At the End of Everything, page 26
I adjust my position so I’m lying comfortably, and I let her hold me. I cling to her. Until her grasp weakens, and she falls asleep again.
I grab the chair from the desk, and I sit with her while she sleeps. I sit with her until she wakes. We hold hands. We stare at each other. We don’t have to do anything else. Here, we can just be.
I tell her all the things she needs to know. About Nia and the ration cards and Sofia and Grace. About the survivors in Sam’s Throne and our strange, small community here. I tell her how at ease I feel in the kitchen.
“Maybe, on the other side of the plague, we’ll find a way to be together and just live. That wouldn’t be half bad, right? I’ll find a job. I’ll provide for us. I make a very decent raccoon stew. Though that may not be a very popular dish in a new world…”
I don’t know if Leah can tell the signs from each other, if she can understand what I’m saying, but it doesn’t matter. She’s staring at me like she’s drinking in my presence, and when I talk, she smiles.
“We survived so much, we’ll keep surviving. Together. I’ll make sure no one will ever attempt to separate us again.”
Because if Leah trying to protect me is what brought us here, I will do—I have done—anything I can to protect Leah now. I learned how to fight, and I’ll fight for what I want.
“Maybe Nia could stay with us too, if she has nowhere better to go. We could try out new recipes. We could hold on to each other. We could be home.”
I already know how our lives will look. A small apartment with a dozen cats, like we dreamed of. It won’t be anything like any of the houses I broke into, but quiet and colorful and safe.
It’ll be at the edge of a small town, somewhere near the woods or hills or a creek, so I can go for long walks in the middle of the night.
And everyone who would happen by or come stay with us would hear the best sound in the world. The two of us, laughing.
Thirty-four
Grace
“It hurts, Case.”
“I know, Star Kid.”
It’s night again. I don’t have to climb out of my window to see the stars, but in a cruel turn of fate, the sky is overcast. The clouds are fluffy and bright, like a blanket over all of us. Snow sky, Mr. Podolsky used to call this, though it rarely ever snowed.
I cough again. Every breath feels like I’m breathing in small shards of glass instead of oxygen, but every time I gasp for air, Casey counts with me. Hyperventilating now would only make things worse.
Not that it matters much.
I’m glad he’s here. I’m glad Emerson is here too. They’ve stopped trying to convince me to come inside, and instead they’ve set up camp. Both of them have wrapped themselves in a blanket and are keeping quiet watch at a careful distance. They both have empty plates next to them, from food that Josie brought and left nearby. I didn’t pay attention to what they ate. I can’t quite remember. They each have a thermos with steaming-hot tea, the flasks stolen from the guard station and thoroughly cleaned. I have my water bottle. It’s lying next to me, within reach but untouched.
“I really wish those aliens would have landed,” I say, when the silence gets too deep and uncomfortable.
Casey pulls up the corner of his mouth into a crooked smile. “What was it again? We would all get eaten by giant penguins? Or hamsters? Face-huggers and chest-bursters.”
“Squirrels.”
“We should try to eat them instead, see how they like it,” he muses.
“Maybe Sofia can—” I don’t manage another whole sentence before my breath runs out. I gasp and cough until my entire body is trembling. My diaphragm feels like it’s on fire, and my shoulders and back are aching. The cold air does not help either. “Maybe Sofia can—maybe she can set traps.”
I try, I really do, but it’s hard to lighten the mood when you’re suffocating.
Casey and Emerson exchange a worried glance, and I groan. Not out of pain but out of frustration. “Don’t treat me like I’m dying,” I say, in between shallow breaths. “Treat me like I’m here.”
Casey flinches at that word. Dying. Emerson merely tilts their head.
“Do you regret it?” Emerson asks, softly.
“What?”
“Going into town. Whatever it is that brought you here. Any of it.”
I pull my knees up to my chest, making myself as small as possible. It does not make breathing easier, but it makes me feel less exposed. I consider the question. It may be the cold or the fatigue, or it may be the fever, but I struggle to formulate my thoughts.
“No. I don’t regret it. Any of it.”
I don’t regret pulling Ian off that girl and helping her, because I wouldn’t have been able to justify walking away from someone who needed help. I regret the consequences, but those are hardly my fault.
I don’t regret going with the others into town. Not the first night. Not any night since.
And I absolutely don’t regret breaking into that last house to get us the cards we needed, the cards that will—hopefully—allow the others to survive. It was necessary.
Although—
“I regret one thing.”
Casey waits until I stop coughing to ask, “What do you regret?”
“I regret thinking that no one cares about us.”
“Who cares?” Emerson scoffs, and they immediately turn bright red when I look at them.
I breathe in hard, and I somehow manage to pull up the corner of my mouth. “I do. I’ve always cared.”
Casey turns away from me and rests his head on his knees. His hands tremble. He’s pale with cold or pain too. “Fuck, Grace.”
What a harsh night. I always imagined we’d stay in touch after Hope. You can’t share your nightmares and night terrors with someone without forming a lifelong bond, and I liked the idea of both of us grown up and having it all figured out. Better.
I didn’t imagine it would end like this.
“I don’t want to die, Case,” I tell him honestly. “I’m scared.”
“I know, I am too.” He reaches out a hand like he wants to hold mine, even though we’re too far apart.
And even though we’re too far apart, I do the same.
“People survive, Grace,” he tries, not for the first time. His voice is as raw and ragged as mine, but I know it’s grief, not plague.
I manage a weak smile. “I wouldn’t mind that.”
Eventually, my arm becomes too heavy, and I cannot hold it up any longer. I’ve never been as tired as I am now. My body is heavy and weak at the same time. Breathing is a struggle. I want to close my eyes.
“We’ll be okay though, Grace,” Emerson says, their words barely carrying through the garden. I force my eyes open again. They’re toying with their necklace. “We have food. We have coffee. We have each other. We’ll make it through.”
“You better,” I manage. “I didn’t go through all this trouble—”
“We will,” Casey interrupts me. “I told you. We’ll save ourselves.”
I smile. Another bout of coughing racks through me. I double over and clutch my stomach. Everything hurts. If my bones could crawl out of my body, I’m certain they would. Is this how all the plague victims felt? I hate it.
“Good, because I want you to work at a hospital when you grow up,” I say. I’d point at him, but I don’t want to move too much. My voice isn’t as strong as it was. “Be the coolest doctor or nurse on the block.”
“And you.” I turn slightly in Emerson’s direction. “I want you to find a place where you belong. Where you find your place in the universe again.”
“What about you?” Casey asks. He scrunches up his face and amends, “I mean, in an ideal situation?”
“Stop trying to make me laugh,” I scold, though it’s hard to sound stern when you’re constantly coughing.
He winces, so I talk.
I tell them about Paris and the Podolskys and my father and the picture. I admit I dreamed about going back to school, even though I’m still not sure if that was ever for me.
“You’d make an excellent therapist,” Emerson whispers.
I’ve always been more comfortable talking with others about their issues than admitting to my own worries and fears.
“Beyond that, I think…” I hesitate. I feel so fragile. “I’d want to create a home for kids like us. A place where they can feel safe and cared for and where they can grow.” A home like this, where my heart is. With the outcasts and the rejects and the survivors.
If I can’t find my roots, I’ll plant new ones.
If I close my eyes, I can see it too. A house, like so many of the ones in Sam’s Throne. With a dollhouse on the floor of the living room, and old, leather armchairs, and a vegetable patch in the backyard, and a whole line of persimmon trees. I’d teach every kid about the constellations and how to stand up against bullies and how to always protect your friends.
If I close my eyes, I can hear them call my name in the distance.
I don’t know how much of that I say out loud to Casey and Emerson. Truth is, I don’t know when I stopped talking and when I started dreaming, but I walk around in this house and feel at home here. I lie in a garden surrounded by carrots and kale and a raggedy shed and feel at home here.
When at last the stars appear, the cold takes over, and I don’t even feel pain anymore, like the tension in my shoulders releases and my lungs stop their protesting.
I am watched over by my friends and feel like I belong. None of them will forget about me.
For an ending, it’s not a bad way to go.
Epilogue
Emerson
The world changes and changes again, but I’m growing used to it. One day, one step at a time.
When the sun comes up, we find a place for Grace to rest. Josie digs a grave between the roots of two trees. Next to the others, but with her own patch of clear sky above her. It’s quiet and serene. It’s fitting, but it doesn’t make it easier.
Unlike with the others, where it was just me or Josie taking care of practicalities, everyone comes out to say goodbye. Sofia is pale and tense. She has her hands balled into fists and she taps rhythmically with one foot. Logan, Riley, and Nia stick to one side, while everyone else aside from Leah and Xavier huddles closely together on the other side. Eleven here. Thirteen in all.
Grace will be the last to die of the plague in Hope. For now. Forever.
None of us who went into town are showing symptoms of the plague. We’ll take care for another couple of days, but I’m feeling hopeful.
Hopeful. What a novelty.
Perhaps it’s faithful too, this belief in a better world to come. I try not to think about it too hard. I’ll take that one step at a time as well. But for now, I know better times are ahead.
We’ll remain healthy. We’ll be able to go back to Sam’s Throne for more food. We’ll grow our vegetables and catch fish, and we’ll do exactly what we promised Grace. We’ll survive. We’ll make it all the way to a vaccine or a cure, whichever comes first. And what happens after that… The world we knew is gone. It’s up to us to build a new one.
I help Casey tenderly lower Grace into the grave. He said his goodbyes last night. Others have come by this morning or do so now. It’s different for everyone. A word. A smile. A gesture. A silence.
I play my violin for her.
Perhaps we should have done this for everyone, but it seems to me we’ve only now found the space to breathe and consider. And the others are still here. We will remember them, like we will remember her.
* * *
I wait until everyone is gone. I sit next to the freshly filled grave and pull the medal I wore to town over my head. The silver shines a little brighter from contact with my skin, and it’s warm against my fingers. I weave the fragile chain between my fingers and then sling it over the single white stone Josie placed on the overturned earth.
“You taught me to trust in us,” I say. “You taught me to believe in the hopeless cases. Trust I’ll find a place to belong.”
I sit in silence, until the wind picks up around me and the scant leaves in the trees above me rustle and fall.
When this winter is over, we can plant new fruits and vegetables. We can plant seeds and our garden will flourish. Over time, the graves will be covered in flowers and green and all the stones we can find. It will be a part of us, like we will be a part of it. This place to grieve and dance. To doubt and love.
To heal.
I rock to my feet and stand there for another moment longer, letting the wind play with my hair and dry my tears.
Then I turn and walk to the garden, and from there—on.
Phone call between Emerson and their mother
EMERSON: Mom?
MRS. WARD: Em—
EMERSON: Emerson, Mom.
MRS. WARD: Emerson.
MRS. WARD: How—how are you?
EMERSON: Alive.
EMERSON: How are you and Dad?
MRS. WARD: We’re…we’re alive too. He got sick, but he made it through, by the grace of God.
EMERSON: Of course he did.
MRS. WARD: I’m glad you called. Your father and I had a lot of time to talk after you left. We regret a lot of things we said and did that day.
EMERSON: I didn’t leave, Mom. You kicked me out.
MRS. WARD: Yes. Yes, of course.
EMERSON: And then you did it again when I got arrested.
MRS. WARD: …
MRS. WARD: What’s your point, Emerson?
EMERSON: I really like hearing you use my name. Absurd, isn’t it? I know you don’t care, but it still matters to me. That’s all I ever wanted. For you to see me as I am. That’s all I ever asked.
MRS. WARD: I—
EMERSON: My point is, I want you to know you don’t have to worry about me, if you did at all.
MRS. WARD: I’m glad—
EMERSON: I don’t forgive you.
EMERSON: Maybe I’ll practice forgiveness somewhere in the future, like Dad always wanted me to. Maybe I won’t. It doesn’t concern you.
EMERSON: But I want you to know, I found a place of good earth.
EMERSON: And I’m alive.
This phone call has been disconnected.
Emerson’s story is, unfortunately, that of too many young trans and nonbinary people. If you’re a trans, nonbinary, or questioning reader and you’re in need of support, please consider reaching out to the Trans Lifeline, a trans-led organization that connects trans people to the community, support, and resources they need to survive and thrive.
United States (877) 565-8860
Canada (877) 330-6366
translifeline.org
Author’s Note
The fictional Hope Juvenile Treatment Center is set near the equally fictional town of Sam’s Throne. The details and makeup of the Hope Center, however, are as real and representative as I could make them. That includes the overwhelming racial inequalities in the juvenile justice system, the lack of support for disabled youth, and—though exaggerated for the purposes of this story—the way people in the justice system are often left forgotten in the wake of a pandemic. Mass incarceration is a human rights disaster, and criminal reform is sorely needed.
In spite of those overwhelming racial inequalities, I chose to make all three of the main characters in this book white. I did so because I do not want to take away space from a writer of color. And because I don’t believe the experience of teens of color in the U.S. criminal justice system is my story to tell.
So instead, I’d love to point you to other spectacular books. If you wish to continue reading about teens interacting with the criminal justice system, these YA titles are a fantastic place to start:
- Monster by Walter Dean Myers
- Dear Martin and Dear Justyce by Nic Stone
- Allegedly by Tiffany D. Jackson
- This Is My America by Kim Johnson
- Punching the Air by Ibi Zoboi and Yusef Salaam (based on a true story)
If you would like to know more about the history of mass incarceration, Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness is a necessary read.
In addition to the titles above, if you wish to keep educating yourself, I would also recommend:
- Just Mercy: A True Story of the Fight for Justice by Bryan Stevenson
- Teen Incarceration: From Cell Bars to Ankle Bracelets by Patrick Jones
- Free Cyntoia: My Search for Redemption in the American Prison System by Cyntoia Brown-Long
Acknowledgments
I wrote this book while recovering from Covid-19, and during a time when we were (and are) all dealing with our loss of normal, learning to shape our lives around this new fear, and uncovering both the fault lines and the strongest links of our communities. While the virus may not discriminate, the response to the virus often did. So this one goes out to the essential workers, the researchers, the helpers, the teachers, the day-by-day survivors. Thank you.
I was incredibly lucky to work with two amazing agents while writing this book. Thank you to Jennifer Udden, for being such a supporter of this book and every single book of mine in the years we worked together. Thank you to Suzie Townsend and awesome assistant Dani Segelbaum for being there for the next steps. I’m thrilled to work with you and so excited for many more literary adventures on the horizon. And, of course, to everyone on Team New Leaf: you’re the absolute best.
Thank you to Eliza Swift, whose wonderful notes and gif comments made this book shine, and the entire team at Sourcebooks, for their passion for stories and for continuously taking such good care of me and my books: Zeina Elhanbaly, Beth Oleniczak, Jackie Douglass, Cassie Gutman, Danielle McNaughton, Michelle Mayhall, Nicole Hower, Kelly Lawler, and Cristina Wilson.
