Arcadium (4 page)

At two we’re
all packed up and ready to go. Liss has done a complete turn
around; she’s all energetic and bouncing again. I’m feeling pretty
relaxed too.

The air is nice
and quiet, still hot but not as bad as yesterday. Three insanely
hot days in a row usually means there’ll be a crazy storm when the
cool change hits. And Liss hates thunder.

In this street
the houses are all red brick and single storied. There’s a steady
breeze buffeting the trees in the yards and it puts me on edge
because the sound it makes can mask other things like scraping feet
or creepy breathing: things you definitely want to be able to
hear.

We’re close to
the freeway now too. Tonight is our last stop before hitting those
concrete rivers leading us across the city to the other side. There
won’t be many good places to hole up along the way, except for
(hopefully) cars, so we’ll have to carry a bit of food with us for
the next part of the journey.

Liss is picking
a handful of yellow daisies from the nature strip. I think the
yellow ones are actually weeds, big huge things with thick stalks.
It’s the little white ones that are native… if daises are native at
all. But the white ones are too delicate for Liss.

There’s an
intersection ahead so Liss stops and smells her daisies repeatedly
as if they might smell different each time.

I’m not even at
the intersection when it happens.

A man comes
around the corner, strolling along like he’s out for an afternoon
walk. We both pause, staring at each other and my heart tightens
like a fist.

The man is
Chinese… or Japanese… some kind of Asian. I suppose it’s impossible
to tell, like looking at a white person and trying to deduce
whether they’re Australian or American or British or something
else. There’s just no way to tell.

Anyway, he’s
older like late twenties, dressed in a grey t-shirt and black jeans
and carrying absolutely nothing.

Then something
totally bizarre happens.

He smiles, nods
and gives a tiny wave; like a trifecta of normalness. And then he
just keeps on walking without a word, as if nothing happened.

“Liss,” I
whisper and wave for her to come closer.

She skittles
over, watching the man with wide eyes as he passes. He nods to her
too and gives a warm smile. Like an honest to God normal one. Not
an
I can help you because I’m older but will probably get you
accidentally killed
smile. Not
an oh my gosh I feel so sorry
for you girls
smile. Just a regular
lovely day, isn’t
it?
smile.

I put my arm
over Liss’ shoulder and pull her close, and we watch the man wander
off. He walks merrily along the footpath for a while and then stops
at a tree, looks up into the branches. Next he crosses the road and
raps his knuckles on a nearby mailbox.

“What do you
think he’s doing?” Liss asks.

I shake my head
but say, “Walking, I suppose. Like us.”

She looks up at
me. “Think he’s going to the same place?”

“Mmm, I don’t
know. Let’s keep going.”

We check that
the intersection is clear together. One day soon I’m going to have
to teach her how to do it herself… or rather
let
her do it.
Just, not quite yet because it’s more luck than skill really.

A few streets
later and we’re standing on the corner of a main road, the last one
before we turn onto the freeway. This will probably be our last
easy day.

I point down
the road. “Freeway’s close, so we’ll find it, then find somewhere
to hole up for the night and we can take it on in the morning.”

“How far from
there?” Liss asks.

“Liss.” I
breathe in sharply through my nose. “I don’t know. You have to stop
asking.”

“Ball park
figure?”

I look across
at her. That’s another thing dad used to say. “How long is a piece
of string?” I say.

Liss tips her
head forward and looks over the top of her sunnies. “You sound like
mum.”

I smile and put
my hand on her shoulder. “Main road formation? You go first.”

I don’t trust
these big open roads, it’s double lanes either side with a big
nature strip in the middle, and houses lining the edges. Things can
literally come from nowhere, which is why we operate in formation:
Liss walks forward and I walk behind her, backwards. That way we
have three hundred and sixty degrees of vision. Badass.

As we walk I
notice the smell of rain in the air; it’s fresh like churned up
dirt and means we’re definitely having a storm tonight. “Anything
cool your way?” I ask in a low voice.

“Oh, you know.
Road, more road. Trees, houses. Wheely bins.”

“Wow, must be
spectacular.”

“Yep, what
about your way?”

“Well, you’re
going to so jealous but there’s a unicorn eating candy floss, a pot
of gold at the end of a rainbow and a jelly filled pool.”

Liss snorts.
“See if the unicorn will give us a ride, yeah?”

“Alright hang
on…” I can’t help but crack a smile. “Nah, he says he can’t… prior
engagement.”

“Bummer.”

I count the
wheely bins we pass to keep track of how far we’ve gone. The
apocalypse must’ve gone down just before rubbish day, because the
street is littered with them. Most are still standing, perched on
the nature strip or in the gutter but some are knocked over,
spilling recycling and rubbish into the middle of the road.

Liss stops
suddenly and we bump backpacks. In the shock I almost curse but
manage so save it at the last second. I spin.

The Chinese man
we saw earlier is jogging toward us. I try to read his expression
but it’s completely blank. There are only two possibilities here.
One: he’s just working on his fitness (still very important) or
two: he’s running from infected people.

When he sees us
his brow goes straight up and a smile spreads across his face.

This is
weird.

I grab Liss’
hand as the man stops a few metres from us. He starts making slow
swooping gestures with his hands but he doesn’t say anything. He
frowns and swallows, blinking rapidly and looking around as if the
words he wants are hiding somewhere in the street.

I have no idea
what he’s trying to do.

He lets out a
string of Chinesy words in mild frustration and points behind.

I have to
admire his perseverance but I’m still not getting it.

He looks up
like he’s had a light-bulb moment. “Trouble,” he says finally. The
R sound comes out as a W when he says it, like he can’t quite get
his tongue around the pronunciation.

I go tense and
tighten my grip on Liss’ hand. “Trouble like… infected people
trouble?” I take a step back and start to glance around, for signs,
for exit strategies, for anything. Just in case.

“Trouble…” he
says again nodding. “Trouble.”

He turns just
as the infected round the corner. Three come from the side street.
But it gets worse, from the next side street along, more infected
people spill — maybe ten or fifteen in total.

“Ah…” he says
with satisfaction and points again. “Trouble.”

It’s the way
their eyes lock onto us that freaks me out more than anything. They
get so animated when they’re about to feed, flinging their pale
shredded arms about and making gross eager moaning sounds. These
are full grown adults, men and women, big bodies I’d never be able
to take on in a straight human fight let alone an infected one. And
there are two short ones. Kids.

I blink and
suddenly the faces jump out at me. It’s the big group we spotted
from the roof of the bungalow. I’d given them a week but they
hadn’t even made it the night.

I look for an
escape but they’re so close there’s only time for one thing.

“Liss, get in
the wheely bin!”

I’m closest to
a big one with a yellow lid — a recycling bin. I knock it to the
ground and thankfully it’s not full. Plastic bottles and cans spill
out. I kick them away and dive in headfirst. Liss wiggles in after
me.

Her boots kick
in front of my face as she pulls the lid down. It’s just a flip lid
on hinges, not lockable or anything and there’s nothing to grab
from the inside to keep it closed, but the plastic capsule is just
big enough for us both and I hope it’s enough.

My head is
scrunched against the plastic sidewall and resting on some half
crushed aluminium cans. When the infected people reach us they
shake the bin and the cans clatter together like chimes.

Liss screams,
lots of tiny short and sharp high-pitched sounds for every big
surprise thump we get. Her voice echoes in the small space like
we’re in an underground tunnel. I grab her legs and hiss at her.
“Quiet, Liss.”

She stops so
abruptly I have to look down to make sure she’s still breathing.
The infected are bumping into the bin, clawing at the black
plastic, hammering it with their exposed bones and gnawing at it
with their flesh ripping teeth. It’s like a constant barrage of
rabid dogs snapping and snarling and furious. I can see the shadows
cross the light yellow lid down the other end but they can’t find a
way in.

It’s pretty
weird that two centimetres of plastic is separating my sister and I
from the most horrific death. If they get us, we’ll be eaten alive.
Torn, shredded like cheese on a grater or mushed like mincemeat. Or
maybe we’ll just get bitten or get their blood into our system and
we’ll become like them. I’m not exactly sure of the details because
I’ve never watched anyone go from human stage to infected stage.
I’ve only ever seen the aftermath. I don’t know if it’s quick or
slow or painful or like going to sleep.

If I’m honest
the only reason I’m not screaming and freaking out is because of
Liss. I have to be calm, have to think straight, have to fix this
situation and get us back to safety. This little rectangular bin is
just a tiny pocket of safe time… one that will eventually run
out.

Liss is
screaming again, this time it’s my name.

“Shut up!” is
all I can say back.

Suddenly the
bin rolls onto its side and I almost crush Liss. The cans shower
over my head, clinking in my ears. Liss squirms around and I claw
at the smooth wall trying to give her space. Our limbs are tangled
in a huge mess.

Liss is
catatonic now, screaming as if her deafening squeal has some
magical power to ward off the bad guys. I look down and see
why.

Before, the
hinges of the lid were above us so it hung down in a closed
position, now on its side the lid has flung open like a door. All I
can see is pale bloody hands and infected heads leering in. And
Liss’ head is in the foreground. Tears are flowing down her face
like waterfalls; her mouth is open in a scream that’s gone on
impossibly long.

There’s nothing
on the inside of the lid to grab and hold onto, nothing to keep it
shut, so Liss is curling around, grabbing at me and trying to get
down my end but there’s not enough room for her to spin around.

An infected
head leans in with its gross pale eyes like lumpy off milk and I
boot it in the face. The soft flesh shifts and bends beneath my
thick sole and I boot it again and again, hearing the crunch of
breaking bones. I’m kind of kneeing my sister in the process but
there are hands clawing at my boots so I just go crazy, kicking out
at everything. But I can’t fend them off for long.

“Liss, we need
to roll it back over!” I yell over all the noise. My words echo
like some kind of epic voiceover for an action film. But there is
nothing cool about it. “Rock it. Come on. This way.”

I’m still
kicking out my legs like I’m on an invisible stair-master. I thump
my body against the side of the bin and it rocks gently.

“Again,
together. One two three!” We both thump against the side and it
leans, teetering on the edge. One of the infected must bump it
because it suddenly slides fully over and the lid slams shut again.
Liss is still screaming and clawing at me.

“Liss, stop!
Deep breaths. In and out.” I grab her hands and she starts nodding
frantically. “The only way to make them go away is to stay quiet,
ok? Make them forget we’re even here.”

She’s nodding
like a jackhammer. Her fingers are pale white, gripping me like a
pregnant lady giving birth. Ugh… that’s not something I want to
think about. I swear the apocalypse makes you think in weird
ways.

The infected
are still out there, carrying on and making their weird mournful
moans, still bumping and falling over the bin, but they can’t work
out how to open the lid. I feel like we’ve gained some sort of
control, like the frenzy is over, even though we’re still
surrounded.

I imagine this
is what a butterfly feels like, trapped in its cocoon, no wonder it
wants to get out so quickly. I want out and I’ve only been in here
for a minute.

There’s a big
bump against the side and Liss squeezes my hands. I’m not sure how
long it’ll take for them to loose interest, if they do at all. But
it’s usually movement and sound that triggers the craziness in them
so my theory is that if we’re still and quiet for long enough
they’ll forget what they were doing and wander off.

After an hour
the nudges don’t come as frequently but the moaning and clawing is
still going on like some kind of freaky heavy metal concert.

I’ve been
trying to remember what the trouble-toting man did. Was he eaten?
Did he run? Did he copy us and get in a bin? It’d be a pity if they
got him because — and I’m not saying this because I want to be
allies with him or anything but fair is fair —he did warn us. Even
if it was only seconds before. Plus he seems kind of… nice I guess.
I don’t know.

Liss is curled
over like a seahorse, resting her head on my knees. It’s stuffy and
sweaty and the longer I sit here the more claustrophobic I feel. I
try to keep my mind busy with things like thinking of an exit
strategy. I’m forming a map in my head of which direction we’re
pointing, how far from the houses we are and which ones had good
fences to climb. I should have been more observant, I should have
heard them coming, I shouldn’t have spent twenty seconds with the
man trying to decipher his Chinese. Damn it. I should just know
better.