“I’m co-co-cold,” Grant mumbled. It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Is that how everyone else felt? In the moments before they passed on? That thought caused his heart to tighten more. He wondered what the victims experienced as they walked toward death. He realized now that it wasn’t the peaceful march he’d imagined for himself. No, he was sad and afraid. He felt panicky.
He thought he’d have more time.
“My letter,” Grant said. He reached up and grabbed the first thing he could—the edge of Mr. King’s lab coat. Scott King stumbled away from him. Yanking the fabric and pulling the cloth toward him, Grant repeated his final wishes. “My letter…when I’m gone…my letter…”
“I know, son. I know. You’re not going to die. Hang on.” His words were comforting, but his face was afraid. For the first time Grant could tell that Scott King didn’t sound confident in his assertion that he would live.
“My letter…” Grant said again and then he tumbled into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Her father looked exhausted when he came through their automated apartment door. His eyes were droopy and bloodshot; he hadn’t shaved in over a day and already the whiskers on his chin were thick, casting a dark shadow over his features. Despite his evident exhaustion, Scott smiled when he saw Lucy. She was lying flat against the floor, her arms and legs stretched out away from her body—her eyes still, examining the intricacies of the ceiling.
“What are you up to?” Scott asked.
“Thinking,” was Lucy’s reply.
“Everyone else?”
“Out.”
He shed his white lab coat and draped it over the back of a chair. Then with one hand on the chair and the other shoved into his pocket, he stood without speaking, staring at her outline on the floor.
“You not feeling communicative today?” Scott asked her, but he didn’t glance in her direction.
Lucy rolled her body over and then sat up, crossing her legs in front of her body and placing her hands to her side. She didn’t answer. When her father was away, she knew he was down in the lab working with Grant. His list of betrayals against her was starting to stack up. No variables, her mother had told her in the Sky Room. Every time she looked at him she saw the blood on his hands. She had nothing to say to him.
“Well,” her father continued without waiting for an answer. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Then…you want to take a walk? Get out of this space?”
Lucy shook her head. “No.”
“Think about it. I’ll be back.”
His shoulders drooped as he headed toward the bathroom for his five-minute shower. Back home, Scott would take epically long showers, sometimes twice or three times a day. He’d stand in his master bathroom shower and let the water run cold. It was often a bone of contention with Maxine, who would lament her husband’s bad habit after finding that there was no water to run the scores of dishes through their dishwasher or start a load of laundry—which was just an endless parade of food and grass-stained shirts and jeans.
The restriction on shower time must have been frustrating for her father.
She wished that there were more things for him that felt uncomfortable, because shorter showers were not a big enough punishment.
After the bathroom door shut behind him and locked, Lucy caught sight of the envelope. It would not have interested her or piqued her attention, but it was the image of a hot air balloon, two tiny stick figures standing together, that drew her eye. And immediately, Lucy knew.
The water was running. Her father hummed and his voice echoed.
Lucy scrambled forward and yanked the paper from the lab coat pocket. Her name was written in Grant’s childish scrawl on the outside. Without hesitation, she ripped the envelope open and unfolded the note that had been tucked inside. Scanning the words, Lucy let out a gasp. Then she looked to the bathroom door, looked at the letter, and then clutching it to her chest, she rushed to the safety of her bedroom. Crawling on top of the floral comforter, Lucy started from the beginning and began to drink in Grant’s words. It was difficult to understand, her brain fuzzy with the worry of being caught and the enormity of the letter’s first line. She read and reread, trying to hear Grant’s voice as he wrote down these words, his last words, to her.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again.
Dear Lucy, the note began, if you are reading this note then I am probably gone. That sounds so dramatic. And also cliché. I tried to word it differently, but then it sounded really casual and stupid. Like: I hope you’re doing well and I wish I could’ve been there when you saw your family again. But you should know that I’m bad at writing letters. I’m not so bad at writing, per se. It’s just letters that I’m no good at. Because you are my only audience and I know that these are the last words I get with you and…well, it’s just so much pressure.
Lucy stopped and stifled her tears. Her hands were shaking and they were turning wet with sweat. She clutched the letter tighter and closed her eyes, and wished for the strength to keep reading Grant’s words, even when those words told her a terrible and awful truth: Grant was gone.
Your father isn’t at all like I pictured him. I thought he’d be more mad scientist-y with white frizzy hair and big plastic gloves up to his elbows laughing maniacally while lightning flashed around him. He’s just odd and kinda goofy. If it weren’t for the whole ‘killing the world thing’ I think I would like him. He’s been kind, if not distant. Sometimes I think he likes me and sometimes I think he’s just trying to make things easier since my time is short. Either way, he’s not so bad. I don’t know what’s been going on with you, but I can imagine that you’re probably all sorts of pissed at him. Don’t be.
Lucy smiled. Leave it to Grant to find the best in her dad. She didn’t know if she could read any more.
Look, I wanted to write you a letter mostly to tell you that I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend the apocalypse with than you.
That’s a unique line—don’t get to use that every day.
Of course, if I had a choice, I’d want to come back as a zombie in the zombie apocalypse with you…but clearly I was wrong about that whole thing, which is really a damn shame, because this whole cross-country story would have been FAR BETTER with zombies chasing us. Hiding in this damn hole in the ground would be better too if there were zombies outside trying to get in. But yeah, zombies.
You’d be cooler if you liked zombies.
No, I don’t mean to make it into a joke. I’m sorry. I’m bad at this.