Before This Is Over

by Amanda Hickie

  “I’ll go.” Zac looked resolved.

  Hannah held the side of the table. “That’s not your decision to make. We have a responsibility to keep you alive, and you have that responsibility to us.”

  “We could get her help, ring an ambulance.”

  “Zac, you have to be realistic, we can ring someone, but there’s probably not much they can do.”

  “I’ll go and look.” Sean was somber, eager to redeem himself. “I’ll try to see through her windows.”

  Before she had chance to think of another solution, Sean was out the back. From behind the kitchen door, Zac watched his dad jump the fence. Once Sean was out of sight, he meandered around the room, as if he needed something to distract himself. Hannah cast around for some explanation to put this in context.

  “Monkey…”

  He turned around and his look challenged her to say something, anything that he could feel contempt for. The silence between them drowned out the sounds of Ella and Oscar playing, the song of the birds outside. He held her gaze, then dropped into one of the chairs and took an unlikely interest in the picture book Ella had left lying there.

  Sean was back sooner than she thought, sooner than she hoped, sooner than would indicate good news.

  “Yeah, well. The food’s gone now. Maybe we woke her. I think I saw the container on the kitchen table, but she’s got all the curtains drawn. It was pitch-black in there and I couldn’t see her.” Sean looked back and forth between Zac and Hannah. “Yesterday’s food was on the table too. I’m not sure she’s been eating.”

  “Maybe we should call someone.” Hannah spoke to Sean as if no one else were in the room.

  “It might be time to consider the shelter.”

  “It would be best for her. I think you’re right.”

  “Oh, what? You can’t be serious, Mum.”

  “If she’s not eating, it might mean she’s sick.”

  “So you’re going to dump her?”

  “To a shelter set up for situations like this, Zac. A place where she can be properly looked after.”

  “And so you don’t have to share your food with her.”

  “Our food, Zac, our food. And who benefits from her throwing food—that we can’t replace—into the compost? A moment ago you were begging us to ring someone.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Zac”—Sean held Zac gently by the shoulders—“what do you want us to do?”

  “Just don’t pretend you’re doing the best for her.”

  “So what is the best for her?”

  Zac looked at him and then at Hannah. “Mum? People get sick in the shelters, I read it. You can see it on the graph. There’s this big spike, and it’s four days after the water went off.”

  “We ring the shelter or we do nothing.” Sean was very calm. “You have to tell me exactly what you think we should do.”

  Zac chewed at his lip. Hannah could see him turning it over. “Ring someone. I don’t want her to die by herself.”

  Don’t go yet. Stay.” Sean’s voice was blurry. He put his arm around her, nuzzling into her neck. For a few more minutes they lay still, warm. His breathing was regular, as if he had fallen back to sleep, but when he spoke again, his voice was quiet but clear. “I call dibs on Zac.”

  “Go back to sleep,” she whispered, trying to find a voice that was almost subliminal.

  “I want to make it clear before we get up, I’m spending time with Zac today.”

  “I’m sure he’d like that.”

  “But.”

  “Ella really likes you.”

  “Ella doesn’t not like you. I’m doing all the little-kid stuff—you get to do all the teenage stuff. I’ve had my fill of coloring. And they ask so many questions.”

  “At least you know the answers to the questions.”

  “Hey, I’ll take ‘If the electrons are negative and the protons are positive, why don’t atoms collapse in on themselves?’ over ‘If they bury me when I’m dead, how will I breathe?’”

  “Like you knew the answer to Zac’s question.”

  “Yeah, I do, it’s ‘I don’t know.’ My turn.”

  Zac got up last, rubbing his face. His pajama pants stopped a couple of inches above his ankles. His preposterously long and lanky feet, corded with tendons, were white on the chilly floorboards. She could see the hairs standing up on his arm as he laid his head on the table. He held his notebook loosely in his hand, slid it onto the table beside him.

  “Aren’t you cold?”

  “No.”

  She had left turning on the phone until he woke up, and now handed it to him with the text open. He added yesterday’s data point to the graph—nearly seventeen hundred, not that different from the day before, but a tenth of what it had been a little over a week ago. Each plotted point brought them incrementally closer to opening the door. There was a story to be read in the dots. Yesterday, she had spent an hour with him calculating every kind of statistic they could find in his textbook. Zac assumed she knew how to do it and what it meant, and from three days before her Year Nine math exam to three minutes after it, she had. But while she pretended to explain it to Zac, it came back to her and she taught them both. As far as their limited understanding of high school math went, the bell curve was real. Zac had formed a hypothesis and made a prediction, and the data supported it. Scientific method as well as math.

  It was tempting to extrapolate from the graph, draw a line down from their curve until it hit zero, but she had a feeling that they couldn’t weigh down their small amount of data with too much magical meaning.

  Ella rode on Sean’s back, wielding a pool noodle, Sean on hands and knees. Facing them on the other side of the square of lawn, lined up as if for a joust, Oscar perched on Zac’s back, similarly armed.

  “Righto, this match, the Brothers against the Others. Remember, first to touch the ground loses a point, no touching with your hands, and, steeds, no helping. Go.”

  Sean and Zac charged at each other over the couple of grassed meters. Sean shied at the last minute but Zac kept up an ungainly gallop, straight into Sean’s side. He shouted out just before impact. “Hang on, Mouse.”

  Oscar’s grin split his face. With one hand he grasped Zac’s shirt tight, with the other he swung his noodle, roughly in the direction of Ella. It flexed, missing by most of its length. Sean buckled sideways, taking his far hand off the ground to steady Ella. He teetered but leaned into Zac’s blow, balanced on his other hand.

  “Cheat, cheat!” Zac sat up on his haunches, launching Oscar backwards. “Dad held Ella on. That’s cheating.”

  Sean started to bluster, but Zac suddenly jerked up straight, on guard, no longer listening but looking from Hannah to Sean and back. Now Hannah heard it, the sound of an engine idling in the street. Different from the diesel chug of the patrols, a quieter reminder of the outside world.

  “Hey”—she rubbed her hands together—“hey, what about a game of cards? We could go inside and have a game of cards.” She shooed the kids in. “So, what’s it going to be, go fish or snap?” She had just about forgotten the call she had made, but this had to be about Gwen. In the sunshine and the joy of the game, even Stuart had taken time off from haunting the corners of her mind. She was mortified by how easily she could forget, how simple it was to be distracted from the misfortune of those so physically close.

  While she knew they owed Gwen something, a neighborly concern, Hannah had hardened herself with the belief that she had done as much as, if not more than, was owed to someone who had neglected to prepare. Now was not the time to be breaking their quarantine—not when Zac’s graph promised that they had nearly reached the other side.

  Ella stood her ground, feet firmly planted, certainty on her face. “But it’s not inside play now. We don’t have inside play till after lunch.”

  “What about we have inside playtime and then lunch?”

  The determined frown on Ella’s face started to shift to a pout of distress, her eyes reflecting
a growing bewilderment. “But music time is before lunch.”

  “Ella, we’re playing cards now. Music time will have to be later. Be a big girl.”

  “Mum, I’m just going to look out the front.”

  “Stay here, Zac. You’re not helping.”

  “Why don’t I stay here and play cards?” Sean rubbed her shoulder. “I think Zac needs to see out the front.”

  “What’s out the front?” Oscar asked.

  “Nothing for little kids,” Zac snapped at him.

  “Mum, Zac’s being mean.”

  “Stay here and play cards with Dad.” She gave Sean a grateful smile. “We won’t be long.”

  Zac paced down the hall with determination, Hannah in his wake. Almost at the front door, they heard voices from the street. Zac faltered.

  “Monkey, we can go back and play cards.”

  “Wouldn’t I be a coward if I let Gwen be taken away but I wouldn’t watch?”

  “You don’t have to be brave.”

  Zac oscillated from front foot to back foot. Hannah led him to the bedroom window. When they stood at the far end, they could see the front third of a bus parked outside Gwen’s. A figure in a hazmat suit, mask, and gloves walked into their line of sight. Gwen came into view, led by her hand like a child. She dropped the space-suited figure’s hand and looked around, bewildered. Her gray hair was unkempt, her skin loose and sallow.

  “She doesn’t look well, Monkey.”

  Zac half shook his head.

  Gwen tottered a few uncertain steps as if unsure where she was. Across the road, the blinds in Mr. Henderson’s front window twitched, and she wondered, yet again, how far the circle of neighborly obligation extended. Faces peered out of the dusty windows of the bus, but the only impression Hannah could form was of blank looks of resignation. Gwen pointed back at her house and said something. She stood, as if waiting for instructions or permission. The space suit took her hand again, stroking the back of it, and gently pulled her forward. Gwen climbed the bus stairs with effort. The doors closed with a hiss of air, and the bus rumbled off. Hannah saw a child’s face looking from the back window.

  Zac was gray and shocked. He pulled his face into an expression of resolve. “We should go play cards.”

  “Do you want to talk about this?”

  “Let’s go play cards.”

  Sean’s voice was loud and exaggeratedly cheerful. “Two more punters to deal in.” Zac took a seat, subdued and distracted. “The game is go fish, Ella’s house rules.”

  Hannah gathered up all the cards and gave them a quick shuffle. She dealt around the circle starting with Ella. The gentle swish of the cards sliding along each other was obliterated by a noise that assaulted her ears. She leaped and fell sideways out of her chair, scared into incomprehension. The screamingly loud, familiar, unexpected, insistent sound of the phone ringing.

  With as much composure as she could summon, she picked up the handset and said, “Hello?” A phone call. The phone lines were back, on the cordless phone, which meant the power was back. The Internet was back. The computers. The fridge, if they had anything to put in it. The lights—no more shadows to skirt around at night. The outside world was back, talking to her down a long thin strand of copper. “I’m sorry, could you say that again?”

  “Is this Hannah Halloran?”

  The first contact from the outside world turned out to be a cold call. “Who’s this?”

  “My brother’s name is Stuart. He’s married to a Natalie.” The man on the end sounded as surprised to be talking to someone as she was. “Are you their neighbor?”

  All that she could bring to mind were the stock phrases of loss from American television series. While she was still trying to think of a good way to say it, it was coming out of her mouth—“Stuart’s dead.”

  Sean leaped up, casting cards all over the floor. He pushed his chair back, making as much noise as he could. The kids were staring at him, not her. Thank Christ they hadn’t heard. “Come on, kids, let’s see if the TV is back.”

  Oscar looked disapproving. “But what about music time?”

  “They have music on TV, Oz. We’re going now, come on.” He shooed the two little ones to the door. Zac lagged after them, but Hannah waved him away.

  “Are you still there? That was a terrible way to hear it. I’m sorry.”

  “I knew.” The man’s voice was firmer, steelier in a way that made Hannah feel less appalled by what she had said. “You have my niece, Ella.”

  Have, as if she were an object they’d borrowed from next door.

  “One of Natalie’s colleagues rang me. They listened to her voicemail after she died. Did you know she died? They bothered to track me down and pass on Stuart’s message. That he’d left their little girl with the neighbors. Didn’t you think that someone might be looking for her?”

  “I tried calling Natalie and no one knew where she was. And our phones and power have been out. If you knew Ella was here, why didn’t you come and get her?”

  “I’m over the bridge. You can’t seriously think I’d cross quarantine lines. When the danger has passed, I’ll come and get Ella.”

  “So you’re happy for her to eat my food and you’re happy to leave her in danger.” She’d let Daniel go, she wasn’t handing Ella over to a complete stranger. Even one who said he was Stuart’s brother. Especially one who was behaving like a jerk. “I don’t know who you are. How do I know you’re her uncle? I never heard Stuart talk about a brother.”

  “Go and ask Ella if she has an Uncle Steve.”

  “You could have got that from the net.”

  “I’m her uncle. Who are you to her?”

  “I’m the person her father left her with. I’m the one who’s here.” How dare he suggest that Ella was at risk with them, how dare he leave her there if she was. “I intend to keep looking after her until this is over. She’s alive and she’s well and she’s happy. There are five people here and we’re going to be fine. So you can convince me of who you are when this is done. Until then, I’m going to keep on doing what I’m doing now.” She was breathing fast and felt light-headed from the oxygen. “I’m sorry about Natalie. She was a nice person. I liked her. And Stuart, too.”

  She hung up on a jerk who may or may not have lost a brother. Even jerks deserve to have their grief respected, and it wasn’t his fault that he took her by surprise. She wanted to cry. Either he was a crappy human being or she was. Or both. But they couldn’t both be nice. At least one of them was wanting.

  The kids moved feverishly from television to Internet and back again. It was as if their brains, having been weaned off electronic information, couldn’t take it in. On the morning of the third day, Hannah came across Oscar in the middle of the living room, spinning on the spot, sound system playing, TV on. Ella looked on vacantly bemused.

  She shooed them out to the backyard and watched them play, leaning against one of the wooden posts that held up the patio roof. The winter sun soaked into her jeans, but the breeze blew through her shirt. A flush rouged Ella’s and Oscar’s cheeks, from exertion and the cold.

  Sean ambled from the house. The smell of coffee that preceded him started a chemical chain reaction of craving. He nuzzled a kiss into her cheek, held the mugs right under her nose.

  “I put the kettle on. Aren’t I clever?” He handed her one. “It’s an amazing bit of technology. You put some water in and flick a switch. It turns itself off when it’s hot. No matches and you can walk away with no fear of the house burning down. I like this electrickery.”

  She put her arm around him and pulled him close for warmth. As they drank their coffee leaning against each other, they watched the kids running back and forth with aimless energy. The warmth of the coffee spread through her, a tiny satisfaction with herself and the world for getting them to this moment.

  “They’re going to run out of puff soon,” Sean said softly.

  “Well, off you go—organize them into a game.”

  “I made
the coffee. Anyway, I’m an old bloke, don’t want to do the knees in.”

  “Zac’s surgically attached to his computer, but we could get him out here. They like it when Zac plays with them.”

  “He wasn’t able to interface with the electrons for weeks. That had to be traumatic for him.” Sean gave her a squeeze around her waist. “He’s talking to his friends, in the strange digital way they communicate. He’s reexperiencing the world.”

  Hannah sighed. It was a good sign, something like a return to normality. She was surprised that, unlike Zac, she felt no compulsion to get back to the Internet. Beyond confirming what Zac had discovered, that Manba was declining, there was nothing more she wanted to know. If they just hung on, they were going to get to the other side soon, soon.

  Ella flopped onto the grass, arms outspread, head turned to one side. Oscar jogged around her in slow contracting circles. A blast of cold air caught Hannah in the back, sending a chill through her. The windbreak of Sean’s arm had gone, and she saw his eyes roam around the small yard.

  “Come on, kids. We’re going to look at the world.”

  “They’ve been on the computer constantly for two days. Oscar’s eyes are square. I think his brain will explode if he gets any more input.”

  “No, we’re going to look at the world.”

  Sean led the three of them through the house and she followed with a frisson of excitement, as if they were on a dare. The closer they got to the front door, the more she felt the bubble of novelty turn to cold apprehension. It froze her halfway down the hall.

  “What are we doing?” she called from the back of their small gaggle.

  “We’re going to stand on the porch and look at the world.”

  “That’s out the door, Dad!”

  “Yes, Dad. I’d like to have a word with you about this.”

  Sean reached across the top of the small heads and pulled her by the hand. “It’s a bit of excitement. How unlucky would we have to be, to stand on our own porch and get a bug that’s dying out?” The thought of stepping outside, of being able to step outside, was irresistible, no matter how irresponsible. Soon it would be over and they wouldn’t think twice. Why wait, why not now? Just to the porch.