bottles.
When we’re done unpacking, the ration card still burns a hole in my pocket, and Grace hasn’t returned. We have two standard family rations of food and pills. It looks like riches. The cards will ensure we can get more, and that’s a gift of immense value.
Mackenzi is holding on to the canned peaches like she uncovered a diamond the size of her fist. Isaiah is petting the instant coffee.
A weight I didn’t know I was carrying drops from my shoulders. Nia and Logan smile while they look at the stack of food, like they’re already mentally adjusting their inventory lists. Isabella shares a few tender, careful words with Isaiah. She’s grown pale and weary, but she’s glowing.
“Will the cards keep working?” Mackenzi asks, once the four of us have finished our food and our new supplies have been transferred to the kitchen. It’s clear she’s asking Riley, though why she would know anything is beyond me.
True to form, Riley shrugs. “Probably. As long as they don’t know the original owners are gone.”
“It’s been a while since they cleared out houses too,” Logan says, with Nia interpreting. “As long as we keep using the cards, they will just assume everything’s okay.”
Mackenzi laughs. “Well, in that case…”
“An endless supply of food!” Khalil grins, and his words are met with cheers.
Logan tilts her head, and I wink. It’s technically not endless. We’ll need to be careful and continue to ration properly. But that’s splitting hairs. It’s endless in all the ways that matter. It’s certainty, when we haven’t had that in months.
Only Casey frowns. He gestures for me to step away from the others, and I do, but we keep a distance between us, so it’s not like we can have a very subtle conversation.
“Where’s Grace?” he asks again.
“She’ll be back soon, I think.” I hope.
He scoffs. “She did something foolish, didn’t she?”
I shake my head. I have a decent idea of where Grace got those cards and the risks she must have taken. “She did something right,” I say. “She may have saved us.”
He winces. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”
Perhaps, in a way, I am too. I stack the plates we used and put them on a table between the four of us and the rest of the group. Josie collects them and brings them to the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I’ll take note of the inventory,” she says, as Logan and Nia filter out.
Logan narrows her eyes, but she nods. She isn’t as used to working with Josie as I am, but I can only imagine she will be soon enough. Josie’s mellowed—or maybe we all have.
Everyone gives us wide berth while we move to our rooms. By chance more than purpose, we’re the only four left in the east wing, so it’s easy enough to quarantine. Now that we’ve done what we needed to do, Nia is yawning, and Riley is flagging too. Logan doesn’t show fatigue, but her gaze has turned inward.
I don’t want to go back yet. With the adrenaline rush of this entire endeavor well and truly gone, my arm is screaming at me, and it’s making me restless.
“I’m going for a stroll in the garden,” I say to no one in particular before I get to my room.
Riley narrows her eyes, but nods. “Make sure you avoid the others.”
“I know.”
She waves her hand at my annoyance. “Good. Because we’re going to have to get back for more supplies in another couple of weeks.” She walks to her room with a smile and an uncharacteristic bounce in her step.
My feet drag by the time I get to the garden. I cradle my wrist to my chest, using the gap between the buttons on my shirt to support my wrist, like I’m some eighteenth-century lord instead of a tired, hurting teenage gravedigger. Definitely don’t remember seeing that on my high school career test.
I circle around the vegetable garden toward the graves, when someone coughs.
I freeze, out of habit. Out of fear. My mouth goes dry, and my palms are sweaty. “Who’s there?” The words are soft even in this silent winter night, so I clear my throat and try again.
No response but another bout of coughing.
I take a step toward the sound to see if anyone needs help. I take a step back to stay out of range. I’m torn within myself.
We’ve kept the plague out of Hope for weeks. Did any of us bring it back?
Oh.
My heart sinks.
No.
I lean forward and manage to make out a shadowy figure sitting against the fence. She’s a shadow against the star-filled, moonless sky overhead. She’s huddled up and has her shoulders pulled up to her ears. She’s breathing hard, and she’s ghostly pale.
“Grace?”
She lifts her head to face me, and her eyes are nearly black in this light. “Emerson. No. Go away.”
I don’t. Of course I don’t. I don’t ask her what happened either, because the answer is painfully obvious. “You should come in. Casey can take care of you.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m not going to be responsible for another outbreak in Hope. I just… I wanted to be close, you know? Nowhere else to go and all that.”
“I can go get him,” I say. “He can help you here. We have new medication thanks to the rations. Nothing to help with the plague, but perhaps he has something to ease your throat. Make you more comfortable. It isn’t much, but—others have survived, Grace. It’s going to be okay.” I’m rambling, I’m all too aware of it. But she looks smaller than I’ve ever seen her, and I can’t get closer to offer any comfort. She risked her life to get us those ration cards, I know she did. And now…
“Can I at least get you a blanket?” I suggest weakly. “You need to stay warm.”
She laughs, and when she breathes in, she wheezes. “I’m okay. I’m not too cold.”
“Grace…”
“You shouldn’t be here,” she says. The words obviously take effort. She swallows hard and groans. “Go away. Please.”
“Neither should you, but here we are,” I counter. I keep my voice in check as best I can. “So I’m going to find you a blanket, and I’m going to warn Case. We’ll keep our distance, I promise. But we won’t let you be alone.”
I run, don’t walk, back to the main building and whisper a prayer with a fervor I’ve never felt before. To God, if he’s out there. To the world around me. To all of us.
Please. Please. Not Grace.
Phone call between Grace and Mr. Podolsky
PODOLSKY: Hello?
GRACE: Mr. Podolsky? It’s Grace. I don’t know if you remember me but—[cough]
PODOLSKY: Grace? Of course I remember. You were a young child—young girl—when you lived with us. You were… What do they call it? A bright young thing.
PODOLSKY: Why are you calling?
GRACE: [cough]
PODOLSKY: Are you ill?
GRACE: I’m okay. I—I wanted to call to say thank you.
PODOLSKY: For what?
GRACE: …
PODOLSKY: Grace?
GRACE: Are you and Baba all right?
PODOLSKY: We’re fine. What did you want to say?
GRACE: I’m glad.
GRACE: I…
GRACE: Do you remember you taught me how to build snare traps? I didn’t think they’d ever come in handy again, but they did. [cough] It helped us survive.
PODOLSKY: You were a survivor from the moment you came to us. Elena saw it too. I only gave you tools to make it easier.
GRACE: That’s not true. And that’s not why I wanted to thank you.
GRACE: You gave me a place to belong. You gave me a place where I felt safe and cared for. You gave me a universe that felt endless and timeless. You gave me dreams of Paris. That’s what made me a survivor.
GRACE: That’s why we’re all surviving.
PODOLSKY: Grace—
GRACE: I gotta go. I…[cough] I needed you to know that.
GRACE: Thank you.
This phone call has been disconnected.
Thirty-three
Logan
Grace exposed herself to the plague to get those ration cards.
We all know what happened. Word spreads, whether Grace wants it to or not. She doesn’t want to come in. She doesn’t want anyone to get close. And it’s not how it’s supposed to be. She’s supposed to go to the infirmary and allow Casey to treat her. She’s supposed to recover and be a part of this—this weird family we’ve built.
But I don’t think she will. Everyone in Hope goes to see her at some point during the day. Riley and Nia and I keep ourselves away from the others and stick to our rooms as much as we can, but we do too. It’s Grace. We can’t just ignore her or what she did.
When I walk over to the garden right before lunch, Emerson is standing near the fruit trees. They keep an eye out to make sure no one gets too close—including themself. They’re fiddling with the necklace around their neck.
Grace is bundled up in blankets. She’s sitting in the shade of the shed, sheltered from all the things that can’t harm her anyway. She has a cell phone lying in her lap. She looks at me with bloodshot eyes and determination and something so close to anger.
I don’t know what to say to her. I have to figure something out.
I take a step back and nearly collide with Casey, who is running back and forth between the garden and the infirmary, between the people he’s forced to protect and the best friend he has to let go. He swerves at the last possible instant, taking care to keep a distance between us. “Sorry, Logan.”
“It’s okay,” I sign.
He’s holding a plastic water bottle in his hands, and he seems intent on rolling it in Grace’s direction. To take care of her, even if she won’t allow him to come close enough.
It’s not okay. He’s grieving and hurting, like all of us and more. He needs to be with Grace, especially now.
I narrow my eyes and clear my throat.
Grace shakes her head. “What do you want?”
I need her to look at me, otherwise I have no way to tell her what I want to say. I tap my fingers against my leg and wait.
She sighs but turns. “What is it, Logan?”
“Tell Casey to stay here,” I say.
She coughs, and a little trail of blood trickles down her chin. “No. Absolutely not.”
“He needs you, and you need him. I’ll mind the infirmary today.”
“I need him to go inside and stop hovering around me. I need all of you to go back inside.”
I don’t point out the obvious. If she didn’t want us to care for her, she shouldn’t have come back here. Because I get it. When everything is too scary and too overwhelming, we all want to go home. That’s why we’re together.
Casey tries to figure out what’s happening between the two of us. “What did she say, Grace?”
“Nothing.”
“Grace.” The pleading in his voice is sharp and painful.
“Fine.” Grace takes a deep breath, and she immediately starts gasping for air again. “Logan says you should stay here. She’ll keep watch at the infirmary today.”
Casey’s breath hitches. “I couldn’t let you…”
“Think about it,” Emerson says, with a dark look in Grace’s direction. They’ve knelt next to the vegetable beds and are pulling out stray weeds with their unbroken arm. “It may be the only place we could safely go while we wait out if any of us—if anyone else picked up the plague. If we’re infected—or infectious—it’s not like Leah or Xavier would care, right?”
“I don’t know.” His eyes find mine, and they’re so full of doubt and uncertainty. “I don’t know if they can be infected again. I don’t know if they’re still infectious. I don’t know if they’re strong enough. Are you willing to risk it?”
That’s one of the main reasons why he always kept me—and all of us—out. This disease has always been too serious to gamble on a what-if. Am I willing to risk it? We need each other, now more than ever.
“You don’t know if they’re still infectious?” Emerson shakes their head. “After two months? Be reasonable, Case.”
“He’s right,” Grace croaks.
“He’s not, but even if he was, it’s the same risk we already took when we went into town,” Emerson says. “We won’t leave you here to die, Grace. Not alone.”
“Please.” Casey’s plea isn’t directed at Grace but at me, and I take that as all the permission I’ll need.
I nod at him. I nod at Grace. I don’t know what else to say but simply, “Thank you,” and with that, I run.
* * *
I hesitate in front of the infirmary door. I’ve wanted to go in here countless times. Some sleepless nights, I made plans to steal in to see Leah. Other times I hoped I would fall ill too, just to be with her. I tried to convince Casey to let me in approximately ninety-seven times, and while I understand why he said no every time, I didn’t like it. I even stopped asking for a while, when she began resting easier, because I was terrified to somehow jinx it. I collected glances and moments, from the door opening, through the window, through the letter that Casey read to her. I saw her blink. I saw her seize. I saw her sip from a cup of water Casey held for her.
But now I’m here. I’m finally here.
I take a deep breath, flatten my fingers along my leg, and immediately start tapping again.
I push the door open.
The infirmary is one of the brightest rooms in the building, with light filtering in through the window and white sheets on the beds. Or off-white. They’ve been washed and cleaned of blood too many times to count. Casey has food and water set up on the nurse’s desk, and next to it lies one of the torn-up books from our little library. It’s dog-eared and dirty, and he’s used a pencil as bookmark.
It’s hard to imagine this place was overflowing only a couple of weeks ago. Now, three of the beds are cleanly made, and only Xavier and Leah are in here.
Leah.
She lies on the bed closest to the door, farthest from the window. She’s all wrapped up in her blanket, like she’s been tossing and turning. Her hair falls in strands across her face. It’s longer than I remember. Her face has fallen in, and it’s more angular. She looks older.
Or perhaps I feel older.
She has one hand above the blankets, clutching the fabric, and I can’t stop myself. I all but dive for it, my fingers curling around hers. I don’t even have eyes for Xavier, who lies two beds down. I want to stand by my sister, be close to her, feel complete again for the first time since the world ended. She’s warmer than I expected, because she looks so pale. At least she isn’t burning up like she was the night they carried her in.
I have so much to tell you.
With my thumb, I rub circles across the back of her hand. I wait for her to open her eyes, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t turn to me.
Leah.
I need to be closer, or I might burst, and the only thing I can think to do is crawl beside her. Careful, balancing on the edge of the bed so I don’t jostle or overwhelm her, but close enough that the warmth her body radiates mingles with mine. Close enough that we’re whole and complete together. It’s intoxicating and right, and it makes me feel like my skin can’t contain me.
I wrap my fingers around hers again. I could fall asleep like this. No matter what happens outside of this room, no matter what happens tomorrow or the day after. It may be selfish, it may be horrible, but I could fall asleep now and feel safe in the knowledge that I’m home with her.
Inside my hands, Leah’s fingers twitch.
I pull back so hard, I nearly tumble out of the bed again.
“Leah?”
She turns her head to me ever so slowly while I teeter on the edge, and I forget how to breathe. To be here with her is everything, and it would be enough. But to see her, to talk to her…
She squeezes her eyes shut, like she’s flinching away from something. Her lips are dry and cracked, and a few strands of hair tumble across her face. With a trembling hand, I reach out to push the hair behind her ear.
That’s when she opens her eyes.
Hazel eyes and so many questions. Her gaze wanders the room before it settles on me. She frowns. She doesn’t push herself up into a sitting position. She stares at me for a long time before I see the recognition click. She opens her mouth, and no sound comes out.
But she opens her hand and reaches out to me, and nothing else matters. There are so many different ways to communicate, and this is our language. She’s my person who understands all the things I can’t say or write or even sign. And I’ll be hers.
Our fingers entwine, and once she feels them, she pulls our hands up to her cheek to keep me close.
