After the Lights Go Out

by Lili Wilkinson

  Keller shrugs. ‘I’m only trying to do what your dad would have wanted.’

  Mateo is right. Keller is an arsehole. He’s unctuous and smarmy and I hate him and his good-guy face and floppy blond hair. He’s not trying to do what Dad would have wanted. Dad hated Keller. He saw him for exactly the slimeball he is. Keller wants to get into Blythe’s pants, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure he doesn’t.

  ‘Why are you even here?’ I burst out.

  Keller looks taken aback. ‘I told you,’ he says. ‘I’m trying to help you protect the—’

  ‘No. I mean here at all, in Jubilee. Why did you stay here after school? Why not go to uni or get a job in the city? Why would you actually choose to stay here?’

  Keller shrugs. ‘I like it here. Someone had to take over the post office when Jenny retired. And Dad was here. He was the only family I had, so it didn’t make sense to go anywhere else.’

  I glance over at him. I can’t tell if he’s being genuine, or whether it’s all part of his charm offensive.

  ‘Also…’ Keller presses his lips together, as if he’s about to make a big confession. ‘I had this plan, before everything happened. I wanted to be a nature photographer. I took this online photography course. I was saving up for a fancy camera. This, out here—’ He gestures at the desert, the sunset, the twisted trunks of bloodwood and coolabah. ‘It’s beautiful. I wanted to capture it.’

  For a moment, I believe him. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve been wrong all along. I wonder if Keller is just a handsome, nice guy who likes my sister in a genuine, respectful way.

  But then I remember how he looks at her. How he touches her hair. How he infantilises her, calls her baby girl. I remember his smug expression when he told Mateo he had a standing invite at our place. I remember how effortlessly he weaselled his way into our home.

  ‘Nice try,’ I tell him. ‘I see right through you.’

  There’s a split second where the good-guy expression on his face slips, and I see Keller for what he really is: sneering, spiteful, manipulative. He’ll do anything to get ahead and, for now, Blythe and our supplies in the Paddock are the easiest way to achieve that.

  I glance around the empty space of the desert, longing for a death adder or perhaps a spectacularly large bird of prey to swoop down and carry Keller away from Jubilee, away from my sister, away from me.

  I turn my back on Keller and stomp off, and he follows me. We don’t speak.

  When we finally reach the Paddock, the twins are fighting. Grace is in the kitchen, banging pots and pans around as she prepares dinner. Blythe is lying on the couch with her feet up in unicorn slippers, a packet of gummy worms open on her chest.

  ‘I’ll do it, I’ll do it!’ Blythe groans. ‘Give me a break, okay?’

  ‘It’s not like I’m asking a lot,’ Grace snaps in reply. ‘I’m not asking you to do your own laundry, or help out with the cooking or the dishes or anything unreasonable like that. I just want you to tidy up our room. Our room, remember? The room that we share.’

  Panda slinks up and licks my hand, a subdued version of her usual joyous greeting.

  ‘I get it,’ Blythe yells. ‘You’re a martyr. You do everything around here and I contribute nothing. I’m a terrible person. Now leave me alone.’

  Grace’s cheeks are flushed pink. They never fight. Never.

  ‘The floor is covered in rubbish,’ she says. ‘I can’t actually get to my bed without stepping on your dirty clothes and books and junk food wrappers.’

  Blythe tips her head back and makes a frustrated noise. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I hear you. I’m going to tidy it up.’

  But Grace is on a roll now, and she doesn’t stop. ‘You know you’ll run out of junk food soon, right? The way you’re going, Dad’s stash, which was supposed to last us for several years, will be gone in a month. And then what will you do? How will you fuel your sugar addiction then? Can’t you have the teensiest bit of self-control?’

  Blythe hurls the packet of gummy worms against the wall and sits up. ‘Why?’ she yells. ‘Why bother having self-control? Why shouldn’t I binge on junk food if it brings a tiny degree of happiness into this miserable existence? What the fuck else am I supposed to do?’

  Grace’s lips form a thin white line. ‘Just remember that you’re not the only one who lives here.’

  Blythe gets to her feet and slams her palm against the steel skin of the Paddock. ‘How can I forget?’ Her voice ricochets off the walls. ‘You’re always there. It’s not as if I ever have a moment to myself.’

  ‘It’s not exactly a big living space,’ Grace says. ‘Where would you like me to go?’

  Blythe notices me and Keller standing in the doorway. She stares at us for a moment, her expression wild. She looks ridiculous in her fluffy unicorn slippers.

  ‘I think we’re all a bit tired,’ I say, trying to make peace. ‘It’s hard, living on top of each other like this. We need to be extra respectful of each other’s space.’

  Blythe’s brows draw together, and her expression darkens. ‘Don’t you dare try to tell me what to do,’ she says, her voice low. ‘You’re not Dad. You don’t get to spend all day making out with your new boyfriend in town and then come back here and act like you’re the boss of everyone.’

  She turns back to Grace. ‘I get that you’re jealous. But can’t you leave me alone sometimes? It’s creepy, how you’re always there. Always watching silently from a corner, like a stalker. Get your own life.’

  She kicks off the unicorn slippers and pulls on a pair of sneakers lying by the entrance. Then she grabs Keller’s hand and drags him out of the Paddock, up the steps and outside.

  Grace steps into the living room and sinks onto the couch, putting her head between her hands. Her left hand has a bandage wrapped around it.

  I sit down beside her, unsure of what to say. I think about the fight between Jan and Barri, and Keith, and the message from Indonesia. I think about how, right at this moment, Keller Reid probably has his gross clean hands all over Blythe.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ says Grace, then sighs. ‘Yes. I will be. I lost my temper.’

  ‘You guys never fight.’

  ‘Extraordinary circumstances.’

  But that’s not it. They’re not fighting because of the bunker or the EMP, or because Dad is gone.

  ‘Keller bloody Reid,’ I say. ‘I can’t believe Blythe has let him get between you two.’

  Grace shakes her head. ‘That’s not it. Keller’s okay.’

  I stare at her. ‘Are you serious? Two weeks ago we were plotting to murder him and dispose of the body.’

  ‘A lot of things were different two weeks ago. Keller’s all alone, living in a post office. He’s lost his dad too. And at least we have each other. He has nobody. I feel sorry for him.’

  I feel a twinge of guilt. But then I remember how close I came to being fooled by Keller’s charm. Grace isn’t as shrewd as I am.

  ‘I hope she’s being careful,’ I mutter darkly.

  Grace doesn’t respond to this. ‘I made pasta,’ she says instead. She reaches down to grab the packet of gummy worms, twisting so she can use her right hand.

  ‘How’s the cut?’ I ask, nodding at the bandage on her other hand.

  Grace shrugs and smiles. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  Grace unwraps the bandage. As soon as I see her hand, I know it’s infected. Her hand is red, the skin shiny. The scratch looks angry, swollen and leaking pus.

  ‘Grace,’ I scold. ‘You should have said something. You know how dangerous an infection can be.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she says, staring at her hand, her brow creased in a frown. ‘I didn’t want to make a fuss.’

  I head over to the medicine cabinet and pull out the little booklet that Dad made to explain which drugs we should use for which ailments. There are two antibiotics listed under Infected wounds, one oral and one intravenous. Grace doesn’t like n
eedles, so I grab the oral box, popping out a tablet and handing it to Grace with a bottle of water. She swallows diligently, and goes back to reading the old magazine.

  Blythe and Keller reappear about an hour later. Blythe’s hair is messy and has twigs tangled in it. I feel the ball of rage harden in my chest.

  ‘Hey,’ says Blythe, grabbing Grace by the arm. ‘Sorry I was a dick. I think I’m getting my period. You know how that makes me cranky.’

  Grace ducks her head in a nod.

  ‘I love you, you outrageous weirdo,’ Blythe says, and pulls Grace in for a hug.

  I smile at them. Sometimes Blythe’s total lack of filter can be a good thing.

  I’m woken later that night by a weird noise coming from Dad’s room.

  After an initial spike of adrenaline, I realise it must be Panda. Somehow she got into Dad’s room, and the door closed behind her and she’s stuck in there.

  I head back down the hall, opening the door to Dad’s room, and freeze. It isn’t Panda. Dimly, I see entangled naked limbs, a broad masculine back, grasping fingers. I hear little gasps and moans, in a building rhythm. I shut the door again and back away.

  Blythe and Keller are sleeping together.

  I’m going to kill him.

  But I don’t. I back out of the room and silently close the door. I’ll talk to Blythe tomorrow.

  10

  The road to Jubilee is littered with dead birds.

  They have white bellies and mottled grey and brown wings. Their black beaks are long, curved hooks. Their legs are long too, and yellow in colour.

  I don’t recognise them, but they look like seabirds, thousands of miles from the ocean. I remember the empty beehives. Were these migratory birds who lost their way due to the solar storm? Kept flying in the hope of reaching their destination, until they fell out of the sky from exhaustion?

  I look up at the sky, half-expecting more birds to rain down on me, but it is clear and punishingly blue. No rain again today. It’s going to be a scorcher. I snuck out of the house early, before the others were up. I’m not ready to see Keller’s smug face. I’m not ready to have the conversation with Blythe that I know I have to have.

  I cycle carefully, swerving to avoid the little feathered bodies. There are hundreds of them – maybe thousands.

  When I arrive in Jubilee, my feeling of unease deepens. Something has happened.

  Georgie, Violet and Peter are standing outside the Heart, talking quietly. The feeling of suspicion and mistrust from yesterday has gone, replaced by something heavier.

  I climb off my bike and approach them. ‘Is everything okay?’ I say.

  ‘Emma Zubek’s been missing since yesterday afternoon,’ Violet says.

  I have a sudden flash of memory of seeing Emma from the top of Snob’s Knob, her black hair streaming behind her.

  ‘She and Paddy were playing hide-and-seek,’ Georgie tells me. ‘Laurine got worried when Emma didn’t come home for dinner and came to my place.’

  The raised voices I’d heard as Keller and I were leaving Jubilee last night.

  ‘We took torches and went looking,’ says Violet. ‘We’re going out again today. Better hope we find her before it gets too hot.’

  ‘Laurine is distraught,’ says Peter. ‘We’re postponing the memorial service until Emma is found.’

  I glance over at the front of Jan Marshall’s shop. Peter sees me look.

  ‘No one’s seen Jan,’ he says. ‘I’m worried. Everyone is hungry and tired and…’ He sighs. ‘With each day it gets harder to hold on to hope that things will change.’

  Georgie cradles her belly with her hands. I can see the fear in her eyes.

  ‘I reckon the memorial will be good,’ Violet says. ‘Remind us we’re a community. That we have to work together, not sit on our arses and wait for stuff to happen.’

  ‘I hope so,’ says Peter.

  I realise he hasn’t once quoted Shakespeare during this conversation. Things must be really serious.

  ‘Let me help,’ I say.

  I could have helped last night, if I’d stayed when I heard the shouts. I could have found her. I have tracking skills.

  ‘I saw her yesterday hiding behind a shed,’ I tell them.

  Peter follows me to the spot where I saw Emma, but she isn’t there. I tell him about how I saw her from Snob’s Knob, and he suggests we head up there in case we can spot her from above.

  It feels like it’s already in the high thirties, and the temperature is only going to get worse. I hope that wherever Emma is, she’s out of the sun.

  ‘Are you girls still alright out there on your own?’ asks Peter Wu.

  I nod. ‘We’re fine.’

  ‘What about young Mr Reid? I’ve noticed he’s been spending a lot of time up your way.’

  I scowl. ‘He and Blythe have a thing.’

  ‘You don’t like him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  I look over at Peter, startled. I thought ministers were supposed to like everyone?

  ‘He is full of ambition,’ Peter declares, adopting his booming Shakespeare voice. ‘An envious emulator of every man’s good parts, a secret and villainous contriver.’

  There really is a Shakespeare quote for every situation. I nod furiously. ‘Yes! That’s exactly what he is!’

  ‘I don’t actually believe he is a villainous contriver,’ Peter says in his normal voice. ‘But he doesn’t strike me as genuine. If he’s hanging around you girls, then be sure there’s something he thinks he can get out of it. And you’re three teenage girls – it’s not like you’re sitting on a giant underground hoard of buried treasure.’

  I splutter a little.

  ‘No,’ Peter continues. ‘He’s after something far more precious. He’s after Blythe.’

  I wrinkle my nose a little at the word precious, thinking of Mateo’s rant about virginity. The gross, twisting feeling in my guts that knows that, after what I saw last night, the precious virginity ship has well and truly sailed.

  ‘I know,’ I tell Peter. ‘I’m keeping an eye on the situation.’

  But I’m not. I’ve failed. Blythe could already be pregnant, and then where would we be?

  We reach the top of Snob’s Knob. The metal rod from Mateo’s radio is still hammered into the ground. Peter pulls off his hat and mops his streaming brow with his shirt sleeve. I can hear the hum of insects in the air, and a faint gurgle from the creek that runs along the gully on the other side of the bluff. Peter and I holler out Emma’s name and keep our eyes trained on the ground below us.

  Worst-case scenarios are piling up in my mind, and I try to push them away.

  There’s a faint shout from far below, and I see David Bratton and Clarita racing down Main Street towards Keith, who’s standing next to a dusty black car. He’s holding something in his arms, something floppy-limbed and unmoving.

  Peter and I race down the hill, skidding and slipping on loose stones. We pelt through town until we reach the clinic.

  Through the window I can see Clarita, bent over a little body which has been laid out on the reception desk. David and Simmone Bratton are kneeling beside Laurine Zubek, who is crouched on the floor with her hands clapped over her ears.

  Peter lets himself in and kneels next to Laurine, taking her hand and speaking softly. I see Laurine’s shoulders shake.

  Mateo appears from the storeroom, holding a bottle of pills and a glass of water. He gives them to Simmone, who shakes out a pill and gives it to Laurine. Mateo looks up and, noticing me, slips outside.

  We embrace, and I breathe deeply. We’re both sweaty and grimy, but the scent of him calms me a little.

  ‘She was in a car,’ he tells me quietly. ‘They think she went in there to hide, but somehow locked herself in and couldn’t get out.’

  I feel a wave of immeasurable sadness. It must be nearly forty degrees in the sun. A child can die of hyperthermia in only fifteen minutes.

  ‘I should have stayed,�
�� I murmur. ‘I could have found her.’

  Mateo and I sit down on the step outside the clinic and wait. Eventually, the door behind us opens and Clarita steps out. One look at her expression tells me all I need to know.

  ‘Have you eaten today?’ Mateo asks her.

  Clarita shakes her head, and Mateo gives her a quick hug before jogging off to the hotel. Clarita takes his place on the step.

  ‘I tried to resuscitate her,’ she says softly. ‘Even though I knew it was too late. She was…there are ways you can tell. The colour of the skin…Even if I could get her heart started again, her brain…’ She shakes her head. ‘But I wanted her mother to see me try. I wanted her to know I’d done everything I could.’

  I rub her back, trying to think of something helpful to say.

  ‘She was so small,’ says Clarita. ‘I felt like I was going to crush her with my hands.’

  ‘There was nothing else you could have done,’ I say, and it sounds like the most useless thing in the world.

  Clarita looks up at me, and her cheeks are wet with tears. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ she whispers. ‘I’m not a doctor. I’m not a midwife. I can’t do surgery or anaesthesia. Or dentistry. What if someone needs a root canal?’

  I can do a root canal. Dad taught me how using a pig’s head. It was one of the worst afternoons of my life.

  ‘You’re doing such an amazing job,’ I say.

  ‘I couldn’t save that child.’

  ‘Nobody could have. Not the most well-equipped hospital with the finest doctors and surgeons in the world.’

  ‘Another family left this morning,’ Clarita tells me. ‘Kim and Sarah Ng and their daughter. They found a car in someone’s garage.’

  I try to count in my head how many people are left in Jubilee. There are definitely fewer than twenty.

  ‘I think about leaving too,’ says Clarita. ‘I think about taking that pickup truck and grabbing Mateo and driving to Melbourne, where Josefina is. I want to find her and go home.’

  I don’t want her to go. If Clarita goes, I’m the person in Jubilee with the most medical knowledge. If Clarita goes, I can’t hide from what I’m doing anymore. If Clarita goes and we continue to keep the Paddock a secret, then we have to face the fact that we are comfortable with letting our neighbours die.