I avert my eyes from the dust and blood and instead lift away the final piece of cladding. A girl of about seven or eight looks up at me with red and watery eyes. She’s caked with dust, covered in scrapes, and there’s a free-flowing gash at the side of her head but, miraculously, she’s otherwise unharmed.
I extend a hand. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”
She whimpers.
“My name’s Alasdair,” I tell her. “What’s yours?”
She sniffs and wipes at her nose with the back of her hand. “Nadya.”
“Okay, Nadya. Let’s go.”
With one final sniffle, she takes my hand and scampers out of the rubble. She must have been on the street—there’s no way she could’ve survived the collapse if she’d been in the apartment block.
We leave as quickly as we can. It’s difficult to walk with her huddled to my waist, her head buried under my arm. But at least she doesn’t see what I see.
Cars crashed and abandoned on the road. Fallen powerlines waving like psychedelic serpents. The broken spines of tramlines. Crumbled apartment buildings. Shops ablaze. And above it all—I shudder as I look up—the blood-gold armoured Giant, his steps and staff striking ruin.
He is pissed.
A few hours ago, when there was still global communication and news coverage, people said we should have known this was coming, should have prepared for it. What bullshit. There was no way in hell we could’ve known this was coming.
The Giant can be seen from every point of the globe, as if, no matter where you’re standing, he’s only a few kilometres away. The cavernous echo of his steps heralds earthquakes, the strike of his staff induces tsunami, volcanic eruptions, flood, fire, and typhoon. Behind the roar of the devastation, you can hear his voice: deep, booming, ranting and raging in a language that I don’t even think is human. But still, I—like everyone else—can understand every word.
“You betray your Mother!” he bellows. “She is your protection and you desecrate her!”
My face tightens and I block out his voice. Beneath my arm, Nadya whimpers and begins to tremble. I pull her back towards my chest.
“Don’t look, sweetie,” I tell her. “Don’t look.”
But how can you not? He is everywhere. Devastation is everywhere.
We’re nearing the river and the bridges are in ruins. I can’t see any people, but I can hear cries and screams on the wind. Unthinkingly, I went north, towards the city. Maybe I should have gone south, towards the beaches, towards open parkland, away from falling concrete. But where the hell is safe anymore? I tense my muscles to stop tremors of my own. I look down at Nadya and can only see her filthy hair. I taste dust and sweat on my lips, smell fire in the air. I’m not built for these decisions.
Nadya’s tiny voice breaks through my indecision. “Alasdair, where is all the water?”
Oh shit. I look at the river, it’s lower than the lowest tide, baring sick fish and the skeletons of shopping trollies. At the thunderclap of the Giant’s staff, I look out to the bay. It’s sucked in, compressed, almost glossy in its flatness.
“Oh crap.” I’ve never seen this in real life, but I’ve seen enough pictures. “Climb.”
We scour the buildings on the south bank, and I see a ladder attached to the side of a building. I nearly laugh with relief—I thought those things were only in the movies! It won’t be much, but it’s something.
I lift Nadya to the lowest rung, then push a skip under the ladder and scramble up. “Go, go!” I call to her. It doesn’t take long for the muscles in my arms and legs to start burning, but Nadya keeps pulling herself up and up as if she’s on the monkey bars. The ladder only goes up two storeys, to a fire hatch that can only be opened from the inside.
Crap.
I look back out to the bay and I can see it. The swollen, not quite cresting, mass of water hurtling towards us. If I strain my ears I can pick up the roar past the persistent cries of the mad Giant.
“Hold on tight,” I tell Nadya, and I hook my legs around the rungs as best I can. She locks her arms around the upper rung and wraps her legs around my waist. I enfold her and any metal I can reach in my arms. We won’t need to hold on for long, but the pressure will be immense.
The roar gets louder. I look down at Nadya and see eyes shining with confidence, brimming with trust, filled with love.
Shit, kid. Don’t trust me. I’m making it up as I go along.
I can’t see the wave, but the roar is now a physical pressure in my ears. I hold Nadya tight, close my eyes, and wait for the impact.
It doesn’t come.
The roar of the water becomes the crackle of fire, the smell of the damp becomes the smell of smoke. Nadya is still tight in my arms, but the cold metal is gone. I open my eyes and we’re on the edge of a narrow precipice. We’re jostled by others on the ledge and the air is filled with weeping and shrieking. It’s a massive chasm. A bowl so long and so large that its brink holds everyone in the world! I can’t even see the other side, just an infinite row of people stretching away into the abyss.
Holding Nadya to me, I look down. It’s as if I’m looking directly into the pits of Hell.
The chasm is filled with jagged rocks and fires. Smoke wafts from the crater, and it smells like pure destruction. In the distance, I hear a scream and look up to see someone fallen over the edge, their neighbours valiantly trying to pull them up. I don’t watch to see if they fall.
Through the smoke and the screams I can see something, hear something. After the last few hours, I thought nothing more could shock me, but I was wrong. Curled within the base of the pit is a being; somehow human, and at the same time utterly alien.
Her skin is brown, and green, and white, and blue. Myriad limbs surround and enfold her; some are arms, some are legs, some are both and yet neither. She has no head, but she has a face in the middle of her body; doe-eyes the size of moons, a slit of a nose, full lips opened as a mournful keening escapes from her, sounding more like a whale’s song than the plight of a human.
She is monstrous.
She is beautiful.
I pity, fear, and love her.
She is The Mother.
The Giant stalks the outside of the bowl, armour of blood and gold shining from some internal light, and his incomprehensible bellows mingle with the soulful keening and screeches of fear. I watch as The Mother’s eyes close and crease with pain. Her limbs quell and flail and her song reaches crescendo. The Giant lifts his staff and strikes The Mother—and I tense in anger and fear and a need to protect her. But the strike soothes her, lessens the cry of pain, eases the trembling limbs, and I understand; he was never trying to destroy us. He was never trying to hurt her.
He was trying to protect her.
I am so shocked that I’ve almost forgotten Nadya by my side until she speaks.
“Go to her.”
“What?!” I screech. Into the pit? Into the fire? “Down there?!”
“Alasdair, go to her,” she repeats. “She needs you.”
I stare into the hellscape, grip the edge of the precipice, lick dry lips with a drier tongue. Nadya’s right. She needs me. Needs us. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I swing myself down into the pit.
Climbing slowly, I pick my way past knife-edged boulders and flames. My limbs are shuddering and my heart hammering by the time I reach her. I stare at the massive form and I feel so small. I can feel the enormity of her pain, and of her love. What can one man do to assuage such grief? What can one imperfect soul do in the face of such overwhelming pain?
I hear Nadya’s voice as if coming from inside of me. “That is all it takes. Not one, perfect being, but a million-million imperfect beings acting in love. Starting with one.”
With trembling hands, I reach out to her. I hesitate, then spread my arms and embrace The Mother. I can feel her pain, her sorrow, her love. Anguish reaches deep inside of me and spills tears from my eyes. Joy fills my chest and spreads to my limbs as if with radiant lig
ht.
My voice is husky as it parts from my lips. “I’m sorry.”
I have hurt her. We have all hurt her. Taken her for granted, ignored the pain we inflicted on her. A thousand tiny knife cuts each, delivered by billions of hands. And yet, she loves me—loves us. I weep openly, my tears falling on her skin. She has such strength! I am nothing in the face of her beauty and frailty and power. I am more insignificant than the tiniest grain of sand. Still, she loves me—utterly, entirely, with all of her massive heart.
And I love her, too.
“I’m sorry!” I cry again and embrace her tighter.
I open my eyes to see The Mother swarmed by her children; each embracing her, each crying out for forgiveness, each completely in love with her.
The Mother sighs—a great swell of joy and contentment, as quiet as the breeze, and as overwhelming as the storm. I feel her shuddering subside; I feel her limbs rest. I feel her at peace.
I turn my eyes to the precipice and find it empty, except for one.
Nadya.
Somehow, over the enormous distance, I can still tell that she is smiling.
“I told you we could reach them,” she says to the Giant.
The Giant smiles.
Suddenly, I am no longer in the pit, no longer embracing The Mother. I am back on the bank of the river. The buildings are still destroyed, the city is still in ruins, but the world is peaceful, the waters still. A breeze caresses my face and brings with it the smell of the tide and the call of birds. I am shaken. I am confused. I am lost. But I am not alone.
I feel Nadya’s tiny hand slip into mine, as warm and comforting as a kiss.
“You’re not even real, are you?” I ask her.
“I am,” she replies. “As real as anything else.”
I look down at her and she is no longer covered in dust like I am. She is no longer bleeding and scared. She is perfect. Beautiful. Radiant.
Others are coming out of hiding, and by their sides I can see echoes. Each has their own Nadya, in various forms. And they’re fading.
I fall to my knees and grasp her in a trembling embrace. “Please don’t leave me.”
Her tiny hands enfold my body. “I won’t leave you. I’ll always be by your side. Listen for us and hear us when we speak. We will help you protect The Mother.”
I squeeze her tighter. “Thank you.”
And then she is gone, and I am grasping nothing but air.
I stand and look out towards the bay. In the growing mass of people, I see the same confusion, the same questioning of their realities, the same sense of love and loss.
I feel Nadya’s hand within mine, as if she were by my side, connecting me with The Mother.
The faces turn towards me. I draw my tongue over my lips.
“Okay,” I speak in a loud and clear voice. “Let’s clean this up. Let’s start again. But this time, we’re going to do it right. For The Mother.”
They all respond as if the words are a prayer.
“For The Mother.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: HELENA McAuley puts words on paper, and hopes to one day do it for a living. Helena would like to thank all our fire fighters. You are true heroes.
Slowly Rising by S. John Davis
“IT’S AWFULLY WET OUT there.”
“Of course it’s wet. Everything is wet. The last continent submerged, what, twenty years ago?”
“Well, yeah, but I meant there specifically.”
He was right. The bio-sub was taking on water somewhere, and if the whole thing were to sink, there would be no food for any of them. Marcelle shook her head.
“There’s no time for a conversation on degrees of wetness. Can you just fix the damn thing?”
Con walked down the steel steps and onto the lab floor. It could easily have been mistaken for a jungle—if jungles were found in giant, underwater machines, full of steel and lights and contained vast arrays of fruits and vegetables. On second thought, it didn’t appear much like a jungle at all but it was certainly green and leafy.
“I have to find the leak,” Con noted. The simplistic response irritated Marcelle and her mood quickly descended from annoyed to angry.
“Then find the leak! What the hell am I paying you for!?”
“You’re not paying me anything,” Con mumbled absently while searching, “your clan is. And if you helped me find the leak, we’d be done a whole lot sooner.”
Marcelle grumbled some vague response, descended the stairs and began the hunt. The waters had risen quickly overnight before anyone had noticed. The levels were now problematic and soon would affect the buoyancy of the bio-sub. Marcelle knew that it wouldn’t be long until they all sank to the depths. They needed to find that leak soon.
“Here!” Con called out and Marcelle rushed over quickly to see.
The hole was under water and smaller than a coin. It was a miracle that Con had been able to find the thing. “Stand back for a moment,” Con commanded as he took out his welding torch and started to form a seal over the hole.
“Wait a moment!” Marcelle called.
“What?” He didn’t look up from his work.
“Surely that’ll set off the heat sensors.”
Suddenly, a blaring sound filled the bio-sub and the lights shifted to a pulsing red.
“What the hell is that?” Con shouted over the sound.
“That is the heat sensors being set off, and that means . . .” she trailed off as the sub automatically locked down. Heavy metal doors dropped around the room sealing them in. One door forced them to dive backwards, it fell so close as to almost crush them. When the pair returned to their feet Con was the first to notice that the door had dropped over the hole he had been welding.
“These doors wouldn’t happen to be airtight would they?”
Marcelle closed her eyes and shook her head. “We need to leave.”
“That’s a great idea. It’s your sub, so I’ll follow your lead on the evacuation procedures.”
Marcelle didn’t answer. She stared at the door while the water slowly rose around their feet.
“Any time now. What are we doing lady? Which way to the exit.”
“There is no exit.”
The water swelled next to them before releasing a pocket of air to the surface.
“Of course there’s an exit. There’s always an exit. Which way are the life rafts?”
“We can’t get to them. In the event of a fire, the section of the bio-sub affected is quarantined. The blast doors will open in a day’s time. We’ll be sunk by then.”
“Excuse me if I decide to try anyway. Just for the hell of it.”
Con turned about and took his welder to the blast door. It wouldn’t be strong enough to cut a hole into the steel and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself from trying.
“It doesn’t really matter anyway. All of my clan’s food is in this room. No bio-sub, no food. We would be escaping into starvation.”
Con looked over his shoulder. “You do realise there’s other clans, don’t you? I, for one, am from another clan.”
“Your point?”
“Teamwork. Camaraderie. Trade.”
“Great. We’d lose everything else just for food.”
“You can always make new things. Can’t make new things if you’re dead though.” He returned his welding torch to his pocket and tried to take in his surroundings. “There’s got to be some way out of here.”
“You’re awfully optimistic.”
“Have to be. The world sinks under water, ninety per cent of the world’s population die, and we just so happen to be lucky enough to be in the ten per cent of survivors. You’ve got to do something with that miracle. Tell me, do you see a hatch on the roof above us?”
There was a hatch, but it must have been at least ten metres above their heads.
“I do see a hatch. But more importantly, how do you take a tragedy like the drowning, and turn it into a stupid bloody pep talk?”
He shrugged. “I do wha
t I have to. I don’t really think too much about it. Pass me those wires.”
Marcelle absently passed the wires from a nearby terminal to Con who spun them around and flung them up to a girder near the hatch. “Say you get out of here. Say you have food. What happens? You float about on the waters on the pontoons. Then what? Raise children who will never see the land? Wait about till the last fresh water stores deplete?”
The cord hit the girder and fell back down. It hit the top of the water and Con pulled it back towards himself.
“Sounds fine enough, but self-pity isn’t really my style.”
“What is your style?”
He threw again. Missed again and pulled the cord in again.
“I was planning on finding the lost continent.”
Marcelle rolled her eyes, “You can’t be serious. Everyone has been searching for land since the drowning, but there’s still magically an entire continent that hasn’t been found?”
He laughed while he repeated his process with the cord. “You’re probably right, but I’m going to keep going.”
“Why?”
He pulled in the cord and looked at Marcelle.
“I’ve tried to hook this cord on that girder ten times now. There’s no real spot for it to catch, and I sure as hell don’t have the strength or aim to throw it properly, but on a one-in-a-million chance I actually manage to make this throw, I don’t have to die today. And then who knows, maybe tomorrow will be better. So, I’m going to keep throwing, and then I’m going to keep searching, because there’s nothing else to do.”
Marcelle stared at him for some time, neither of them saying a word and then, with a slight nod, Con returned to throwing the cord. While he worked, Marcelle kicked the terminal hard. The door on the front of the contraption opened and she furiously ripped apart the electronics within. Con was shocked but continued in his work until Marcelle finished and came to stand in front of him. She held something out.
“What is that?”
“Part of the lab’s mechanics. It’s strongly magnetized. Should even be able to hold our weight.”
Con tied the magnetic part to the end of the wires, the weight helped him to aim his throw and the magnet held true. In time he managed to open the hatch with the help of his welding tool and the pair were ready to leave. He slid down the cord and came to where Marcelle waited.
Stories of Hope Page 4
