Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky by Sarah Lyons Fleming

The truck’s tank is only half full and we’ve already dipped into it for the RV.
    “It has been over a year,” James says, although he looks as disappointed as everyone else. “Imagine all the people who left Winnipeg? Most of it was probably gone the first week.”
    “Which means a trip into more populated territory,” Mark says. He flips through the atlas and points to several smaller towns. When I look close, I see they’re a lot smaller than Winnipeg but still have enough streets to give me pause.
    “We could give Yorkton a try,” Mark continues. “There should be enough daylight to find fuel and a stopping place up north. Three hours until Yorkton, wouldn’t you say?” James sits opposite Mark at the dinette, and now he turns the atlas his way, studies it for a moment and nods.
    No one’s spoken of Mike, Rohan and Tony. There’s nothing to say, which may seem cold, but the quiet of the RV speaks volumes. I sit on the kitchen floor and braid and re-braid Bits’s silky hair. It soothes her, the way it does when Peter rubs her brow after a nightmare. Ashley slides down beside me and sighs.
    “Hey, you all right?” I ask.
    She gives me her profile. “I’m used to losing people.”
    Her words are flat. She lost her parents at the beginning of Bornavirus and then Nancy, her surrogate mom, outside of Kingdom Come. I can tell Ash is shutting down, battening down the hatches, and I’m afraid she might never come back if she does. I hope that these kids aren’t damaged beyond redemption for what’s happened in their formative years.
    “I’m not used to it,” I say. “No matter how many.”
    She folds her arms. “You’re not crying or anything. Even after Ana and John and—” She stops with her mouth open in apology, but I smile and tuck her hair behind her ear.
    “That doesn’t mean I’m used to it. I’m choosing to focus on other people. Like you and everyone in here.”
    “I don’t want to be sad.”
    “Me neither. You know what I’ve decided?” She shrugs like she couldn’t care less and rips a hangnail off her index finger. “I’m not going to cry until I get to Alaska. Then I’m going to let it all out. It’s going to be great.”
    “Sounds amazing.”
    I ignore her sarcasm. “We’ll have a cry party. A sobfest. You can come if you want. We’ll have refreshments.” I say the last part in a sing-songy voice.
    “Cassie’s Cry Party?” She turns her head, but the swell of her cheek gives away her smile.
    “Only a select few are invited.”
    “I want to come,” Bits says. “Except I don’t think I can not cry until Alaska.”
    “You’re still invited. You have to let out the tears or they’ll rust your insides. Then we’d have to make you drink motor oil. It wouldn’t be pretty.” Ash laughs when Bits does, and I turn to her. “Same goes for you.”
    “How about you?” Ash asks.
    “I’m good. I drink a capful of oil every morning.”
    She rolls her eyes but scoots closer to lift Bits’s hair. “You want a fishtail braid, Bits? I can do a really cool one.”
    “Yes, please,” Bits says. “Cassie can only do boring braids.”
    “Well, excuse me for living,” I say. “Ash can be in charge of braids at the party.”
    Ashley smiles and carefully pulls the brush through Bits’s snarls. “Are we having lunch today?” Bits asks.
    “Yes. Let’s let Ash decide. Should we have rice, rice or rice?”
    “I think rice,” Ash says, her laugh mixing with Bits’s giggles.
    I throw on water and measure out enough rice for everyone to have a cup once it’s cooked. Ash and Bits declare it movie time after the braid has been admired, and the kids head for the bedroom.
    Peter places home-canned chicken stock and a bottle of oil on the counter. “Use these, too.”
    “Wait, why am I cooking when you’re standing right here?” I ask.
    He nudges me out of the way. “I’ll take over. That was nice of you.”
    “What? Lunch?”
    “No, talking to Ashley. You