Dating After the End of the World - 12

Leaves crunch beneath our feet as we walk the property I once called home. But I guess that’s what it is again. The trees are taller, and the undergrowth is fuller. Years of the forest having been untouched have allowed it to become wild and beautiful as well as haunting and foreboding.

My father walks tall and proud, pointing out the things we built together, engendering a fondness for the times we shared while also highlighting all the new things, as if to say, Look what I did . There are chicken coops and several structures for geese and ducks, many of which roam free, quacking and honking. He’s even installed a man-made pond out back for the ducks to swim and play in. We didn’t have any of this growing up, so the old man has clearly learned a lot since I’ve been gone.

“Remember when we first put in all that fencing?” he asks, pointing along the edge of the property, as far as the eye can see.

“How could I forget one of my favorite childhood memories?” I look to my dad, smiling to let him know I’m joking—or half joking, at least.

“I’m sure you’re glad we have them now, though.”

The grim reality of what life would be like here without all the things we built and all the prepping sinks in. The fence alone is responsible for so much peace of mind. No one would ever be able to sleep safely knowing that anything out there could just wander into the house or the guest cabins. I’m not ready to concede that he was right about every single choice he made, but about this one thing . . . definitely.

“I am, Dad,” I say.

He smiles back and then continues pointing out more of the new additions. The trails he added so it’s easier to patrol the fence lines at night. The rainwater runoff trough and tank so that he could cycle more fresh water. The additional solar panels to help keep everything running. All the projects he had been talking about for years, the ones I had always made fun of him for, saying he would never need any of this stuff. Now, without them, we would have no power, no clean drinking water, no extra food supply, and we would be on guard twenty-four seven, fearing for our lives.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“It’s impressive.”

“Thanks.” He beams, basking in this moment that he’s been waiting decades for. I know he isn’t happy about what the world has become and that we actually need all these safeguards. But I can see that part of him is glad he was prepared.

“Casey?”

“Yeah.”

“How come . . . how come you never came back to visit?” His eyes show a sense of longing. The two of us spending time together back here on the property has likely brought a mixture of joy at me being in his life again and also a deep sadness. A realization of the years we didn’t spend together back when the world was normal. How many of these walks exist only in the world of “what if”?

I don’t have it in me to tell him the truth, because what good would it do? Hey, Dad, guess what? I didn’t come back here because I resented you for making me waste my childhood. For being the reason I relentlessly got picked on and why school was a living hell for me. Even the one summer I did come back, after freshman year of college, all I felt was sadness. Like it was seeping up through the ground, growing roots into my body and sapping the joy right out of me. I didn’t come back because all we had was prepping, and I hated that more than anything. When I left for sophomore year of college, I knew I would never return . . . not unless I absolutely had to, not unless he was right.

“Oh, you know. Life happens. I was busy. Between med school and residency, I never even had time to go to the gym or go see a movie, let alone drive all the way up to Wisconsin and back.” I say it as chipper as I can, emphasizing words like busy , med school , residency , trying to convince us both at the same time that it’s the truth so we can move on.

He doesn’t answer, though, and I can tell by the disappointment on his face, he isn’t buying it, but he is accepting it for now. I feel so bad for cutting him out of my life, minus short texts here and there. His texts to me were always diary-length, and I barely even read them. I was just so angry at him, and I wanted my old life completely separated from the new one I had created. Actually, I didn’t want anything to do with my old life. I was ashamed of it, and I was ashamed of him—but now, I’m only ashamed of myself.

I hang my head, fighting back the tears welling up in my eyes.

“Hey.” Dad moves in front of me, placing his hands on the sides of my arms and gently squeezing. “You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

I nod and barely meet his gaze. I’m too guilt-ridden to look at him in this moment. To let him see what my eyes will certainly betray. I put my own feelings first, never considering what it meant to him. Cutting him out was my way of punishing my father, because I felt like that was what he had done to me. It was always about preparing for the end of the world, and there was never time to just live in it.

“Hey, Dale!” a woman’s voice calls from behind me.

We break apart, and I turn to see a smiling woman tossing a final piece of clothing from her arms over a thick string hanging between two trees. Her dirty-blonde hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail and her cheeks are bright red. Whether that’s from the slight cold in the air or just her natural color, it’s perfectly in place for the comely, round face now approaching us.

“Hello, Helen,” my dad says, as though he’s just taking a stroll through his neighborhood and spotted a friend he’s greeted a hundred times before.

“And who is this beautiful young lady?” she asks.

“This is my daughter, Casey.”

Her face brightens even more, and her eyes develop a slight sheen to them.

“Oh, Dale! I’m so happy for you,” she says, still smiling. It’s clear my dad has talked a lot about me, and from her reaction, she most likely thought he was never going to see me again.

“It’s great to meet you.” She beams, but there’s a seriousness in her eyes that tells me there’s more to her than this cheery routine.

“Nice to meet you too, Helen. I think you’re the most cheerful person I’ve met in the apocalypse,” I say with a laugh.

She turns, glancing around like a thief making sure the coast is clear before she meets my gaze and lets out a heavy sigh. “Oh, I just do this for my boys,” she whispers. “They kind of know what’s going on, but my husband, my parents, and I have tried to shield them from most of it. So we’re treating this like we’re at permanent summer camp, and if it looks like I’m happy and having fun, then maybe . . .” Helen looks down at her feet, shaking her head as she searches for the words within her, before meeting my gaze—the smile has returned to where it just was. “Well, anyway, if it weren’t for your father, I’m not sure I’d have a family anymore.”

Before I can respond, a man comes out of one of the cabins behind her, walking toward us with a tight smile. He’s around six feet tall with a bowl haircut, and he wears his lean and muscular figure like a suit he’s borrowed from someone else. But what really sticks out are his eyes. It’s not the color of them, as they’re an unremarkable shade of brown. It’s the heavy, deep-purple bags resting below them and the red veins splitting and cracking in all directions across the whites of his eyes. This man doesn’t sleep . . . at least, not anymore.

“Chris, I want you to meet my daughter, Casey.”

He steps to me, extending a dry, calloused hand. His eyes begin to moisten but not with sadness. They’re the kind of tears that form when you stifle a yawn so as not to seem rude during a conversation. They well to capacity and tumble down his face, leaving darkened streaks across his parched skin. He doesn’t even notice until his wife quickly dries them for him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Casey,” Chris says, shaking my hand. “Where’d you come in from?”

“Chicago.”

“Wow, that must have been—”

“Hell,” I say.

“Yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I can’t even imagine.”

“How did you all end up here?” I ask.

Chris stuffs his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet. “We were headed up to Helen’s parents’ lake house near Tomahawk, and our car broke down over on Highway 19. We couldn’t get any cell service, and I figured we were just in a dead zone. I left my family and my in-laws in the car and started walking, looking for a gas station or a nearby house. Had no idea what had happened to the world, until I stumbled upon this place. Dale told me, and then he took us in. Myself, Helen, and my boys are in one cabin, and Helen’s parents are in the other.” He looks to my dad, his face showing nothing but admiration and gratitude for saving them. It’s a look I’m sure my father wanted to see on my face for years, instead of the irritation and resentment that were building stronger and deeper with every passing moment. Now, seeing what our work has done for these two, what my dad’s unrelenting perseverance has done to keep a family whole, I can’t help but see him as less of the villain and more of the hero.

The somber but gracious moment is broken by the sound of high-pitched voices and two boys no older than twelve sprinting out of the cabin. “Dad! Dad! Can we play catch now?” the one with a football tucked under his arm shouts.

I greet both of them and introduce myself. They’re timid, partially hiding behind their father and mother. Their father ruffles their matching bowl haircuts and tells them to say hi, and in unison, they do. At their age, I was prepping for this, and now they’re living in it. I’d call it ironic, but I really don’t know what it is.

Chris takes the football from his son and tells his kids to go long. They take off running, while he steps away and launches it through the air. It lands short of the boys, most likely due to his exhaustion. He smiles and nods, telling me it was nice meeting me before joining his children.

Helen echoes his sentiment and returns to her basket of clothes that still need to be hung out to dry.

“See ya around,” Dad says with a wave as we continue with our walk.

“It’s great what you’ve done for them.”

He glances over at me. “It wasn’t just me. It was us.”

“But I wasn’t even here.”

“You didn’t need to be, Case. We built this place together, so everyone that’s here and safe is because of what we did.”

“I would feel good about that but Blake’s here too,” I say with a laugh.

Dad playfully pushes me, and then his face turns serious. “I really think you’ll learn to like Blake. You two have more in common than you realize.”

“Oh, does he hate himself too?” I smirk.

Dad folds his lips in and shakes his head, seeming slightly amused. “I’ve got one last thing to show you,” he says, changing the subject and leading us toward the main house.

He might have been right about the end of the world, but he’s wrong about Blake. I will never learn to like him. The only thing I might learn is how to tolerate him, and that’s if I don’t kill him in the meantime.