Notes From the End of the World (6 page)

To make matters worse, Mom loves trying new and “exotic” recipes, something that makes Audrey complain even more than usual. “Why don’t we master one the regular dishes before trying these weird ones?” she always suggests.

In the “Gospel According to Audrey,” “regular dishes” are things like mac and cheese or vegetable lasagna. “Weird” recipes consists of anything not on the menu at P.F. Chang’s or The Cheesecake Factory.

Mom removes a wooden cutting board from a lower cabinet and then slips a big, scary-looking knife from a butcher block. She inexpertly skins a large white onion and slices it into thin slivers. “You girls need to know how to cook. One day you’ll be out on your own and you can’t eat out every night.”

“Of course we can,” Audrey says.

Dad sits on a high stool at the counter, pretending to read the news from his iPad, but really watching his girls at work.

“You’ll never catch a man, if’n you cain’t cook,” he says, pulling an exaggerated Southern drawl. He sips a beer and Mom moves over to sneak a drink every now and again. It’s odd, watching Mom drink from a squat brown bottle. She usually prefers wine—a lady’s drink, she’s said more than once—but tonight is light and playful, despite the deadhead sightings and the added security at this weekend’s soccer match.

For this evening, we’re four people, safe in our home as the rain pelts the windows and the roof and squalls blow in off the ocean. The N-Virus, the death, and the uncertainty are forgotten for a while.

“I like learning how to cook,” I say, meaning it. I actually do enjoy the notion of sitting down to a dinner that I’ve made. Provided it’s edible. What we’re trying to make this night is Tandoori Chicken. Mom even went to Crate and Barrel for a clay cooker, which is a much prettier pot than the regular old stainless, copper-bottoms we normally use.

I glance down at the recipe sheet Mom printed from the internet, then take the plain yogurt from the refrigerator.

“You’d say that,” Audrey snaps, nudging me aside with her elbow. She takes the yogurt from me and pops the lid. Dipping her finger in, she tastes the smooth cream and pulls a disgusted face. “Yuck! I hope the end result is better than this!”

“We could just have collard greens and pork chops,” Dad offers, knowing how Audrey detests “hillbilly food,” as she calls it. I giggle and rummage the spice rack for cardamom and ground cloves, doubting we have either.

Things go pretty much great, until the clay pot becomes too hot. As the pungent smoke overtakes the kitchen, Dad flips on the exhaust fan and grabs a pair of pot holders. He moves the pot to the sink while Mom fans the smoke around with a dish towel. Audrey bitches about the smell wrecking her hair while I open the windows in the kitchen and the dining room, but only a few inches. I don’t want to take a chance on an unwanted visitor.

Dad removes the lid and we all peer down at the charred remains of our special chicken dinner. “I guess the chicken’s off the menu,” he announces, not sounding very disappointed.

We end up having Hamburger Helper and a bag of frozen Shoepeg corn.

One of the last somewhat normal nights we’ll ever have will always be marked by the memories of burned chicken and laughing over a dinner of salty pasta and cheese.

Chapter 8

November 6

Cindy

Audrey and I seldom do anything together. Most of the time, I’m happy enough to pass her in the hallway at school or at home without a word. Some sisters just aren’t close and that’s just the way it is, until Mom and Dad started “forcing us” on these weekly excursions for supplies. Today is Home Depot, which looks like a real chore at first. That is until Audrey announces she’s going to pick up Nick on the way.

“Don’t tell Mom and Dad,” she says, easing the BMW to a stop in front of Nick’s big, ultra-modern house. He mother and late father had money—maybe even more than our parents—but he makes no show of it. Still, I’m pretty sure that was the main reason Audrey chose him in the first place.

The SUV’s reflection is super-long and narrow like a funhouse mirror in the all-glass facade that surrounds the front entrance. The shrubs and decorative grasses have gone wild as a jungle—lawn maintenance is no longer on anyone’s priority list. As we wait, I wonder what would happen if the Shamblers came in numbers like they did in those movies?

I shiver at the thought, but push it away as soon as Nick emerges, jogging toward us.

“Climb into the backseat, numbskull,” Audrey tells me, not too unkindly, and then adds “and try not to drool.”

My face gets hot and I shift to the middle and then slide between the seats into the back. Nick hops in, gives Audrey a perfunctory kiss and closes the door.

“Hey, Cindy,” he says.

“Hi,” I mumble. Boy, he smells so nice. Unlike most of the immature jerks at school, Nick knows how to properly wear cologne. He doesn’t drown himself in it, he puts just enough on for anyone who’s lucky enough to be close to him to notice.

“So? What’s up?” he asks, buckling up. “Where’re we heading?”

“Should we surprise him?” Audrey asks, grinning wickedly. She glances at me in the rearview mirror as we pull away.

“If we tell him, he might hop out and run away,” I answer.

“Come on!” Nick cries. “I skipped out on going to my Granny’s for this.”

“Well, prepare yourself,” Audrey says. “We’re going to Home Depot.”

“You’re kidding.”

Neither of us answers.

“Aren’t you?”

“No. That’s where we’re going. Dad wants us to get supplies,” I confess.

“For the zombie apocalypse,” Audrey adds.

“Fun.” Nick slumps against the seat. “You know what that place is gonna be like? It’s been like the day before a hurricane for weeks. I went over there with Miles last weekend. People were getting ugly over plywood and tomato seeds.”

“Tomato seeds?” Audrey asks.

“Don’t ask me why,” Nick tells her with a shrug.

I say nothing. I know why. It’s like a cloud at the horizon on a sunny day at the beach. It’s okay at the moment, but a storm’s coming. You can either prepare early and pack your things ahead of time or you can throw everything together once you see the first strike of lightening and run like hell.

***

Nick wasn’t exaggerating. Home Depot is a madhouse. Droves of men in sweaty t-shirts that don’t quite fit over their swinging tummies push carts and dollies through the store, piled with plywood, buckets, bleach, duct tape. Some have generators and others have propane tanks. At the front, there are only two lines, both snaking down the nearest aisles, thirty or more deep.

“You’ve gotta be screwing me,” Audrey whispers as we go inside.

“No wonder your dad sent you two,” Nick says. “He’s a smart guy.”

I look around and spot a shopping cart abandoned near the front doors. I grab it just as an older man reaches for it.

“Here, you go ahead,” I say, letting go of the handle. He takes it and hustles away without a word or a glance my way.

“Nice manners,” Nick calls after him, and lower, he adds, “asshole.”

“Let’s try to grab some of the small things that we can just carry,” I suggest, taking the list Dad gave me from the pocket of my jeans. We’ve been making these trips for weeks, missing out on this item or that. Deliveries are still being made to the stores, but they are increasingly irregular.

It quickly becomes clear that luck isn’t on our side today, either. Duct tape is gone, as is most other kinds of tape. The only batteries left are those rectangular nine-volts that don’t fit anything but the smoke detectors. Water canisters, gas canisters and most other containers that will hold water are gone, leaving the shelves strangely empty.

Nick does grab up the last five starter fire logs, although they aren’t on my list. “It’s getting colder. I know how girls are—always cold.”

“Hardly,” Audrey counters. “I’m
hot
.”

Nick flashes one of his patented cute-boy smiles. Glancing at me, he shrugs. “I guess I was wrong.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” I tell him. Actually, he’s right—at least about me. I’ve never been one for cold weather. I mutter a “thank you,” wanting to give him a kiss instead.

Near the garden department checkouts, things are getting ugly between a couple of men who are on the wrong side of middle-age. “You stole that goddamn lantern off my cart. It was the one like that and you just took it,” a sloped-shouldered guy in an Izod golf shirt and an expensive haircut shouts. His wife, timid and sweet-faced, touches his him.

“It doesn’t matter, Hal,” she says, barely loud enough to be heard. “We have several at home.”

“Better listen to your wife, old man,” barks a man who looks to be even older than the first guy. He storms forward, two boxes containing halogen lamps tucked awkwardly under one arm. His thin lips pull back, revealing crooked and yellowing teeth as he shoves the other old man. The sweet-face wife screams, her hand flying to her chest as her hubby stumbles backward and plops on his ass.

Part of me wants to scream at them, to scream at the people standing around watching, not helping, but who am I? I’m not helping, either. I’m getting what I can use just like everyone else.

Nick nudges Audrey with his elbow. “Let get out of here,” he says. He weaves through the gathering throng of rubberneckers, holding Audrey’s hand, and I jog to keep up. With the scuffle, nobody seems to pay attention and we move to the front of one line. Audrey pays with Dad’s credit card and leave with only the handful of useless batteries and the logs. Home Depot has been a bust, but instead of going home, Audrey hangs a left onto Highway 17 and heads north. Apparently, in her world, there’s no bad time to go to the mall. Even as society crumbles around her.

***

The parking lot looks like it probably does on Christmas Day. Of course, I’ve never been out on Christmas to know for sure, but it’s completely empty save for a few cars and pickups parked near the entrance to the foodcourt and the middle doorways. Trash—fast food wrappers, newspapers—blow leisurely around the pavement. It’s strange, seeing trash everywhere like this. Normally, Palm Dale Mall is fairly pristine.

Audrey nearly pulls onto the curb in front of Bed Bath & Beyond and for a moment, I want going to credit her with some good thinking. I never considered a bath and kitchen store, but why not? There might be something useful in there.

Of course, I should know better.

“I’m not taking any chances,” Audrey says, climbing out. “With nobody around, this is prime territory for Shamblers, I’ll bet. Besides, this entrance is closer to American Eagle.”

“Dad didn’t say we could do that,” I argue, jogging to catch up with my sister’s long, purposeful strides. Nick lingers behind. When I glance back at him, he’s cautiously scanning the parking lot.

“This is the way I see it, baby sis. We’re taking valuable time to pick up this shit we’re probably not even going to need. We deserve something new, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re living in another reality,” I say. “Look around you. It’s Friday afternoon and there’s hardly anyone here.” I’m sick of her selfishness and her stupidity. “Let me have the card.”

“No.” Audrey raises her chin in that dumb haughty way she has. I step forward, my fist clenched. I want to hit her suddenly. I want to knock that bitchy look off her face; I want to floor her.

Nick must sense it. He steps between us, his arms out, a small grin touching the corners of his mouth. “Let’s not fight, ladies. Audrey, let’s check out the sporting goods store and maybe Sears first. Then we can check out A&E and Hollister.”

He waits for a response, but Audrey cocks one hip out and sulks.

“Okay?” Nick slips his hand along my sister’s neck and pulls her closer. He kisses her and I look away. Audrey doesn’t deserve any of us—especially a guy like Nick.

“All right,” she agrees, rolling her eyes. “But make it quick. I hate sports stores.”

Our footsteps echo in the stillness of the mall and my mind fills with scenes from the
Dawn of the Dead
remake. What if we discover the exits are clogged with Shamblers and we can’t get back to the Beemer? What will we do? The idea of living inside a shopping mall with Nick isn’t completely unappealing, but I’m positive I need to get away from Audrey as soon as I possible. Or else, I’m going to snatch her bald.

The crowd (of you could call it that) at Dick’s Sporting Goods isn’t anywhere as thick and unruly as the one at Home Depot. It’s probably because everything that appears to be of some use is gone. The shelves in the camping and hunting department are picked bare. However, if you need baseball equipment, you’re in business.

Nick grabs a big barreled aluminum bat and take a few fairly inexperienced swings. Nick’s a soccer player, like me. “You know, these could be useful,” he says.

A young guy with headful of red curls, a skimpy goatee comes over and a name tag that reads “Colin” hanging crooked on the left side of his chest strolls over.

“I can let you have that for twenty percent off,” he says. He has that perpetually burned-out slowness to his voice that reminds me of Seth Rogen. “In fact, everything in the store is discounted. Not much of any use left, but you might find something.”

Nick lowers the bat. “Any ideas? We were at Home Depot and it was a madhouse.”

The carrot-topped Colin shrugs. “We already had the madhouse moment. A couple of days ago. Now, we’re picked clean and down to three workers who aren’t sick and still willing to show up. We probably won’t open Monday.”

My stomach clenches up. Maybe this really is the end of the world. Businesses are closing. The people who are still healthy are afraid to leave the house.

We’re at the mall in November and there’s no Christmas decorations. In fact, the few Halloween decorations that were put up are still there.

I catch Audrey and Nick exchange glances. Then she steps forward and tosses her hair in that way that makes guys fall all over themselves to be near her. Of course, that’s before they find out she’s a total bitch.

“Are you sure there’s nothing here we can use? Maybe some of that camping food or some kind of containers. Batteries? Our dad will be angry if we come back empty-handed.”

Audrey could win an Oscar for best actress. Another thing she is better at than I am—lying.

But it works.

“Come on,” Colin says. “There’s a few things left in the back. We started hoarding stuff a couple of weeks ago, but since some of us never showed back up, I’m guessing they won’t be needing it, now.”

We follow Colin, his love handles giggling under his red uniform polo. I notice wearily what appears to be dried blood on the back of his pants leg. I hope it’s mud, but in the back of my mind, I know it isn’t. Unless you live in a cave, we all have seen something terrible at this point.

I can picture him waiting out the zombie apocalypse with a stack of
X-Men
comics and a PS4 running on a generator. He doesn’t appear very shook up at the moment, so I see him being fairly happy, sort of like the little man who only wanted time to read in that old episode of
Twilight Zone
I watched with Dad when the SyFy Channel ran that marathon last Fourth of July.

“Why have you even bothered coming back this week?” I ask. “I mean, if nearly everything’s gone and nobody’s coming in, what’s the point?”

Colin pulls a key from his pants and unlocks the door to the storage room. “I don’t know why I’m still locking this,” he says apologetically. He reaches inside, flips on the lights, and we follow him in.

“I think I was trying to just go on living as normally as I could,” he says, “but I stopped going to school a few days ago. I go to Tech part-time, but the last time I went, people were just wandering around on campus. The instructors had stopped coming.”

Clothing and shoes scatter the floor of the big room. Nick grabs a lacrosse stick and pretends to play. He makes a rake move and takes off across the room. Colin looks amused. “So, what school do you guys go to?”

“Palm Dale High,” Audrey tells him, still pretending she’s friendly.

Colin shoves his hands deep into his pockets and grins. “Thought so. I could tell by how you’re dressed.”

“What the heck does that mean?” Audrey snaps, the faux-friendliness instantly gone. She stomps toward the chunky salesguy.

Colin jumps backward. “No offense!” He holds his hands up in front of him. “I meant you all are dressed…kinda rich. I would’ve figured you guys would be safe from…all this.”

Audrey sighs. “We don’t dress
rich.
Our parents are too tight with money.”

“Audrey. C’mon.” My sister’s mental age varies from day to day. Today she’s hovering between twelve and fourteen. Looking at Colin, I say, “Nobody’s safe.”

Colin moves deeper into the starkly lit room. “Listen. Take what you think you can use. I doubt you’ll find much, anyhow. Just keep your mouths shut about it. Okay?”

He makes his way toward the door. “Just don’t make it obvious. If anyone else is in the store when you’re finished, just come through the checkout. Hand my your card, but I won’t run it.”

Actually, the storage room turns out to be a treasure box, if you consider a camp stove, a hunting bow with a half-dozen arrows, and a couple of collapsible water containers treasure. Audrey tries on hiking boots and I grab up a couple of sets of Cold Gear long underwear for each of us, guessing at the sizes. It’s already cold at night and as I said, I hate cold. If the power goes off for any period of time, I certainly don’t want to sit around shivering to death.