Until the End of the World (Book 1) by Fleming Sarah Lyons

Author:Fleming, Sarah Lyons [Fleming, Sarah Lyons]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Published: 2013-07-08T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 62

John’s surprise arrives in the back of his pickup. It’s a little mama goat and her kid, both a rich brown with white markings. She looks at us with liquid eyes, and the baby hides behind her between frantic nursings.

John strokes the doe’s head. “I was set to buy her this spring. I missed goat milk, and since the grandkids were coming for most of the summer, I figured they’d like to milk her, too. The kid, a girl, was born a few weeks ago. I thought they’d live in your little barn.”

I don’t know anything about goats, or even goat milk. But I imagine it’s got to be better than the milk that comes powdered in a can, which tastes exactly like dried out milk flavored with metal can. He unties and lifts them out of the truck.

“So, is the farmer you got them from okay?” James asks.

“Yeah, he and his wife and three kids, teenagers, are fine. Last name’s Franklin. You might remember him, Cassie. They had a petting zoo years ago. We’ve got a plan to meet up once a week to check in.”

I do remember the petting zoo, how the goats used to crack us up. They would eat anything, including our shoelaces and the ends of my sleeves.

“They’re so sweet.” I laugh as the kid bravely walks over and nibbles on my sleeve just as I remember. “You’d better show us how to take care of them. I don’t know the first thing about goats.”

The mama goat is named Flora, and James suggests Fauna for the kid. John also brought back hay, and we put a layer in the little pen in the barn. A couple bags of food are included, but John says that goats will eat anything, and now that spring is here there’ll be plenty.

And spring is here. Every day I check the strawberry plants out back, and today I saw a bud, which will turn into a strawberry in June. The fruit trees have exploded with blossoms. My mouth waters at the thought of fresh fruit. The apples from the store and John’s root cellar are long gone. It panics me to see how quickly the canned peaches are going; they’re the last ones my mom canned. I allow myself one small concession to my insanity and hide a jar in my closet.

Seed trays cover every available window spot. Tiny sprouts poke out of the dark soil. I serenade them daily. I don’t know if it helps, but my mom used to sing the plants silly songs to make us laugh. She said it made them grow faster, and her plants were always big and healthy.

John’s old farmhouse looks like a greenhouse exploded inside it too, and he fights a constant battle with Laddie’s enthusiastic tail toppling them. I keep asking John to move in with us, but he refuses. He says it would be too cramped or that his snoring would drive us all out, but I think he wants to be there in case Jenny arrives.

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