The Cabin at the End of the World

by Paul Tremblay

Andrew limps over Adriane’s body and stands in front of Leonard, well within arm’s reach if Leonard had a free one. The gun is lowered. He isn’t looking at Leonard and he isn’t looking at Eric. He looks at his red swollen hands and the gun. Leonard knows what he is thinking. How can he not think it? Saying it will not help, but he says it anyway. “It’s not your fault, Andrew. It was an accident. You can’t blame yourself. I know you didn’t—we were wrestling and the gun was in both our hands and . . . and . . .” and Leonard can’t bring himself to say that he squeezed his hands and the gun went off. He is not going to say that out loud. He is not going to say that he knows, ultimately, Wen is dead because he and the others heedlessly went along with what they were told to do and he couldn’t say no because it was too hard, maybe even impossible, but he still should’ve tried to say no anyway. He is not going to say that despite the horror of what’s already taken place, he will still try to save the world, even as he fears it is no longer worth saving.