park. I remember the white, the searing, aching white.
The snow outside my window wasn’t white. It was dirty grey slurry and it lay in patches over our front lawn and formed a little peak on the top of our letterbox.
‘Told you. I’m going out.’ Max raced out of my room and down the hall. I stood at the window mesmerised by the scene. Then I remembered something.
‘Max!’ I shouted after him. I bolted down the hall. ‘Max, wait!’
I got to the door just before he opened it. ‘Don’t,’ I said.
‘Why not?’
‘It might be radioactive.’
‘No way.’
‘I’m serious. You might get sick. We should stay inside.’
He actually looked thrilled at the fact the snow could be poisonous. I went into the living room and turned on the television. Nothing. I flicked a light switch. Nothing. Back in my room I turned on my laptop, it had a full battery. I tried to connect to the internet to find out what was going on, but it wouldn’t work. I found my mobile among the mess on my desk. I dialled Dad’s number and was told again that it was switched off or out of range. Mum’s number gave me the same response.
Max reappeared in my doorway. ‘The TV’s not working,’ he complained.
‘I know. There’s no electricity.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know why. Maybe because of the drop in temperature.’
I got dressed and then I pulled some tracksuit pants on over my jeans and put on an old hoodie. A pretty poor substitution for a radiation suit. I went into Dad’s room and opened his top drawer, where he usually kept a bit of cash. I took out a ten-dollar note and told Max I was going to see if I could get a paper. I took a deep breath and went outside.
The cold hit my cheeks with a wet slap. I shoved my hands in my pockets. Most cars were still in their driveways, it didn’t seem that many people had gone to work. Ellen, who lived across the road, was standing out on her front path watching her two little kids pelt each other with bits of sludge-grey snow. She saw me and waved.
‘Hi,’ she called. ‘Isn’t this wild?’
I crossed the road and met her on the nature strip in front of her place. I didn’t know her very well, but she and her husband were friendly, always said hello. Her cheeks were rosy with the cold and her eyes were bright.
‘Have you ever seen anything like this?’ she asked.
‘No. Can’t say I have. Do you have any electricity? Our power’s out.’
She shook her head. ‘When Mick got up this morning he said it was out. He didn’t know what to do, whether to go to work. Went in the end, put chains on the ute. Can you believe that? Chains! Here!’
Mick was a builder – a short guy who played league and was roughly the shape of a rectangle. Their kids were about three and five. The youngest one, Zadie, was squealing while her brother, Zac, chased her around with a handful of slurry. They had made an attempt at a snowman, but really it was nothing more than a grey mound with a few twigs sticking out of it.
Ellen noticed me looking at it. ‘We don’t have any carrots,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that what you’re supposed to use for a nose?’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never made a snowman before. This is the first time they’ve seen snow. It’s a shame it’s so dirty. From the bombs, yeah?’
‘Yeah. I guess… Hey, I don’t know if it’s safe for them to play in it.’
‘Really?’ Her eyes widened. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Yeah, I mean I don’t know for sure, but…’
‘Should probably get them inside then.’
‘Do you have lots of food?’
She frowned.
‘It’s… there might be food shortages. You should make sure you have a lot of canned food.’
‘Oh. Um, I have a bit.’ She shrugged.
‘Look, I’m going up the road to the shop, do you want me to grab you some?’
‘Really? That’s nice of you. I don’t know what you should get, soup maybe. They won’t eat tuna. I’ll just go and get you some cash.’ She went inside. The kids looked up at me.
‘Snow!’ said Zadie. She had pink mittens on. Her brother didn’t have any gloves on. He had a trail of dried snot over his cheeks like a slug had wandered over his face.
‘We made a snowman!’ he said and pointed. I had no idea what to say to little kids, so I just nodded and said, ‘Cool’. He seemed pretty happy with that response. He picked up some more snow and ran off down the side of the house. Ellen came back outside and gave me a twenty-dollar note.
‘Do you reckon that’ll be enough? That should be enough.’
‘Sure, I’ll just get whatever I can with that.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Say bye-bye to Fin, Zadie,’ she instructed. Zadie waved a mitten at me and smiled.
I have known Mr Starvos, the guy who owns the little supermarket, nearly my whole life. Or maybe it is my whole life. He’s been there as long as I can remember. When I was small, Dad used to take me up the hill to the supermarket on a Sunday afternoon before the footy started on television. He would hoist me up onto his back when my legs got tired. He’d buy me some Wizz Fizz or a bag of mixed lollies. The freckles were my favourite. I used to give the banana lollies to Dad. Them and the lolly teeth – they used to freak me out.
Starvos was open even on Christmas Day, so I figured he wouldn’t let something like a power shortage stop him. Sure enough, the front door was open and he was sitting behind the front counter, the store dimly lit with a few mozzie candles. Starvos was in a T-shirt despite the cold. I suppose that was his winter uniform, in summer he always wore a white singlet. He was rolling a cigarette, which he then stuck behind his ear.
‘Mr Findlay!’
‘Mr Starvos.’
‘What you need today?’
‘Newspaper. Oh and some canned stuff for Ellen. Can you believe the snow?’
‘It is crazy.’ He shook his head and clicked his tongue. ‘No paper I’m afraid. The truck not come. There is not a lot of canned food either; everyone has been buying up.’
He was right. There wasn’t a lot left. The general population did seem to have an aversion to baked beans in barbecue sauce, though. I filled a basket with a selection of soups and canned vegetables. Starvos wrote the prices in a notebook.
‘Eighteen-dollars-twenty, my friend.’
I gave him the money. He bagged up the cans and handed them to me.
I walked back down the hill as I had done so many times, but now the scene was completely alien. I couldn’t quite comprehend the weight of it. When we were little kids we used to ask Dad if it would ever snow here. His answer was a definite no. But on really cold mornings I would still run to the window, half-believing that I would find a scene like in all those American Christmas movies. Miracle on Bellbird Crescent. And here it was. Only it was like someone had leaked brown ink into the snow dome. It was no winter wonderland.
When I got to Ellen’s, the kids’ faces were pressed up against the window and they breathed blooms of fog against the glass. They watched me walk up the front path. I knocked on the door and Ellen answered.
‘Thank you so much,’ she said, taking the bags from me. ‘Hopefully it’ll tide us over. This can’t last that long. They’d have stuff in place, don’t you think? So we don’t run out of food?’
‘I don’t know. I guess if there’s no electricity and all the roads are snowed under…’
‘Yeah. I guess it’s best to be stocked up.’
‘I’ll see you later, anyway.’
‘Okay. And thanks again.’
She shut the door and I turned to walk down the path. Zac was gone from the window, but Zadie was there, watching me. I waved and she waved back, pressing her nose against the glass.
