Arcadium

by Sarah Gray

  Chapter 6

  MY HEAD IS grainy this morning. Maybe I haven’t had enough water or I’m sugar crashing or… hey, I know, maybe it’s too much of this apocalypse bull. I hug my arms closer. Light bleeds into my retinas and I see Liss and Trouble sitting on the car bonnet outside. Liss’ hair seems to sparkle in the sunlight and Trouble has his trademark smile. They’re eating… holy shit.

  Ok, that didn’t come out right. They’re eating apples. I know back in normal times it wouldn’t seem so amazing but now anything remotely fresh is like your favourite food times a hundred. Not from a tin!

  When I pop the car door open they both turn. Liss takes a huge bite and the crunch echoes out.

  Trouble hands me one, and I look down. A green apple streaked with red and white. Somewhere in my head a choir starts up. “Uh…”

  “It’s good,” Liss says, with her mouth full.

  “Yeah, thanks.” I take the apple from Trouble and smile. “Where’d he get them from?”

  Liss shrugs. “He’s magic.”

  I look down at the apple. Before the outbreak I never liked fruit. Well, that’s not true, maybe it was just that there were so many better foods, like chocolate and chips and stuff, that I didn’t have time for fruit. But now, looking at this thing I once had but didn’t want, it makes me think about all the other things I had but didn’t want at the time. Mum, dad, Liss, fruit, vegetables, fresh water, the ability to go outside without fear of dying. Now all I want is the apple, and Liss and mum and dad too. Screw TV and computers and school and work. Before, I had everything and didn’t care; now I have nothing and this damned apple is everything.

  “Florence…”

  “Mmm?” I look up and realise they’re both watching me with anticipation. So I take a bite. The sweet juice explodes in my mouth, re-igniting every taste bud that my poor apocalypse diet has managed to paralyse. “It’s good,” I say, chewing.

  That’s an understatement. Remember that choir? Quadruple it, add a bass and strings section, hook up the amp, wind that volume dial all the way up and you’re about half way there.

  I eat every part but the stalk and then put the seeds in the front pocket of my backpack… just in case I ever get the chance to grow an apple tree one day. The sun dips behind a thick grey cloud and a shadow falls over us.

  “How old do you think Trouble is?” Liss asks, staring at him as if he’s a statue and not a real person.

  “Liss, if you stare too hard your eyes will turn into lasers and then… you know, bad stuff happens to the people you look at.”

  She looks over at me.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?” I scratch my thumbnail against a blemish in the car’s paintwork.

  Liss narrows her eyes at Trouble. “How old are you?”

  Trouble tips his head but says nothing, for obvious reasons. Liss scratches her head, then she points to herself and hold up nine fingers.

  Trouble blinks.

  Liss points to me and holds up ten fingers, followed by six.

  Liss points to Trouble.

  For a moment I think he doesn’t get it but then he flashes two tens and a seven with his fingers.

  Liss gives a triumphant smile. “He’s twenty seven.”

  “Where did you learn to count so well?” I say, and a smirk curls my lips. Liss sticks her tongue out.

  I feel the rain before I see it, and lift my nose skyward. “Feel that?”

  “Feel what?” Liss looks around.

  “It’s raining.”

  Liss furrows her brow. “No it’s not.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “Is not.”

  “Is.”

  “Not.”

  Deep breaths. I am the mature one here. A raindrop hits the windscreen, followed by another and another. They start catching on Liss’ hair.

  “Now it’s raining,” Liss says, holding out her palms.

  I swear my eyes must be the fittest part of me, with all this eye rolling that gets done.

  We take shelter in the car. Trouble sits in the driver’s seat, I’m in the front passenger seat and Liss is lying across the back seat, watching the rain drip down the windows.

  The rain on the metal roof sounds like static. I stare at the dashboard for a while. Boredom makes my mind wander.

  “Hey Liss,” I say. “What radio station you want?”

  Liss sits up and scratches her chin. “But they don’t work anymore.”

  “Really?” I press the radio button and look back. “In other news today… Liss finds out she’s wrong.”

  Liss stares for a moment and then smiles. “In further news,” she says, putting on her deepest adult voice, “Florence is an idiot.”

  “Oh hey, I think I hear a song coming on.” I twist the volume dial and sing, “There is a girl, a girl called Liss, the one the boys all want to kiss.”

  “Ew gross.” Liss scrunches up her face but amusement twinkles in her eyes.

  I keep singing. “But she turns around, says go away, I don’t do boy germs, hey, hey, hey.”

  Liss leans forward grabbing both our seats. “See if there’s something on for Trouble.”

  “China FM?” I say, fiddling with the dial. “Hang on. Yep, here it is.” I point with both hands at Trouble. “Take it away, Trouble.”

  He blinks back at me.

  Silence.

  Awkward silence.

  Suddenly he starts clapping out a beat that’s like one, two, cha-cha-cha. Liss claps along in time and when I finally join in, Trouble breaks into song. I can’t understand the words but it sounds like a Chinese boy band song. Soon he’s busting out crazy actions with it. Liss is rolling around in the back laughing her head off and Trouble really gets into his act.

  I tip my head back and laugh.

  For the finale Trouble holds the last note until he runs out of breath and then he bows. Liss jumps up in the back. “Bravo!”

  Trouble nods and we give him a round of applause.

  As the noise dies down something else catches my attention. I swear it’s singing. “Shh,” I say, doing the sign too for Trouble. “You hear that?”

  Liss looks around. “Yeah, sounds like someone singing. Is the radio working?”

  I press my ear to the speakers but it’s not coming from the car. It’s growing ever louder. I wind the window down a crack and the voice floods in. It’s a male voice… no, two male voices.

  “What is it?” Liss says.

  We all press up against the windows, peering out the rain blurred glass. I see movement and point. “There.”

  It’s on our side. All I can see is umbrellas bobbing along, and before I can stop her Liss winds her window all the way down.

  “Liss, no!” I hiss at her, but she leans out the window anyway and calls out.

  All that training literally goes out the window.

  “Hey!” she yells.

  The bobbing umbrellas stop, and so does the singing. One of the dark brollies lifts and I can see the person underneath. A teenage boy. And it looks like he’s pushing a wheelchair. I wind down my window all the way, doing a quick scan of the entire area.

  “What are you doing?” Liss asks.

  The boy looks at her and then at me. The reply comes from under the front umbrella but the face is hidden. “Singing… clearly.”

  Liss glances over at me. “Why?” she says.

  The front umbrella tips back and I can see the kid is pretty young, like Liss. “Just because,” he says. “What are you doing?”

  I mean, what are the chances of finding two apocalyptic survival parties singing at random?

  “Aren’t you worried about getting wet?” Liss says.

  The older boy speaks back this time. “I think that’s the least of our worries.”

  “You can say that again.” I’ve said it before I can stop myself. Curses. Never speak to other people. Never, never. But then again I’ve never really spoken to Trouble and look what happened there.

  “Why are yo
u in a wheelchair?” Liss says.

  “Liss!” The girl has no boundaries, I swear.

  The young boy looks back. “My legs don’t work.”

  Liss looks at me. “Then how does he run?” she whispers. “How does he hide?”

  I shrug. Honestly that’s got to be a miracle. I don’t know how he’s made it this far into the outbreak. I mean, he’s in a wheelchair! That’s ninety nine times more difficult than just looking after a kid. I look at the older boy; he must be one hell of a fighter... or just smart. But then wandering along a freeway, singing at the top of his voice with infected all around doesn’t seem like a logical thing to do. I suppose luck plays a part.

  Suddenly they’re walking over to us.

  “Nice car,” the older boy says.

  “I’m Liss.”

  “Oh my God, Liss, do you not listen to a thing I say?”

  Liss looks over. “What?”

  “I’m Henry,” the boy in the wheelchair says. “And this is my brother, Kean.”

  “That’s my sister, Florence. She doesn’t like people.”

  Suddenly the car starts vibrating. My head snaps over to Trouble. He’s bent over in the foot well. When he sits back he gives me a thumbs-up. The lights flash up on the dashboard. He’s started the car. Holy crap.

  “You guys want a ride?” Liss says.

  “Liss!” I say in my most reprimanding voice. “Oh my God!”

  And suddenly I feel like I’ve lost control of everything. This is not good.

  The boys look at each other and shrug. “Sure, why not.”

  Liss pops open her door and slides across. Henry jumps himself up onto the back seat and shuffles into the middle.

  Kean folds up the wheelchair, stows it in the boot then comes around and sits in the back, directly behind me.

  “You shouldn’t be so trusting,” I say, twisting around as the car begins to move. “We might be serial killers.”

  “Are you?” Henry asks.

  I turn away, facing forwards. “Well, No.”

  “Too bad. I reckon they’d do well now, killing the creepies and all.”

  “Creepies?” Liss says.

  “The infected people.”

  “Oh.”

  Trouble is watching the boys in the rear view mirror.

  “And this is Trouble,” Liss says, pointing. “Trouble, this is Henry and Kean.”

  “Trouble?” Henry says. “That’s a weird name…”

  Trouble glances over his shoulder and smiles a big cheesy grin.

  “Uh… yeah, it’s kind of a nickname,” I say. “He only knows one word of English.”

  “Oh, I get it,” Henry says, nodding. “Smart. Of all the words to know, it’s a good one.”

  Kean looks baffled. “How do you communicate with him?”

  “How do you keep a kid in a wheel chair alive in the apocalypse?” I counter.

  His eyes move to me. “True.”

  “You can say it.” Henry butts in. “I’m a cripple.”

  Everyone goes quiet.

  “What?” he says. “It’s what everyone’s thinking. I’m just getting it out there. You should know though, I can’t move my legs but it’s like my brain is a hundred times smarter because of it. You know how blind people can hear like superheroes? Yeah, it’s kind of the same thing.”

  I look over my shoulder at Kean. “He talks a lot.”

  “I know.” Kean looks at his brother and smiles back at me. “Why do you think we were singing? It’s the only peace I get.”

  “I’ll give you peace.” Henry punches Kean in the shoulder. “A piece of my fist.”

  Kean grins. “I think you’re just excited to be sitting next to a girl.”

  Henry punches Kean again, hard.

  “We don’t do boy germs,” I say.

  “Good,” Henry says, getting a noogie from Kean. When Kean pulls back he looks at me.

  His eyes are faded green and his nose is freckled. His dark blonde hair is so greasy; it looks like he tried to make it a mohawk with his hands, and it’s actually stuck in a perfect point like it’s full of styling gel.

  “Where you heading?” Kean asks.

  “It’s a secret,” Liss says.

  I suck in a breath and force it out like a snorting angry bull. Kean is still staring at me. “You’re not going home are you?” He swaps a quick glance with his brother. “Everyone makes the pilgrimage home and they always end up getting everyone killed.”

  I narrow my eyes. “We’re not going home.”

  “Where then?”

  “The South Eastern Suburbs.”

  “Why?”

  “You can’t half tell you’re brothers,” I say.

  Henry snorts a laugh. Kean smiles, pulls up the hood of his jumper and leans back. I turn back to Trouble and watch him navigate around some cars. The windshield wipers give us a second of good view followed by three seconds of blurred mess. On the next swipe I see an infected and Liss screams. We flash past and it’s gone again.

  I look back at Liss and nod. She nods in reply.

  “Looks like we hitched a ride just in time then,” Henry says.

  I look up in the mirror. “What would you have done, running into one?”

  He shrugs. “Roll away, very fast.”

  “Have you run into many?” I ask Kean.

  “A few.” He nods but doesn’t elaborate; he doesn’t have to. I can see it all in his eyes, like they’re playing me a movie of all the moments he can’t mention: all the bodies and gore and blood and destruction. I look away, and wonder if Liss sees stuff like that in my eyes.