According to The Collective representative, when you emerge after the six months, there won’t be anybody there to cause you any harm. The virus will have done its job, it will only spare the ones who’d been vaccinated.
You and Ruby can go out then. I need you to go on a trip–the route will be marked out on a map you’ll find in the shelter. It’s a several hour long hike (at a child’s pace) through some farms, orchards and vineyards, to a place you can’t miss or overlook. There is a tree there which will become the centre of your new life.
It’s not a regular tree, you’ll see right away. It was taken out of the ground and put back upside down, its roots reaching for the sky, its branches deep in the soil. The trunk is painted a rich blue, and the branches are covered with various good luck charms.
This strange, unforgettable tree is where you’ll meet the other survivors who have spent six months in shelters on nearby farms, just like you. I don’t know any of them personally, but I know that it’s a diverse mixture of adults and children of different nationalities and personalities. I’m sure you’ll soon find friends and support while building a new community.
We’re leaving the rest up to you.
Dad, I would never voluntarily give up any opportunity to be with you and Ruby, but right now I don’t have a choice. I don’t want you to worry too much about what’s going on around the world. I would like so much to be with you in New Zealand, but I couldn’t have come, forgive me. I’d like you to remember me healthy and happy, the girl who was always fighting for the right thing. This time it’s your and Ruby’s health, your life, and to me that is the most important thing in the universe.
Take care of each other.
I love you both, my thoughts will always be with you!
Love,
Connie
I had to read the letter several times before I could digest some things. Right from the start it was obvious that Constance never planned on leaving Australia, probably so that she could participate in more activities of this Collective. Why did she go against her word and flew to New Zealand to us?
She also wasn’t planning on telling me anything, that much was clear from the letter. She was writing it to someone who had no idea about The Collective or an intentionally released plague. Why did she confide in me in advance? I couldn’t bear the fact that I can’t ask her about this… or anything else.
What must it have been like for her, knowing that she wouldn’t survive?
Hours ticked by and I scrutinized every part of the letter. The one about what Ruby and I mean to her made me want to scream with despair and frustration. But my granddaughter was sleeping and I needed to be alone and undisturbed, think everything through.
I went into the living room and looked at the bookcase Constance was writing about, doubtful. It was built into the wall. Even if Darlene and Hugh bought this house unfurnished, these shelves would have been here waiting for them. If they didn’t know there was anything to see there, why would they ever try?
I felt like an idiot, removing books from the two bottom shelves and arranging them into little piles around me. I investigated the wall and immediately saw that Connie was right. From the second shelf upwards stood a basic brick with plaster, but underneath the shelf there was a panel painted with the same colour. Painted so well in fact, that the paint has glued it to the wall. Knocking on it produced a hollow sound.
I sat in front of the bookcase, lost in thought. This job looked a bit like someone painted a window frame and forgot that one day the window would need to be reopened. They glued the two sides of the frame together and left it at that.
I was sure I’d be able to scrape the paint off with a knife and open the panel, but I didn’t dare to do it right there and then. What if Darlene or Hugh came out on a midnight wander, or to the kitchen for a glass of water? They’d be asking why the hell I was making a mess of their books and trying to squeeze my body onto the thin shelf.
I put all the books back. I spent the rest of the night blindly wandering through the house, before once again ending up by Connie’s suitcase. I didn’t think there would be anything else there that’s important. If there was, wouldn’t she have taken it out herself, and placed it next to the letter?
But I was wrong; her suitcase was full of tiny treasures. She had only taken a few of her own things to New Zealand, essentially it was just two sets of clothes, lots of Paracetamol and some toiletries. Other than that, she’d packed lots of my and Ruby’s clothes, toys, Penelope’s old recipe book and photographs. I was going through these objects like they were sacred. Thank God that my daughter had the presence of mind to give me a physical representation of memories of my family, the family I had gradually lost, until it was just Ruby and I.
There were also several children’s books. New ones, unread. The titles revealed a definite theme. Goodbye Presents. A Sad Mouse. Why Is Mommy Not Here Anymore? Did Connie get these to help me explain it all to Ruby?
For a while I feared I wouldn’t be able to free myself from memories of the past, but in the end the
