He wasn't interested in a movie. He booted up the old desktop PC in the spare room and spent time on the internet. Meg couldn't see the screen from where she was.
At bedtime she went to spare room to say goodnight. He barely responded.
That night he slept in his own room.
The sound of a roaring engine shattered the stillness of the morning. Meg pushed the bedclothes back and stood quickly. She ran to the window.
The boy was on the motorbike, revving the engine and trying to move forward. His shoulders were tense and his mouth set in a straight line. Gradually he got the bike moving forward and did a lap of the house. He stopped and revved the engine, his head cocked to one side. He set off down to the end of the property and then returned.
Meg went out to the veranda and clapped. "Bravo!"
She was surprised to see that he didn't look happy from his achievements. It seemed he was more relieved.
That afternoon, as she stood up from weeding the vegetable patch a wave of dizziness made her unsteady. Not long after that she began feeling shooting pains in her joints and began shivering. By nightfall she was very ill.
Dinner was forgotten as she walked into the bedroom and fell across the bed. She pulled the blankets over herself and curled up into a ball. The boy came in and looked at her with raised eyebrows.
"I'm sick. I don't know what's wrong but it's bad. Could you get me some paracetamol from the cupboard and a drink of water?"
After taking these she fell into a deep but troubled sleep.
For two days she mostly slept. Each time she woke she felt so dreadful that she would just swallow more paracetamol and water and burrow back under the bedclothes.
On the third day she woke feeling a bit better and worrying about the animals. Had the boy been milking the cow? Did he even know how to? Had he been looking after the chickens? She listened for signs of activity but there weren't any.
Her legs were unsteady, but she was able to stand and walk through the house. She splashed cold water on her face and drank thirstily. The animals were all where they should be and the chickens were active in the coop.
She heard a rustling in the spare room and went to investigate. The boy was in his bed, tossing and turning. His face was red and his skin looked hot. She placed a hand on his forehead and he opened his eyes. They were full of misery.
She fed him tablets and water and sat on his bed, wondering what it was that had afflicted them. She suspected a virus but wondered how they could have caught it.
Clearly the boy wouldn't be able to help with the chores, so she wrapped herself tightly in warm clothes and went out into the morning.
It was one of those perfect days that take the breath away. The sun was filtering through leaves that seemed greener than usual. There were patches of colour around, on animals and flowers and trees, and these seemed heightened. Meg stood in wonder, breathing deeply.
It was something she'd noticed since May 13th — since she'd woken up in hospital. It seemed that the colours of the world were brighter, more vivid. She likened it to when she'd once fiddled with a photo editing program and had turned up the saturation. Since everyone died, the world had become a more vibrant place.
The cow mooed, and that brought her back to reality. She took the milking bucket over to the feed shed and the cow followed her. Soon, milk from the overfull udder was being disgorged in hot streams. She rested her head against the cow's stomach and worked the teats until there was no more milk to come.
She fed and watered the chickens and walked around the property. Everything seemed all right. The dirt-bike was under the veranda, covered with a blanket. The windmill creaked lazily in the slight breeze.
She moved inside, drank more water and went back to bed.
A cacophony of noise woke her. There were dogs barking and animals squealing in distress. She shook her head, trying to clear the fuzzy feeling. She was still dressed, so she grabbed the rifle from the shelf by the back door, and ran straight outside.
A pack of dogs had surrounded the feed shed where the animals had congregated and were circling them, growling and snarling, while all the time moving closer.
Meg crept toward them, the rifle raised to her shoulder. She knew she had to wait until she had a clear shot; otherwise she might hit one of her animals. A large, mean looking German Shepherd swung out to the right, and she saw her chance. She aimed and fired, and the dog dropped to the ground.
The other dogs didn't seem to notice. There were five of them, mostly large breeds. She picked out the Labrador next, and it took two shots to fell it. The Border Collie went quickly. By this time the other dogs sensed something was wrong, and glared at her as she approached. She shot one more before the other two took off into the bush. She wondered how long it would take before they decided to return.
Fencing, they needed fencing.
She realised the noise hadn't brought the boy outside. The shadows and cooling air told her that it was late afternoon, so she hadn't seen him for hours. She moved inside and went to his bedroom.
His condition had deteriorated, and he looked smaller in the double bed. His skin was dry and hot. She noticed that he hadn't touched the water she had left on the bedside table.
The next few hours seemed like a nightmare to Meg. The boy was in a bad state, and she didn't know how to help him. She was still ill herself, and didn't feel capable of nursing him. She tried her best.
Around midnight she was afraid he was dying. His breathing had become so shallow she could hardly feel it. His skin was tight and burning. She kept applying cloths soaked in cold water to his face and chest but they didn't seem to be doing any good. She realised she would have to immerse him in cold water.
It took her several minutes to find the plug and start filling the bath. When she got back into the bedroom it was to the sight of the boy convulsing. She cried out and ran to him, holding him down. The convulsions passed after a minute or so.
"Don't leave me! You can't! I need you here. I've lost too many people and I just couldn't bear to lose you too. I don't know what I'd do. Please don't die!"
She lay beside him, stroking his forehead.
"I lost a boy just like you, you know. His name was Nicholas, but I called him Nicky. He was younger than you and had blue eyes, but you remind me of him. I can't bear to lose you as well."
She kept talking to him, telling him about her children and her previous life in that normal world. Once she began talking, the floodgates opened and all the repressed memories flooded back.
"Richard and I shared custody of Emily and Nicholas, and I didn't have them with me when everyone died. I guess that's a sort of blessing."
The boy's temperature seemed to be dropping, so she kept talking.
"Nicky was such a smart boy. Really good at maths. He loved sport, too, and played junior AFL. God, I miss him so much. And Emily, she was a little princess. She was into fairy costumes and dancing. She had just begun ballet lessons." Meg's voice broke. She cleared her throat and kept talking.
"Then I had another baby. The father was a photographer I met at a work function. His name was Craig, and he knew all the right words to seduce me really quickly. Other than my husband, he was the only other man I'd ever...well...you know... been with. It was never a proper relationship — he would just call me when he had some spare time and come to my house. I could never refuse him, although I felt I was being used. He never took me anywhere, or bought me any presents, or anything. He'd just come and eat the food I offered, drink any alcohol I had, and take me to bed. Then he'd just go and I wouldn't hear from him for days, sometimes more than a week.
"We had only been using condoms, nothing else. One of them obviously didn't work. When I found I was pregnant I was horrified. I rang and left a message on his phone to come and see me. He took two days to arrive and when I told him the news he got angry and accused me of trying to trap him. He insisted I have an abortion. I nearly did, but found I couldn't go through with it.
When he discovered this he blew up and I never saw him again — well not until I saw him dead in my best-friend's bed.
"It was all for nothing anyway. The baby died, you see. He died while I was having him — just before everyone else died."
Tears had been streaming down her face. She wiped them angrily. The boy seemed a lot calmer. He was lying, breathing normally, and his face was a healthier colour. She heard the bath still filling and went to turn the taps off.
"My boss was really angry at me when I got pregnant. She'd been through several P.A's in the previous couple of years, mostly through them getting pregnant. She thought that I wasn't at much risk of that. I was recently separated from my husband and already had two children. She had been helping and mentoring me. She had placed me in training courses to improve my skills, and had invested a lot of time and money. I never mentioned Craig to her because it sounded too pathetic. When I became pregnant she really got angry. She said, ‘It must be that bloody office-chair. Everyone that sits in it has a baby!' Eventually she calmed down, especially after I told her I didn't intend to leave her when the baby was born. I'd find someone to look after it."
She shifted position and lay beside the boy. Her eyes became fixed on the ceiling.
"Both the men in my life have been bad to me. Is it me, do you think? Is it a respect thing? My ex-husband was good to me to start with, when we were going out and in the early stages of marriage. Then he wanted to do an MBA so he could improve his prospects. That was just as Nicky was born. Richard would work all day and study at night. If Nicky cried, Richard would get angry and tell me that all he asked of me was to keep the baby quiet. We couldn't go out or have fun because he was studying so hard. It wasn't enough that he qualified; he had to get top scores.
"By the time Emily arrived and was walking around, he had earned his MBA with honours. He got a top job in a merchant bank and was suddenly earning enormous amounts of money. He worked long hours and also had to socialise a lot. We rarely saw him.
"One Christmas, the bank held a party that spouses and partners were invited to. It was a big deal and Richard told me to get my hair done and buy a new dress. I couldn't find anyone to mind the children so I went looking for an outfit with them in tow. Nicky threw a fit and we had to go home. I rang Mum and asked if she could look after them the next day. That was actually the day of the party. She said okay, as long as I took them to her house — she wouldn't have a car that day. So I drove two hours down to her place, went to a boutique in this small country town nearby and tried on a couple of outfits. The owner of the shop came to look and told me that one looked really good. It was the most expensive one. I was a bit doubtful — the cut seemed to accentuate my short legs and I thought I looked a bit too squarish in it. It also seemed old-fashioned, so I said I wasn't sure. The owner got someone else to come and give an opinion and they said it looked great so I bought it.
"The hairdresser had a tiny salon and had been cutting my mother's hair for years. We decided on a totally new look. It took a couple of hours. I grabbed the children from Mum's and drove home quickly.
"Richard took one look at my hair and outfit and threw a fit. I actually thought he was going to hit me. The babysitter stared at us with huge eyes and she must've thought we were quite mad. Richard made me change into another outfit I had which wasn't much better. At the function he barely spoke to me all night. After that, things got worse."
Meg swallowed heavily and felt the boy's forehead again. It seemed like the crisis had passed. She sighed and looked at the ceiling.
"Then he left me for someone else. Well, he didn't leave me — I was the one who had to leave 'cause he wanted the house. I moved into my Grandmother's place and that was that. All over. As quickly as that." She clicked her fingers.
"Do you think it's me?" She turned and looked the boy squarely in the face. "Do you think the men reckon I'm weak and exploit it?"
The boy's eyes had opened and he gazed at her steadily. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. He felt cooler. He was going to be okay.
CHAPTER SEVEN
She woke to hear fingers hitting a keyboard and opened her eyes wearily. This wasn't her bedroom. Events of the night before came to her in a rush and she sat upright quickly. She was still fully dressed and lying on top of the boy's bed. He was at the desktop computer, his back to her, typing quickly and making noises of frustration.
"What's happening?"
He didn't look around but hit the desk with his fist and pointed at the monitor. He typed again and pointed, then did the same again. She saw what he was trying to tell her. The internet was failing.
She had noticed some early signs of it the last time she was researching a subject on the tablet. That was two or three days ago. It had worsened a great deal since then.
"Shit. Ah, well — it had to happen eventually. I guess we were lucky it lasted as long as it did." The boy didn't look convinced. "We'll miss it badly though and things will get harder without it. I guess we'll have to start going to libraries and bookshops to find things out."
She thought about the times she had found quick answers just by typing a few words in a browser. How else could she have worked out how to milk a cow, for heaven’s sake?
"How are you feeling this morning?" He gave her a thumbs-up.
"Something bad happened while you were out of it." She gave him a quick summary of the dog attack. "We're going to have to build an enclosure for the animals and really quickly. I'm going to drive down to that big hardware store at Maroochydore today and see what fencing materials they have." He nodded. "I'm also going to have to dispose of the dead dogs, but for now I might just drag them into the bush."
She lay back on the pillow for a moment, willing some strength to return. Perhaps a good breakfast would help both of them.
The four-wheel-drive had a towbar, and there was a trailer in the machinery shed. It took Meg some time to work out how to couple everything together, but soon they were driving to Maroochydore with a list of materials needed.
The huge hardware store was a handyman's paradise. Even Meg became a bit excited about the possibilities many of the products suggested. They roamed the aisles with wide eyes for a while before Meg realised she still wasn't very strong, and that they should just get what they came for before her legs gave way. She marvelled at how quickly the boy had recovered.
With the trailer fully-laden, she took a slight detour to the beach, which wasn't far out of their way. She parked on a headland, and they watched the waves wash into shore and the seagulls wheeling through salt spray.
"We'll come back here soon and catch some fish. Maybe even set some crab pots. That would be fun, eh?"
The boy nodded and they drove home.
"Well, it isn't pretty but it will do until we can work out a better way." They were standing at the feed shed, looking at the haphazard fence they'd just erected.
Their logic had been sound. They had used the shed as one side of the enclosure and hammered some star posts into the ground at each of the front corners of the building. At intervals of three metres they had put more posts until they figured the enclosure would be big enough.
Then they attached chicken wire to the posts with fasteners, but at that point Meg saw a flaw in their design. "The dogs might be able to get under the wire." She had thought for a moment and then decided to dig a shallow trench that the wire could sit in. She began at one corner of the shed and the boy at the other side. They dug grimly in silence until they met halfway around.
Meg made them a late lunch which they ate quickly, surveying their work as they did so. The next part of the process was attaching the chicken wire to the posts all the way around. There was no gate, but that didn't matter as they could gain access through the back door of the shed.
The dirt they had dug from the trench was then put back around the base of the wire and flattened. "I guess the dogs could still dig underneath if they tried hard enough, but this will buy us some time."
Her plan was to let the grass-eaters out of the enclosure during the daytime while she and the boy were at home. At other times they would lead the animals through the shed, into the safe area.
Several times during the day she had noticed the boy gazing at the dirt bike. "Hey, why don't you go for a ride on the bike while I clean up and start putting some dinner together?" She didn't have to ask twice.
In the early hours of the next morning, Meg stirred, wondering what noise had woken her. It had come from the veranda. She dozed again.
A few hours later she sat up with a start. The sun was brighter than when she normally woke and she realised she'd slept in.
Still she didn't rush. She lay back on the pillows and thought about what the day would hold. They'd achieved so much in the day before that they could afford to take things easier. Perhaps fishing on Lake Baroon?
She couldn't hear the boy stirring. He'd worked well with her the day before and she wondered if he enjoyed it or just went along with her ideas out of a sense of duty. Why didn't he talk? Was he born that way? Was it induced by trauma? She'd resisted asking before now, but decided that the time had come. She could ask him questions and he could write replies.
With that thought, she rose and wrapped her robe tightly around her. The air was crisp. She moved into the living area and saw that the boy's bedroom door was open. The bed was empty. Unusual.
In the next few minutes she discovered that a number of things were missing: the backpack the boy had been using, as well as all his clothes, shoes, toothbrush and the first aid kit. She looked for the map he often pored over, but couldn't find it. Then she realised the bike had gone.
The sound that woke her in the early morning was probably him wheeling the silent bike from the veranda and down the driveway.
In Strange Worlds Page 6
