by Sabina Green
Ruby seemed just as pleased as I was. Her cheeks were stuffed like a hamster’s and before she even managed to swallow that gargantuan portion of fruit, she took another bite.
“What are we going to do?”
Did all the chosen ones really survive like The Collective had planned? It was hard to believe, since there was no other living soul anywhere in sight. What if Ruby and I were left completely alone here? I stopped myself. We managed to wait it out. Why would it be any different for the others?
“We’ll go find some children for you to play with.”
She looked around as if she expected there to be a group of them waiting for her behind the nearest tree.
“It won’t be that fast. We’ll have to go on a hike first…” I told her. “A few hours I think. We’ll stop by the river on the way.” The idea of a stream full of fish made my mouth water. “But I’m sure that we’ll have some new friends by the end of the day.”
She believed me straight away, and I was hoping it was justified. That it wasn’t one of those promises I couldn’t keep. I was still angry with The Collective but now I thought to myself: I hope you did your damn job!
It only took us about half an hour to reach the river crossing our path, but even if it had been five times that long, I wouldn’t have minded. Looking into greenery was incredibly soothing and I couldn’t get enough of it. Ruby was running around me happily, collecting various stones and flowers and chattering away.
We found a spot on the shore where in the shade of a tree two big boulders lay conveniently close together, forming a bench. All it took was to cast a hook with a thick worm, the line twitched as soon as the worm touched the water. I pulled back sharply and soon there was a fish next to me on the ground. Was it even possible to catch something this quickly? Fishing was supposed to be about patience!
“Why are you laughing?” Ruby wondered.
For a moment I was spiralling back to that moment she asked me in this same curious tone: Why are you crying Grampa? But I shook the memory away.
“Because I’d been looking forward to a fish for God knows how long, and this one basically jumped right onto the pan!”
“And where do you have it?” she frowned. “The pan?”
That made me laugh even more.
“That’s just what people say, you know?” I poked her. “What I meant to say was that it was really easy to catch it. Shall we try for more?”
Before I knew it, I had four more fish. One by one I killed, cleaned and deboned them. I gave Ruby the task of collecting twigs and small branches and together we built a small fire by the river bank. I grandiosely called it a bonfire, to make it sound like a bigger adventure than it really was. But I think that she was having too much fun being outside to wonder about the relative excitement of filling one’s stomach compared to other activities.
I carefully put the fillets on a skewer made out of a sharpened branch and turned them around over the flames. I let Ruby get down to her underwear and t-shirt and splash about in a shallow part of the river while the fish were being grilled. In the course of her games she managed to get herself completely drenched, but who could blame her? After six months in a basement, everyone would want to have a little fun.
We put the grilled fillets into our bowls and let them cool a little so as to not burn our tongues. I helped Ruby lay out all her wet clothes on the boulders around us and then chased her to the fire. I couldn’t wait a second longer for this meal.
I put the first bite into my mouth and it was like a wild party for my taste buds. I’d been dreaming of this moment ever since my last trip on the Rotorua lake.
Ignoring the stench of rotting bodies which wasn’t going away, being in nature was like entering paradise. One by one I was finally tending to all the needs that had to be pushed aside. A walk, fresh food. And now for the company…
It took us another hour and a half to get from the river to the blue tree. It was clearly a challenging hike for a child, Ruby and I took a lot of breaks and she could only be persuaded to keep going by the promises of new friends. My mind was finally receiving proper stimulation, breathing fresh air, but even so, I was beginning to feel tired as well. There isn’t much hiking one can do in a five by ten meter room, my body wasn’t used to intense physical activities anymore.
Despite our untrained bodies and weakened muscles, I realised how much we were slowed down by Connie’s illness the last time we hiked this trail; it had taken us twice as long. My daughter claimed that she didn’t feel that bad, and yet she had to lean against a tree every time she coughed, or if there wasn’t a tree around, she leant on me. Her breathing had been shallow and she had requested breaks “for Ruby” much more often than necessary.
I couldn’t help but wish Connie was here with us now. I pushed away my memories of her because they were only breaking my heart, and focused on our hike. Every once in a while I checked the map to make sure we were going the right way, but it was more of a formality because I remembered the trail from last time.
We walked along another abandoned farm and climbed through the fence. On our last trip with Connie we’d walked around it, not wishing to upset anyone by trespassing on private property, but I assumed that this time we didn’t need to worry about that. The sheep grazing the field were running away from us in all directions and letting us go through.
My heartbeat sped up. If I recalled correctly, as soon as we make it to the peak in front of us, we’ll get a view of the valley, on the other side of which is the upside down tree, on another little hill. By sheer force of will I managed not to speed up, Ruby was tired enough as it was.
“We’re almost there,” I encouraged her in a tight voice.
Just a few more steps before we see the tree!
We walked to the top of the hill and stopped there. Two emotions surged through me at once. First, a great relief, because the blue painted tree was standing there just like I remembered. And then a great disappointment, because the group of people hanging around it that I’d expected to see wasn’t there. There wasn’t anyone at all.
Did I get the day wrong? What if I’d forgotten to mark a day in the calendar at some point, or marked two at once?
I felt my stomach sink. Was it possible that we were in the right place at the wrong time? The weight of that mistake was pressing on me, turning me into a frozen statue. I wasn’t capable of any movement while my mind was racing ahead at full speed. If we were early, all we had to do was wait until others started turning up. That shouldn’t be a problem, although the idea of any more waiting wasn’t exactly pleasant. But what if Ruby and I came too late? Was it possible that the meeting had already taken place and they’d all moved on to some other more convenient location without us? If they’d found a new hideout, we could be criss-crossing the entire island as much as we like and still miss them! Why was I relying on some calendar instead of coming over here to camp a week early, to make sure I don’t miss a single person?
“We were here with Mummy,” Ruby said thoughtfully.
I didn’t know if it was worse to think about Connie, or about the idea that the promised meeting with other survivors might not happen. Despite my doubts, nothing would bring Connie back, and a community of survivors would mean a new life for us, companionship, restored mental health…
According to my daughter’s, or rather Mark’s estimate, this new community should be made up of some three hundred people. More or less. How come nobody was there yet? Sure, someone had to be the first to arrive. Maybe our farm was just the closest, so it took us the smallest amount of time to get here, even though we spent some time by the river.
Don’t panic, I told myself. They will come!
“Okay honey, let’s go. We’ll go up to that tree and have a snack…”
I slowed every step, every movement, while looking around constantly. When we got to the tree, we sat down so that the blue trunk was
behind our backs, but even so, I got up every few minutes and walked around it. We ate an apple each and a few homemade cookies. I saw them just as I was taking a swig from a water bottle.
I rubbed my eyes. What if it was just a mirage? But we weren’t in a desert, and it wasn’t so hot that the air would be swaying, breaking and reflecting visions of a human shape.
I stood up and waved. I couldn’t help myself. I felt like I suddenly understood dogs on a much deeper level. They waited for ages until their owner came back home, and when the moment finally arrived, they jumped around in ecstasy, barking and spinning around in circles. I might not have been waiting for anyone I knew, but my joy at seeing another person was almost palpable.
The woman waved back and sped up. She was hand in hand with a little girl of approximately Ruby’s age and it was clear from far away that she was laughing, obviously just as excited about our meeting as I was. But I soon realised my mistake. Her mouth was open not into a wide smile, but rather because of how much she was crying. She wasn’t even trying to hide her sobs.
We left the backpack where it was and walked out to meet them. My granddaughter who, thanks to my promises, spent the whole day being so ecstatic to meet other children, was suddenly gripping my hand tightly, hiding behind my body.
“My name’s Frank,” I said when they were a few feet away from us. “And this is Ruby. You have no idea how glad we are to see you here!”
The woman shook my hand and nodded passionately. “I’m Jaana,” she said with a distinct accent and I immediately guessed her for a European. “This is Miia, my daughter.”
She took a handkerchief out of her bag and cleaned her nose. Her daughter, a small duplicate of her mother, blond with clear blue eyes and light skin, was silently taking us in and with a small smile peering at Ruby, probably desperate to play with another child just like my granddaughter was.
“I’m sorry,” Jaana gestured towards her face. “I didn’t think that I’d cry, but… I was worried that nobody else had survived. Seeing you is such a relief!”
We walked to the tree together and exchanged some basic personal information. Jaana only managed to tell me she’s from Finland where she’s spent all of her life, before her new boyfriend–who succumbed to the virus–took her on a dream holiday to New Zealand. Just when I was wondering if her new partner had anything to do with The Collective, two new figures appeared on the hill.
Jaana and I laughed with relief while the children were already sitting aside, having some private girly conversation. My fear that Ruby and I had missed the others was finally gone. More pairs started making their way to us in various intervals then and I immediately noticed that Jaana wasn’t the only one whose emotions got the better of them. I heard various versions of my own words, or fears, that maybe we were the last ones left in the world, completely alone. We were reassuring each other, shaking hands, introducing ourselves and swiftly forgetting each other’s names because there were so many. By late afternoon there were so many of us that the peak with the upside down tree resembled an anthill.
Mark must have been off in his estimates by at least a hundred. I wasn’t crazy enough to try to count the heads in this mayhem, but I figured that the final number would be closer to four hundred.
No wonder Ruby and I had to wait for the others to arrive. To accommodate all these people, the farms and orchards must be really far!
The adults stood in small groups talking while their children and grandchildren were either sticking to their side or–for the most part–making up their own groups. They were laughing, chattering, running around, zigzagging between the adults, showing each other their favourite toys.
What are we going to do? Nobody had voiced this question out loud yet, but it was in the air and as time went on became more and more urgent. Where would we put all these people? Where would we get enough food to fill their stomachs? It turned out that everyone had brought food for a few days for themselves and their young, so the priority turned to finding a safe place to stay. I figured that after meeting everyone, nobody could bear the idea of returning back to their basement hideouts.
“There is a factory,” a black man of roughly my age said in a loud voice, “about three kilometres from here. It looks big enough for us to sleep there tonight, before we decide what to do next.”
There was a general hum of approval in his proximity, and then the news of the factory travelled outwards to the people on the edges of our gathering.
“What if… not everyone’s here?” Jaana asked. “Maybe some people didn’t make it here on time, and we’ll walk away from them now?”
The black man spoke again. “True. We’ll send a few people back here to stand guard first thing tomorrow morning, how about that?”
I shared Jaana’s obvious relief. I didn’t like the idea that I’d get here late for some reason and find only stomped grass instead of survivors.
The adults gathered their children and modest bags, and when the black man and his grandson walked out towards one of the hills, the others simply followed him. Like soldiers following their general.
“Grampa, is it a chocolate factory?” Ruby asked with sparkling eyes as we were marching in the survivors parade.
I couldn’t blame her for connecting the word “factory” with chocolate, her and I had watched the film about Charlie just before flying to New Zealand. Nor could I begrudge her wanting some actual candy after six months in isolation, during which her Grampa’s food experiments totally failed to provide any.
“I don’t know,” I smiled sympathetically, because I would also not mind a bit of real chocolate. Or liquorice sticks.
As it turned out, the factory was making clothes instead of chocolate products, to Ruby’s great disappointment. Various uniforms for manual workers, basic grey or with reflective stripes, summer and winter types. It was a huge two-story building. The ground floor with a high ceiling seemed to be partly a warehouse for completed garments, partly filled with massive machines and tanks which, if I was not mistaken, were making and dying fabrics. The first floor housed wide desks with sewing machines. The room’s layout reminded me of a classroom, all that was missing was the teacher’s desk with a blackboard and some chalk.
There was a pile of clothes in various states of completeness on each desk, untouched since the seamstresses had left it there on their last day of work, to finish “later”. Did the people in the factory know they’d never come back here, that none of their pieces would ever be finished?
When we moved all the chairs to one side, there was enough space in the aisles for all of us to squeeze in, just about. Surrounded by the hum of four hundred people, we all unanimously made our beds on the floor, using the piles of clothes from the desks to create makeshift beds.
We were probably lucky that they weren’t making or storing anything edible here which would have definitely attracted unwelcome guests, but luckily there was no smell of rotting bodies inside. The main door was kicked out of the hinges and there were a few broken windows on the ground floor, so at least a handful of people had sought refuge here during the pandemic, but it must have been only temporary. I assumed that when all hell breaks loose and one is trying to escape infection and get something to eat, a clothes factory isn’t the right place to linger.
An unusual sound rose through the thickening darkness, and all heads, adult and children, turned towards it. Many people even stood up.
Someone close to us was playing the guitar. It stunned me, and for a while I was completely still, just listening to a children’s lullaby which was soon accompanied by a young woman on the other side of the room, singing. What was going on?
Ruby stretched her neck towards the melody even though she couldn’t get a proper look at the musician, a content smile on her face. I understood why the person started strumming. To bring something sweet and peaceful into this strange situation.
I
really wanted to go to the person, the man, playing the guitar and talk to him. But I didn’t want to interrupt the show, which put a smile on all our faces, and so I enjoyed the music, even though it was mainly aimed at the children. The sound was just as alluring as the taste of fresh food, the smell of fresh air, a view of shimmering nature and the blue arch of the sky spanning all directions.
After ten songs, a deep clear voice said: “There’ll be more tomorrow. Goodnight!”
The answer was an unhappy grumbling. I didn’t expect the musician to be offended; personally I thought that the children’s protests sounded more like applause. I didn’t want the music to stop either!
I waited until Ruby fell asleep. It must have been late in the night. Deep breathing or slight snoring was coming from all around me and the high windows let in rays of moonlight. I dug around in my backpack, took out the matches and lit one of the tea candles. I didn’t want to accidentally tread on someone’s elbow or hair when I made my way across the room.
I was walking through the sleeping groups and finally arrived at my destination. The musician, now illuminated by a faint yellow glow of the candle, was the black man who led us from the tree to the factory. He was still sitting on a desk, a guitar placed next to him.
It was too small for a guitar, though. I didn’t know much about musical instruments, but a voice in my head whispered: ukulele. Portable thanks to its size, easy to attach to a backpack. A good choice for a musician and a traveller.
“You must be Billy.”
His eyebrows shot up into his hairline in surprise. “I don’t recall us introducing ourselves,” he said and extended his hand.
“We didn’t,” I agreed. “I’m Frank. I recognized you from the letter…”
I recounted a short version of how I found Connie’s letter on Darlene’s farm, one for me, one for a stranger. I confessed to reading the letter and recognizing its recipient based on its contents despite having never seen him before.
“Hm,” he mumbled thoughtfully. Was he offended by something from my monologue? “Actually, I also have a letter for somebody. And a key…”
