Until the End of the World (Book 2): And After by Sarah Lyons Fleming Page A

addiction, and it kills Penny that she can’t drink any now that she’s knocked up. Coffee is heavily rationed and saved for patrol and guard, but we always sneak Penny some. She mutters under her breath about herbal tea and the apocalypse.
    “You can have coffee, Pen,” I say. “People drank coffee when they were pregnant for a million years. I’ll get Ana to bring some back for you.”
    “No, no,” she says. “I’m just being grouchy. Sorry.”
    The line between her eyebrows deepens, but she looks at Bits and doesn’t say anything. I’m worried, too.
    “Do they need help with the electrics?” James asks. “I’ll go if they do.”
    “I don’t know, but Adrian’s coming anyway,” I say. I think of Henry and pray that he and Hank are okay. “But we’ll have to go back again once we know what they need. They might want you then.”
    James ignores Penny’s pointed look and rubs his hands together; he’s always up for an adventure, but he doesn’t get out much. He’s not the best shot with a gun, but his lack of fear and ability to think under pressure are great attributes. Plus, he can fix anything. He’s already learned everything there is to know about electrical systems, and now he’s moved onto cars with Shawn.
    Bits clings to me like a baby monkey when I say goodbye. We’ve told her as little as possible, although enough to know that we have to help Whitefield.
    “I love you, Bitsy-poo,” I say, and wonder if any of the kids at Whitefield are dead. The thought makes me bury my face in her hair. “Until the end of the world.”
    “I love you, Cassie-poop,” she says with a giggle. Nothing’s funnier than poop to this kid. I should get her to help at the laundry one day; it might cure her of it forever.
    “Be good for Penny, okay?”
    I give her one last kiss and hand her to Peter, who lifts her up to the cabin’s ceiling like she’s a feather. One thing that zombie fighting and farm life don’t do is make you weak. Slightly crazy and tired, respectively, but not weak.
    “Okay, baby girl,” Peter says, “we’ll see you later, or in a day or two. Don’t you dare get any more freckles while I’m gone, or else.”
    “I’ll try not to,” she says, and squeals when he pretends to drop her.
    “I love you,” Peter says. “Now, go back to bed or brush those teeth.”
    Penny hands Bits her toothbrush and looks at us with wide eyes. “Please be careful.”
    We promise we will. I walk out into the night with Peter and turn to look through the open doorway. Penny is exhausted, but there’s no way she’ll go back to sleep now. Bits talks nonstop around her toothbrush. She looks so small and vulnerable in her pajamas, and I want to hug her one more time. Peter watches her, too. We have this in common: a love for Bits so deep that sometimes I can’t believe we didn’t make her ourselves in some strange alternate universe. I almost blurt out how scared I am—for all of us, for Bits, for Whitefield—but I shut my mouth with a clacking of teeth.
    “You okay?” Peter asks.
    “Yeah. I just hate leaving.”
    “I know.”
    Bits spits out her toothpaste and wipes her mouth on Penny’s proffered towel. That won’t have been the last time I’ll ever hug Bits, I tell myself, and walk away. Sometimes it takes a huge effort of will to drive through those gates, and I know if I go back in, I’ll never leave.

CHAPTER 23
    Whitefield is a wreck. Bodies are strewn everywhere, smoke rises from the charred heaps of buildings and the air smells of burning flesh and raw meat. They’re too shell-shocked to have gotten a plan in place. A few people load bodies into the beds of pickups, but the rest stand and watch them in tight groups.
    “Holy shit,” Adrian says, after we get out of the van. “I didn’t think it was this bad.”
    “Me neither,” Peter agrees.
    I hear a piercing wail and look for its source. It’s Christine, whose husband, Brett, was in the 157th. I assume he’s one of the