‘Yes. I also want you to get every bottle and container you can find and fill them with tap water. Do it now, straightaway.’
‘Okay.’
‘Fin, they want me to go to Canberra. I don’t know if I will. I’m not too sure what’s going on yet, but I want you to stay where you are, okay? If things change I will find a way to get to you. Do you understand?’
‘Yeah. Mum, do you think people could be overreacting?’
‘Fin, it’s my job not to overreact.’
We did as she said and filled every available container with water, lining them all up in the garage. After that, we all stayed in front of the television, watching the never-ending news bulletin. The picture regularly dissolved into a stutter of pixels.
There were no pictures from the disaster zone. We’re used to having pictures of everything – from security footage of suicide bombers to Nicole Kidman’s kids. There were no pictures and no live crosses to reporters in the disaster zone. There was nothing in the disaster zone. All that was left to broadcast was endless speculation about the immediate future of the planet, the weather, food – and the estimated death toll. Entire nations had been vapourised. What a way to go. At least it would be quick, that’s what people were saying, as if that was a consolation.
The news coverage went round in circles and the prime minister called for calm. There was footage of a huge television screen erected in Martin Place to show the news to city workers. News showing the news.
I sent a text to Lucy.
Dad got home just before dinner. He came through the living room and nodded at us, then went into the kitchen and talked to Kara quietly. I could hear Kara’s voice getting all high-pitched and emotional, then Dad came out of the kitchen, clapped his hands together and announced dinner was ready. Kara put the bowls on the table without making eye contact with anybody. It was some sort of lentil and chickpea curry. Hell, if I had to cook dinner for my step-kids, I’d probably make sure it was something just as inedible.
‘Is it going to snow?’ Max asked. ‘Radioactive snow?’
‘No, it’s not going to snow radioactive snow,’ Dad said, shaking enough salt on his food to preserve it.
‘How do you know?’ Max asked.
‘Yeah, Greg, how do you know?’ Kara said.
Dad glared at her discreetly, but not quite discreetly enough for me not to notice. He shovelled food into his mouth. ‘I don’t know. But I bet you it’ll all be over in a couple of weeks.’
‘What if it’s not?’ Kara said. ‘They said on the news it could affect the climate for years.’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen the news. I’ve been at work.’
‘Oh, is that a hint, Greg?’ Kara asked. ‘I told you I’ve got some work on next week.’
‘That wasn’t a hint. I was simply saying that I’ve been at work all day and I haven’t had the luxury of watching the news.’
‘Can’t you look at it online, Dad?’ Max asked. He looked genuinely puzzled.
Dad sighed. My phone beeped. Lucy? I got up to check. Dad pointed at my seat.
‘Sit,’ he said. ‘Have dinner as a family and then look at your bloody phone.’
‘Kara’s not family,’ Max said.
‘She is your family,’ Dad said.
‘No, she’s not.’
Dad slammed his fist on the table. ‘She’s married to me and that makes her family, Max. Right? Anyone else got any comments?’
‘I didn’t marry her,’ Max said and gulped his juice. Kara put her fork down and stood up.
‘I’m going to my mum’s,’ she said calmly.
‘Max, go to your room. Kara, sit down.’
‘No thank you, Greg,’ Kara said.
‘No thank you, Greg,’ Max said.
‘Max Heath, if you are not in your room in three seconds, God help me. Kara, can you please sit down?’ He spoke in the same tone to both of them. I ate my curry. It wasn’t that bad. Kara picked up her keys and went out the front door. Dad put his head in his hands.
‘Bye, Kara,’ Max said in a singsong voice. With one swoop of his arm, Dad knocked everything that was in front of him off the table and onto the floor. He stood up and pointed at Max, his finger quivering.
‘You… You… ungrateful little…’
He followed Kara out the front door.
‘Good one, Max,’ I said. ‘Way to go.’
‘Shut up. Just because you’re in love with Kara.’
‘What are you doing, man? What are you doing?’ I started to pick the things up off the floor: cutlery, bowls, salt and pepper shakers. It was a mess. ‘Can you give me a hand instead of standing there like an idiot?’
Dad came back inside, slamming the door shut behind him. He picked his keys up off the bench.
‘I’m following Kara,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back soon and I’ll speak to you then, Max.’
And then he was gone.
The message on my mobile was from Lokey. I tried to go online to chat with him about what was going on but the internet was all jammed up and the connection kept failing. I left it for an hour then tried again. It still wasn’t working. I called the internet company but their line seemed to be down. Then it occurred to me that maybe they operated their call centres from places that didn’t exist any more.
Dad didn’t come home. I tried to call him but his phone must have been off or out of range. Eventually I told Max to go to bed and I did the same.
It happened quickly. Quicker than they were expecting. Quicker than they told us it would happen. Or maybe Lucy was right and the government knew how bad it would be and they just didn’t tell us. Or maybe we knew all along and we were like kids covering our eyes for the scary bit of the movie.
It was the cold that woke me the next morning, biting up my legs and over my arms. My room was almost completely dark except for a hint of light seeping through my curtains. There were no bird sounds. Still in the drudge of sleep I figured it must have been really early. I hunkered down under the covers and was sliding back toward sleep when I felt a prodding on my arm. I opened my eyes expecting to see Dad, but it was Max, standing there with a blanket around his shoulders.
‘Are we going to school today?’ he asked.
‘Jeez man, I don’t know. It’s early, go back to bed.’
‘It’s not early. It’s nearly eight-thirty.’
‘Yeah, funny, Max. Go back to bed.’
‘Fin, I’m telling you. It’s nearly eight-thirty.’
I sat up. ‘Is it raining?’
‘No. It’s snowing. Radioactive snow. Loads of it. It’s glowing.’
‘Ha, ha. Is Dad home?’
‘No. It’s not glowing, but it is snowing. Serious.’
I still half thought he was taking the piss, but it was freakin’ freezing and he was standing there wrapped in a blanket. Max went over to the window and pulled the curtain back. The sky was a flat brownish grey. I got up and went to the window.
Mum and Dad took me on a trip to the snow when I was three, a couple of years before Max was born. I remember heaps about that trip because it was the only time I’d seen snow. I remember driving to the snowfields in the milky early-morning light and Mum pointing to the white-capped mountains in the distance. I had a blue plastic toboggan with a piece of rope to hold on to and steer with. It was that waxy, plasticky rope, threaded through two holes, tied in a knot and the ends melted in a white glob. I took my gloves off to rub my thumb over the smooth glob of plastic. It looked like used chewing gum. Mum made me put my gloves back on again. I remember hurtling down a slope and flying over a mound of snow and sliding across the icy bitumen of the car
