After the Winter (The Silent Earth, Book 1) (24 page)

And so the Wards became the subject of many protests and petitions, many heated arguments in bars and even in the halls of parliament. Many demanded that they should be outlawed, that it was unethical and ultimately damaging for parents to bring Wards into their homes. They argued that Wards had the potential to destroy the social fabric of families and that their availability should be subject to far more stringent checks and controls.

Now those arguments seemed so trivial in the big scheme of things.

I made my way to the back steps where I sat looking out at the hills. In the distance I could see the thin outline of a Grid spire on the horizon. I contemplated taking my leave right there and then, wishing the kids well and setting off on my way, but I knew that would disappoint them. It was obviously a rare treat for them to meet someone new, to break up this daily routine of theirs that they’d conducted throughout the years. It wasn’t such a great sacrifice for me to give them one day of my time considering the joy it would bring.

But by the same token, I couldn’t linger. Not with the Marauders around.

As the afternoon wore on the children made their way to the back yard, dragging me along with them into a game of chase. Their laughter was raucous, unrestrained, and highly infectious. They moved quickly for their size, and more often than not left me for dead with their exuberance.

When that ended Ellinan went inside and came back with a football, which we tossed to each other in a triangle. The ball was completely deflated and this led to it feeling more like a game of frisbee than football, but the children loved it anyway. We also played a game of hide and seek, a pastime the children had perfected over the years, since I failed to discover their elaborate hiding spots even once while it was my turn to search.

We returned to the house at dusk and the children went to the bathroom, going through a routine of cleaning themselves up after play. There was no water from the faucet so they made a show of wiping their hands with tattered hand towels.

“Dad always made sure we cleaned up,” Ellinan explained.

They disappeared into their rooms and came out a short time later in their pyjamas. These too were in a bad state. Both of Ellinan’s sleeves had fallen off, and Mish’s pants were falling apart around the knees. A part of me was made horribly sad by this charade but I made no mention of it.

“You can sleep in Dad’s room,” Mish offered shyly.

I smiled and shook my head. “Thank you, Mish, but I don’t think that would be right. I’ll be okay here on the sofa.”

She nodded. “Is there anything we can get you?”

“Uh, how about one of those ice cream sundae things with the chocolate sprinkles on top?” I said, smiling facetiously.

Mish grinned and made a disparaging noise, pretending to be annoyed, and Ellinan laughed.

“We ran out of those yesterday,” he said.

I considered in mock thoughtfulness. “I guess I’ll get one at the next town.”

“Brant,” Mish said, her face suddenly grim, “where did everybody
go?
”

I looked from one to the other, rubbing my chin awkwardly. How to explain a situation like this to ones so young - emotionally young, at least. I didn’t want to outright lie to them, telling them a pleasant fairytale, but nor did I desire crush their spirits with the awful truth.

“Well, Mish,” I sighed, “there was a conflict that you might have heard about. A terrible series of battles. Do you remember that?”

“We saw some of it on the TV,” Ellinan said.

“Yeah,” I said, sorrowful. “A lot of people died. A lot of good people, innocent people. And afterwards, a lot more people got sick, and there wasn’t enough food to go around. People like me and you, we made it through, but a lot of others didn’t.”

They were both silent for a moment, and then Ellinan said quietly, “Do you think they’ll come back some day?”

I thought of the west, of everything that was waiting there. Reaching out, I patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah. I think they will.”

He smiled at that. Mish’s face brightened considerably also.

“Now why don’t you two head off to bed?” I suggested.

“Okay. Thank you, Brant. Good night,” Mish said. She spun on her heel and headed off to her room.

“Night,” Ellinan said.

“Good night, Ellinan.”

And so they went off to sleep in their beds, even though synthetics required no sleep. This pantomime they’d been programmed to perform each day determined their every movement. Tomorrow they would get up and do it all again. And the next day.
 
And the day after that.

I lay back on the couch in the silence of the house, my thumb running restlessly back and forth along the edge of the photograph in my pocket, and I hoped tomorrow would be the day I finally saw home again.

26

The buzzing sound cuts through the darkness. It’s loud, like a jackhammer. It goes on and on and doesn’t stop.

I look over at the clock. Who calls at three in the morning? Has to be a wrong number. They’ll give up.

The phone stops. I sigh, nestle my face back in the pillow. Hope I can get back to sleep.

It starts again almost immediately, just as loud and as grating as before.

I throw back the covers. “Seriously? What the hell...?”

I shamble across the carpet, sleep clinging to me like the arms of a lover trying to drag me back to the bed. There’s a ghostly white halo thrown across the wall, illumination from the flip. It buzzes and vibrates on the dresser.

I fumble for it and scoop it up in my hand. It’s Jenn. I brush my finger across the screen and her face appears, pressed in tight. Anxious. Her chestnut hair is bedraggled, which is most unlike her.

“Jenn, what’s going on?” I’m torn between concern and anger at the intrusion.

“Brant, they’ve hit London.”

My fuzzy brain processes that for a moment. I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut.

“They’ve hit London,” I repeat vaguely.

“Yes, they’ve hit it. I just got off the-”

“Just hold on a second, Jenn,” I interrupt, irritated. “Hold on. What’s the big deal? They’ve been hitting it for months. They’ve hit everywhere. They’ve hit here, even. Just yesterday that school down on Charlotte Street got levelled, you know the-”

“Brant, shut up and listen,” Jenn practically shouts.  I’ve never heard her yell like that.  She wipes furiously at a strand of hair that has fallen across her face.  “They’ve
hit
London,” she says, slowly and deliberately.  “Turn on the news.  Now.”

She finally cuts through the haze of sleep that’s surrounding me. I get moving, out of the bedroom and through the kitchen. The automatic lights click on. I keep going, into the living room. For a moment I see the glow of skyscrapers in the distance through the plate glass window that takes up one entire wall. Closer, the dark outline of houses stretches out down the hill. It’s peaceful and somehow lonely out there at this time of morning.

The wall glows as content from the Grid streams in, and now the face of a female TV anchor materialises. I flick my finger across the flip and Jenn’s face transfers over to the corner of the display wall. I place my flip absently on the coffee table as my eyes dart across the numerous feeds that are appearing before me.

The headline on the ticker reads
Detonation Over London
.

“Jenn, what the hell am I seeing?”

“It’s bad, Brant. It’s really bad. They’re saying nine million casualties. Maybe more.”

I scrub at my face. This is like a nightmare. Maybe I’m dreaming.

“It’s a hoax.”

“It’s not a hoax, Brant,” she says, the desperation in her voice evident. “Snap out of it! Please.”

“But they said there was no way it would escalate this far.  The last estimate I saw said there was less than one
percent chance of these weapons-”

“That doesn’t matter anymore!” she yells, clasping a hand to her forehead, her eyes glistening with tears. “It’s here. It’s happened. It’s right there in front of you.”

The anchor, a neatly presented woman in her thirties with dark hair is droning on about casualties, international response, possible subsequent targets. Behind her, a grainy video shows the afternoon skyline of London interrupted by a blinding flash. The video cuts out and another one takes its place, this time shot from a different location.

Jenn’s face shifts and she looks down at something. “Oh god. No,” she wails.

“What is it?”

“I’m getting a buzz here from a colleague that New York has been hit.”

“Holy shit. Holy shit, Jenn.” The gravity of it begins to dawn on me.

“You need to get out,” she says urgently, pulling herself together. “You need to get out now.”

“What about you? What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Leave Europe if I can. I’ll figure something out.”

“Okay.” I turn away.

“Brant, do you remember June’s farm?”

I stop, turn back. “Yes, of course.”

“I think you should head there. It’s out of the way. They know you. They’ll look after you.”

“June’s farm,” I mutter. “Yes. Good idea. I’ll go there.”

“Brant.” Jenn’s voice quavers and tears roll down her cheeks. “Can I see Zade? Please?”

Even though we’ve fallen out of love and been separated for more than a year, my heart still goes out to her. Right now I feel closer to her than I have in a long time.

“Of course, of course,” I say gently. I collect the flip and wipe my hand across it, and Jenn’s face transfers over from the wall. I hasten across the kitchen toward the back of the house. “Listen, don’t worry about us. We’ll be okay. Just look after yourself.”

She’s about to say something in response when the screen goes white. A red icon depicts that the connection has been lost.

“Dammit.” I redial the number as I head down the hallway. It doesn’t even ring. The red icon flashes again. “Shit.”

I pocket the flip as I reach Zade’s room.  The glow of the city through the window outlines the crumpled form of the doona and the side of his face as he sleeps.  I leave him there and head back to my bedroom.  I pull down a suitcase and start stuffing clothes inside.  Socks, pants, shirts. 
Don’t forget something warm.
  A jacket.

Out in the kitchen I gather what I can - tinned food, water.  Snacks.  Batteries.  A flashlight. 
Don’t bring everything
, I caution myself. 
Just the essentials
. As an afterthought I take the photo of Zade that’s stuck to the fridge and tuck it into the bag.

In Zade’s room, I flick the light on, start hauling things out of his drawers and into the suitcase. Shoes, trousers, a coat. His teddy. A couple of random toys and a book. I make a racket, but he doesn’t even budge.

In the bathroom I grab toothbrushes and toothpaste and some basic toiletries.

I haul the bags downstairs, dump them into the trunk of the car, bouncing the suspension in my haste.

I take the stairs back up three at a time. In a few moments I'm back in Zade’s room. He’s so still and peaceful. I slide my hands under the doona. It’s comforting and warm underneath. I wrap my hands around him, drag him across toward me.

“Come on, buddy,” I croon.  He doesn’t hear me.  He’s out to it.  I cradle him close, his little blue and yellow dinosaur
pyjamas
warm and soft.  His head lolls in the crook of my arm.

I scoot around the bedroom, the kitchen. The living room. Searching for anything I might have forgotten
. I think that’s it
.

I thump down the stairs. Zade’s eyes open ever so slightly. He moves his head.

“Heya, Zade,” I say, injecting as much enthusiasm into my voice as I can. “We’re going on a little car trip.”

He rubs vacantly at his nose. “I’m too sleepy, Daddy,” he says grumpily.

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that. This is a fun adventure.”

I open the rear car door and gently place him in his seat. I buckle him up and tuck a coat over him to keep him warm.

“Where’s the adventure?” he says groggily, his interest piqued.