Split Infinity (24 page)
I return into mid-air with the hum of the helejet already a distance away. Instantly I drop, plummeting like a helpless insect, my arms and legs flailing, fighting to regain my balance.
A gasp escapes and I strain to see how high I am, how far from the ground. I’m so weirdly off-balance that just by turning my head, the rest of my body gets pulled around like a rag doll and I end up on my stomach.
This is worse. It’s like I’m being force-fed air. Tears stream from my eyes, but I’m not sure if it’s just an effect of the air or the fact I’m about to die.
I’m falling too fast to scream. It’s difficult to focus on the buildings and streets below. So near, and so terrifyingly far.
Don’t think.
I let go and drop into the tunnel.
Suddenly safe. It’s like I’ve landed on a blanket of space. I could float here forever. Maybe I will. But no, the sooner I face that fall, the sooner I’ll be able to warn Mum. Like she has so many times before, she brings me back.
With a gasp I return, gravity pulling me once more. I’m accelerating fast.
This time I’m better prepared for the wind and the speed. The falling is easier this way. I drop into the tunnel again.
It takes two more skips before a flat roof rushes up to meet me so quick that I let out a squeak and launch into one last jump.
As soon as I return, I hit the edge of a windbreak, grazing my ribcage as I slide sideways onto the roof. It’s been lined with that insulated rubber stuff, so it just knocks the wind out of me.
Maybe it’s the rush from falling out of the sky, or perhaps because this is my first real moment of freedom after so long. Or because I didn’t die. But for just a few seconds I lie on my back, chest heaving with adrenaline as I grin into the grey sky. I’m alive.
And free.
Movement to one side catches my attention and I watch as a piece of cloth drifts down to settle on the rubber beside me. One side is glowing red, still smouldering, but enough of the cloth remains to make out some sort of chequered pattern. Perhaps a curtain, or someone’s shirt …
Whatever it was, it seems like a message from another place. One that’s gone to hell.
I sit up. The helejet has brought me a distance from the fire front, but it’s so wide I’m still in the path. I have to get out as soon as I can, but before I do anything I have to warn Mum.
W
HEN I TRY
to stand, my body reminds me what I’ve just been through: aching ribs, stiff neck, sore head and a thick, dry tongue. Being naked is the least of my worries.
The entrypad at the door leading down from the roof responds to my manual override first try.
Thank cripes
. I’m not up for another jump off this roof.
I cross my arms against my chest, wincing as my elbow brushes the graze on my ribs. Delicately, I pad down the stairwell. The air in here is clean, no smoke. Without an evac notice, these people aren’t going to realise the fire front is coming until it’s almost on top of them. No wonder so many died.
Scrub that. So many still might.
I’m hoping for a residential block because most of them have a laundry, but as I sneak along the hall I find only wide room after wide room with big desks and tinted glass: an executive floor. I’m part way along the hall when a door beeps and slides open right near me.
I dash back to the stairwell. Maybe I’ll bail on the top floor. I pad down to the next level, push the fire exit open and listen. It’s calm down here, just the
thuck
of a ball being hit every now and then, and the sound of runners squeaking on floorboards. Squash courts maybe?
After what I’ve been though, the noises of everyday life seem so out of place. Whoever is making those sounds is just going about their day, same as any other. The hallway is empty so I risk a few steps in. To one side I catch the steady rhythm of running feet; I’m guessing someone running through a holo-forest on a treadmill-track.
A gym? This is promising.
Moving fast, I slip from the safety of one alcove and into the next. I’m close to the centre of the building and the bank of lifts when I find what I’m looking for: a change room.
Ten minutes later, I slip back into the stairwell wearing slacks and a shirt with chunky heels that are impossible to walk in. Best of all I have a pair of comspecs from a bag in the corner of a shower cubicle.
I’m clumsy at first, swiping thin air as if I’ve never used a computer in my life. After a while I pull up a virtual keyboard and begin to feel more like I know what I’m doing. It takes a bit of time hacking into the grid, no shortcuts of course, but that’s the best way to locate Mum without her dot being tagged on the comspecs already.
While I’m in, I also check the location of the comspecs on the grid. I’m southwest from the research lab but still in the line of the fire front. Flying over the top of the heat and smoke must have been too dangerous for the helejet, but the fire front was too fast and wide to travel sideways.
When I call Mum it goes straight to her message bank. She must be with a client. I launch into a message: ‘Mum, it’s me. I’m fine. But the fire is heading for the northern suburbs. You need to get out now.’
I flick off, and wait. Seconds later the phone beeps. I answer straightaway.
‘Scout, is that really you?’ Her words are breathy and jagged, on the verge of tears.
‘Yes. It’s me.’ I keep my voice low and sneak a few steps away from the door. The sound of her crying on the other end makes my throat go tight. ‘I’m fine, Mum.’
‘Where are you? I’m coming to get you.’
‘No.’ It takes a while to get her past the fact that I’m okay. The fact that I’m free. Again, she hesitates when I tell her to get out of the office building and meet me at home. Last time, the fire didn’t make it past the CBD let alone Footscray, and it seems to be tracing the same path again.
‘Really?’ A single sniff. ‘There’s been no evac notice. This cool change signals the end of the danger, doesn’t it?’
I swallow back a scream of frustration. I warned her to watch for emergency alerts, but that’s the last thing I should have told her. Without an official evac notice, she simply continued going about her life. Trusting the government to keep its citizens safe. Assuming that the smoke was from far away, and no threat.
‘Mum.
Listen to me.
You have to –’ A gasp at the other end makes me break off.
‘Oh my god …’
My heart slows. ‘What?’
‘The fire,’ she breathes. ‘I can see … flames. It’s close.’ She’s speaking really fast, her voice coming in and out as if she’s moving at the same time. There’s the sound of rustling. A door swishing open.
All the blood drains from my face. If she can see it, that means she’ll have to outrun it. And that means I don’t have much time either.
‘Stay on the phone,’ Mum says. Her voice is jerky as if she’s walking as she speaks.
‘No. I have to go.’ Already I’m heading down the stairs. ‘Get to a taxi okay? Don’t try to catch the train.’
‘Okay. I’ll meet you at home.’
‘And if the taxi hits a traffic jam, you get out and run. Okay? Keep moving south. No matter what.’
‘Okay.’ Her voice is fainter now. ‘Sweetheart? I love you.’
‘Love you too.’ I switch off.
The wind has picked up when I make it outside; ash and smoke thick in the air, making me cough with every other breath. I’ve only gone about three steps when I ditch the heels. I’ll be faster in bare feet.
It’s great to be on the ground, to
feel
it solid beneath me, but in some ways I was safer up high. On the roof I could see what was coming; down here buildings are all around me, blocking my view in every direction. In terms of the fire, I’m running blind.
When I make it to the next intersection, I’m able to see along the crossroad in the direction of the fire. Black smoke is billowing, exploding in the distance, enough to make people stop and point. A woman who looks a bit like Mum swipes her compad and starts talking quickly, glancing every now and then at the black clouds.
It makes me think of what I was doing only minutes earlier, calling Mum to warn her about what’s coming. As I watch the citizens around me, I realise what I have to do. Out of all these people, I’m the only one with an instant escape. They’re the ones who need to get away from this place, not me.
The comspecs are folded shut, held tight in my fist. Quickly I check the nearby alleyways and end up sitting on the edge of a bricked-in garden bed overlooking the intersection.
More people are reacting now, and pretty much the first thing each person does is get on the phone. Maybe the government doesn’t want to share the info, but its citizens will.
I send out alerts on all the social sites I can find, but they’re just coming from some woman called Eliza Schmidt, the owner of the comspecs. For all I know, she might be some loony scam artist. I need to send out an official alert that will trigger the alarms.
It’s easy to find the emergency alert department, but not so easy finding a way to trigger their alerts. They’re all there, ready to go with the flick of a button, but without any clearances there’s no way to do it. I press the tips of my fingers into my temple, frustration growing.
Embers and ash are falling as thick as when I was first on the roof of the research lab. A few smartcars headed in the direction of the fire pull into a side road and turn back the way they came but some just keep travelling straight for the fire, their users busy watching the screen inside their car.
A couple on foot come bolting for the intersection, only stopping for the crossing point. The urgency about them seems to trigger something in the people around and their movements sharpen and increase.
Not everyone gets it, though. Above me, a door slides open on the second floor of a residential block and a man in an old dressing gown stands there yawning. He lifts a hand to catch one of the embers floating past his balcony and then turns back inside. But how many other people are asleep? How many people are locked in a shower cubicle or busy working in an office that’s been fitted with air-con and purifiers?
I shift slightly on my butt, squaring my shoulders as I keep searching. The longer I take with this, the less time they’ll have to get away. I blow a fluff of dyed black hair off my forehead.
Mason would know.
He’s at home, easy to find. I tag him and send a message:
How do I send an evac alert? Quick. Warn everyone you can. Scout.
His reply takes only a few seconds:
Where are you?
That’s no help. I don’t have time. I’m typing again, desperate, when a second message comes through, just a link.
I click through to find code for the emergency alert that was sent out to fire-affected outer suburbs three days ago. Clever. I copy and forward it to citizens in the northern suburbs. Mason’s work-around was to echo an earlier alert, but at least it will look like it came from the right department.
As soon as it sends, the comspecs receive it:
EMERGENCY WARNING. Firestorm moving your way. Take immediate action. Evacuate now.
An alarm rings out from the office buildings behind me and even though I’m the one who triggered it, the sound of the alert makes my muscles tighten. Suddenly the danger feels real, and coming closer.
