She only seems to have checked the grid a few times, so when she asks about my time skipping I’m glad to fill her in. I managed to skip nearly forty hours after my evening with Alistair. Soon after returning from that, I skipped ahead three whole days. Feeling my way forwards is easier now. Each long jump seems to open up the possibility of jumping further again.
Mum listens while I talk about my time skipping, elbows on knees and her mouth in a straight line. She’s not relaxed about it, exactly, but accepting at least.
She even gives the green light for me to keep practising, as long as I warn her when I’ll be away and promise an evening or lunch date together each time I come back. So I find myself free to keep skipping further as the summer continues, playing with the sense of possibility opening out before me while my days disappear like playing cards in the wind.
After my longest jump, over a week, I find that I need to settle before leaving again. So I head over to the rock-climbing centre to compare notes with the others, and even do a few smaller skips with them while I’m there. The others have managed a couple of long skips, too, using summer camp or visits to friends’ houses as excuses. Amon and Boc have been working on a technique where they skip from halfway up the climbing wall, returning with sharp enough response to catch the handholds and stop themselves from falling. Mason’s super accurate with his returns, almost able to make it to the exact second. Echo is pretty much an all-rounder; as soon as someone does something new she’s the first to match. And me? I’m not the best at anything, but at least I’m able to keep up. That’s all I need to do.
Before we even know it, we’re a week away from the first day of school. No wonder the time passed so quickly, we’ve skipped so many days.
‘You’re ready,’ Boc says when Amon returns from a clear five minutes after Mason shot the gun at the rock-climbing centre.
‘Yeah.’ Amon keeps moving, breathing hard as he pulls on a shirt. ‘Yeah. I know.’
‘Well?’
‘He should wait until he wants to go,’ Mason calls from the other side of the room.
‘Nah, it’s okay.’ Amon glances towards Echo, halfway up the climbing wall. ‘I’m ready. Let’s do this.’
Mason jumped on the freight tracks soon after I did, and Echo in a moment of exasperation, I think, as a way to dampen Boc’s ego after he was first to skip longer than a week. So Amon’s jump today isn’t just training, it’s also the final challenge left to us before the holidays end.
We head out as a group, tracing the familiar path to the freight tracks.
‘That last jump was a bit of a shock, don’t you think?’ Echo says once we’re all through the gap in the fence. ‘We left in the middle of the heat wave, and then when we came back there was all that smoke, people walking around with masks over their mouths. Freaked me out. Didn’t know what was going on until we got home.’
‘Yeah, what did Dad call it?’ Amon calls from a few steps ahead.
‘Time lag,’ Echo says from beside me. ‘Like jet lag, but with no news reports when you get there.’
‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘Your parents know?’
‘Yep.’ Echo pauses as the path narrows between two eucalypts, letting me through first. ‘They’ve even managed a couple of short skips.’
‘Didn’t they lose the plot when you told them?’ I say over my shoulder, thinking of Mum.
Echo jogs to catch up. ‘Yeah, at first. But they’re way obsessed with studying it now. Practising any chance they can get.’
From a few steps ahead, Mason and Amon are still talking about longer jumps.
‘When you think about it, each new day has always been hidden til you get there,’ Mason is saying. ‘For everyone, I mean. Even without time skipping, you still have no idea what’s waiting tomorrow. You just get there faster.’
‘Yeah, except you know how things are today at least,’ from Amon. ‘So you get … like, clues about what’s about to change. It’s more gradual. So it’s not such a shock.’
‘The further we jump, the less we’ll know what’s waiting when we land,’ says Mason. ‘And the longer we’re away the harder it will be to adjust once we arrive.’ He glances back to me and I know what he’s thinking. The woman who died had jumped seventeen years. What must that have been like?
‘That means with leaps of more than a few days there’s no way to know what’s coming, no real way to prepare?’ says Amon.
‘So what?’ Boc’s been quiet, until now. ‘Most people don’t prepare for anything anyway. The dinosaurs who still live day by day, most of them don’t realise that anything’s changing. Not until it’s too late.’
‘Dinosaurs?’ I can’t help asking. ‘Like, your parents and most of your friends, you mean?’
‘I’ve asked them if they want to learn but most of them think I’m crazy. The only ones who seem to get it are Amon’s folks. So, like I said …’ Boc drifts off.
We’re quiet for a bit, walking through the scrub of the open parkland. The conversation drops away as Boc and Amon organise some sort of catch-up tomorrow, an early-morning climb I think. The only sound is the squawking of a flock of cockatoos in the distance.
‘How about five in the morning?’ asks Boc. ‘Before it’s too hot?’
Silence from Amon before he asks,‘How about six?’
‘Five thirty?’ says Boc. ‘We’ll see the sunrise and everything.’
A snort from Amon as we reach the fence line overlooking the freight tracks. ‘All right, you win. Who needs sleep? Five thirty it is.’
It’s still dry, but not as hot as it has been. Amon drops his backpack and starts circling his shoulders and neck as preparation. We all have our quirky ways to prepare, clearing a throat or clicking knuckles, finding a way to focus.
‘See ya in a bit.’ Amon flicks Echo’s ponytail so that it hits her in the face.
She musses up his hair. ‘Likewise, boofhead.’
We send him off with claps and calls of good luck then watch as Amon makes his way down to the tracks. It’s not long until the 3.17 train, so the conversation drops away as he finds his place on the tracks. It will all happen so quickly when the train finally arrives. We all understand how intense it is to have the massive bullet shooting straight for you.
We’ve been watching for a while when Mason checks his compad. ‘Must be running late,’ he says. ‘It’s nineteen past.’
Amon must have checked the time as well because after another few minutes he starts back up the slope towards us. Mason’s been busy on his compad, checking the situation.
‘It’s still coming,’ Mason calls once Amon is part way up the slope.‘Just running late. About ten minutes from what I can tell.’
Amon nods and heads back to his place on the tracks. It must feel a bit like an anticlimax, after psyching himself up for a skip.
The next few minutes pass in silence, agonisingly slowly.
‘How long now?’ mumbles Boc.
‘It’s hard to tell,’ Mason says, still busy with his compad, just as I hear the high hum.
In the next instant it’s here, a series of silver and white.
We’re all at the fence. ‘Did anyone see?’ I ask.
‘He jumped,’ says Echo. ‘I saw him jump.’
Flashes of light and dark pass by, so many carriages moving so incredibly fast. It must be at least three or four minutes before the last carriage disappears from sight as suddenly as it appeared.
We watch in silence, relief waiting just a few moments from where we are now. Now that the train’s gone, we can see the neat pile of Amon’s clothes in the middle of the track. He made the jump, now all he has to do is return.
Time slips steadily past.
Boc’s the firs
t to shift away from the fence, finding a place on the picnic table. Each minute seems to slide slower than the last. I’m itching to check the time but I don’t, not wanting to bring focus to this sense of him being away too long.
It must be about twenty minutes before any of us speaks. ‘When’s the next train?’ Boc asks finally.
Now that he’s broken the quiet, we all start at once.
‘… never stayed away this long unless he meant it.’
‘I saw him jump. He’s just slow to return –’
Mason lifts his head from his compad. ‘Next train is a few minutes past four.’
‘So, he just has to come back before then,’ Echo says, her voice faint. ‘No big deal.’
A minute later she starts climbing the fence. ‘I’m going down.’ If Amon comes back in a daze she’ll be able to help him off the tracks.
‘I’ll come,’ Boc says.
I sit at the picnic table, watching Boc and Echo make their way towards the tracks. Too many of us down there might attract attention.
‘Can you reconnect the safety sensors?’ I ask Mason.
‘Already done it.’ He’s leaning against the fence, hands in pockets. He turns from the tracks to me. ‘Think this is what happened to you?’
‘Don’t know. Maybe.’ By now Boc and Echo have crouched behind a control box near the tracks. ‘It’s like … you get lost or something. I don’t know.’
‘But you found your way back.’
‘Yeah.’ I check the tracks again and breathe in. ‘So, worst thing that can happen is that he returns and triggers the safety sensor.’ But I can tell from the way Mason keeps tapping the tips of his fingers together that he’s thought of worse things that could happen.
We watch in numb silence as the train arrives and continues past. Echo goes to stand while Boc holds her shoulders, sort of in a hug but also holding her back. If Amon returns while the train’s passing, even the safety sensors won’t be enough to save him.
Then it’s gone, and we’re left with the same empty space as before.
* * *
Echo refuses to leave even when it gets dark, so Mason and I head back to his place for sleeping bags, food and water. Mum’s so used to me time skipping by now that she asks no questions when I message her that I’ll be home the next day.
When we get back with the gear, we eat little and talk less, taking turns behind the control box to watch the spot where Amon last stood.
The last train passes at about one in the morning. On the timetable there’s a break of about five hours, I guess as loading bays shut down for the night. We could skip ahead until the first train, or go home of course. But none of us do.
He’s about to come back any second, isn’t he? Until that happens we’re stuck together in this strange limbo.
It’s one of those still summer nights with wisps of cloud lit up by the moon. I doze a little, using my arm as a pillow on top of the picnic table. I don’t think the others sleep at all. Boc sticks beside Echo the whole time, resting a hand on her shoulder when he sees her staring into the distance, saying the same thing, over and over. ‘It will be okay.’
Watching him with her through these long hours almost makes me forgive him for everything. Only almost, though. Because I can’t help thinking that he’s the one who set up this training exercise and talked Amon into it. It’s Boc who got us into this.
When first light breaks, we’re at the fence again. Mason’s down at the control box, his legs stretched lazily at his front. There’s still another half hour before the first train. My gaze is drawn to the spot in case Amon somehow returned while we weren’t watching.
All I find is his pile of clothes.
The lid of the night lifts off the world and details sharpen around us. I crack a can of water to drink and offer it to the others. Maybe the new dawn will be enough to call Amon back.
It’s only when Echo gasps beside me that I turn to see some sort of maintenance trolley clacking slowly along the tracks. A lone figure stands on it, near the front, his torso lit with flickering blue from a control panel in front of him.
Mason’s body stiffens as he sees, and he sucks himself into a ball, hidden behind the control box.
Already I’m on the grid, searching for access to the trolley coms, a way to override perhaps, but all I find is the dot on the grid for the maintenance worker. The control panel for the trolley is hidden behind a firewall.
With slow clacks, the trolley continues. It reaches Amon’s pile of clothes, slows, then stops with a clunk. You can almost hear the maintenance worker wondering what he’s found. For agonising seconds he cranes his neck, looking down at the pile of clothes. I can sense his confusion from here.
Mason shifts behind the control box. Not sure what he should do. Why didn’t we hide the clothes?
The maintenance worker swipes at the control pad. The trolley clicks, and begins to move forwards. My eyes close with relief.
An inhale from Echo, and I open my eyes as she gasps,‘No.’
The trolley has again stopped, right above the pile of clothes. A red light flares underneath, starting at one side and moving towards the other. Scanning.
We all start moving, but with no clear sense of purpose. Down near the tracks, Mason stands. I grab for my compad; maybe I can find a workaround to get that trolley moving. A change in the atmosphere makes me turn to see sunlight slip over the rooftops to the east.
It’s only when Mason calls out that I turn back again. At first I don’t understand the shape that has appeared at the base of the trolley.
It can’t be …
‘Jump NOW. Amon! You have to JUMP AGAIN!’ Mason’s voice is shrill, cracked with desperation, lunging towards the trolley. He stumbles before finding his footing again.
The maintenance worker cries out in alarm, jumping off the trolley at Mason’s appearance, but I barely notice him.
All I can do is watch, my mind sliding and falling, as Amon returns, his head and torso emerging from the tray of the trolley in a way that doesn’t make sense. My mouth falls open, brain can’t understand. Amon’s head drops back as his body slumps.
Still Mason screams, ‘JUMP! NOW!’ He reaches the trolley and pulls to a stop. Almost as soon as he makes it there, he begins to retreat, his each step pushed back by a creeping pool of red.
I’M HALFWAY UP the fence before I know what I’m doing, the wire rocking and clanging as the others climb beside me. A whimper from Echo as she lands is our only sound, because what words are there?
Already she’s scrambling down the slope ahead of me. Sprinting now. Somehow, I manage to stay close, faster than Boc. All I can think is that I have to be there when she reaches Amon, to save her somehow from what she’s about to find.
We race past Mason staring dumbly at the trolley, his arms hanging limp at his sides. The maintenance worker is on the other side of the tracks, about twenty metres away by now, swiping frantically at a compad, no doubt calling for backup.
We reach the circle of red but Echo doesn’t hesitate, our steps crunching wet over soil soaked with blood. A leap onto the trolley and to a sudden stop; momentum threatens to carry me forwards, but my knees absorb the shock. My heart is choking.
I’m still trying to make sense of the figure slumped at our feet when Echo gasps and spins away, palms over her eyes. Already I’m with her, holding her tight, a hand at the back of her neck, feeling her jerk with each sob. We’re pushed so close that I’m rocked by each shudder, accepting the emotion into my body. I’d take it all if I could.
Slowly, my eyes track to the figure at our feet. Amon’s torso is slumped forwards, arms pinned at an angle that is so wrong, his skin pale in the morning light. It
shouldn’t be that colour, a strange ashen grey. Where are Amon’s legs? Meshed around the base of the trolley? Only when I close my eyes do I realise that they’re brimmed with tears.
My eyes open to find the day growing around us, the sunlight strengthening. Hasn’t the world stopped?
Echo is quiet now, empty. I guide her down from the trolley. Don’t glance down, don’t think about what we’re stepping on.
‘Stay where you are,’ the maintenance worker calls, his voice shrill and uncertain. He’s on the phone on his compad, receiving instructions.
Boc is waiting with Mason; he reaches out for Echo and encloses her in a hug before turning to me, hand lifting with palm up. What do we do?
But I can’t look at him now, can’t respond. Instead I blink at the compad and try to find some sort of focus, a way to cut through this chaos. Already the maintenance worker has triggered an emergency alert, tagging all of us. Dangerous suspects. Ambulance. Police. Everyone’s coming.
What are we going to do?
Mason’s face says it all, dust streaked with wet lines, his forehead tight with pain. ‘I told him to jump. He didn’t even realise … I’m not sure –’
‘It’s okay,’ I say, even though nothing is okay. ‘An ambulance is coming,’ I add, falling quiet with the emptiness of the words. Can’t help checking Echo. She’s looking at me but I don’t think she’s focusing.
The worker is holding an arm out straight, a warning for us to stay back, clutching his compad in the other hand.
Still, Echo is watching me, vague and confused. ‘What’s that sound?’
From all around us comes a pulsing rumble. ‘Drones,’ Boc calls, just as Mason points to three cars approaching from behind the maintenance worker.
‘Oh crap, it’s the Feds,’ breathes Boc.
They’re parked before I can even step back, people in black padded uniforms emerging, already coming at us. How did they get here so fast?
‘Hands behind your heads! Stay where you are!’
Five or six of the officers advance towards us with pistols aimed, visors masking their faces. One of them holds a compad, checking the grid and shouting orders at the others. Their sheer speed and efficiency send my heart racing.
Lifespan of Starlight Page 19
