by Claire Zorn
She steps forward, chin raised, and my breath catches in the back of my throat.
‘Shut. The. Fuck. Up,’ she hisses at him. ‘One question. Is there a Greg Heath here?’
I already know the answer. ‘Lucy, leave it.’
‘I dunno, sweetheart. Why don ya come inside and have a look?’
He begins to come down the stairs. The others follow. They’re all bigger than us, but don’t look as well fed.
‘Come on, sugar. Just for a little while, you might like it!’
‘Run,’ I say under my breath. I grab her hand and the three of us bolt for the car. Lucy loses her footing in the slush. One of the men lunges at her, but I haul her up and away. We make it to the car, where Max, seeing what has happened, has opened all the doors ready for us. The men give up, staggering to a stop, they shout names at Lucy, sick, stomach-churning things. She looks straight ahead and accelerates away.
‘We’re going to be safer in the city – that’s the theory, yes?’ she asks me.
‘That’s the theory.’
‘Excellent,’ she says. ‘I look forward to it.’
Another evening approaches and the sky darkens. Flakes of snow drift and quiver in the beam of the headlights. Then, up ahead, the red glint of tail-lights, a row of parked cars. We slow to a stop. Ahead, in front of the cars, is a razor-wire fence stretched across the freeway. There are barricades and ‘road closed’ signs. The fence is about nine feet tall. Lucy opens her door a fraction so the internal light turns on. She pulls out the maps and unfolds it across the steering wheel.
‘Where are we exactly?’ she asks.
‘Um . . . maps aren’t really my strong point.’
‘Shame. Me neither. Noll?’
Noll leans through the middle. He runs his finger along the thick black line that indicates the highway. He stops at a point struck through with felt pen, a red line that curves across the map, bisecting the outer west of Sydney from the inner.
‘What the hell?’ asks Lucy.
Noll slumps back in his seat. ‘Battery, Lucy,’ he says. She sighs and closes the car door, the light goes out.
As discreetly as I can I reach under the seat for the gun, hoping Noll doesn’t see it in the dark. I tuck it into my jeans. I take the torch and get out, head toward the barricade. There is a sign but I need to get closer to read it. As I near the fence it becomes clear that the cars aren’t neatly stopped in front of the barricade, but have made an effort to drive straight through. The torchlight glints and spider-webs across the cracked windscreens and as I get closer I see the sides of the cars are gouged with small holes. Bullet holes? They can’t be. I stop. I look closer. I’ve never seen bullet holes before, not in real life. Why would they shoot at the cars? I shine the torchlight through the windows of the car closest to me. I see the dark stains across the seats, splatters across the dashboard.
I can’t breathe. The ground seems to tilt and I crouch down low. My hands and face and the back of my neck sting with heat as though slapped and I am aware that my skin is damp with sweat. I try to take big gulps of air. I pull at the fingertips of my gloves and yank my hands free. I plunge my palms into the snow, in the torchlight it glitters silver. It feels cleansing and I want to rub it over my face. I breathe and I work my hands down through the snow until they meet the bitumen. I stay there, head down, eyes closed, palms on the ground.
‘Fin? Where are you? I can’t see you!’ It’s my mum and I’m crouching behind a big rock in the picnic area of the national park. I love to hide from her like this because she goes mental.
‘Fin?’ It’s Lucy. I open my eyes, stand slowly and let her know that I’m okay. I steady myself against the door of one of the cars and avoid looking inside. I move closer to the sign to read it. Residents only past this point. Residents must proceed to checkpoint and have proof of identity and residential address ready. An arrow points to the left, to the very edge of the freeway. I head along the fence toward it, weaving through the cars. I am almost at the edge of the road when a white pool of light catches me and a voice booms. The shock of it is like a shove to the chest.
‘Stay where you are! Put yer hands on yer head!’
I do as I’m told.
Max yells out and I will him to shut up and run.
‘Get down on the ground.’
I lower myself to my knees and when I am behind the cover of the cars I slide the gun across the ice, under a car. I put my cheek against the snow and wait while footsteps approach.
The four of us are lined up against the fence, backs to the wire. It’s weirdly comforting to come across someone who acts as if they know what they are doing and are under instructions from . . . somewhere. The guy who stands in front of us wears an army uniform and is carrying an assault rifle half his size. He wouldn’t look so threatening if it weren’t for the gun. He’s no bigger than me or Noll. I don’t point this out to him though. Instead, I stand next to the others with my hands on my head, like we’re playing some twisted game of Simon Says. He pats us down. He wants to know our names. We tell him. Max’s chin quivers a bit but he lifts his head high.
‘What are yez doin’ here?’ the army guy demands.
‘Trying to get home,’ Lucy answers evenly. ‘Could you kindly tell us why the road’s blocked?’
He shines the torch in our eyes and we squint and shift, anything we say is going to sound suss. I can’t see him in the glare. It’s like talking to a disembodied voice.
‘We were staying in the mountains with friends,’ says Lucy. ‘We thought our parents would come and get us. They didn’t. We’re going home to find them. Why is this part of the city blocked off?’
‘Part of the emergency response strategy. People have to stay at their place of residence so we can keep account of everyone.’
‘So you can keep count of the people who have starved to death, you mean,’ I say.
He ignores me. ‘Residents only beyond this point.’
‘We’re residents,’ Lucy says.
‘I need to see ID and proof of address.’
‘Dude,’ I say. ‘We’ve been staying with friends in the mountains. We’re not exactly carrying passports.’
‘Driver’s licence?’
‘I don’t have a driver’s licence.’
‘Oh yeah, how’d yer get here?’ I feel like I’m ten and being interrogated by the babysitter.
‘Give us a break,’ says Lucy. ‘We drove. There is no food, there have been no instructions, you know that. Please just let us go home.’
‘Can’t let yez through without proper documentation.’
‘What the hell?’ I say. ‘Mate, where have you been the last three months? We don’t have documentation. What do you want us to do? Order birth certificates?’
‘We’re children and you have to let us get back to our parents,’ Lucy says.
‘Tell us where your parents are and I’ll get ’em to come and collect you. Otherwise, go back to where you came from.’
‘What are you going to do? Phone them?’
The army guy laughs. ‘We have access to enough back-up power to last us a year.’
‘Oh yeah? I think now’s the time to bring it out.’ Lucy steps out of the line-up as if to walk away. The guy grabs her arm and I lurch forward.
‘Don’t you touch her! Don’t you fucking touch her!’
‘Hands on yer head!’ He shoves Lucy back against the fence and in the same instant draws his weapon on us.
‘Fin, Luce, shut up.’ It’s the first time Noll has spoken. Without the light in our eyes we can see the army guy’s face and the slight quiver in his hands as he grips the weapon. Noll speaks to him like they are the only adults in the conversation.
‘Please, we don’t mean to be difficult. If you want proof, we’ll get it. Let us go back where we came from. Please.’
The officer weighs it
up, then lowers the rifle. ‘If yez come back here without ID, all your food supplies and your vehicle will be confiscated.’
‘We don’t have any food,’ I reply.
‘Bull. I can tell just from looking at you.’
‘We won’t come back without ID,’ says Noll.
‘Don’t.’
We head back to the car, the spotlight on our backs.
‘Bit of advice,’ the guy calls after us. ‘Keep movin’, the people round here will smell your food. Yez won’t last five minutes.’
In the car we are quiet. I start the engine and we slide back into the night. After a while Noll asks Lucy for the map.
‘We were right,’ he says. ‘They’re trying to keep people contained and controlled. There’s limited resources for limited people.’
‘They’re feeding the people on that side of the barricade,’ Lucy says. ‘Keeping everyone else out. Which leaves us with a significant problem.’
‘We need a plan,’ says Noll.
‘What are we gonna do?’ asks Max.
‘We’re going to make a plan,’ I say.
‘So, the plan is to make a plan,’ Max says.
‘Yes, Max, that’s the plan.’
He laughs and I love him for it.
We drive slowly back in the direction we came from. Eventually we reach an exit and we creep into the back streets of suburbia, looking for a place we can stop and not be noticed.
My head is wedged in the small space between the side of the headrest and the driver’s side window. It is my attempt to find a comfy sleeping position; driver’s seats aren’t really designed to encourage sleep. There’s a reason for that, I guess. We have locked the doors and Lucy has made an attempt at ‘fixing’ the broken window by covering it in plastic and gaffer tape. As I slosh around in my semi-consciousness I am grateful for the gun in my back pocket.
My eyes snap open.
The gun.
‘Lucy,’ I whisper. She whimpers and in the dark I can’t tell if she’s awake or not.
‘Lucy?’
‘Yeah?’
I listen to hear if Noll has woken up, if he has, he isn’t making any noise.
‘Luce, I’ve left the, the, you know. I’ve left it behind.’
‘The gun?’
‘Yeah, I had to lose it before they got to us at the barricade. It’s under one of the cars.’
‘Oh crap.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Take Noll with you.’
‘There’s no way he’s going to want to go back to get a gun. He wouldn’t want us to have it in the first place.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘There’s no time to talk him into it now, anyway. I have to get back before light or they’ll see me.’
‘Fin, no. It’s not safe.’
‘It’d be safer if I had the gun.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No way. Stay here.’
She grips my hand. ‘We’ll wait for you.’
‘You bloody well better. Lock the door after me.’
She doesn’t say anything. I hear her swallow and she keeps hold of my hand for a minute. Then she lets it go and I step out of the car into the cold.
I keep the torchlight low at my feet when I can and I listen like I’ve never listened before, there is nothing but my footsteps, my breath and I swear I can hear my heartbeat. The snow isn’t deep underfoot, but walking is harder than it would be if I’d had a normal diet over the last three months. I find the freeway again and I follow the beam of the torch along it, into the black. My limbs feel weighted and I’m not dressed for this, even though I’m wearing five layers of clothing. I wonder if it is possible to freeze your arse off, literally. If it is, I’m a prime candidate. I try to move quicker.
I flash the torch up ahead, quickly so I don’t draw attention. It catches a flicker of a tail-light. I turn the torch off and head in what I hope is a straight line. A hint of morning has begun to show through the edges of the dark, I can just make out the shapes of the cars up ahead. I try to remember where we stopped the car when we got here, I retrace my footsteps, keeping low to the ground. Every move I make, every breath and heartbeat feels loud and clumsy. With another quick flash of the torch I catch a glimpse of the sign on the barrier and am able to orientate myself. I move through the cars. When I reach the spot where I think I stowed the gun I have to lie on my stomach to scan under the car with the torch. No gun. I check under the next car, and the next. Nothing. Maybe I came from the wrong angle.
I back up a little and then I feel a hand on my shoulder. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or maybe it’s a lesson I learnt from my encounter with Starvos, but I don’t flinch or startle, instead I turn and throw a punch into the dark and my knuckles connect with a jaw. Its owner lets out an ‘ooof’ sort of noise and in the second when I’m deciding which direction to sprint, he rushes at me and tackles me onto the ice. I try to shove him off, I take another swing but I can’t see what I’m aiming at, we tumble around and I manage to grab hold of his ear. I yank his head back and try to get him off me. It works. I scramble to my feet but he grabs me by the ankle and pulls me down, my head hits the ice via a car bonnet. And then he’s on my back.
‘Put your hands behind yer head!’ he yells. I can’t shift him as he has me pinned. I do as he tells me. He brings my hands down behind my back and cuffs my wrists with plastic tape – the same stuff they use to anchor toys in their packaging. He yanks me to my feet and flicks a torchlight on. I turn to look at him and recognise him as the same guy from before.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask. ‘You can’t arrest me, man.’
‘I told yer not to come back here. I tried to fucking tell yer.’ He starts to march me back to the barrier. We reach the embankment next to the road and I stop moving my feet, I let myself drop and he has to try to keep me upright. He’s shorter than me and can’t quite manage it.
‘Walk!’
‘No, I think I’ll just rest for a bit.’
‘Walk!’
‘What’s your name?’ I ask, like we’re sharing a bus seat or something.
‘Walk!’
‘I’m Fin. Oh, you already know that, hey? I have a younger brother, he’s twelve. Haven’t seen my parents for almost four months, so I’m pretty sure they’re dead.’
‘Shut up. Get on yer feet.’
‘I’m supposed to be halfway through year twelve. How old are you? How long you been in the army?’
‘Shut up.’ He tries to get me to stand up but I throw myself to the ground and roll onto my back. In one swift movement he drops the torch into the snow, takes the rifle from his shoulder and points it in my face. Twice in two days, that’s really something.
‘I will shoot yer.’ It’s like he’s trying to convince himself as well.
‘Where’s your family?’ I ask, super polite.
Morning light creeps into the sky and I can see his breath heaving in and out. He cocks his head to the side.
‘Out west. Get up.’
‘Just sit down for a minute, mate. Take a load off. I’m not goin’ anywhere.’ I manage to work my way into a sitting position. ‘They have a farm?’
‘I tried to tell yer, man. I fuckin’ tried. I’m not responsible for this, for what will happen to yer. I tried. Get up.’
‘Seriously, dude, what’s going on here?’
‘WE NEED TO KEEP EVERYONE WHERE THEY BELONG SO WE CAN ACCOUNT FOR THEM!’
‘This is about numbers? Account keeping? You’re kidding yourself, you know that, right? Does it work the other way? You got people from over there trying to get over here?’
‘Get up.’
The muzzle of the rifle has wandered from my head. He’s still looking at me though.
‘Hungry? I’ve got a Mars Bar in my back pocket.�
� I can reach it with my hands behind my back, I kind of fling it onto the snow next to me.
‘You got a mean tackle, man. Rugby?’
‘League,’ he mutters.
‘Yeah, none of that private school bullshit. Seriously, eat it. Sit down.’
He drops his arse to the snow, his jaw is rigid, defiant, but he picks up the Mars Bar.
‘Yer don’t know nothin’,’ he says. ‘These are good people, these blokes. I follow their orders: I eat when they tell me, I shit when they tell me. Yer don’t do that for nothin’. There are reasons for this.’
‘Yeah? What are they?’
‘We can only do so much at a time. We gotta keep the area secure before they roll out phase two.’
‘Which is where picking people off at the barrier comes in?’ I speak softly, not wanting to aggravate him. I have to convince him we’re on the same side in more ways than one. He doesn’t reply.
‘They feeding you much?’
‘We have rations. Why do yer think I’m still fucking doin’ this?’
He shoves the rest of the chocolate bar in his mouth and chews.
‘You know, they’ve abandoned everyone on this side of the barricade. No more rations, we’ve been left to starve.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘Dude, why do you think people are willing to get shot trying to get to the other side? That’s why we left; it’s the only chance we’ve got.’
He gives me a sideways glance, still chewing.
‘Have you heard from your family recently?’
‘Yer don’t know shit about my family.’
‘No, I don’t. But, all I mean is, if they’re out west they’re going to be in the exact same position.’
He doesn’t respond to that, just sits, arms slung over his knees, looking out into the distance.
‘Yer don’t need to risk getting shot at to get through,’ he says after a bit. ‘All you need is some booze. Or smokes.’ Then he takes a switchblade from his pocket, grabs my wrists and slices through the plastic tie. He wipes his sleeve across his mouth and stands up. I can see his eyes now. He looks maybe twenty at the most.
‘Piss off outta here,’ he says and begins to walk away.
