Arcadium

by Sarah Gray

  Chapter 3

  LISS IS TOTALLY unmotivated today. I try to wake her but she just groans and rolls over, so I leave her half conscious on the mattress, and go sit outside dividing the water between our bottles. Eventually the heat will drive her out, when it turns the bungalow into an oven.

  Since the apocalypse began I haven’t been more than thirty seconds away from Liss and that’s got to grind on even the most lovey-dovey kind of people. As much as I love her it’s nice to have a little alone time.

  My arms are looking pretty tanned because it’s been too hot to wear my favoured leather jacket. Not in my wildest dreams would I have ever been able to afford it in normal times but the shop I took our matching Doc Marten boots from had one just hanging there, looking all soft and special and maybe slightly badass. Liss was too small for anything and she’s mega fussy about her clothes anyway. I mean, she’s wearing a dress in the apocalypse… nine-year-olds are so impractical.

  Finally Liss wakes and stumbles from the bungalow looking like a cross between lobster and one of the infected.

  “Is the princess awake?” I grin.

  She blinks at the glaring sun. “She is.”

  “Would her highness care for some water?” I wiggle the half-empty two-litre bottle in front of her face.

  “Her highness would.” Liss sits next to me and takes a few big swigs of water. She wipes her mouth. “How far is it now?”

  “You’re not going to believe this but… it’s even less then yesterday.”

  She gives me this look, like she’s trying to glare through her eyebrows.

  “I speak the truth.”

  She rolls her eyes and takes another sip. “Can’t we just stay here?”

  “Forever?”

  Liss nods.

  “Sorry, darling pudding pie, but we can’t. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

  “But where are we going?”

  I lean over and poke her in the side. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  She bats my hand away but at least she smiles and then she draws in a long breath, stares at the fence and sighs it all back out.

  “Hey,” I say, reaching into the front pocket of my bag. “I’ve got something for you.”

  Liss looks sceptical but only for a few seconds. Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when I show her. It’s just a single piece of white chalk. That’s all it is to me but to her it’s like magic. I have a whole box but if I tell her she’ll bug me for it all and I want to make it last.

  Liss takes it from my hand, sits cross-legged and starts doodling on the pale concrete. I lie back on the porch and figure we can stand to waste the morning if it keeps her morale up.

  After being wrangled into playing hopscotch and noughts-and-crosses about a hundred times each, the chalk stick is almost gone. Liss keeps drawing though, nearly scraping her fingers on the ground and that makes me nervous. Cuts and scrapes are so dangerous around the infected.

  “Hey.” I chuck the whole box at her, in a nice slow underarm throw, and she catches it like a baseball player taking a dive. “I feel like taking the morning off,” I say. “We’ll start moving at two.”

  Liss nods but she’s not really paying attention, totally engrossed in covering every bare inch of concrete in some kind of girly drawing.

  Today I feel like a good sister.

  At two we’re all packed up and ready to go. Liss has done a complete turn around; she’s all energetic and bouncing again. I’m feeling pretty relaxed too.

  The air is nice and quiet, still hot but not as bad as yesterday. Three insanely hot days in a row usually means there’ll be a badass storm when the cool change hits. And Liss hates thunder.

  In this street the houses are all red brick and single storied. There’s a steady breeze buffeting the trees in the yards and it puts me on edge because the sound it makes can mask other things, like scraping feet or creepy breathing: things you definitely want to be able to hear.

  We’re close to the freeway now too. Tonight is our last stop before hitting those concrete rivers leading us across the city to the other side of Melbourne. There won’t be many good places to hole up along the way, except for (hopefully) cars, so we’ll have to carry a bit of food with us for the next part of the journey.

  Liss is picking a handful of yellow daisies from the nature strip. I think the yellow ones are actually weeds, big huge things with thick stalks. It’s the little white ones that are native… if daises are native at all. But the white ones are too delicate for Liss.

  There’s an intersection ahead so Liss stops. She smells her daisies repeatedly as if they might smell different each time.

  I’m not even at the intersection when it happens.

  A man comes around the corner, strolling along like he’s out for an afternoon walk. He spots me and we both pause, staring at each other. My heart tightens like a fist.

  The man is Chinese… or Japanese… some kind of Asian. I suppose it’s impossible to tell, like looking at a white person and trying to tell if they’re Australian or American or British or something else. There’s just no way to know.

  Anyway, he’s older like late twenties, dressed in a grey t-shirt and black jeans, and carrying absolutely nothing.

  Then something totally bizarre happens.

  He smiles, nods and gives a tiny wave; like a trifecta of normalness. And he just keeps on walking, without so much as a word, like nothing out of the ordinary happened.

  “Liss,” I whisper, and wave for her to come closer.

  She skittles over, watching the man with wide eyes as he passes. He nods to her too and gives a warm smile. Like an honest to God normal one. Not an I can help you because I’m older but will probably get you accidentally killed smile. Not an oh my gosh I feel so sorry for you girls smile. Just a regular lovely day, isn’t it? smile.

  I put my arm over Liss’ shoulder and pull her close, and we watch the man wander off. He walks merrily along the footpath for a while and then stops at a tree, looks up into the branches. Next he crosses the road and raps his knuckles on a nearby mailbox.

  “What do you think he’s doing?” Liss asks.

  I shake my head but say, “Walking, I suppose. Like us.”

  She looks up at me. “Think he’s going to the same place?”

  “Mmm, I don’t know. Let’s keep going.”

  We check that the intersection is clear together. One day soon I’m going to have to teach her how to do it herself… or rather let her do it. Just, not quite yet because it’s more luck than skill really.

  A few streets later and we’re standing on the corner of a main road, the last one before we turn onto the freeway. This will probably be our last easy day.

  I point down the road. “Freeway’s close, so we’ll find it, then find somewhere to hole up for the night and we can take it on in the morning.”

  “How far from there?” Liss asks.

  “Liss.” I breathe in sharply through my nose. “I don’t know. You have to stop asking.”

  “Ball park figure?”

  I look across at her. That’s another thing dad used to say. “How long is a piece of string?” I say.

  Liss tips her head forward and looks over the top of her sunnies. “You sound like mum.”

  I smile and put my hand on her shoulder. “Main road formation? You go first.”

  I don’t trust these big open roads. It’s double lanes either side, a big nature strip in the middle and houses lining the edges. Things can literally come from nowhere, which is why we operate in formation: Liss walks forward and I walk behind her, backwards. That way we have three hundred and sixty degrees of vision. Badass.

  As we walk I notice the smell of rain in the air; it’s fresh like churned up dirt. That storm must be on its way. “Anything cool your way?” I say in a low voice.

  “Oh, you know,” Liss says. “Road, more road. Trees, houses. Wheely bins.”

  “Wow, must be spectacular.”

  “Yep, what about
your way?”

  “Well, you’re going to be so jealous but there’s a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, a unicorn eating candy floss and a jelly filled pool.”

  “Yeah, right.” Liss snorts. “Why don’t you ask the unicorn for a ride then?”

  “Alright, hang on…” I can’t help but crack a smile. “Nah, he says he can’t… prior engagement.”

  “Bummer.”

  I count the wheely bins we pass to keep track of how far we’ve gone. The apocalypse must’ve gone down just before rubbish day, because the street is littered with them. Most are still standing, perched on the nature strip or in the gutter but some are knocked over, spilling recycling and rubbish into the middle of the road.

  Liss stops suddenly and we bump backpacks. In the shock I almost curse but manage to keep it in. I spin.

  The Chinese man we saw earlier is jogging toward us. I try to read his expression but it’s completely blank. There are only two possibilities here. One: he’s just working on his fitness (still very important) or two: he’s running from infected people.

  When he sees us his brow goes straight up and a smile spreads across his face.

  This is weird.

  I grab Liss’ hand and the man stops a few metres from us. He starts making slow swooping gestures with his hands but he doesn’t say anything. He frowns and swallows, blinking rapidly and looking around as if the words he wants are hiding somewhere in the street.

  I have no idea what he’s trying to do.

  He lets out a string of Chinesy words in mild frustration and points behind.

  I have to admire his perseverance but there’s not much chance of us getting it.

  He looks up, like he’s had a light-bulb moment. “Trouble,” he says finally. The R sound comes out as a W when he says it, like he can’t quite get his tongue around the pronunciation.

  I tense, tightening my grip on Liss’ hand. “Trouble like… infected people trouble?” I say, but I’m not really listening anymore, my mind’s already switched into defence mode. I’m glancing around, for signs, for exit strategies, for anything. Just in case.

  “Trouble…” he says again, nodding. “Trouble.”

  He turns just as the infected round the corner. Three come from the side street. But it gets worse, from the next side street along, more infected people spill — maybe ten or fifteen in total.

  “Ah!” he says with satisfaction and points again. “Trouble.”

  It’s the way their eyes lock onto us that freaks me out more than anything. They get so animated when they’re about to feed, flinging their pale shredded arms about and making gross eager moaning sounds. These are full grown adults, men and women, big bodies I’d never be able to take on in a straight human fight let alone an infected one. And there are two short ones. Kids.

  I blink and suddenly the faces jump out at me. It’s the big group we spotted from the roof of the bungalow. I’d given them a week but they hadn’t even made it the night.

  I look for an escape but they’re so close there’s only time for one thing.

  “Liss, get in the wheely bin!”

  I’m closest to a big one with a yellow lid — a recycling bin. I knock it to the ground and thankfully it’s not full. Plastic bottles and cans spill out. I kick them away and dive in headfirst. Liss wiggles in after me and I grab her legs and drag her in.

  Her boots kick in front of my face as she pulls the lid down. It’s just a flip lid on hinges, not lockable or anything, and there’s nothing to grab from the inside to keep it closed, but the plastic capsule is just big enough for us both and I hope it’s enough.

  My head is scrunched against the plastic sidewall, resting on some half crushed aluminium cans. When the infected people reach us they shake the bin and the cans clatter together like chimes.

  Liss screams, lots of tiny short and sharp high-pitched sounds for every thump we get. Her voice echoes in the small space like we’re in an underground tunnel. I grab her legs and hiss at her. “Quiet, Liss.”

  She stops so abruptly I look to make sure she’s still breathing. The infected are bumping into the bin, clawing at the black plastic, hammering it with their exposed bones and gnawing at it with their flesh ripping teeth. It’s like a constant barrage of rabid dogs, all snapping and snarling and furious. I can see the shadows cross the thin yellow lid by my feet (and Liss’ head) but they can’t find a way in. Not yet.

  It’s pretty weird that two centimetres of plastic is separating Liss and me from the most horrific death I can imagine. If the infected get us, we’ll be eaten alive. Torn, shredded like cheese on a grater, mushed like mincemeat. Or maybe we’ll just get bitten, get their blood in our system and we’ll turn into one of them. I’m not exactly sure of the details because I’ve never watched anyone go from human stage to infected stage. So I don’t know if it’s quick or slow or painful, or like going to sleep. I’ve only ever had the pleasure of seeing the aftermath.

  If I’m honest, the only reason I’m not screaming and freaking out is because of Liss. I have to be calm, have to think straight, have to fix this situation and get us back to safety. This little rectangular bin is just a tiny pocket of safe time… one that will eventually run out.

  Liss is screaming again, this time it’s my name.

  “Shut up!” is all I can say back.

  Suddenly the bin rolls onto its side and I almost crush Liss. Our limbs tangle in a huge mess. The cans shower over my head, clinking in my ears. Liss squirms around and I claw at the smooth wall trying to give her space.

  Liss is catatonic now, screaming as if her deafening squeal has some magical power to ward off the bad guys. And now I see why.

  Before, the hinges of the lid were above us so it hung down in a closed position. Now we’re on our side and the lid’s flung open like a door. All I can see is pale bloody hands and infected heads leering in. And Liss’ head is in the foreground. Tears flow down her face like waterfalls. Her mouth is open in a scream that’s gone on impossibly long.

  There’s nothing on the inside of the lid to hold, nothing to keep it shut, so Liss is curling around, grabbing at me, desperately trying to get down my end but there’s not enough room.

  An infected head leans in with its gross pale eyes like lumpy off milk and I boot it in the face. The soft flesh shifts and bends beneath my sole and I boot it again and again, hearing the crunch of breaking bones. I’m kind of kneeing Liss in the process but there are hands clawing at my boots so I just go crazy, kicking out at everything. There’s no was I can’t fend them off for long like this.

  “Liss,” I yell over all the noise. “We need to roll the bin again!” My words echo like some kind of epic voiceover for an action film. But there is nothing cool about it. “Rock it. Come on. This way.”

  I’m still kicking out my legs like I’m on an invisible stair-master. I thump my body against the side of the bin and it rocks gently.

  “Again, together! One two three!” We both thump against the side and it leans, teetering on the edge. One of the infected must bump it because it suddenly rolls and the lid slams shut again. Liss is still screaming and clawing at me.

  “Liss, stop!” I grab her hands and she starts nodding frantically. “The only way to make them go away is to be quiet, ok? Make them forget we’re even here. Deep breaths. In and out.”

  She’s nodding like a jackhammer. Her fingers are pale white, gripping me like a pregnant lady giving birth. Ugh… that’s not something I want to think about. I swear the apocalypse makes you think in weird ways.

  The infected are still out there, carrying on and making their weird mournful noises, still bumping and falling over the bin, unable to get in. But I feel like we’ve gained some sort of control, like the frenzy is over, even though we’re still surrounded.

  I imagine this is what a butterfly feels like, trapped in its cocoon. No wonder it wants to get out so quickly. I want out and I’ve only been in here for a minute.

  There’s a big bump against
the side and Liss squeezes my hands. I’m not sure how long it’ll take for them to lose interest, if they will at all. But it’s usually movement and sound that triggers the craziness in them, so my theory is that if we’re still and quiet for long enough they’ll forget what they were doing and wander off.

  After an hour the nudges don’t come as frequently but the moaning and clawing is still going on like some kind of freaky heavy metal concert.

  I’ve been trying to remember what the trouble-toting man did. Was he eaten? Did he run? Did he copy us and get in a bin? It’d be a pity if they got him because — and I’m not saying this like I want to be friends with him or anything, but fair is fair — he did warn us. Even if it was only seconds before. Plus, he seems kind of… I don’t know. He didn’t try to follow us or steal our stuff, but he didn’t ignore us either.

  Liss is curled over like a seahorse, resting her head on my knees. It’s stuffy and sweaty and the longer I sit here the more claustrophobic I feel. I try to keep my mind busy with thinking of an exit strategy. I’m forming a map in my head, of which direction we’re pointing, how far from the houses we are and which ones had good fences to climb. I should’ve been more observant, I should’ve heard them coming, I shouldn’t have spent twenty seconds with the man trying to decipher his Chinese. Dammit. I should just know better.

  As if she can hear my thoughts Liss pats me on the thigh like some kind of thank you. I look down and she just stares back.

  Another two hours pass and I think I might have either fallen asleep, fainted, or zoned out completely because I can’t hear anything anymore, and can’t pinpoint exactly when it went quiet. Dead quiet. I look at Liss and raise my eyebrows. “You hear anything?” I whisper.

  She shakes her head.

  It’s going to take a whole truck load of courage to creep out of this bin because the infected people could be anywhere out there. Plus Liss has to go first, and that’s my worst nightmare. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to make her budge. It takes a special kind of courage to climb out into the unknown.

  There’s a loud tapping on the bin, like someone’s knocking on a front door. We both go tense.

  “Trouble?” says the voice.

  Liss and I look at each other.

  The knock comes again, four raps.

  “Hello?” I say.

  The lid flips open and the Chinese man sticks his face into the opening. He smiles like he’s just won the lottery and beckons for us to come out.

  “Trouble,” he says, and frowns, shaking his head. I’m going to assume that means no trouble.

  “Go Liss, get out quick.” She wiggles out and I crawl behind her. It’s almost dark now. Ugh, there are patches of infected blood everywhere but the street is clear. I grab Liss’ hand and look at the man.

  He leans down and taps the wheely bin with his finger. “Ah… ha, ha, ha,” he says, and then taps his temple and nods.

  I have to keep glancing around, I’m so paranoid but he’s as relaxed as anything. “Um…” I nod back. “Thanks.”

  He tips his head and furrows his brow.

  “English?” I say.

  The man just stares back.

  “Chinese?” I point to him. “China?”

  He nods and smiles, tapping his palm against his chest. He looks at Liss and does a double thumbs-up. She looks up at me, pale and shaken, not sure what to make of him.

  “Well, we’d better be going.” I wave goodbye so he’ll get the message and he copies, nodding too.

  I tug on Liss’ hand and we run across the road. I see a house with a small narrow open window down its side. It’s totally a bathroom and bathrooms nearly always have locks.

  I drag Liss through the garden, through the garden gate and hoist her up so she can look through.

  “Clear?” I ask.

  “Yep.”

  “Lock?”

  “Yep.”

  “Going up.” I push her and she scrabbles in. I hear a few thumps as she climbs down something, and I step up on the water tap to see in. Liss is by the door, checking the handle.

  I throw my backpack through first and then boost myself up and shimmy in. It’s a pretty tight fit but not as bad as being crowded into a wheely bin for an afternoon of near death entertainment. We just need to sit in a safe place for a while and process what just happened. Process. Recover. Move on.

  I have to do a kind of half handstand on the sink counter and walk myself in. I twist and collapse through. As soon as I’m on my feet I head straight for the door to double check it’s locked. I press my ear against the wood and listen. It’s quiet.

  “Are you alright?” I kneel down to Liss and check her over.

  “Yeah, you?”

  “Yeah.”

  There’s a spot of blood on her back so I take out the antiseptic wipes. Liss looks alarmed.

  “Just to be safe,” I say, wiping away the blood. Thankfully her skin does the job of protecting her from infection, it’s only if it goes in your eye or mouth or a cut or something that the trouble begins. I tuck the soiled wipe beneath the sink in the back corner of the cupboard.

  Night is falling and I’m not sure if I’m hot or cold. I close the window and get out my water bottle.

  “Who’s that man?” Liss asks. Her hands are still trembling at her sides.

  “The trouble man?”

  “Yeah, Trouble.”

  “I don’t know but he came along at just the right time.” I take a few sips of water and Liss copies.

  “I think he’s nice,” she says.

  “Hey.” I point my finger at her nose. “Stranger danger still applies in the apocalypse.”

  She nods. “I know. He just seems nice, that’s all.”

  “Lots of people seem nice, but they’re not.”

  A rumble of thunder sounds somewhere in the distance and Liss grabs my arm.

  I put away my water, climb into the bath and beckon for her. She lies on top of me and I wrap my arms around her. We both stare up at the ceiling. After a while I reach over for a towel and stuff it behind my head as a pillow.

  The lightening flashes in the window, flickering like a bulb in a horror movie. I hug Liss tighter and soon it begins to rain. It sounds like a huge crowd applauding and I imagine it’s just for us. I imagine it’s all the people who got caught up in this whole outbreak and had to leave, whether they died naturally or became one of those things. I imagine they’re all looking down on the world, rooting for the survivors and I just hope that mum and dad aren’t up there already. I drift off to sleep feeling, just for a moment, not so alone.