home.
‘You know, I wouldn’t blame you, if you wanted to go with your mum,’ says Lucy.
‘I’m not leaving you. It would be a truly shit life anyway.’
‘How do you know it will be any better down south in the settlement?’
‘You’ll be with me.’
She nudges me. ‘You’re a total sucker, you know that?’
‘Yeah, I’m aware of that.’
Lucy props her head up on her hand. I gaze at her face in the dying light of the campfire.
‘I love you, you know,’ I whisper.
‘I know.’ She leans over and kisses me.
‘And I know you don’t need me to, but I will try and protect you.’
‘I know.’
In the morning we rise and prepare breakfast like every other morning. Only the mood is more subdued than usual. Max, who usually buoys everyone with inane facts from
Alan doesn’t get up from his bed. I take him some tea. His eyes are closed. I talk to him softly to wake him up, but he doesn’t move.
‘Alan? Al, wake up.’ I touch my fingers to his forehead. It is cold. I sit down on the concrete next to him and feel myself starting to break apart inside. I’m not sure how long I stay there. When Lucy comes over, my face is saturated. She puts her arms around me and my whole body shakes. People come and stand by Alan’s bed and cry. I can’t move. I stay there with him. It’s Noll that comes and pulls the sheet up over his face.
‘We’ll take him away,’ he says. ‘Lucy and I will take him.’
‘No. I’ll come.’
In the night we leave Max with Matt and Rosa at the camp and Noll, Lucy and I carry Alan’s body up the ramp out of the car park. We walk through the streets for what seems like miles. Then we come to the harbour.
To be there in a place that used to be so alive with light and colour and sound, to be there in utter darkness, is the most surreal experience of my entire life. Thick, impenetrable darkness all around, our torch light insignificant against the swallowing black – it feels like being in a wilderness. Even though you can’t see the buildings, you can feel their presence towering over us. And it’s so, so quiet. For almost two centuries this place has been smothered by the noise of people and their stuff: cars, buses, ferries, trains, conversations, music, inane PA announcements about train tickets, sirens, footsteps, buskers, beggars, street sweepers, garbage trucks. All of that has now been silenced. And all that is left is the lapping of water in the harbour. Now we stand at its edge, on the walkway lined with abandoned takeaway food vendors, ice-cream shops, and souvenir shops with smashed windows. If we could see them, the Harbour Bridge would be almost directly in front of us, and the Opera House on our right.
The three of us grip the white sheet that wraps Alan’s body. We know what we have to do, but the act of actually throwing somebody, somebody that you care about, into deep, dark water feels almost impossible. Even when we all know he is long gone already.
‘On three,’ I say. ‘One, two, three.’
We drop Alan’s body into lapping, undulating darkness and I watch the white sheet dance and swirl as he disappears. No-one moves for a long time. We stand and gaze at the water – the rhythmic roll and swell of its surface – and I realise that there is something soothing in the way it still moves the same way as it did before, back when the world was so different.
Forty
Max sits on his bed, plucking lint from the blanket. I sit down beside him.
‘I’ll take you to see Mum.’
He nods, not looking at me.
‘She’s going to want you to stay with her. She won’t want you to come south. You have to do what you want to do, okay? Don’t be pushed into anything.’
He shrugs.
‘I know it’s hard. I’m sorry it’s turned out this way.’
He looks at me. ‘Do you think Dad is dead?’
‘Dad?’
‘Yeah. Do you think he’s dead?’
‘Honestly?’
‘Yeah.’ He now holds my gaze, unwavering.
‘I think… I think if he was still alive he would have found a way to get back to us, at home. I think he might have died trying. Maybe he crashed the car. That’s honestly what I think.’
Max bites his lip.
‘I know that we can’t stay here. And I know that Mum can only help you and me. And even if we did stay with her, what she could do for us is minimal. In the long term… I think we’re better off to leave. But it’s up to you, Maximum.’ I try to mask the fault-line in my voice. ‘I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.’
Max and I have to double on Noll’s bike. I don’t know if it’s because it’s so slow or maybe it’s just because Max is with me, but it feels way more exposed and vulnerable than when I crossed the city with Noll. The only people who are out on the streets are men and their cold stares follow us as we pass. I do have the gun, still. And the possibility of using it doesn’t feel like as much of an abstract concept any more.
When we finally make it there, I leave the bike leaning against the fence in front of Town Hall. The soldier at the gates glares at me like he wants to give us a parking fine.
‘We’re Libby Streeton’s kids,’ I tell him. ‘She’s expecting us.’
The soldier has obviously been told that we would show up because instead of pointing his gun at me he looks us up and down then says something into his two-way radio. He listens to the response and opens the gates, motioning us in with a jerk of his head.
We walk into the busy foyer. My mother rushes over to us, one hand over her mouth. She pulls Max into her arms. He loses it then, sobbing into her shirt.
‘It’s okay, sweetie,’ she says, stroking his hair. ‘You’re safe now. Come with me, both of you.’
She leads us into an adjoining room, a different one to last time. There is a table covered with papers and manila folders, she picks one up and shuffles through it.
‘You will stay with me at Government House. There’s accommodation for officials’ families—’
‘I’m not staying with you,’ I tell her.
She looks up from the papers. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You said you can’t help Lucy and Noll. I’m going to stay with them. We’re leaving the city together.’
‘Findlay, you are coming with me. We spoke about this.’
I try to explain to her about the settlement but she just shakes her head, pushing my words away.
‘We talked about this, Fin. You are safe now.’
‘Bullshit! You said so yourself about the lack of resources and the famine that’s coming. No one is safe. Not here, not living in a freakin’ office building. I don’t care how many guys with machine guns you’ve got around.’
‘You’re scaring Max.’
‘
