Everyone was busy in their own way.
Mykul folded his hands behind his back, deciding to take what he called his usual ‘walk amongst his people’. He chided himself; even when he just thought as their leader, he came across as stiff and uptight. His intentions were pure; he wanted to check on his friends and check on his family, to make sure that the people he loved and cared for were okay, to see for himself that they knew what to do in order to live rather than just survive. But his phrasing was all-wrong; when he thought of them he would barely admit it to himself, and when he talked to them as a group he was too uncomfortable to tell them something as simple as ‘I care’.
And so he went for a walk and he talked to them one-on-one and everything was fine.
Directly adjacent to the town square was a falling-down playground, something that Mykul never really paid much attention to. This time, however, some compulsion pushed him towards it. He saw rusty skeletons that had once entertained untold numbers of children, the ground beneath them littered with splinters of wood, metal off-cuts, shards of broken glass, scraps of plastic, the usual debris and detritus washed up by the flooding river.
As Mykul stared at this pile of wreckage, one of the children of the tribe laughed with delight and led his fellows into its maw.
They seemed to instinctively know what to do – they didn’t need to be shown how to play, how to pretend, how to make-believe. Hand-over-hand, they grappled with the crippled monkey bars; with youthful ease, they perched on the drooping swings; with great care, they slid down the buckled slide. Mykul smiled with delight. He could only dream of being so adaptable, weighed down as he was by memories of the world before.
“Daddy? Daddy? Can you help?”
Mykul quickly looked around, the sadness and urgency in the child’s voice a cause for sudden panic. Instead of the horror that he had expected to see, Mykul instead laid eyes upon a little boy, no older than four or five, standing beneath the crippled monkey bars. No matter how much he strained and stretched, he just couldn’t reach them.
“Daddy? Daddy, where are you?”
Before Mykul could offer to help, an older man walked into view. Mykul knew him, but his name wouldn’t come. He wracked his memories. Nothing. And so Mykul just watched as the man ruffled the boy’s hair, kissed him on the forehead then hoisted him high.
The boy’s laughter was brighter than the sun, lighter than the wind. And then all of a sudden, Mykul remembered something, a memory from long ago, something that he thought had disappeared the way old memories do. It blossomed and grew brighter and he could remember… Sadness coursed through him as he remembered his father hoisting him up in the same way, when he had been about the same age, back when the world was ordinary and life was easy.
Mykul almost buckled; he hadn’t thought of his father in years.
He began crying, silently, wanting to hide his tears from his people. But then it all came back, memories that he tried to hide and tried to deny. A childhood of running and surviving, his father always making sure that Mykul came first, and then salvation in the form of the half-dozen people that slowly became the tribe, people who had eventually chosen him to lead them thanks to the lessons he had learned at his father’s side, and then horror at having to reconcile the joy he felt at being accepted by these people with the sorrow of his father’s passing, events that the universe had decided should happen on the same day.
Mykul suddenly realised that he was now the same age that his father had been when he died.
Mykul finally gave in, almost collapsing, not caring who saw him do so. He shuffled around and leaned against a pile of rubble that afforded him a good view of the falling-down playground, letting himself cry, letting himself remember.
***
Belinda eventually saved Mykul from his misery and his melancholy, the steaming cup of Earl Grey that she thrust into his hands a balm. She sat down next to him and threw an arm around him and just watched him sip at his tea and slowly-slowly-slowly pull himself together. She knew that there was nothing else she could do; she knew his moods and his ways, as he knew hers.
Mykul smiled at her shyly, embarrassed by the heart on his sleeve. Belinda said nothing. She didn’t need to.
“Thanks, love,” he finally said. “You know what? I wouldn’t mind another…”
He held up his empty cup and she rolled her eyes. Just because she would never turn her back on him didn’t mean that she had to indulge his foolishness.
“Never mind,” he said. He tried to push himself to his feet, and he made a right mess of it. Belinda tried not to laugh. “Ah, give us a hand, would you?”
Belinda stood up with an ease that denied her years. She took Mykul’s hand and effortlessly helped him up. The whole time, she stared at him with a mixture of amusement, love and pity.
“Right, so, how’s it going out there?” Mykul asked, finally ready to face the tribe.
“Well, dinner’s nearly ready and we’ve finished making camp. If you hadn’t noticed, it’s starting to get dark…”
Mykul looked around: the falling-down playground was gloomy with shadows and murky pools of darkness. He cursed himself; he hadn’t noticed at all.
Belinda once again offered her hand. “Shall we?”
Mykul took it gratefully; they turned back to the town square and started walking. The derelict space had undergone a modest makeover, now strewn with threadbare tents and patchwork shelters and a handful of flickering torches, while the bonfire built in the centre of the empty car park was now ablaze. Next to it was a long row of makeshift tables, each laden with spit-roasted wild-meat, freshly picked bush-food and steaming bowls of vegetables and fruit that had been boiled in their cans.
Mykul’s stomach rumbled as he watched the tribe feast, and he couldn’t join them fast enough. Belinda laughed, and then let go of his hand and pushed him on.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.
“I ate while you were having a sook. It’s okay, I’ll catch up later.”
“You sure?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Go on, dig in.”
Mykul did as he was told, turning away and piling his plate high. Well, it wasn’t really a plate – it was a pitted square of metal that served the same function, one of many stacked up next to their rudimentary banquet.
He ate standing up as he always did, like it was his last meal. Not a shred of meat or smear of fat or squirt of juice was left behind. Happily full, he warmed himself by the fire before wandering back and forth making sure that everything and everyone was okay. People waved and said hello; he stopped whenever they did so and exchanged a few words, slowly working his way through the crowd, making sure that he talked to everyone.
He finally pulled up next to Machas, Sinfia and Joools – the tribe’s two nurses and its lone expectant mother. “G’day,” he said. “Joools, how are you feeling? Can I do anything for you?”
He had deliberately visited them last; she was due at any moment and an impending birth was always a source of great excitement amongst the tribe. It was Mykul’s responsibility, as both their leader and their friend, to sit with them and watch over them and offer help when he could, a function that he was happy to fulfil.
“Thanks Grandfather, but I’m okay – these two are taking pretty good care of me.”
Machas and Sinfia both looked up at him.
“Would you like to sit?” Machas offered, deferentially getting to his feet.
“Thank you, Marcus.” Machas frowned at him, and Mykul silently cursed his mistake. “I’m sorry. Thank you, Machas, that’s very kind of you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The younger man helped the older man settle himself on a tatty rug that they had laid down. Joools suddenly grimaced. Machas looked down at her, his brow furrowed, concern showing through the bird-nest of his beard; Sinfia passed a battered metal canteen to Joools and encouraged her to drink.
“I’m alright,” Joools said when she had drained the canteen
dry. “I just want to have the bloody thing.”
“Well, that’s what they all say. You know…”
“Ugh, hang on.” Joools arched her back, her face wracked with pain. Just as suddenly, her warning twinge subsided.
“Any minute now,” Machas muttered.
“Sinfia?” Joools said.
“I’m here, what can I do?”
“I’m dying to go to the toilet. Help me out, would you?”
“You got it.” Sinfia quickly got to her feet then slowly and carefully helped Joools to hers.
“Will you two be okay?” Machas asked.
“Please, Mach, don’t be stupid. How many times do we have to go through this? There are some things that we girls have to do together.”
Joools, despite her discomfort, choked back a laugh. Mykul, who had been watching them with something that was almost awe, impressed by their confidence and surety of self, wondered how many times Joools had witnessed this exchange between the two nurses.
And then Machas gave in and dropped the subject.
“We’d better go before I leave something behind,” Joools said.
Sinfia dutifully helped Joools waddle away and they soon disappeared behind the fire. Machas, who been staring at them the whole time, finally looked down at Mykul. Hesitantly, he took a seat next to the old man. He didn’t speak. He avoided Mykul’s eye. The elders had always brought out a shyness in him that nothing else did, none more so than their leader.
“How’s she doing, really?” Mykul asked, smiling at the younger man.
A moment passed. Mykul was happy for Machas to take his time.
“She’s fine, couldn’t ask for better,” he finally said, although he still wouldn’t meet Mykul’s eye. “I wish everyone was as tough as her.”
“Yeah, me too. How are you coping?”
Machas didn’t answer. He didn’t really know what to say.
“It’s okay,” Mykul prodded.
“Um, well, I’m good, Grandfather. Thanks for asking.” Machas thought it over for a second. “You know, I just can’t wait to get some fish into me.”
Mykul smiled to himself. “Not too long now. Before you know it, we’ll be lying on a beach drinking Pina Coladas.”
Machas’ face wrinkled with bemusement.
“Ah, yeah, sorry – you’re too young to understand that.”
“Oh.”
In a slightly uncomfortable silence, they looked over the fire, watching the tribe feast and rest and settle in. As happened in this spot and at this time every year for the last decade or so, Mykul sighed with relief that his people no longer lived in fear of the beasts, happy that they didn’t have to constantly hide or spend their lives in silence for fear of being discovered.
Mykul leaned back, propping himself against the trunk of a dead tree next to the tatty rug that Machas and Sinfia had laid out. Without needing to be asked, Machas started rifling through his and Sinfia’s packs, pulling out a threadbare blanket and passing it over. It wasn’t so cold that he needed to shelter indoors, but there was still a chill to the early spring air and Mykul appreciated Machas’ gesture.
“Thank you, Machas, you’re a good man.”
Machas’ cheeks flushed and he looked away. Mykul smiled to himself before tucking the blanket tightly around his body and shuffling about until he was lying on his back looking at the stars. Sleeping under a shining night-sky suited him – Mykul felt peace and contentment like they were physical things, things you could touch and hold onto.
Within moments, he was asleep.
***
Most nights, Mykul didn’t dream or suffer nightmares. He didn’t snore, sleepwalk, sleep-talk or wake up intermittently needing to go to the toilet – he just slept through until he was good and ready. Most nights, he resembled someone who had slipped into a coma.
This was one of those nights. By the time Belinda managed to wake him, after much pushing and shoving and tickling, he had missed the excitement of Joools giving birth. Belinda took his arm and guided him along, while he tried to shake the fuzz and wooziness of interrupted deep sleep.
Joools was already cradling her newborn baby girl, beaming with a maternal happiness that was almost tangible. Machas and Sinfia looked on, smiling with satisfaction. They were both drained from their long night of care, but they didn’t let it show, not wanting to spoil Joools’ mood in the slightest.
“Have you named her yet?” Mykul asked.
“Melaarny,” Joools said, smiling sweetly and somewhat stupidly and not embarrassed by that at all. “My little Melaarny.”
“Nice to meet you, Melaarny.”
Mykul doffed an imaginary hat, and Belinda and Joools both laughed. The newborn looked around with gummy eyes at the world she would one day inherit. She yawned, and it was the cutest thing in the world. She laid her head on her mother’s breast, and that was somehow cuter still. And then Machas reluctantly took a few steps forward, drawing up to Mykul.
“Grandfather? I’m sorry, but they both need their rest – it’s been a long night for everyone.”
Mykul looked around quickly; he realised that the darkness was slowly fading and dawn was rolling in. He looked at Joools with pride – it must have been a long labour, and yet she seemed more-or-less fine.
“Right you are,” he said, “you and Sinfia are in charge. Joools, congratulations again, I’ll come see you again after you’ve both gotten some rest.”
Joools didn’t hear him, eyes only for her child. Mykul smiled wide before thanking Machas and Sinfia for all their hard work. Belinda took his arm, leading him back to the fire.
“That was nice,” he said somewhat redundantly.
Belinda looked at him as if he was the very definition of ‘embarrassing,’ and yet somehow still made plain her affection. Mykul smiled, accustomed to the way she often reacted to his sometimes fool-headed ways.
He got to it, a leader once again. “What else did I miss?” he asked.
“Not much – there’s been no trouble, Joools’ birth was pretty easy, and I saw a few dalliances and budding romances between some of the older kids but nothing that we need to worry about.”
Belinda’s mouth turned down slightly, the faintest evidence of displeasure or concern, so small as to be almost invisible. A stranger probably wouldn’t have noticed it, but Mykul wasn’t a stranger – he liked to think that he knew Belinda inside out, and right then he knew that something was wrong.
“What is it?” he asked, prepared for the worst as always.
“It’s probably nothing, but the scouts didn’t report back last night. There could be a storm messing with the signal, or maybe they broke the transmitter, or maybe it just hasn’t been sunny enough to power the panel.”
“Yeah, and maybe they ran into trouble.”
“Maybe they did.”
At these times, faced with problems that had potentially fatal consequences, Mykul didn’t just dislike his role or find it uncomfortable or ill fitting, but instead actually hated it with a kind-of petulant fury.
But he kept on nonetheless. “Fuck it,” he said. “Gather the rest of the elders, I’ll be there in a minute.”
“You sure you want to do this right now?”
“Sure I’m sure, but thanks.”
Belinda let him be; for a moment, he stared morosely into the dying bonfire. It had been a long time since their scouts had failed to report back, long enough that Mykul was now unsure how to deal with it. He didn’t want to be one who decided what happened next. He didn’t want to have to potentially send his friends and family into danger.
He finally came to a decision, one that he knew he would probably regret.
Belinda had already gathered the dozen or so members of the tribe that Mykul referred to as ‘the elders.’ Just like him, they had survived the end of the world and could remember their old lives and the old ways. They weren’t better or worse than anyone else in the tribe, but they were the people that Mykul felt most comfortable around. They we
re the ones whose advice he sometimes sought, whose guidance he sometimes heeded, whose suggestions he sometimes adopted.
They had been herded into the crumbling ruins of an old bank, far enough away from the rest of the tribe to talk in private.
“Thanks for coming out so early,” Mykul said to them.
“No sweat, boss,” said Luke, a tall and lanky ex-military man only a few years younger than Mykul. “What’s going on?”
He and Mykul were close; so close Mykul left him alone to train the tribe’s warriors, and hadn’t once interfered.
“The scouts haven’t reported back,” Mykul said, getting straight to it. “That’s the first thing.”
“And that’s not enough?”
This time, it was Michelle that spoke. She and Mykul hadn’t ever really clicked, but that didn’t stop them from working together for the good of everyone. In fact, in some ways that made them a better team: their differences seemed to form a whole stronger than the sum of its parts.
“I’m sorry that I have more news, but you know what they say, it never rains…”
A couple of people groaned.
“Alright, alright, alright. Now, as some of you are no doubt already aware, Joools has had her baby. Good news, hooray, right?”
“Too-bloody-right,” someone else said.
“But that does mean we’ll be stuck here for a couple of days. They both need some good rest, and we don’t want to risk anything.”
“How long, do you reckon?” Michelle asked.
We Call It Monster Page 22
