Storyland

by Catherine McKinnon

  And yet, it feels justified.

  I don’t know what might be going on elsewhere in the country.

  The government must be in control, somewhere.

  What happened at the medical centre was madness.

  Surely the army will send back-up. Surely they’ll get to us eventually. But it may be a long wait until order is restored.

  I stand in the Canberra couple’s kitchen and think about the amount of water I’ve seen.

  Do the rebels know something I don’t?

  What if we are cut off from the mainland?

  Another thought takes hold of me.

  What if there is no mainland?

  Could that even be possible?

  Is that why so many birds are flocking here?

  When I was a child it used to be floods and bushfires. That was the nature of the country I lived in. But the cyclones mostly hit the more tropical north. By the time I was thirty, cyclones were hitting further south. They were always fierce. Temperatures rose, there were horrific droughts. The dryness had been predicted but when it arrived, it was still devastating. We thought there was a new pattern, but then the weather changed again. It rained a lot more along the coast. Rained for days on end. When there was no rain, it was hot. Plants grew like crazy. When a bushfire started, it was always bigger and more destructive than ever before. Large swathes of land, burning. It was as if the land, the sea, the sky were all living beings rising up in revolt.

  I tape bin liners over the bathroom window and hike back to the caves. All night I move supplies from our house, up to the third cave. Food, matches, fuel, batteries, mobiles. No signal on our mobiles but we’ll need them when the networks get back up. I make Esther stay with Ben, although I warn her not to get too close. I don’t want her to take any unneccessary risks. Twice more I go down to Steve’s place. He’s not there. At dawn I dig up some bushes and Esther and I use them to cover both entrances to the caves. The result is good. No one will know we are here.

  Esther says she wants to sleep near Ben and me.

  ‘We don’t know for sure if he has the virus,’ I say. ‘We should take every precaution.’

  ‘But we’ve all taken Marsoral,’ she says.

  ‘The closer you are the more risk.’

  ‘You’re taking that risk.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘I can’t sleep on my own,’ she says. ‘Not now.’

  There’s a look in her eye that tells me she’s right. We need to stay close. We both set up our swags next to Ben.

  I have a fitful sleep. When I wake, I rise and stand behind the branches we’ve used to disguise the cave entrance, listening for voices.

  Nothing.

  Only birds.

  I crawl through the branches. Dull light. A black-cloud sky. I walk down to the house and over to the fig tree. I rest my head on the trunk.

  ‘Have you ever seen this before?’ I ask the tree.

  When I was young I used to imagine that the trees in my garden came alive at night and talked. I’d make up all kinds of conversations for them. Because maybe we have always misunderstood the deep intelligence of trees.

  I stand there, wondering and listening to the muffled sounds of the leaves, until it begins drizzling. Only then do I return to the caves, settle back in my swag and fall asleep.

  Do you wake from this state?

  Do I wake?

  Yes.

  Yes, I wake.

  Nada raises her right hand.

  One. Two. Three. You are slowly rising. Four. Five. Six. You are coming to consciousness. Seven. Eight. Nine. You are nearly with me. Ten. You are here, you are safe.

  Who are you?

  I am Dr Koskinen.

  There are things you’re not telling me?

  You are progressing so well.

  I’m remembering. You said I’m remembering. But why can’t I remember?

  All your cognitive functions have slowed. But they are adjusting.

  Adjusting?

  Nada stares at the tree vismem.

  Nada?

  What happened to the fig tree?

  The fig tree?

  Yes, our tree.

  There are very few trees now.

  Very few?

  It is an extremely hot land out there. Nada, you have been doing so well. The research we are doing together is important.

  I’d like to go outside please.

  We must finish our session.

  Am I a prisoner here?

  You are a patient.

  I want to leave!

  If you finish the session, then I will answer your questions.

  You will explain where I am?

  Yes.

  You promise.

  I promise. Now, I will take you back down to your personal membank. Ten. Nine. Eight. You’re sinking back down. Seven. Six. Five. Returning to the caves. Four. Three. Two. Nearly there. One. You are there. What do you see?

  The rough brown rock walls of the cave.

  What do you hear?

  I hear Ben breathing beside me. I roll towards him. He can hardly raise his head.

  ‘I’m okay,’ he whispers.

  Esther is heating soup on the camp stove.

  I get dressed. We drink the warm soup and then I hoist the rifle over my shoulder and hike down the road to Steve’s, alert the whole way for any human sound.

  Only the drip drip of water on green leaves.

  No Steve.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon moving more stores from our place up to the caves. Extra blankets, extra towels, pots, cups, plates, cutlery, anything I can think of that might be useful. If looters come we could lose it all. I want to get as much as possible into our hideaway. I find a book: Working Notes for the Future, written by Bella Brent. She was my neighbour when I was a child. I can’t believe I’ve never read it. My mother sent it to me some years back. I don’t think I was even interested. I take it with me now. Other things, like photos, jewellery, spare clothes, laptops, I put in the wine cellar. I lock the trap door, throw a mat over it and nail the mat down.

  The light is fading. Grey and listless. Night is nearly here.

  Kookaburras start calling.

  The noise is deafening.

  There are too many birds.

  I walk out to the fig tree and stand beneath it, looking up at the leaves. I’ve never climbed the tree before, now I do. I grip onto the tough bark and swing my legs over the thick branches. One after the other. As I near the top, the leaves thin. I can see the sky and down the mountain, to the dull water.

  Not a single person in sight.

  Only a liquid world.

  A spark of light to the south.

  I look to the sky. See a parting in the clouds. The first star of the night, Venus, shines through.

  It’s months since I’ve seen a star.

  I sit on the branch and take in the glimmering light.

  This is how it is now but not how it will always be. I say this to myself over and over. I need to remember that there have been catastrophes before and there will be catastrophes again. We only need to make it through a few more weeks.

  I climb down and hike back to the caves. At the entrance sits a black crow. It struts away as I get nearer.

  I go into the caves. Esther and Ben are there, they smile as I sit down. I don’t even doubt that what we are doing is sane. The caves are our secret. Our safe place.

  Esther has warmed up stock and rice. Ben is hungry, a good sign. We drink the warmed chewy brew, share some ginger biscuits. Then Ben eats a whole tin of sweet pineapple. Ben and Esther lie down to sleep. I stand near the cave entrance and stare up at the dark sky.

  My star is gone.

  I cry when I hear the owls calling.

  The next morning everywhere is a grey mist. I can only see for three metres in front. I slip the rifle over my shoulder and hike down to Steve’s to gather up any spare diesel he might have. Later, we can use it for our generator.

  When I str
oll into the shed Steve is there. Arms on the workbench, head down, as though he hasn’t moved since the last time we spoke.

  ‘You’re here.’

  He looks up as I go to hug him. The intensity of his gaze stops me in my tracks.

  ‘I thought you’d gone,’ I say.

  He turns to the wall. The muscles in his neck, rippling.

  ‘I took your rifle. If that’s what you’ve been looking for. I’m sorry, but I took it.’

  I place the rifle on the bench.

  Slashes of morning light.

  Dust drifting, looks like ash.

  ‘I checked on Ben,’ he says. ‘Sleeping like a baby.'

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘I went walking. West. Not sure where I was going. I came to a cliff. Water everywhere below. I knew then why I had come that way.’

  Steve shakes his head, blows air through his teeth.

  ‘I sat there on the edge of the cliff deciding whether to jump,’ he says.

  ‘Steve.’

  ‘I waited for a sign. I could see way out to where the grey sea met the grey sky. A white-bellied eagle came flying in from the south. When I was young my very old Aunty told me that the white-bellied eagle knew about the meeting of water and land. She said, you must learn from them boy. I never understood what she meant but she said it with such gravity.’ He turns to me, his eyes on mine. ‘I haven’t seen an eagle since the cyclone. When I saw this bird come flying in, I realised I still hadn’t learnt the lesson she’d wanted me to learn. I needed to come back, if only to do that.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ I tell him what happened over at the medical centre, and what we’ve been doing since. ‘That kind of violence shouldn’t happen here.’

  ‘It can happen anywhere,’ Steve says. ‘Hunger changes everyone and everything. I learnt that lesson in the army.’

  We stand there in silence.

  ‘I want to bring down the swing bridge,’ I say. ‘Will you help?’

  Steve walks to the door, stares out across the ruined paddocks to the edge of the rainforest. ‘Has Ben still got that oxy torch?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ll sever the hooks that hold the bridge cables,’ he says. ‘Then our only threat will come from those using a plane or a boat.’

  I like that he says our threat. He’ll stay. He’ll help.

  ‘Tom and Bill?’ I ask. ‘Have you seen them?’

  ‘It’s not like them to leave without telling us,’ he says. ‘I’m worried.’

  I think of the looters I saw. Did they clean out Tom and Bill’s cupboards? Did they do something to Tom and Bill? Did they send them running for their lives? That would mean the looters have been over to this side of the mountain. What route could they have taken?

  If this is a new world we are living in, I have to function in a new way.

  I help Steve gather together tools. He picks up a bag of fertiliser.

  ‘What do you need that for?’

  ‘It’s potassium nitrate,’ he says. ‘Useful for fertiliser but also for smoke bombs.’

  We hike up to the caves. When we get there, Ben is sitting up. He says he feels better. Esther is arranging the cave stores into neat piles.

  ‘Look what we’ve found.’ Esther shows us a stone with bits of twine wrapped around it and a wooden handle.

  ‘It’s a stone axe,’ Steve says.

  ‘Where did it come from?’ I ask.

  ‘Ben found it at the back of the cave,’ Esther says.

  ‘It’s very old,’ Steve says, taking hold of it.

  He puts it on the ground between us.

  We sit and talk. We decide to plan for a long stay in the caves. We agree that tomorrow, first light, we’ll sever the bridge cables. Steve gives us tasks. He sends Ben and Esther to fetch the oxyacetylene cylinder from our shed and bring it back to the caves. Steve points to the bag of fertiliser.

  ‘We’re going to mix that in a pot with sugar and baking soda,’ he says.

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  ‘Do you have any hair dye?’

  ‘Henna?’ I say.

  ‘That’ll do it,’ he says.

  ‘And toilet rolls?’

  ‘I have a stash of toilet paper, so yeah, toilet rolls.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘This is for the smoke bombs?’ I ask.

  ‘This is for the smoke bombs,’ he says.

  ‘Did you learn how to make them in the army?’

  ‘No, I learnt at school. When I was about fourteen. We used to imagine a world just like this.’

  Steve picks up the bag of fertiliser and we walk down to the house and into the kitchen. I crank up the generator and fetch the sugar and baking powder from the cupboard. Steve pours some fertiliser into a saucepan of water and heats it up. Then he adds some sugar. I fetch the henna bag from the bathroom cupboard. When I get back the mixture is turning into a yellowy paste. Steve pours in some baking powder and I rip open the henna bag and add that too.

  I collect two jumbo packs of toilet rolls from the storeroom and take them back to the kitchen, where I push out the small inner cardboard rolls and line them up on the counter. Steve cuts cardboard bases from one of the boxes in the pantry and uses gaffer tape to stick them onto the rolls. We push paste into each roll. Then we collect up all the pens in the house and bring them to the kitchen. Esther and Ben join us and we stand at the counter pressing a pen into each roll. We set the rolls on a tray and wait for them to harden. Steve hikes back to his place for some fuses and I turn off the generator. When he returns we remove the pens and secure the fuses into the rolls using cotton wool. We wrap each roll with gaffer tape and cover the smoke bombs in plastic and place them in a box.

  It’s dark by the time we finish.

  We carry the smoke bombs up to the caves. I heat up some canned soup. We don’t have a fire, but eat around the camp stove.

  Steve suggests we take turns at keeping a lookout.

  ‘We can’t take any risks,’ he says.

  The owls spook us with their calls.

  Steve picks up the stone axe and puts it in his belt. He takes hold of the rifle.

  ‘I’ll take first watch,’ he says.

  Ben, Esther and I lie down to sleep. I’m exhausted and my sleep is so deep it is morning before I wake. Ben and Esther have slept through too. Steve has been up all night.

  ‘Why didn’t you wake us?’ I ask.

  ‘I was okay,’ he says.

  We pack the smoke bombs into our backpacks. Steve gives us all a box of matches to put in our pockets. We load the oxyacetylene cylinder in the wheelbarrow and take turns to push it. We trek down along the road and into the forest. When there are too many fallen trees on the track for the wheelbarrow to be of use, Ben and Steve carry the cylinder between them. We walk on through the forest to the river and scramble along the banks to the bridge. When we get there, Ben turns on the torch and begins to sever the cables. Esther and I set the smoke bombs on the edge of a rock, and stand behind it, ready to light them if needed. Steve stands as our lookout, rifle ready.

  When the first cable snaps it makes a loud noise. It’s a relief but also gut-wrenching. When the bridge is gone it will cut us off from those bald-headed rebels and their gun-toting teenagers, but it will also cut us off from people who might not mean us harm.

  There are eight cables. Each time one is severed the swing bridge dips a little lower and the water rushing beneath splashes up onto it.

  When there are only three cables to go I spot the orange-haired boy coming out from the forest. He sees us and stops, his rifle pointed in our direction. For a moment we stare at one another. Then, the two tall leaders with shaved heads appear from the bushes. More kids with semiautomatics follow. With them, the looters that had passed Esther and me on our trek back from the medical centre. The orange-haired boy runs to the edge of the swing bridge but sees it is not safe to cross. He stops and shoots. Rat-a-tat-tat. Steve, Esther and I drop behind the rock but Ben keeps on work
ing the oxy torch.

  Steve puts his rifle down and lights the fuses of two smoke bombs. He picks them up, runs to the edge of the bridge and throws the bombs across the water.

  The bombs explode and dark red smoke fills the air.

  Esther and I light two more smoke bombs.

  ‘You keep lighting, we’ll throw,’ I say to Esther.

  I run to the river edge and throw. Steve comes after me with another. The area on the other side of the river is now a swirling red haze.

  The shooting stops.

  Ben severs the next cable. The swing bridge drops further down and dangles in the water, leaving only the top edge of the walking platform and the wire rail that runs from one side of the river to the other. Two more cables to go.

  The smoke is thick, but through it comes the boy. He has his gun slung over his shoulder and is edging along.

  ‘Go back,’ Steve yells.

  Ben severs another cable. The bridge drops away. The boy is left hanging onto the hand railing. He keeps making his way across, hand-over-hand.

  ‘We’ll kill him,’ Esther calls to Ben.

  Ben looks up. ‘Get that kid back!’ he shouts.

  ‘We’re cutting the cable now,’ Steve yells at the boy. ‘Go back.’

  The boy pays no attention.

  Steve throws another two smoke bombs.

  ‘Go back,’ Esther yells to the boy.

  ‘What should I do?’ Ben shouts.

  Through the smoke, moving quickly hand-over-hand like a swinging monkey, comes the tall man with the shaved head. He advances forcefully, as if he has been swinging on steel cables all his life.

  ‘Sever that cable,’ Steve yells.

  I pick up the rifle and aim it at the man.

  ‘Nada?’ Ben calls to me.

  ‘Ben, you have to sever the cable,’ I call.

  Ben looks down at the torch and then back to the man who is now getting closer to the boy.

  Steve strides over and takes the rifle from me. ‘Ben,’ Steve yells. ‘Do it.’

  I run over to Ben.

  ‘The river is running too fast,’ Ben says. ‘They’ll die.’

  ‘They want to kill us,’ I say.

  From the other side of the river, shots are fired through the smoke. No one is hit.

  Steve fires back.

  ‘Cut the fucking cable!’ Steve yells.

  Ben sets the torch going again. He cuts the cable and it snaps. The boy and the man fall through red smoke into the water. We hear a splash and they disappear. A few moments later their heads bob up downstream, but they are taken under the water again by the powerful current. They don’t surface. Screaming comes from the other bank. We throw another five smoke bombs to keep the cover thick, then pack the remainders away and retreat into the forest, taking the oxy torch with us.