The End: Surviving the Apocalypse Read Online Free Page A

judgment.”
    “Sir?”
    “There’s these,” he said, dismissing the pictures with one hand. “And strictly in confidence, I think the woman has paranoid delusions. She keeps telling me people are stealing things from her pigeonhole.”
    “Sir.”
    “That’s why I’d like you to take the lead on the pandemic plan. It’s due to the department on the thirtieth and I can’t rely on your supervisor.”
    Q’s brain jumped a rail. “A pandemic plan, sir? In September? Wouldn’t we usually do those before winter?”
    “Excellent question, Quentin.” He shuffled the pictures of farmhouse mayhem. “I understand you teach self-defense to girls in the evenings?”
    “Yes, sir,” Q said. Why hadn’t he answered her?
    “You don’t teach boys?”
    “No, sir. They’re not emotionally mature enough to handle their powers.”
    Mr Macklin raised an eyebrow. “When does that happen?”
    “Around twenty-five.”
    “I see. I would have thought someone with your—talents—would have joined the army.”
    “Yes, sir.” Now may not be the time to mention that she’d failed the psych test. Twice.
    Mr Macklin was still talking. “Your unique background will come in handy on this project. Here’s the information.” He handed her a thick manila folder and regarded her carefully. “You’re a very odd kindergarten teacher, Quentin.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “You better get back to class.”
    *
    The pitch of the dog’s cry grew higher with each thrash of the tail. When Q thought the kelpie would burst, she opened the front door and fended off the delirious creature.
    Her father was in the recliner, asleep. He had not heard her come in, even with the whines and yips. The man had the instincts of a brick. She watched him snore, then went to the kitchen to make dinner.
    “It was a good training session tonight,” she said, scratching the dog’s warm head. “But it’s always the same. Nothing is ever going to happen to me. I’ll never find love. I’ll never find my true purpose.”
    She threw the pandemic plan papers onto the bench. She’d read them later. Standing in front of the fridge, crunching corn chips, she tried to work out what she felt like eating. It needed to be substantial, but healthy. Lasagna! That’d do it. Fiddly but worthwhile.
    Q took out the frozen meal and scrutinized the instructions on the lid, then set the oven timer. If you let it go too long the top burned. It was her most difficult dish.
    Her father walked into the kitchen. “What’s that?” he said, picking up the folder from the bench and flicking through it. “Looks important.”
    Q grimaced at the cigarette burn on his shirt. “You said you’d quit,” she said.
    “I will never quit taking an interest in my little girl’s life,” he said, giving her a bear hug. She coughed and pulled away.
    “Dad! I’m not your little girl. I’m twenty-two and way taller than you.” She was also one hundred and thirty pounds lighter. Maybe she was his little girl. Linda had kept them all on a strict diet and training regime, but her father went to pieces when she died. He’d stacked on more weight and bad habits with each passing year. Surely it was time to start reassembling?
    He sat at the kitchen table. “Did they give this to you?” he said, flicking through the manila folder.
    “Mr Macklin wants my expert contribution.”
    “Your mum would be so proud!”
    “Sure. Linda’d be real proud of my leadership role in the Kindy Koalas.”
    “I wish you wouldn’t call her that. She’s your mother.”
    “It was her idea that I call her that.” Linda had always said you could be a good coach or a good mum, but not both, and it hadn’t been a difficult choice for her to make. It was funny how Q’s dad remembered certain bits and ignored the rest.
    He handed her a yellow parcel. “This arrived for you today.”
    “Thanks.” Q took it and turned it over in her hands. There were no labels indicating where it had come from and no