by Matt Pike
The only way forward for now is to keep working on the connection we have, slowly build up trust and eke out whatever information we can. As to what that all leads to, who knows. But there’s something there, that’s for sure. Even curiosity alone will keep me obsessing.
So, another bunch of ideas were put forward for my next communication. I hope that works out better though. This morning the ideas were all pretty much null and voided by what Kent had sent.
I had a request for more wine on my next outing. Not just wine, there’s a list of alcohol requests. We’ve totally run out now. Booze wasn’t really a priority when we bugged-out from the city. It definitely seems to be now. It’s also kind of irritating to know Norwood are feasting on what we had stockpiled at the oval before they sleep in our beds.
I don’t partake that often, but I’m certainly not going to judge those who do. We don’t have much in this world, so if ending the day with a few cheeky drinks - as Shane used to call them - is what it takes to get through whatever everyone is going through to stay in the game, well, so be it.
Oh, and some white wine is in the order. To pair with the fish, of course.
Speaking of fish. Not even a handful of days and we’re looking at ways we can cook it to mix up the flavour. That’s a depressing infinity you don’t really want to think too much about - three fish meals a day… for the term of your natural life.
I’m going to add a sneaky run for condiments to my to-do list for tomorrow. That will open up the flavour possibilities enough to keep me more sane than any amount of alcoholic beverages will. So, it’s a bit of a mercy mission for some little comforts that will hopefully make a big morale difference.
*
I keep oscillating between seeing the hope and future home in this place and feeling drawn to the city. I think I’m going to keep humouring both sides, keep working on things at both ends and not get my hopes caught up too much one way or the other, to avoid future disappointment.
That previous paragraph was a bunch of bullshit. Wanting to be back in the city burns in me so hard. I obsess over it whenever I have a spare moment to think. I want some goddamned justice and to right a serious wrong in this world of ours. If that means finishing off the job I started on the Fat Man, well, that’s just a bonus.
So, that’s more how I actually feel, but I keep telling myself and everyone who ever asks, the first option. I think that’s another thing for my sanity’s sake. The oval seems an impossible dream right now. If I spend all my time thinking about it, it’s probably only setting me up for a future of disappointment. This place is good - well, it could be one day. And it’s here, now and real.
That’s better. The above three paragraphs probably more realistically represent what goes through my head on the matter. It almost as exhausting as the work during the day. Anyway, I’m tired. Time for bed.
*
March 5, 2015
It’s Jessie’s 13th birthday today.
He’s crashed. I think everything that’s happened hit him as the earth passed its same relative position to the sun as when he was born. It took me 10 minutes of unanswered questions for him to even tell me in the first place. Man, it’s heartache to see him go through this. It’s like he’s right back next to the bodies of his dad and brother, wanting the world to swallow him. I don’t know what to do, or say. Everything I’ve tried so far isn’t getting though.
I mean, I get it. I totally get it. It’s all still so fresh, and big moments like birthdays are when it hits hardest. It’s a double whammy for a kid who’s also dealing with the same belonging issues as the rest of us around home and future. The only thing I got any reaction from after finding out it was his birthday this morning was when I asked him if he was coming with me on the drinks run. He gave me a nod.
That’s a good thing, I figure. Sometimes all you can do is stay in whatever routine you can find to get through shit. Hell, we’re masters at it, really. The amount of shit we’ve all had to deal with since rock night, well, we’re in the major leagues when it comes to dealing with pain. And, in most cases, we’re doing it without family, social connections, psychiatrists, drugs and the other 1000 things I could name that would help someone pre-rock.
Thirteen. I can’t imagine dealing with all that at 13. I mean, I’m no old man river, but...13! I’m going to think of something fun to do with him while we’re out there today. No idea what, just something. a sanity saver. I mean, we’re going on a booze run for those so inclined and I’m getting my condiments… I wonder what Jessie wants. That might help, or at least make a minor distraction for him in a day that is just going to be hard, hard yards.
So, in some crazy way, it’s all on theme with my day. Bring a bit of home to this world. I’m not really expecting much conversation along the way, but I’m OK with that. I like Jessie and what he brings to my life. Sure, I have Alyce as my main connection to this world, but this community - and my connection to it - relies on far more than that. I get a bit of something from everyone, but Jessie, and what he’s been through, just speaks to me.
He’s me, in a way. Only a few years younger. But all the things he’s going through right now, that was me in the days after rock night. I lost my parents and had my last contact with a brother I’ll most likely never see again… if he’s even still alive in whatever’s become of London. Anyway, not saying I see him like a brother yet, exactly. I’m just saying there’s a vacancy open and only one real applicant who has the resume to fill the role.
He’s the youngest survivor here, which makes him a bloody good one, whichever way you look at it.
*
After some breakfast - fish, in case I forget when I read this back - we headed off. Ye-jun and Steph wingmanned us up the river. They weren’t coming for the swiping, just to join us to see what the latest word from Kent was. They were then going to split off and grab some more concrete from the hardware store, plus a few other supplies that had been requested for the shelter construction.
Oh, I forgot to mention, I did think of one thing to give Jessie. Since I knew he wasn’t going to offer much conversation along the way, I dug out the copy of my first diary. I figured the parallel with what I went through back then and what he was going through now might help. Well, not help as such, but to read about someone he knows going through a similar experience might, I don’t know, resonate.
Anyway, I told him it was my experiences from the early days of the rock and what I went through and lost, and would he be interested in reading it. Well, I got a nod AND eye contact. I figure that was a pretty resounding yes.
He spent the entire trip up with his nose buried in the pages, so I’m figuring it’s doing something helpful. It was kind of nice for me, too. Those words gave new life to people I love and in some silly way, another person reading them spreads the word of their existence. In some small way, it brings them back to life.
I guess you cling to what you can.
*
The coast was clear again as we hit the waystation and set out on foot. We reached the jail about the same time as yesterday, following the usual caution protocols until we were in the mailroom, as we now call it.
There was a delivery.
Your question on T makes us mourn Trent. There are many questions from here too. It is not comms for the postal service. More meaningful interaction to come. The world continues to turn since you left. The game is alive. Who lives (initials)?
The first thoughts were for Trent. There was a moment of silent reflection for a loss we were already prepared for. Someone swore, I can’t remember who.
Then thoughts turned to all the other information.
Mind. Blown.
This was a whole other level to the last two big statements. Something was happening at the oval, there’s no doubt. Oh my god! We were dying from intrigue as to what the hell was going on. Man, the last two days were theorising foreplay in comparison to this. This was theorising at levels that needed an explicit warning at the very least. A
ll that and we did not know one detail more than we did yesterday. I am dying just thinking about it. What is up? Seriously. And the only thing he asked us was who survived. Sure, it would even up the information we already know about them, but it almost seemed like it was asked in context to everything else. Did they want to know our numbers for strategic reasons? It sure came across that way to the four of us.
Then everything changed again when Steph said, “Are we 100 percent sure this is Kent?”
Mind. More. Blown.
A sickening feeling washed over me. In part because she was right - we had no proof. This could totally be a set-up. And in equal part because it had not occurred to me this was a possibility before I dived in. I was a leader. I should be better than that. I bet the look on my face as the moment of dumbass realisation hit me was classic. Zero poker face. Felt like a fool.
Still, it’s neither true nor not. Just something we have to factor in to how we handle these communications. It sure does change the tone of things, though. I mean, if this was intrigue porn before, it’s gone to some seriously weird places now.
This is Norwood. They are capable of anything, and if a little bit of subterfuge gives them more intel than an army of scouts, well, that’s a small cost for them.
Side note: I feel dirty now. Just the possibility of being used makes it feel like something needs to be washed off me. Not even a dip in the cold sea shallows would wash it away. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This one will stay with me.
Anyway, after all that, we still had to respond to the message. So, now we’re talking to Kent or the hubber masquerading as Kent. And this person has only asked for one thing and that’s the initials of the survivors. Well, we obviously couldn’t do that now.
Indeed with Trent as the others. Your situation sounds complicated and intriguing. We respect the limits of the postal service and suggest a more direct method of communication is due. No limitations here, so time and place on your terms. Looking forward to it.
I think it rode the line of staying in the moment but not divulging anything we may regret later.
With that, we headed back to the waystation, with way too many thoughts running through our heads. At least I had someone else to share them with. It was a bit of a one-sided conversation, mind you. But discussing ideas with Jessie’s silence was still helpful. Once we were back in our convoy, I was left with my thoughts and Jessie’s haunting silence.
Ye-jun and Steph followed us along the route until we turned south on Goodwood Rd and they headed on to return to the hardware store. There was a little path becoming apparent on the route. Enough to guide my direction, that’s for sure.
We soon reached the remains of the Goodwood Hotel. While the tsunami waters had given it a seeing to, it was roughly standing in one piece. The driveway and structure around the drive-through bottle shop, not so much. It was a bit of a mangled mess. It meant there was a bit of a dig ahead of us. I was really hoping for a non-shovel-task kind of day.
By the time the sweat patch had soaked my t-shirt from my collar down to the waist, we’d made an access point to the goods. It was carnage inside. The general debris nearly rose a metre from the floor, kind of ramping down from the door. There were the remains of a body on the ramp. You could see the top of its neck and skull poking out above. Its arm, also free above the surface, pointed down towards the store below. It was a little humorous to my eyes. Looked like a bodyboarder catching the last tsunami junk wave to booze town. I swear you could make out a smile on its face. At least, that’s what I said to Jessie - it even got the best part of a laugh.
That was enough to feel pretty good.
Not so much for the body boarder, of course.
It was no surprise there were broken bottles everywhere. That or shelves completely devoid of stock. It didn’t really matter; there was enough still in immediate eyeshot and not broken that we knew we wouldn’t go home empty handed. There was an upstairs section to the place as well, which had survived better than downstairs.
We loaded up at that point. We filled the orders we had and got anything else we thought looked interesting. Just to make sure our stocks were sure, we padded things out with cask wine - or goon bags as Jonesy calls them. Not only did they pad the stock numbers, they literally padded them for the ride home. We pulled them from their casing and used them to cushion the bottles as best we could. Everything was sorted by that point, except the gin. There was no sign of it anywhere. We couldn’t go back to the beach loaded with goon bags but no gin for the guy missing a leg.
I don’t know too much about alcohol, but I just don’t get gin. Something about that taste makes me shiver. I’m not 100 percent sure what bad aftershave tastes like, but I’m willing to bet it’s pretty close. I hope Jonesy appreciates our effort.
We knew the gin bottles would probably all be stacked together somewhere and ended up digging through the piled-up ash near the front. After way too much digging and some false alarms with some vodka bottles, we eventually struck gold. Well, for Jonesy and for the end of the mission, but gold in this case was 750ml of bad aftershave.
We left with enough supply to keep the entire current Adelaide population drunk for a year, and there was enough left behind to make another three or so trips worthwhile. We could probably even consider some of the harder stuff for an alternative fuel source, once the last of the actual petrol supplies turns bad.
Next stop was the shopping centre at Goodwood. It was across the road from Crossroad Bowl, the place we cleaned out of bowling balls for trebuchet ammo. That was the trip where I had a close encounter of the third kind. Or double third kind, given we thought they looked like ETs and we were pretty sure us rolling in on our hovercraft and swiping what they probably thought was the most ridiculous thing anyone could want in an apocalypse made us look alien, too.
It was enough to have me very cautious as we approached. I didn’t know if I wanted to avoid them or see them again, actually. Either way, I knew we were in territory where caution was the way to go. I mean, it’s one thing to go into someone’s turf and steal bowling balls, it’s another altogether to go messing with their food stocks. I had my crossbow at the ready. I also had a couple of pistols with me. I handed one to Jessie and said, “Don’t ever use this, unless you absolutely have to, then use it a lot.”
I’ve seen him handle a gun before, so I felt confident he could fire the thing if required.
But there was something on the agenda before we took the risk on food at Woolies. I pulled up outside the Big W. I parked as close as I could to the entrance, then we got out and I walked him to the broken exterior doors. I had eyes everywhere, but the coast seemed clear. Not that that is proof of no enemies, given they would’ve heard us well before we arrived, but with the darkness inside, and no noise or movement, I was pretty happy any potential threat wasn’t lurking in a department store.
Then I looked at Jessie and said, “Happy birthday!”
He stared at me with a rather blank expression.
I handed him a torch. “I give you a shopping spree. Grab whatever you want, it’s yours.”
I swear I saw the slightest of smiles turn the corner of his mouth.
“You’ve got 15 minutes,” I said, before pushing him towards the door.
I watched his silhouette cast by the torchlight grow smaller in the distance, before disappearing around the corner. Then I moved my focus back to Phoenix. I headed outside to stay by the beast and wait.
I didn’t have to wait long, unfortunately.
I caught sight of movement at the southern end of the car park. I could make out three of the aliens. The had the same outfits on as before. Those green bandanas - definitely tribal.
They could see me looking at them and vice versa. After a short stare-off, they whispered something amongst themselves, before the smallest of the three headed back out of sight, presumably to get others. Things had gone from zero to tense very quickly.
I kept the crossbow at my side, and made no move for
the gun. I knew they'd definitely be able to see the crossbow and I figured by not showing any superior weapon back, they probably didn't have one.
I was racing through the options in my mind, knowing this moment had a number of potential outcomes. I knew I wanted to act before the short alien returned with others. I also knew I needed to place myself between the aliens and where Jessie would walk out of the Big W, whenever that was.
"Think, think, think," I remember whispering to myself, while my mind ticked.
My best bet was to take any heat out of the situation before I was dealing with more aliens. I leaned into one of the compartments of Phoenix, where I knew there was a white rag for dusting ash off the console. I grabbed it without breaking eye contact with the aliens, then took a couple of steps back and grabbed a random bottle of booze.
I held the rag aloft. Its white days were over; it was now just the same colour filth as everything else around here, but the signal was the same - I meant no threat. I slowly made my way forward, one hand above my head waving the flag, the other also above my head holding the bottle. I closed enough ground to put the entry and Phoenix well behind me. They seemed wary but amiable with my moves, so I continued forward.
When I got to within about 30m of them, I spoke. "We come in peace."
Seriously, I said that. Not a word of a lie, that's the first sentence I said in this encounter of aliens.
After they consulted with each other, a woman's voice said. "Put down the weapon."
I complied, knowing I had back-up.
I didn't move forward after that, happy to stay in proximity to the bow and able to talk to them without yelling. I searched for the most disarming way to talk about who we were and why we were here. "We have come a long way. We just need a few things. If this is your turf, we can trade. We have..."
