Before This Is Over

by Amanda Hickie

  “He’s a cautious man, like your good selves. I’ll need to talk to him. Just open the screen door and pass the phone out. You can see I’m not sick.”

  Hannah turned very deliberately to Sean. “Darling, I told you last night, the phone’s dead. The battery won’t charge.” She turned back to the man and forced a smile.

  “So we have a long walk in front of us.” He gave a weary shrug. “At least you could spare us a cup or two of water.” She could see he was running through his lines.

  Sean brought the cricket bat up sharply and banged it hard on the grille. “Bugger off and don’t come back.” The young man pricked up his ears at the action. “We’ve called the police.” The thug snorted with contempt—none of them believed this any more than they had the lie about the mobile.

  She raised her knife firmly and held it in front of her. Her voice wavered. “You can bully an old man, can’t you? That’s all you’re good for.”

  The young man threw himself bodily at the grille. Hannah and Sean jumped back. He threw his heft at it again but it didn’t move.

  She froze, terrified that she would involuntarily glance at the bedroom window. All the men had to do was turn their heads to see it had no bars. If she and Sean fled, abandoned the house to these men, they protected the kids but lost the last of the food. All the time shut in would have been for nothing. That made her angry, angrier than she was about Mr. Henderson, angrier than she had been last night at the thought of dying. These people were beneath contempt, added nothing to the human race, yet threatened her family, threatened her preparations.

  But they were bigger than her, and ruthless. When it came to the crunch, she didn’t think Sean could whack someone hard enough with that bat to do damage, and she wasn’t sure she could sink a knife into human flesh, not even if it belonged to these thugs.

  She held the knife more firmly, hoping she was doing a better job convincing them than herself. The younger man broke off his attack on the grille to stare. The older one watched, as if curious to find out what would happen next. Sean shifted his hold on the diminutive bat.

  The man across the road called out, “What’s taking so long?”

  The older man considered them, sizing up whether they were worth the bother. “We’re just chatting to the householders.”

  “Don’t waste your time, we’re full anyway.”

  The young man on their doorstep smiled, a leer that made Hannah shiver, then turned and lumbered back to the van. The older man gave a slight nod of the head and said, “Catch you next time.” They watched him saunter across the road. As the van took off, Hannah and Sean scrambled to the bedroom window to watch. Once it was out of sight, they spilled onto the veranda and leaned over the brick wall to check that it hadn’t stopped farther up the road. It was gone.

  They watched and waited, Sean checking both ways in case the van had circled the block. Across the road, Mr. Henderson’s front yard was deserted, his door closed. If they had taken his valuables, that was heartbreaking. If they had taken his food…there must be someone else, surely, who was capable of helping him. She pushed away the bad feeling. Zac and Oscar came first.

  She looked at Sean and saw a ghost. She put her hand on his arm to make sure he was real. He smiled at her and slipped his arm around her shoulder.

  “You’re here.”

  “I wasn’t far away.”

  It felt only like a reprieve. The men at the door, she surely must have dreamt them. They strained belief. But Sean dying? People died every day—that was easy to believe, that was real.

  He kissed her head. She felt his touch indirectly through her hair, his hand was on the fabric of her pajamas. She put her hand to his face, to feel the warmth and solidity.

  “It’s okay, they’re gone.”

  “You’re here.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You’re here.”

  “That’s a problem, isn’t it? I can go back to the office. I haven’t touched the kids.” He looked down the hall. “We’d better let them know it’s safe.”

  She held on to him as they crossed the threshold, just to be sure, and only let go to lay the knife gingerly on the hallway table. He continued down the hallway and she scurried after him. When she caught up in the backyard, his face was clouded by a grim determination. “I can’t see them. They’re not out here.”

  They moved through the house methodically, punctuated by calling out Zac’s and Oscar’s names. She looked in Oscar’s toy box, in his wardrobe, under his bed. Despite the camouflaging piles of clothes, books, and games on the floor, they weren’t there.

  She met up with Sean as he was coming out of Zac’s room. On their way to the kitchen, she opened the pantry and pulled back the shower curtain in the bathroom, just in case. Zac wouldn’t take such a little kid’s hiding place unless he was desperate, but there weren’t many places big enough to hide three.

  She hesitated at the back door.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “They’ll unload the truck and come back.”

  “How many houses do you think they did? Somebody might have rung the police. That’s a risk they won’t want to take. They’ll move on. I would, if I were the kind to turn over other people’s houses.”

  “Or they’ve gone to get something to break down the door with. How can you possibly know what they have planned?”

  “As if they needed something to break down the door with. If they wanted to take us, they would have. You can obsess about this, but in the end it doesn’t matter. What matters is finding the kids.”

  “I had to stay at the front, you understand that. I couldn’t be with them.”

  “I’m sure you made the best choice and I’m sure they did whatever it was you told them to.”

  “I told Zac to run if I screamed. And it’s possible I screamed.” They both stared at the empty garden.

  Sean pulled her into a hug and spoke into her hair. “I wouldn’t have done different. Now let’s find them.”

  Sean held her hand as they walked through the backyard. He stood on his toes to look over the fence to Ella’s house. “The door to Stuart’s is still shut. They could have gone anywhere.”

  They wouldn’t go to Gwen. They wouldn’t go to anyone. She’d made them afraid of people. Danger at the front door, danger from their parents.

  Sean got down on the office floor and pivoted on his stomach, looking under the desk and the secondhand sofa, even though the spaces were too small for three. Hannah’s eye caught on every possibility, however impossible. The filing cabinet drawers, the gap next to the bookshelf. Sean pushed himself slowly up and she could see a smeared circle of dirt on his T-shirt and a look of defeat in his eyes.

  They had to be in the garage. She held her breath and instructed the universe—They will be in the garage. The roof made soft metallic clicks as the sun heated it. Behind the clicks, she heard a deeper silence than they had found anywhere in the house, as if the walls were holding their breath. She looked past the car to the roller door. If they had let themselves into the back lane, there was no knowing where they could be.

  “Zac? Zac? They’re gone.” No sound, no movement.

  The garage was filled with old furniture and boxes. Things they had no use for but she couldn’t bear to throw out. Old toys, the kids’ old clothes, a shelf filled with tools and pieces of wood, ready for some DIY emergency. One wall was covered with a ziggurat of storage boxes, a neat aggregation of paperwork and castoffs, all labeled.

  Sean grabbed the box at the nearest end and wrenched it forward, then the next and the next. The fourth box sat slightly out of line, and as Sean pulled, Hannah could see a dark gap, and Zac looking back, his body making a shield between the two little ones and the outside world.

  In front of him, Zac grasped a hammer with both hands. He crouched, primed like a cat ready to pounce.

  Ella burst into tears. “I breathed, I couldn’t help it.” Even her sobs were muted. “I’m sorry, Zac.”

  “You can come out,
it’s safe.”

  Zac looked warily at Sean. “What happened?”

  “Some…” Sean was struggling to find words that would convince Zac without scaring the little ones. “Some people came to the front door. They’re gone now.”

  “What people?” He held the hammer like a light saber.

  “No one. No one we know.”

  “Mum chucked.” Zac threw it out like a challenge. Sean didn’t look surprised, just spent. He looked to her for an answer.

  “I wouldn’t be better this morning if it was Manba. And I don’t have a cough.” But what she was thinking was Too late now anyway.

  Zac shook his hammer at Sean with less resolve. “You might be sick. It’s not two days.”

  All three children were watching Sean. “It’s possible, but I don’t think so.” The hammer wobbled in Zac’s hand as his grip loosened. “You’re standing next to Ella, you’re breathing her air, so there’s no point worrying about me.” Zac twitched and his eyes were forced wide. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Sean put his hand on Zac’s shoulder. “You did a good job. You found a safe place for Oscar and Ella.” The hammer fell to the ground. Zac wrapped his arms around Sean’s middle and buried his face in his clothes. “How did you keep them so quiet?”

  “We’re good at hiding. Zac said so.” Ella’s voice was soft and solemn.

  “Is it two o’clock yet?” Oscar looked for permission from Hannah. “Do Daddy and Ella have to go back in the office?”

  “No. It’s fine.” She enfolded Oscar and Ella in a tight hug.

  “Mum, you’re squashing me.” She let them go, reluctantly.

  Zac, with relish, rigged up a trip wire along the front path, complete with a booby trap of empty cans salvaged from the recycling bin. When he had no choice but to move from the shadow of the house, he darted out and ran back. Only once the front was booby-trapped could Hannah feel safe out of earshot of the front door.

  They laid a blanket out in the backyard. The sun infused into her cold bones. It felt like days since any warmth had reached them. Ella and Oscar lay on either side of her. They spread their arms and legs, turned their tummies up to collect the sun’s rays.

  Sean mixed some peanut butter and soy sauce with water, poured it over a mess of rice and leftovers, and called it satay. Even when it was placed on the blanket in front of her and a fork was in her hand, Hannah didn’t feel like food. All she felt was exhausted and shaky. It was an unappetizing mess, but the need not to waste food overrode her instincts.

  Ella prodded the mashed-up pile on her plate. She swirled it around with her fork, and when she lost interest, she wandered over to the lemon tree and started pulling off the lower leaves, scrunching each of them and putting them to her nose.

  “Ella,” Sean called over to her, “come back and eat lunch.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “That’s fine, honey. I’ll make you something else.”

  “Hang on.” Hannah made annoyed eyes at him. “She has to eat what everyone else eats.”

  “I can’t blame her.” He pushed his own food around. “It’s slop.”

  Zac stiffened slightly, listening more closely, and Oscar leaned in, not bothering to disguise his interest.

  “She has to eat what everyone else eats. It’s only fair.”

  “She’s barely eaten anything in two days.” Sean’s face was stony. “She didn’t like anything.”

  “None of us like it, but it’s what we’ve got. She won’t starve.”

  “You think.”

  “She’ll eat when she’s hungry. For God’s sake, we don’t have anything else.”

  Zac and Oscar both eyed Ella’s plate while they wolfed down their food. The instant the last forkful went in his mouth, Zac leaned over and scooped up some of Ella’s.

  “Hey.” Sean pulled the plate away from him.

  “You’re making her something else. I’m hungry.”

  Hannah put the plate back at Ella’s spot and called out. “Ella, come sit down now. Leave the tree alone.” Hannah dropped her voice and turned to Sean. “Give her more time to eat. She has to eat what we eat.”

  Zac and Oscar watched Ella lift every slow forkful from the plate to her mouth.

  “Righto, kids. You’re going to help me tidy up while your mum gets to enjoy the sun.”

  As Sean shooed them into the house, Oscar was explaining the intricacies of his room to Ella like a good five-year-old host, but Ella was unmoved by the enticing description of Oscar’s toys.

  Hannah closed her eyes and indulged herself in the sensations of the garden. The irregularity of the grass beneath the blanket, the rustle of the lemon tree’s branches in the breeze, the back door slam. She opened them again to the sight of Sean bearing two mugs. As he put one on the blanket, the smell reached her, warm and bitter.

  “I don’t know that I want any.” She picked up the mug in her hands just to steal the warmth. “I don’t want to test my stomach too much after yesterday.”

  “Ah, but I couldn’t be so mean as to not share it. It’s the last pot. Unless you’re hiding a packet somewhere.” He looked hopeful.

  “How will you cope?”

  “I’ve convinced myself that this is the best coffee ever, even though I am completely aware of the process of its creation.” He took a sip. “It’s not bad. It comes close, even with powdered milk and not enough grounds.”

  “You could put mine in the fridge and microwave it tonight.”

  “Then this cup wouldn’t be special. And there’s only so much the magic of the moment can overcome. I think being three hours old and reheated as well would be a stretch too far.”

  Zac wandered through the open door, ambled across, and dropped down on the grass beside Hannah. “That smells good.”

  “Do you want it?”

  “No, but it smells like breakfast on Saturdays.” He pulled out a blade of grass. “You know, real breakfast. Bacon and eggs and toast. And some mushrooms.”

  “If we had a mushroom farm, we’d have fresh mushrooms,” Hannah said. “A fresh vegetable. Do you think mushrooms stop you getting scurvy?”

  “A big bottle of vitamin C will stop you getting scurvy.”

  “Daddy’s so romantic.”

  “What about eggs, Mum? If you’d bought some chickens and a mushroom farm, we could have a cooked breakfast.”

  “I think even factory chickens get more space than this.” Sean considered the yard. “There’s a tiny green lemon on the tree. We could all suck on a slice.” He gave Zac a big grin.

  Zac looked mildly concerned. “Are we really going to get scurvy?”

  “We’re not going to get scurvy. This will be over soon.” Sean didn’t sound completely convinced.

  Oscar appeared at the back door, his trousers held loosely around his waist. His face was a mixture of outrage and despair. “Didn’t you hear me calling? I’ve been calling and calling and no one came.” He threw his hands up in a theatrical gesture, quickly grabbing his trousers again as they started to fall.

  “What’s up, Mouse?” Sean sounded offhand. If he hadn’t had a restraining hand on her arm, she would have been up, trying to comfort Oscar. She couldn’t be responsible for everything and she didn’t have the energy to argue.

  “There’s no toilet paper.”

  “Well, get some from the cupboard outside the bathroom.”

  Oscar looked affronted. “I looked—there isn’t any.”

  Sean looked to Hannah for the next move. She creaked up from the ground with effort. “Let’s look again, Mouse.”

  “I looked.”

  And he had. Another set of eyes couldn’t conjure any hiding among the sparse, well-organized tins. All she could find was the last tissues, a small pocket-sized pack.

  She stared at the remaining tins and packets. So much for carefully calculated rations, so much for average consumption multiplied by four. Her self-reproach was interrupted by Sean, peering over her shoulder. It still didn’t
make any more toilet paper appear. His voice mirrored her own recriminations. “We have weeks’ worth of hand wash but no toilet paper? I thought you planned this out.”

  “It turns out kids use more toilet paper but wash their hands less. That shouldn’t have been a surprise.”

  Zac followed them down the side passage. The concrete was dark, slimy and green from all the rain. Sean stepped over the squelchy towels outside the bathroom window. Before this started, they produced enough waste for a whole bin every week. But now almost all they added was an empty bag and a couple of tins once a day. Sean dived into the recycling bin, digging through the tins to retrieve the last copy of the local paper that, up until a few weeks ago, was left on their doorstep every week. It was still in its plastic sleeve, protected from moisture.

  Zac followed them back to the patio table and watched their every move as they tore the newspaper into squares. “What are you doing?”

  “Making toilet paper.”

  “I’m not using that to wipe. Gross.”

  “It’s this or nothing.”

  “The bits with photos are shiny. That’s not going to work.”

  “Then don’t use the shiny bits.”

  Zac stared at Sean as if he had gone mad.

  “Don’t waste it”—Sean waggled his finger at Zac—“or you’ll have to use the shiny stuff.”

  The chime of a text message came from Zac’s pocket. He pulled out his phone, gave the message his serious consideration, and then turned to Hannah gravely. “You don’t have Manba.”

  “Your phone told you that?”

  “Sophie’s dad.” He spoke matter-of-factly, as if Sophie’s dad was the usual source of such knowledge.

  “Who’s Sophie?”

  “A kid in my year.”

  “And you rang her dad?”

  “No.” She sensed that he felt his mother was clearly an idiot, even if she wasn’t infectious. “I texted Simon, but his parents didn’t know, so he emailed Lachlan because his mum works at the university, but she didn’t know. But Lachlan used to go out with Sophie, and her dad’s a doctor at the hospital, so he emailed her. And she texted me. Her dad says it gets worse for the first three days, at least if you don’t treat it. You don’t get better overnight and you don’t throw up. You have, you know, kind of the opposite.” The phone went off again. “He says you ate something bad.”