The Cabin at the End of the World(64)

Sabrina drops her staff. The twisted shovel blade clangs at contact with the floor, knocking Andrew out of his paralyzing fugue. She says, “I never believed in it. But this is fucking hell.”

Leonard says, “There’s still a chance. They still have a choice. They can choose to save everyone.”

Sabrina says, “Everyone else, you mean.”

Andrew imagines hitting Leonard with the sledgehammer until his head is the lumpy, spent wax of a used candle. The gaping pit of grief and rage demands to be filled with this act. Sabrina is now unarmed and if she attempts to intervene on Leonard’s behalf, he can chop her down, too.

Leonard says, “Sabrina?”

“What?”

“Will you put the white mask on me, after? I don’t think I’m getting out of this chair alive.”

Andrew imagines bludgeoning both Leonard and Sabrina and then sitting on the couch with Eric and Wen. He and Eric will cradle her on their laps and they will wait in peace for as long as Eric needs, until he is ready to go.

Sabrina ignores Leonard’s question, slowly walks across the room, and stops in front of Andrew. She says, “You never asked why we killed Redmond.”

Andrew takes his hand off Eric’s back and regrips the weapon.

Eric says, “Don’t, Andrew.”

Andrew says to Sabrina, “You mean your pal O’Bannon? That the guy you mean?”

“He was never my pal. I never trusted him but—but I still came here with him, I know. I’ll never be able to explain it, or even believe it myself . . .”

Andrew says, “I’m pretty sure I can.”

Sabrina nods. “We didn’t come out and tell you about what our part in this is. I mean, besides presenting you with the choice. Have you figured that out yet?”

“Back away now or I start swinging. And find yourself a chair to sit in, too.” Andrew has taught apocalyptic literature for years, calling his course This Is How the World Ends. The course has occasionally included a literary analysis of the Bible’s Book of Revelation and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse riding their red, black, white, and pale horses. Over the years the course syllabus has evolved, but one of the main arguments/discussions he has with his students remains a constant. No matter how bleak or dire, end-of-theworld scenarios appeal to us because we take meaning from the end. Aside from the obvious and well-discussed idea that our narcissism is served when imagining we, out of all the billions who perish, might survive, Andrew has argued there’s also undeniable allure to witnessing the beginning of the end and perishing along with everyone and everything else. He has impishly said to a classroom, to the scowl of more than a few students, “Within the kernel of end-times awe and ecstasy is the seed of all organized religions.” Of course Andrew has figured out the four strangers’ quasi-Christian endgame, but he doesn’t want Sabrina explaining it and making biblical connections in front of Eric—his Catholic faith is as confounding and mysterious to Andrew as it is endearing—while he’s in this addled, vulnerable mental state.

Sabrina doesn’t move. “I will sit and do whatever you ask, just let me explain, let me tell you this first.”

“Back the fuck up now.”

Eric interjects, “If Andrew and I didn’t choose to make a sacrifice, then you four had to make one.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Andrew crouches so he can look Eric in the eye. His right knee gives out on the way down. The looseness, the detachment of his swollen knee from the rest of his leg makes his head go dizzy and hot. He wonders if he’ll be able to complete any sort of hike on this knee. What if they can’t get car keys from Sabrina or Leonard? Do he and Eric risk walking down the road, finding their car, and hoping they hid a key somewhere? Andrew’s dad used to hide a spare to his truck in the driver’s-side wheel well. Maybe they go up the road in the opposite direction, deeper into the woods, and to the closest cabin that’s a few miles away, break in, and hope the cabin has a phone.

Everything in Andrew screams to get out of this place of death and madness and figure it all out after. He leans on the staff and says, “Eric,” until Eric looks at him. “Listen to me. I love you, and we have to go now. All right? I know you can do it.”

“I love you, too. But I don’t—”

“We can take breaks and rests when we’re on the road, as many as we need. We’ll make it.” Andrew stands, slides an arm under Eric’s, and tugs him up.

Eric doesn’t stand and stays sitting with Wen. “Not yet. One more minute, please.”

Sabrina says, “He’s right, Andrew. When you didn’t choose, we were forced to kill Redmond.”

“I don’t want to fucking hear any of this!” Andrew shouts.

Sabrina holds up four fingers. “After he died, the earthquake and tsunami hit.” She folds down her pinky, making the number three. “Adriane dies, then the bird flu spreads.” She curls another finger into her palm. Two fingers held up, a mocking peace sign. “There’s only two of us left. If you don’t choose to make a sacrifice, then Leonard and I will be the sacrifices. Each time one of us dies”—she folds down another finger—“another calamity—”

“The skies will fall and crash to pieces like glass,” Eric says, like he’s participating in a call-and-response prayer.