In Strange Worlds

by Brenda Cheers

  "We could sure use it now."

  "That's the thing. It's just so frustrating. I still want to check what's happening around the world, just in case there are more survivors. We just have no way of knowing. You know, something might have come up by now on why everyone died."

  "You reckon?"

  "No. Probably not." She chewed her bottom lip.

  "But what's really bugging me now — like really bad — is that I let us come under the influence of the helicopter guys without hardly a fight, or even asking questions. You know, just because they don't talk, doesn't mean we can't ask."

  "You stopped them taking us away again. That took guts."

  "Yeah, but I could've done a lot more. I could have asked to see their superiors. That's it! Simple! Next time I'll ask. If they don't understand I'll give them a note."

  Luke frowned. "I dunno about that. What about if they hurt Connie and the kids?"

  "I don't think they're really out to hurt us at all. I think they want to keep us healthy. What I don't understand is who they are and why they're here. Also, why they impregnated me the first time, and what part they played in this pregnancy."

  "I have a theory."

  "Oh — good. Spill it."

  "I didn't want to say it in front of Connie the other night — didn't want to scare her."

  "Oh?"

  "What if Derek died — in the cyclone — and they used his body somehow?"

  "Gee Luke. I had sex with a dead man? Thanks a lot!"

  "Sorry — but if you think about it..."

  "How cold he was?"

  "Yeah, and you said he was different..."

  "But Bill and Ben — they're that cold. You'd think they'd be getting a bit on the nose if they'd been dead all this time."

  "Chemicals pumped into their bloodstreams. Preservatives like they use on corpses."

  "So…let's stay with your theory for now. How do they control them, whoever they are? I mean, to fly helicopters and jets and drive buses?"

  "Dunno."

  "It would be sad to think Derek died."

  "Yeah."

  "I liked him a lot and really hoped he'd come back and be with us."

  "You or us? Which house?"

  "Yours to start — you could do with his help. If things worked out for him and I perhaps that would change. If he was still alive that is — but whatever happens, I don't want another visit like last time."

  "Yeah."

  "Any other theories then — about who's controlling Bill and Ben?"

  "Yeah — how about a group of, um, like, world leaders and famous people who knew the bad thing was coming and protected themselves. Once the threat was over, they wanted to help the world repopulate."

  "Who would these people be?"

  "Let's see — the US President, the guys who invented Google and Microsoft..."

  "Why them?"

  "Cause they'd be in a position to know something bad was on its way."

  "Okay, Who else?"

  "Good people — ones who have won the Nobel Peace prize — the people with power would have made sure they were protected so some good genes would be in future humans."

  "Hmm. So why wouldn't these powerful and famous people want us to see them?"

  "They'd just want to stay in the background. Easier that way."

  "No, that doesn't work for me. I reckon if the guys who invented Google survived then they would have made sure we had internet access again really quickly."

  "How long since you've tried to load any pages?"

  "Ages."

  "Maybe you should try again."

  "I hate disappointment. Like checking lotto results and finding out you didn't win."

  They drove silently for a few minutes, lost in thought.

  Luke cleared his throat. "Then there's another theory."

  "I have a feeling this'll be a real beaut. Shoot."

  "A superior race needed to colonise urgently. Something happened where they lived. They'd had their eyes on Earth for some time..."

  "Ah, alien invasion!"

  "Hear me out. There are only a few who escaped and they weren't able to plan too well. They came here but carried some sort of bad disease with them. It killed most of us instantly."

  "I see..."

  "Or else," he was getting excited, "they figured we wouldn't let them arrive peacefully. They needed the whole planet. They killed off most of us humans but kept a few for their own purposes."

  "Which are?"

  "Cross-breeding, or slaves, or something. Knowledge maybe. You know, all sorts of reasons."

  "Yeah, far-fetched, but I see where you're coming from."

  He wriggled in his seat in excitement. "And they may be able to clone and accelerate the growth of the cloned person. Like Bill and Ben — that might be why they're so uncoordinated. They were made to grow before they were ready."

  "And Derek too? That could mean that the original is still alive!" Her heart thumped at the thought.

  "Yeah. Absolutely."

  "Hey, they might be cloning us already. They have our DNA."

  Luke frowned. "Creepy. But that would also explain why we never see them. They're aliens and they'd freak us out. They could look, like, really weird."

  "Well, strangely, that theory sort of works. Alien invasion, heh?" Meg smiled at him. "Things are just so strange at the moment that we have to be thinking outside the square. Good one, Luke."

  "Outside my window there are butterflies everywhere. They are mostly white, but I can see the occasional splash of blue. It's very late in the year for them to be around, but I'm glad they are.

  My mind keeps returning to Luke's theories. I had already thought of variations of these theories myself, of course, but I wouldn't tell him that because he should be encouraged to use his imagination and voice opinions.

  I only have one other theory — that it was just a natural disaster that killed everyone and now someone is trying to help us survivors anonymously. I don't know why...or who.

  Luke also had me thinking about where Derek would live if he came back. If he was his old self of course. Would I invite him to stay in this lovely home I chose with just me in mind? Since then I've already discovered I'll be sharing with a baby, so how about a third person? Just you and me, and baby makes three? Hmm.

  The sun is gently slipping away. A hush fills the atmosphere. Clouds, the colour of salmon, streak the skies. What a beautiful world this is."

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  In Meg's dream, a large black dog had her on the ground, its face close to hers and breathing foul fumes into her face. The sharp teeth were centimetres from her throat. Another dog was behind it, making ripping and slurping noises as it feasted on her abdomen. Meg was screaming and howling in pain.

  She woke, gasping for breath — the sheets saturated in sweat — and found the pain was real. Her womb was cramping. She reached for the torch on her bedside table and guided the light between her legs. No blood — yet.

  She lay back on the pillows, panting. Was she miscarrying? How far along was she — seventeen weeks? Another wave of pain squeezed her until she curled into a ball.

  Should she take something? What? Ibuprofen? Paracetamol? A stiff brandy? Was there a drug to stop miscarriages?

  But, wait. Did she want to stop it, if that's what it was? Only a few weeks ago she had been bemoaning the fact she hadn't taken the abortion drugs in time.

  She went to the bathroom and turned on a light. Taking some toilet paper, she held it to her genitals. There were a few spots of blood — brown. What did it mean?

  After filling a hot-water bottle she returned to bed and tried to soothe the cramps with heat, but it was a long and painful night.

  They could tell Bill and Ben apart now. Ben had recently chipped a tooth and somehow it made Meg better able to differentiate between them.

  The ultrasound machine was humming as he ran the probe around her lower abdomen, slipping it across the lubricant gel he'd applied. He looked at t
he images intently, and pressed buttons as shapes became visible. Meg was also watching closely, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

  The helicopter came two days after her night of cramps. It was an unusual visit — only weeks after the previous one — and Meg wondered if they knew that the pregnancy was in danger of terminating itself. How could they know that? She looked at her forearm and wondered about the implant, which she hadn't gotten around to removing.

  Ben made a noise in his throat and pressed a button. Meg looked harder at the screen. He had highlighted two areas, and she looked at them, she realised with horror what she was seeing. Two foetuses. Goddamned twins! No!

  She gripped Ben on his cold arm and held up two fingers with eyebrows raised. He raised two fingers in reply. No. Not possible. Not with her history of bad childbirths.

  Ben finished the examination and began typing on a keyboard. A screen flashed which showed the progress of a file being transmitted. When it was finished, he motioned to Bill who began packing the equipment away.

  Meg tore a page from a notebook and wrote in large, capital letters:

  I WANT TO MEET YOUR SUPERIORS.

  She handed it to Ben who looked at it without recognition. Obviously he had no idea what it said. "Give it to your bosses." He took the paper, folded it and placed it in his pocket.

  "Can't you talk at all? Maybe you can but you've been told not to. Is that right?"

  Ben frowned and then turned from her.

  "Well, just make sure you pass that note on. Okay?"

  The men picked up the cases and began walking comically back to the helicopter.

  Connie came and stood by Meg as she watched them walk away.

  "Gee, Meg. I hope you know what you're doing."

  "Eh?"

  "That note."

  "What about it?"

  "They mightn't like it. Might hurt us."

  "If I thought that was a chance, I wouldn't do it. You should know that."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "It's not an act of aggression — not like when I pointed a rifle at them."

  "Maybe not — but still."

  "Listen, I have to talk to someone about this pregnancy. I'm having twins for Christ sakes. I've had toxaemia in all three of my previous pregnancies. The last birth was a bloodbath that killed the baby. I read the chart — my own life was in danger. How in the hell can I have twins here with no medical help?" She covered her face and began sobbing.

  "There, there." Connie was patting her on the arm. "It'll be okay. Yes, you're right. You need to tell someone."

  The thing was — would anybody listen?

  "I'm suffocating. I can't stand it anymore. The air seems thick and I can't fill my lungs properly. I keep breathing in short, shallow puffs.

  I think it's some sort of panic I'm suffering. As my belly swells I'm deteriorating physically and mentally. I think I'm going mad. I have urges to grab the big, razor-sharp knife and slice my womb open and be rid of these things that are causing me so much harm.

  I have dreams in which people whose opinion I respect tell me I'll be okay. My boss, Angela, and my mother both talk to me in soothing voices. I know these dreams are being sent to me by whoever orchestrates these things. I don't believe them for a moment.

  I'm sick of this world. Sick of only having Luke and Connie to talk to. The days are long and seem an endless drudgery. There is no happiness and no excitement.

  I just can't stand it anymore.”

  Bill was holding out a note:

  IT IS NOT POSSIBLE FOR YOU TO MEET ANYBODY ELSE AT THIS TIME.

  Meg snorted and crumpled it into a ball. "Arseholes". She kicked the paper ball to Thomas who squealed in delight and tried to kick it back.

  More tests. More ultrasound images. Thirty weeks gestation and she already felt full term. She was impatient, angry, and as mad as a cut snake.

  She wrote another note:

  I WILL HAVE PROBLEMS DELIVERING THESE BABIES. BAD HISTORY. I WILL NEED YOUR HELP.

  The note was placed in a pocket. The helicopter flew away, unsteadily as usual.

  Maisie, nearly two years old, toddled up to Meg and held on to her leg. She looked up at her with a bewitching smile. Meg calmed and smiled back. She took the child's hand and led her out into the sunshine.

  In the newsagent she took time to select a special notebook with high-quality paper. At home she opened it to the first page and wrote, "My Wishes". She turned to page three and thought for a moment before heading it, "The Birth".

  “If there is a chance of saving the babies at the cost of my life, take it. These children will be the future of the human race and I am just someone who will become fairly useless at a fast rate. I am sick of this world, anyway.”

  On the next page she wrote, "Burial".

  "I want you to bury me under the shady branches of the giant fig. Don't worry about a coffin or any ornamentation. Just wrap me in a sheet and place a wooden marker on the grave."

  The next page was headed, "Journals".

  “Future generations will want to know what happened — what the old world was like and how it came to be the new world. I don't have all the answers, but I'm sure the contents of my journals — even just the 'log entries' of daily life, will be important to them. Please preserve the journals well. I suggest you take care to wrap them in air-tight packaging and place them in a metal container. This should be buried somewhere central in the township with a sign that says, "Time Capsule". It should also contain relics of our former lives that are now useless — mobile phones, tablets, etc. Maybe the time capsule should be buried outside the library. Yes, that's it. The library.

  Connie, keep the journals going. Add to the time capsule. It's important.

  "Other Stuff".

  I'm ashamed of my recent behaviour. I haven't coped well — mentally or physically — with this pregnancy. I'm fairly certain I will not survive the birth. Don't get me wrong — I haven't given up. I will still fight to the end — but if you're reading this, then I didn't make it. Just know that I'm proud of you two. You've adapted to this world very well and without much angst. I guess it's an age thing. You don't question everything like I do. You just get on with life in this strange new world.

  You make a perfect little family. I have grown to love you as my own. Take care now. X”

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Meg was packing to move back to Luke and Connie's house when she heard the helicopter approaching. It had become a regular sound during the weekly visits by Bill and Ben, who had been conducting tests and transmitting the results to unknown recipients. This time the tone of the helicopter seemed deeper.

  What she saw when she looked out the window piqued her interest. The chopper had a cable hanging from its belly and at the end of this was a large object — like a shipping container but made of a material that looked lighter.

  She drove quickly to the other house to see what they'd brought. Luke and Connie were standing on the veranda, trying to control Maisie and Thomas, who wanted to run to the strange box that was being disconnected from the aircraft. The men appeared to have difficulty with this manoeuvre, and, when the box was freed, lurched crazily in the sky for several seconds before landing safely.

  Everyone watched with interest as Bill and Ben ran to the box and began undoing large fasteners that held it together. The sides dropped to the ground and walls sprang up in their place. The men ran around for half an hour, assembling, propping and securing, until the structure was all in place.

  From the back of the chopper they produced boxes, which they took into the small building. There were noises of packaging being undone and objects being placed.

  The men worked without rest until mid-afternoon, at which time they boarded the helicopter and flew away.

  They returned the next day with another container and began unpacking it very quickly. Meg took a comfortable chair and a coffee onto the veranda and spent an enjoyable time watching the activity.

  Fu
rniture was being assembled before being transferred into the building. It wasn't just normal furniture, however. It was an adjustable hospital bed, then an operating table. There was a cabinet which Meg thought might hold medicines and equipment. There were chairs and a desk.

  Next came machines — lots of them.

  The last object to be removed from the second container was a generator. By nightfall it was humming, and the building was lit. At that time of evening, with the lighting glowing through the thin sides of the building, it looked almost romantic.

  The next day dawned cool, wet and windy. When Meg walked into the kitchen, she saw the men standing by the glass door with a note:

  PLEASE COME OVER TO THE HOSPITAL FOR TESTS.

  She nodded and closed the door quietly behind her. The wind caught her by surprise, and she quickly pulled the bathrobe up to her neck and held it closed with one hand. She crossed the damp grass as fast as her cumbersome body would allow.

  As she entered the hospital she was led to a chair in the entry area. Beyond that she could see another room sealed behind clear plastic. She could see the operating table and lighting already in place.

  Ben, with the chipped tooth, took a blood pressure reading. Bill drew blood from the inside of her elbow into several phials, which were taken into another room she couldn't see. Ben handed her a specimen bottle and pointed to a bathroom to the left of her chair. After she'd filled it, he took it away.

  Bill came back with a note:

  WE WILL OPERATE IN TWO DAYS. DO NOT EAT AFTER MIDNIGHT ON THE NIGHT BEFORE.

  Meg nodded. This was the best she could possibly have hoped for. She only had one question — who was going to perform the procedure?

  "I can't sleep. It's after three in the morning and I have barely closed my eyes. Thoughts keep running through my head like bullet trains.

  The caesarean section will be performed today, but that's not what's keeping me awake. I had a thought, which my over-revved brain won't put aside.