The Silent Invasion

by James Bradley

  ‘What do you think?’ Matt asked. The first pile was six or seven metres away.

  ‘We’ll have to swim whatever happens,’ I said.

  ‘Can you make it?’

  ‘I can,’ I said. ‘I don’t know about Gracie.’

  ‘If one of us helps her?’

  ‘As long as the water’s not flowing too fast. What about our bags?’

  ‘We can throw them,’ he said.

  I looked at him sceptically.

  ‘I’m not sure we have another option.’

  Unwilling to strip off in front of Matt I took off my shoes and rolled up my pants, stuffing the shoes in my bag while Matt did the same. Then, balancing my bag on my head, I waded out toward the first pile.

  The river was warm, the bottom unpleasantly soft, and as the water rose around me I had to struggle not to slip.

  The water was up to my chest by the time I reached the first pile. Hefting my bag up I jammed it into a gap in the timbers and I turned back toward Matt and Gracie.

  ‘Wait there,’ I called to Gracie. Wading back toward her I extended my arm and led her into the water. Once she was next to me I hefted her up onto my hip, fighting to keep my balance on the muddy bottom. With Gracie in the water Matt waded out as well, slipping past me and splashing out toward the first pile. When he reached it I followed, grabbing hold of the pile and bracing Gracie between me and it.

  It was only another six or seven metres to the next pile, but the water was deeper, meaning we would have to swim, and although the surface was unbroken it was still moving quickly, the weed shifting and pulling in the current beneath.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ Matt said, but I shook my head.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘let me.’

  I pushed out into the stream, aware of a rush of cooler water as the bottom fell away and the current caught me. Anxious not to swallow any of the foul-smelling river water I paddled hard, keeping my head high, but the stream was too quick, and before I knew it I was being swept downstream past the pile. I put my head down and kicked harder, frantically levering myself through the water with my arms, but the current was too strong, so with a final, frantic effort I lunged toward the pile, one hand grabbing desperately at its slick sides, searching uselessly for a handhold until, just as I was about to be pulled away, I felt my hand close on something, the force of the water wrenching my shoulder painfully. Hanging in the water I tried to catch my breath. Then I pulled myself back around and clambered up onto the pile.

  Straightening up I looked across at Matt. ‘Throw me the bags,’ I called, willing my voice to be steady.

  Matt hesitated nervously. ‘Are you sure?’

  I told him I was. With a doubtful expression he picked up his bag and hefted it over to me. Somewhat to my surprise I managed to catch it. Matt waited until I had secured it beside me and threw mine after it. Once it was secured as well I climbed down and dropped back into the water.

  This time I was better prepared, but even so, I had to swim hard not to be carried away, meaning I was out of breath by the time I reached Matt and Gracie.

  ‘I’ll try to catch you,’ Matt said as he helped Gracie down into my arms and pushed out into the stream.

  ‘I’m scared,’ Gracie said as he stroked his way to the next pile. I squeezed her tighter.

  ‘You just hang on to my shoulders and we’ll be fine.’

  I hoped my voice sounded more confident than I felt, because as I pushed back out into the water with Gracie on my back I felt a jab of panic. I had angled myself forward, into the stream, in the hope that swimming into the current meant the current didn’t move me so quickly, but as soon as I began to paddle I realised I had made a mistake, and swimming with Gracie on my back was going to be more difficult than I had expected. Just as before I felt myself moving quickly downstream, but this time I wasn’t able to swim effectively, instead floundering messily through the water, my breath coming fast and shallow. On my shoulders Gracie whimpered and clasped her arms around my neck, the pressure making it difficult to breathe.

  ‘Not so tight,’ I gasped, trying to keep my eyes focused on Matt, but Gracie didn’t listen, just gripped me harder. I altered my stroke, trying to frog kick instead, and then with a deep breath dove under, pulling myself forward as fast as I could. It was difficult to ignore the weed that brushed against my face and fight down thoughts of it wrapping around my neck and dragging me down. Looking up I saw the dark shape of the pile through the murk and gave one more, convulsive kick, and as I did a hand closed over my arm. I broke the surface to find Matt gripping the pile with one hand, the other outstretched and wrapped about my own; frantically I scrabbled in and up, passing Gracie to him as I crawled from the water.

  Once I had caught my breath Matt offered to take Gracie next time but I shook my head.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ I said.

  We repeated the operation twice more, Matt swimming ahead, me coming after with Gracie. Each time was harder than the last. Each time we paused by one of the piles I scanned the sky, checking for any sign we were being observed from above, trying to ignore the clumps of grass and branches that clung to the piles several metres above our heads and their reminder of the hidden power of the water and the violence of the floods that must have destroyed the bridge. As we reached the last pile I caught Matt watching me wipe the water from my face as I emerged from the stream.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘There’s no point being afraid,’ he said.

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of the water. Of getting infected.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I saw you trying not to swallow it but it’s useless. If there are spores here they could be anywhere: in the water, in the soil, in the air, on Gracie.’

  ‘Then why aren’t you afraid?’

  I saw something shift behind his eyes. ‘Because it’s pointless.’

  ‘What’s pointless?’

  ‘The restrictions, Quarantine, all of it,’ he said, his words coming in a rush. ‘We lost the day the Change arrived, we’re just delaying the inevitable.’

  I wasn’t sure why his words made me so angry but they did. But before I could reply I saw Gracie watching me and caught myself. He couldn’t be right that everything we were going through, everything I had given up, was for nothing. Swallowing hard, I looked past him toward the next pile.

  ‘You’re slowing us down,’ I said coldly.

  As we clambered up onto the far side Matt held his hand out to help me up, but I ignored it, pushing Gracie ahead of me and dragging myself up behind her. Out of the water I was suddenly conscious of my T-shirt clinging to my wet skin, so as I dried my feet and put my shoes back on I pulled at it to loosen it. Once I was done I shouldered my bag and indicated a break in the trees above us.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, grabbing Gracie’s hand. ‘We need to keep moving.’

  Although this side of the river had looked like forest from the other side, in fact the trees soon gave way to an old road, half overgrown, along which stood a series of small properties, some close to the road, others further back along rutted driveways and dirt tracks. Most were deserted, so although there were occasional signs of habitation – a dog moving restlessly along a wire fence, a group of cows grazing in a field, once a child playing on a plastic slippery dip – many were already choked by the pressing green of the bush, trees filling the fields, grass and bushes clustering along the fences and gardens.

  Gracie kept falling behind, dragging her feet and shuffling. Still angry with Matt I found myself growing impatient with her, pulling her after me roughly and telling her to hurry, my irritation so palpable that eventually she burst into tears. Horrified, my anger gave way to shame, and I knelt down and hugged her, telling her I was sorry. She nodded, leaning her head against my shoulder, and looking past her I saw Matt had stopped a little way ahead of us.
/>
  ‘Gracie needs to rest,’ I called as Matt turned back to us.

  He gave a small nod. ‘Sure,’ he said.

  ‘We need to find somewhere to sleep anyway,’ I said.

  ‘There was a place back there that looked empty.’

  I nodded, remembering the wooden house set back from the road. ‘I’ll go take a look,’ I said, but Matt shook his head.

  ‘No, let me go.’

  For a second or two I considered resisting, but then I gave in.

  As Matt disappeared back down the road I led Gracie to the shade of a tree and sat down. Exhausted, she slumped down, resting her head in my lap. I stroked her hair, painfully aware of her thin limbs and tiny frame.

  ‘You did well today,’ I said in a quiet voice. Although Gracie didn’t answer I knew she had heard.

  After a while she said in a small voice, ‘Are we almost there?’

  My hand stilled against her hair. ‘No, sweetie,’ I said. ‘We’ve only just begun.’

  ‘But we’ve come so far.’

  ‘I know, but we’ve got further to go.’

  ‘Those people, on the bridge, they were there for us, weren’t they?’

  I hesitated. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’

  ‘Will they find us?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘Matt said that if they caught us they’d take you away as well. Is that true?’

  I didn’t know how to answer her, but before I could Matt appeared around the bend. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ I said. ‘Here’s Matt now.’

  When he reached us Matt said the house was empty, so we trudged back toward it, Gracie on my shoulders, her chin bumping hard against the top of my head. Ordinarily I would have told her to stop, to sit up straight; today she was so tired I didn’t have the heart.

  The house was old, a weatherboard cottage half concealed behind tall grass and scrub. Although the doors were locked, several of the windows had been broken; pushing the fly screen back with his arm, Matt waited while I lifted Gracie in.

  Inside it smelled of damp and cat urine, but when we jimmied the back door open we found a wide verandah with old seats on it.

  ‘We can sleep in the living room,’ said Matt.

  I looked dubiously at the floor littered with leaves and old paper. Then, mostly for Gracie’s benefit, I smiled brightly. ‘Sure,’ I said.

  On the back verandah we opened our bags and took out what was left of our food. Besides a few biscuits and a couple of olives we had almost nothing left. As Matt watched I divided what we had three ways and gave one share to him and the second to Gracie, before wrapping the third and putting it away so Gracie would have something in the morning. When I was done Matt slid his share back to me. I looked at him in surprise; he gave me a small nod, and I took half gratefully, already aware of how hungry we were going to be by tomorrow morning as I chewed the biscuits.

  Gracie finished first. Standing up she walked to the edge of the verandah and stared out. Behind the house the land sloped up to an old shed of some sort, its shape half obscured by thick, brilliantly green grass.

  ‘Don’t go too far,’ I said. ‘And stay out of the long grass, there are probably snakes.’

  As I watched she began to gather flowers, arranging them at the base of the gum tree that rose up on one side of the yard.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, not looking at Matt as I spoke. ‘About getting angry before.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. I deserved it.’

  ‘Did you really mean what you said? About it being pointless?’

  He nodded. ‘Think about it. The spores are everywhere: in the ocean, in the plankton, in the plants we eat. Pretending we can prevent it spreading is a fantasy.’

  ‘But Quarantine? The Zone? The disinfecting?’

  ‘They slow it down and keep the outward manifest­ations under control, but they can’t stop it. Pretending they can is like pretending doctors at a hospital washing their hands can eliminate bacteria. All they can do is prevent transmission.’

  ‘Then what is it all for? All the quarantines and lockdowns and sterilisations?’

  Matt shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we just don’t know when to give up.’

  ‘Some people might call that hope.’

  He snorted. ‘Or magical thinking.’ As he spoke I saw a flash of something he didn’t quite know how to control bubble to the surface. He swallowed hard, then, jaw tightening, he looked away, locking whatever it was away again.

  12

  As it grew dark the world seemed to contract, pulling in until the only space was the room in which we had made our beds, the trees whose dark shapes were visible outside. Even the house itself seemed smaller, its empty rooms silent save for the creak of the cooling metal of the roof, the occasional rustle of a possum or some night creature.

  Gracie was exhausted, but as I got her ready for bed she seemed distracted, her gaze wandering over my shoulder as I spoke. In the darkness it was clear the tracery of the Change was spreading, its glimmer visible now on her throat and hands. As I pulled her dirty T-shirt off I tried to ignore it, to tell myself it was no worse than the night before, but as I lifted my eyes to her face I saw her staring past me at the window. In her eyes the glow of the Change moved, like light glimpsed through deep water, but that unsettled me less than the glassiness of her gaze, the sense she was not simply tired or distracted, but somehow somewhere else, her eyes fixed on things I could not see.

  Although I had known this would come I don’t think I’d really believed it until this moment, and even now it was here I didn’t want to accept it. I put her T-shirt down and picked up the cleaner one she had been sleeping in; Matt was watching me from the far side of the room, his dark eyes unreadable. I knew he had seen it as well, but he did not speak, only sat staring for a few seconds, then he stood up and stepped out the back door into the night. In front of me Gracie blinked, and was herself again.

  She fell asleep almost immediately. I followed Matt out onto the verandah. He was standing, staring out into the darkness.

  ‘We need food,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘If we can get back to the main road tomorrow we should be able to buy something.’

  ‘I haven’t got much money left,’ I said. ‘Have you?’

  He looked at me and shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘What happens once we’re out of money?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But we’ll think of something.’

  I was struck again by the risk he was taking travelling with us. Most people would have simply abandoned us, or worse yet, reported us, but he had chosen to help us, even though he barely knew us.

  ‘Will your brother have money when you get to him?’ I asked.

  He hesitated. ‘Of course.’

  ‘He’s older than you, right?’

  ‘Five years,’ he said. I looked at him, aware something about the conversation was making him uneasy.

  ‘Do you remember your parents?’ I asked, changing the subject.

  Matt shrugged. ‘Not really. I was only a kid when we lost them. I remember my mum reading to me and practicing music with me, swimming with my dad, but it’s just images mostly. We had a dog though, I remember that.’ I saw his teeth glint in the dark and knew he was smiling. But when he continued his voice trembled. ‘If you weren’t in the camps it’s difficult to explain what it was like. All those people, so much confusion. And then just years of waiting.’

  I didn’t reply. I knew enough about what the people displaced by the Change had experienced to understand how terrible life in the camps had been, and how hard it had been to build new lives, even once they were resettled or escaped.

  ‘We were lucky, I suppose. Cain made friends with a guy called Ronan. Ronan was older than us, but he was good at getting things, and moving things
around, things people wanted. And Cain learned fast.

  ‘I’m not sure we would have made it without Ronan. But he made us pay for his help. We did things for him, things I . . . didn’t like.’

  I hesitated, remembering Tran’s words about Cain.

  ‘But Cain was okay with it all?’

  Matt hesitated. ‘Mostly. After we got to Adelaide he started it all again.’

  ‘And you?’

  He looked away. ‘I did too,’ he said at last. ‘I didn’t want to, but I did.’

  I waited for him to say more but he just stood staring silently out at the dark.

  The next morning I woke early, my stomach knotted with hunger. Matt was already up, his bag half packed. ‘We should get out of here,’ he said as I sat up. ‘Find water and food.’

  Out on the road the sun was still low, the cool a relief after the heat of the previous day, and for the first kilometre or two we made good time. Yesterday Gracie had been complaining her feet hurt, but today her grumbles had been replaced with a calm I found oddly discomfiting.

  After an hour or so we came upon a side road, marked on one corner by an old sign almost swallowed by greenery. I pushed my way toward it and, pulling at the vines that covered it, saw it pointed to a roadhouse. I turned: over the rise of the next hill stood a white weatherboard building.

  ‘There,’ I said, pointing.

  Although it was rundown the building didn’t seem to be abandoned. As we approached, the door opened and a man stepped out and climbed into an old car parked out the front. We stopped and waited until he had driven away.

  Matt reached into his pocket and drew out a couple of notes. ‘You go,’ he said. ‘Get whatever you can. I’ll wait here with Gracie.’

  Inside the shop was dirty, the shelves scattered with an odd assortment of cans and dried foods. Careful not to look like I was in a rush, I picked up a few packets of biscuits and some cans of stew and chocolate bars and bottles of water and headed for the counter.