ARIA (23 page)

“Oh come on, Debs, say something.”

“She won’t, Mom,” said Eddie, “or can’t.”

“I know,” said Celia, who’d followed them up the stairs. “What’s your favourite food, Debbie, dear? Your favourite food is?”

They all looked at the girl, willing her to verbalise her thoughts. Her lips trembled, giving the onlookers hope an intelligible word would emerge. All three closed in, making the terrified girl shrink into her pillow.

Irene erupted at Celia and Eddie. “For God’s sake, get back! Celia, the phone book is downstairs in the kitchen, find yourself and get your husband to come and get you.”

“I’ve got a husband?” Celia said. “Since when?”

“Two years... or was it three? Oh, I don’t know. Find your address and my Jack will take you home.”

“If he gets home,” said Eddie, showing Irene Debbie’s diary, which had its last scribbled entry a fortnight ago. It said:

lectric gon Pa hit Ed  iM skard

A tear pearled at the corner of his eye. Irene knew he was the hardest kid at school.

She glanced a scowl at him before turning a sweet smile again at her daughter. “Now, Debbie. Where were we? Well— why not—what is your favourite food? Tell me and I’ll make it for you.”

“Yeah, right,” whispered Eddie.

Irene used her most pleading face, pouring emotion into her own wet eyes. “Come on, sweetheart, what is your favourite food?”

Debbie opened her mouth a little and uttered, “Food.”

“Yes, lovely, yes, yes. Food, food. Now what is your favourite food?”

“F-food,” said Debbie, a little louder.

“Yes, dear, now what kind of food?”

“Food,” said Debbie.

Eddie spoke up, “Say peanut butter and jelly, dumbass,” and ducked to avoid his mother’s left arm sweeping around. Turning back, Irene saw Debbie curl up once more.

“I’ll bring you some food, girl, just a minute,” said Irene, ushering Eddie out and down the stairs. “What the hell is that all about, Eddie? What have you done to your sister?”

“Nothing, Mom. It’s the memory-loss thing.”

“What, she’s just forgotten her favourite food? I don’t think so.”

“No, Mom, she’s forgotten how to talk. She hasn’t written in her diary for two weeks. But you’ve seen that newspaper article we keep to remind us every day. We’re losing a year for every week and that’s eight years since it started.”

“My God...the poor girl’s only nine. God, Jack, where the hell are you?” Then she realized they had no power. No bread for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; Debbie’s favourite food.

“She was learning the word
food
when we kept saying it, Mom. She doesn’t remember what it is. Mom, I’m only four years older than Debs. That means I’ll be the same as her soon, won’t I? I can’t work it out, Mom.” He cried, hugging her as his mother spread peanut butter and jelly and tears on crispbread for her daughter.

“Another month yet for you, son. Oh God, this is awful. It’s inhuman forgetting. I’m going to bake some bread tomorrow. Damn, there’s no electricity for the oven. I know, I’ll build a fire in the yard. Damn it, yes. Hey, Eddie, are these twists you made today? Good boy.”

“Mom, I don’t want to forget any more. I can’t remember how to do stuff, the TV doesn’t work, or my games...”

“Games don’t matter shit, you stupid kid. They never did. You still play with Tommy, don’t you? And that blond kid, what’s his name?”

Through tears, Eddie looked puzzled. “Mom, I don’t know no Tommy. I hung around with some kids down at the mall today, but none of us knew each other. I’d never thought about memory before, Mom. Never thought I had any use for it. But it held all my friends.” He burst into more tears.

Irene softened and hugged him again. She wanted to say comforting words but none came. Eddie hit it square on. The use of memory. She had her childhood memories like all those in retirement homes in their rocking chairs. Her Eddie had lost that. Forever gone. Eddie interrupted her morbid thinking.

“Mom, what’s gonna happen to Debbie when she forgets everything?”

“God, son, what do you mean? I’m going to take her this snack. Here, I’ve done some for you, and drink some pop, while there’s still some.”

Ignoring the food, Eddie followed his mother up the stairs. “But, Mom, next week her memory will be when she was born. Then what? Will she remember to eat, drink and breathe?”

“Stop pestering me with such nonsense, boy.” Irene gave up on the fight to stem the tears. She sat on the bed and pushed the plate at Debbie, who looked at it with crimson eyes. She grabbed at the brown-splattered crackers and shoved them in her mouth.

“Instinct, see,” said Celia, who had followed them again up the stairs. “Some things our bodies carry on doing even though we don’t think too much about them. Like animals.”

“But will we be able to find food and cook it?” said Eddie. “We’ve got loads of canned and bottled food, but will we know what they are when our memory has completely gone?”

“Search me, Eddie,” Celia said. “Hey, our notes and newspaper clippings aren’t going to help much when we forget how to read.

“I’ve got stuff on my recordable player. That’s what us kids were doing down at the mall, reading to our players.”

“What about batteries?” Celia asked, looking at Irene who was hugging Debbie.

“There’s loads of batteries in the stores but loads of players use solar like lots of other stuff. Mom, there’s solar cookers in the stores. Maybe I should tell Pa.”

“Good idea, son, we could leave a cheque to cover the cost for the storekeeper when he comes back.”

“Sure, Mom,” Eddie said, looking up at Celia, with a look beyond his thirteen years going on five. “Did you find your address, Mrs, er, Celia?”

“Not there, Eddie. Guess we might be unlisted or we haven’t got a phone except the mobiles, and I can’t find mine.”

“We’ve got room,” Irene said. “There’s a futon in the spare room.”

“Irene, you’re an angel.”

“Yeah, well keep low because just lately I think I’m married to the Devil.”

They spent an hour munching and thinking. Irene rocked Debbie to sleep as if she was a nine-year-old baby. Maybe it was just as well each day started fresh. Irene knew she’d sink lower than a toad’s belly in a dry well if she carried her children’s burden over from one day to the next. A day at a time gave her little opportunity to dwell on how bad it could get. She glimpsed herself in the future but dismissed it as too incredible to contemplate. She had to be brave. Braver than her husband who’d gone wandering off again. She knew Jack’s masculine aggression had put him on he-man mode; a real-life game to play.

A white light filled the room and swept away.

“Your pa’s home,” Irene said to her children, whether they listened or not. She eased her arm away from the sleepy Debbie and ushered her son out before Jack came charging in.

The front door slammed, shaking the thin staircase walls as Irene and Eddie started down.

“Get yorn and the kids’ clothes together,” Jack called up. His unshaven face glistened with perspiration, but at least his shirt had no blood staining it. “We’re leaving in a hurry.”

“Oh, my God. What have you done now?” Irene stayed motionless on the stairs, clasping a hand to her mouth with her other hand grasping Eddie.

“Nothing, you stupid mare. There’s no water nor food left here. It’s madness to stay in a desert town. You know that, don’t you?” His wide eyes told her to agree while he rushed past them to get the suitcases off the top of their closet. “I got us some transportation,” he said with uncharacteristic glee.

“Jack, I gotta tell you something about Debbie.”

“Tell me on the way, Irene. We gotta go while it’s dark.”

“You’ve stolen a bus, haven’t you?”

“No, I bought it. What do you think? It doesn’t matter shit how I got it, just be grateful, fully fuelled and all. It’ll get us easy to LA.”

“Hang on, Jack. Cities are trouble. We’ve got notes about it all over.” She opened drawers to grab clothes.

“Trouble because there’s food and water in them, so there’s fighting. We’ve got protection, Irene, firearms. I know you don’t like ’em, but to survive, we got to take chances.”

“I don’t like it. The highways are blocked by gangs, we got—”

“Notes, I know, but Charlie knows back roads all over.”

“I might have guessed he’d be behind this.” She glared at him. They had a history with Charlie who lived on the edge of the law and had served time. She’d worked hard to keep Jack in his great technician’s job by denying him access to his school friend except on bowling and card nights.

Irene, still upset with Debbie’s worsened state, turned on Jack. “We’d be safer in the country. We have our kids to consider.”

“Exactly. Charlie’s got pals in LA. They’ll look after us.”

“He said that, did he? Has he checked with them, lately? Come on, Jack, it’d be everyone for themselves. Think about it.”

Jack shrugged in agreement and helped her to fill cases. “Okay, where are we going? Any bright ideas?” He took clothes and toiletries off her to accelerate packing.

“My folks have a farm near Monterey. They have their own water supply from the hills.” She expected him to blow up, but he stood as if in suspension, as if he was thinking about her alternative destination.

“I’ll put it to Charlie. It’s much farther but maybe better. Now get what water and food we got out to the vehicle.” He grabbed a couple of bulging tartan cases and went outside with Eddie dragging a case with him.

“Is there anything I can do?” called Celia, poking her head round Debbie’s door as Irene returned there with a case.

“Celia, I forgot about you. You heard? Good, saves me explaining. You might as well come with us. Go down to the kitchen and start piling food and full drinking bottles into bags and boxes, whatever.”

Eddie ran back in. “Hey, Mom, cool transport. I wish I could tell my new friends.”

“I knew he’d steal some school bus.”

“Naw, it’s like an army war truck. I’ll get my games and stuff.”

Jack came in and grabbed a box of food that Celia had put there. He looked at her, his eyebrows crept down.

“She’s coming, Jack. Celia has nowhere to go.”

“No way. It’s no fucking Noah’s Ark.”

Irene stood, hands on hips. “It’s a military vehicle you’ve stolen from Edwards today, isn’t it?”

“Okay, she might be useful cooking and stuff. There’s a lot of food and water already on board from the cafeteria at the base.”

“Good, we’re about ready then. I’m going up to get Debbie.”

“Yeah,” said Jack, “about time I had a long chat with that girl.”

Sunday 14 June 2015:

Banff Commercial Estate. Most people have lost eight years of memory.

M
ANUEL
HUNG
BY
HIS
FINGERTIPS
. With the front entrance blocked by an overturned truck, he had no choice in his mode of entry into Jenkins’ Pharmaceuticals.

Of course, he had tried the main hospital first. With Jat drifting in and out of a coma, strapped into the passenger seat of the pickup, Manuel had spied on the hospital on Banff’s Lynx Street. Parked near the railway station and behind bushes, he used his binoculars. Desperate to get his hands on neo-Humulin or any kind of insulin, he’d broken his promise to her that he wouldn’t leave the cabin. A complete turnaround: she decided her life had finished but that he shouldn’t put his at risk. But emotions were stronger than logic and so after an uneventful drive to their nearest big city, he found himself behaving like a frontline spy. On the steps of the hospital sat a group of men and a couple of women. When, through the glasses, he detected National Guard olive-green uniforms and firearms, he thought he could take a chance: explain Jat’s need. Caution made him hang back.

A grey, freezing mist off the river swirled around the pine trees outside the hospital adding to his obscuration from the guards. A group of cyclists passed him, forcing him to duck in his driving seat. He brought his head up to watch the six riders screech to a halt a hundred metres from the hospital. Through the mist, Manuel could see they all wore rucksacks and some bikes had panniers. A mixed-age group, but he guessed most were young twenties. He couldn’t help wonder where they came from and how they were so organised? Suppose, unlike him, they remembered yesterday? There were bound to be some groups isolated in the rural areas who needed supplies and had to risk infection.

The guards had readied their weapons, which meant waving them in the air and then at the cyclists. One of them strutted out in front and shouted something beyond Manuel’s hearing. He thought about them too. Take one of those soldiers. Assuming they’d been in the army for years, they’d wake up each morning in their barracks. No change there; no hint of what was to follow. Newer squad members might be missing, but after normal morning ablutions, they’d go to fill their bellies. Even if the catering staff had turned up out of habit, lived on site, or had nowhere else to go, they’d have problems. Maybe a well-stocked services base would have a year’s supply of dried and long-life foods but not perishables like milk and eggs. It would only take a conversation or two to get the full impact of what ARIA was doing. Wouldn’t they want to get to their families, like Jat wanted to? Sure, and they might be stopped by their commanders, if they haven’t already gone family hunting themselves. No, the only soldiers left would be those whose families were unreachable or undesirable.