Half Lives (40 page)

‘My favourite place ever used to be a movie theatre. You know that moment before the movie begins when the lights go out and everyone gets quiet? In that dark stillness I could be
transported anywhere. I used to love horror movies. That bunched-up feeling you get when the music gets all screepy and you know something terrible is going to happen . . .’ What was I
saying? I stuttered and stammered as I searched for a transition to something happier. ‘I don’t think I’d like scary movies any more. It’s funny that when we used to turn
off the lights each night and everything would be quiet and so dark in here, I’d get that same feeling. I’d think maybe I’d wake up tomorrow and it would have all been a bad
dream. Or maybe tomorrow would be the day that my parents would . . .’
Argh!
I was doing it again. ‘But now I wake up and all I want to do is be with you. Nothing else matters
as long as you’re always there.’ I stroked his hair. ‘I used to love a skyline at night. Vegas has a great skyline with all those big neon signs. I thought I’d always live
in a big city. I loved the buzz of having so many people around me all the time. Did you ever ride the subway or a bus or a plane and look around and think of the bazillion stories that these
people have to tell? I mean, each one has these secrets and stories that I’ll never know. I loved that noise of the city. But I’ve got used to the quiet. I’m OK with being with
you and my thoughts. It’s as if I can hear myself for the first time.

‘You know, out there my phone was always beeping with texts and ringing with calls and I never really sat still. I can do that now. Weird, isn’t it?’ I half laughed. ‘I
used to imagine us on the streets of DC, walking hand in hand. I imagined that we’d go on dates, you know, dinner at my favourite Mexican restaurant, wait, I think we’d go to a steak
place. I wouldn’t want salsa breath if you were going to kiss me, right?’ I think he smiled. ‘Then we’d go to a movie and maybe to Starbucks later for a coffee, but then
lately I’ve been thinking that I’d like to take you to a beach. Somewhere sunny. Remember how the sun used to feel on your skin? Remember the way the sun would warm you like a blanket
and make you all drowsy? You’d get dozy and hover in this place between awake and asleep. Then a breeze would come and kind of wash it away. I could close my eyes and hear the ocean and
later, even when I left the beach, I could still hear that sound in my ears, that
whoosh, whoosh
as the waves crashed on the shore . . .’

On and on I went, letting one topic morph into another. I tried to recall all the peaceful and beautiful places I could. I spoke until my throat was raw.

We never said a word about how quickly he was deteriorating. That stuff was making him sick. Maybe it had been poisoning us all along, leaching into the water, secreting its poison as we slept.
I couldn’t understand why it was happening to him and not to me.

‘Isis,’ he whispered and shook my shoulder. ‘Isis.’

My eyelids flew open. Was this it? Oh, shit, don’t let this be it. I sat up, nearly knocking heads with Chaske. He was dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a fresh T-shirt.

‘I want to go outside,’ he said.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’

‘You don’t have to come.’ He put a little pressure on my shoulder to keep me sitting. ‘I just want to know, you know, before I . . .’

‘I’m coming with you.’

‘I’d rather you stayed here,’ he said, kissing my forehead. ‘We don’t know what’s out there.’

‘We know what’s in here.’

His face whitened and he slid back against the wall. He’d used all his energy getting ready.

‘Why don’t you sleep a bit? I’ll change and pack up a few things.’ I stroked his long black hair. He closed his eyes. He now swam in the clothes that used to cling to his
muscled body. He was more bones than flesh.

Maybe I could find him help. Maybe everything hadn’t ended.

GRETA

G
reta’s anxiety grows with each passing minute. She managed to make her way past the Crown and into the cover of the pine trees, but her energy
is fading. Adrenaline masked her injuries at first, then anger at Finch spurred her forwards. Blind determination kept her moving down the mountain. She can’t see her people approaching any
more. Have they already reached Forreal? Greta’s body is throbbing with pain, but she has to find her family and fight alongside them. She knows Da will be leading the charge.

She makes a steady descent, ducking and hiding and resting, until she realizes that the mountain is deserted. Greta quickly shifts strategies. She will not join the Vega army. She
will make her way to Forreal and plan a counter-attack. If she’s given the chance, she will destroy their homes like they destroyed hers. An eye for an eye.

She sees the shelters that must be Forreal and cautiously invades. Clothes are soaking in washing tubs. A bucket half full of water has been dropped. Chuckwallas scamper from the
dried meat someone has left on an abandoned plate. A fire smoulders in the biggest structure. It’s no more than poles, a roof and a few benches. She picks up a branch from a pile of timber
near the fire pit at the far side of the structure. One end of the branch has already been wrapped in cloth. She takes the ready-made torch and rams it into the fire. She will burn Forreal to the
ground. It won’t take much. The branch is smoking. She waits to make sure the fire takes hold.

She spots a thin slab of wood abandoned on one of the benches. She leaves the branch to burn in the fire for a minute. She examines what has been etched into the wood. Smiley faces.
Hundreds of them. She touches the face with the googly eyes and squiggly mouth. She smears dirt, ash and blood across the faces. She imagines rubbing it smooth, erasing those smiling faces.
That’s what she’s planning, isn’t it?

All around she sees the remains of a simple life, of a people who work and worship together. There aren’t any weapons. These are a peaceful people, like Beckett. Finch could be
the only thorn. She wouldn’t think twice about killing him but she can’t exact her revenge on the rest of them.

She carefully places the slab of wood back where she found it. Her branch has ignited but she leaves it to burn in the fire. Greta sees footprints – big and small –
leading down the mountain. She follows the trail. She hears raised voices and the rumble of a fight, of bodies colliding with bodies.

‘Greta.’

The sound startles her.

Beckett steps from the shadows. Even after everything, her heart reaches out to him. He lunges for her. They clumsily crash into each other and he presses his lips on hers, knocking
heads and teeth. She cringes in pain but tries to find the rhythm that used to come so naturally. She has a fistful of his dreads and is holding him close. The sounds of fighting seem to mute.

She shoves him away. He looks at her with those big, trusting eyes.

‘I forgive you, Greta,’ Beckett says.

‘How can you?’ She wants to be angry with him. If it weren’t for him, there would be no fires or fighting. But she has forgiven him too.

‘The Great I AM believes in second chances and forgiveness,’ Beckett says, and takes her hand as if nothing’s changed.

‘It must be wonderful,’ Greta says, ‘to believe in something outside yourself. To know you are not alone. To think that you have a higher purpose. The only person I
ever trusted was myself. The only thing I’m sure about is that one day I will die, just like everyone else I have ever known.’

‘Let me show you a miracle,’ he says.

She kisses his cheek. ‘It’s too late for miracles. Don’t you hear that? Vega has already attacked Forreal. What can we do now?’

‘It’s never too late for a miracle.’

She strokes his shock of white hair. ‘I wish we weren’t enemies.’

‘We don’t have to be enemies. Trust me one last time. Let me show you the power of the Great I AM.’ He doesn’t wait for her answer. He laces his fingers among
hers. ‘Don’t let a few bad people ruin it for everyone.’

‘That’s really all it has ever taken,’ Greta says. She knows the story of how it all ended. A small terrorist cell created a virus. They unleashed it on an
unsuspecting world. There were attacks and counter-attacks until only handfuls of humans survived.

Beckett looks at her as if her comment has triggered something deeper. ‘Evil wins when good men do nothing.’

She can tell he’s quoting someone. ‘What’s that from?’

‘It’s a Just Saying from the Great I AM.’

Maybe she should give Beckett’s god a chance. What does she have to lose?

Beckett climbs onto the highest boulder he can find and pulls her up after him. The first rays of the rising sun flicker on the horizon. Below a battle rages. The sky shifts to a hazy
pink. ‘It’s time,’ he whispers in Greta’s ear.

He stands tall and pulls his shoulders back. ‘Stop!’ he shouts at the top of his lungs. Everyone freezes, startled by his booming voice. ‘The time for fighting is
over. It’s time for reconciliation.’

Vega outnumbers Forreal nearly three to one. Her people are stained black from battling the fires. They quickly try to resume the fight, but Beckett’s people refuse to engage.
The way they look at him, it’s as if they are seeing a ghost.

‘Please,’ Greta says, searching the crowd for her family. ‘Listen to him. Give him a chance.’ She spots her father and brothers. ‘Da. Bungle. Joe.
Tinker. Buzz. This has to stop before we destroy what we’ve worked so hard to build.’

Beckett raises his and Greta’s hands into the air. ‘I’ve asked the Great I AM for a sign.’

Greta turns her face towards Beckett and whispers, ‘I hope you know what you are doing.’

He looks towards the top of the Mountain. And Greta prays for Beckett’s miracle.

E
ven though I was dressed in exactly the same clothes I’d been wearing when I arrived on the mountain, I had changed in every way imaginable.
My T-shirt still proclaimed
Have a Mediocre Day
. That would be an improvement.

I unlocked the bunker door and helped Chaske out. The door seemed to have grown heavier and took all my strength to pull it open. I held my breath, wondering what awaited us. I braced myself for
the worst. We had to sidestep the rotting remains of the zombie. The stench of decay lingered in the air. I was relieved to find only one set of bones. Maybe Marissa and Midnight had survived.
Maybe they were still alive and out there somewhere.

We stepped into the world. The light was so bright it hurt my eyes. The feel of fresh air on my skin took my breath away. Neither one of us could speak. The sky was a bright shade of blue
I’m sure I’d never seen before. We squinted and shielded our eyes. We blinked back tears that glimmered in the sunlight. We drank in the pine scent. The breeze rustled through leaves.
Animals scurried about. Birds called to one another. Joy welled up in me at this orchestra. But this felt unnatural. Too much to take in all at once. It felt as if the volume on the world had been
ratcheted up. The colours were too vivid. The sounds too loud. The smells too strong. Being in such a vast space made me feel vulnerable.

I’d expected an ashen landscape, void of colour and sound. Everything looked miraculously the same as when we’d gone underground. Maybe we’d got it all wrong. Maybe the world
hadn’t ended. Had we been locked away for nothing? But I remembered the madness that day we locked ourselves in – and the zombie. We’d escaped something, but a new hope was
beginning to glisten inside me. Maybe we weren’t the only ones to survive. I just needed to take it one step at a time. The most important thing was to get Chaske healthy again. I propped
Chaske by the stone with the infinity symbol carved in it. I traced the sun-warmed lines with my finger. There was no infinity for anything except that awful poison. I told him to rest for a while.
I placed the loaded gun on his lap, just in case. I had to go back in.

I stood at the entrance for a long time. My body refused to move. I was scared to leave Chaske. I also couldn’t bear the dark again. I shuffled, one foot in front of the other.
Don’t think, just do
, I told myself. The stale, rank smell of the tunnel hit me. I didn’t realize how much my senses had dulled underground. After so long, we didn’t
smell the foul odour or realize how dim the light or how claustrophobic the space was.

I forced myself forwards, even though every cell in my body screamed to leave this place. I wanted to salvage as many supplies as possible. I didn’t want to come back inside here ever. I
also wanted to mark this space. I wished I could make a ginormous ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign so no one else would enter these tunnels as people and leave as ghosts. I wanted to write a
message, but how do you communicate when you can’t possibly imagine the language or symbols of the future? I thought about writing ‘Do Not Enter’. I only knew English. Was that
good enough? Not everyone spoke English. This poison could be deadly for ten thousand years, which was longer than humans had existed. I thought of the evolution from cave drawings to cursive
writing. Would language continue to morph and change? Would the language we spoke today be as difficult for future generations to understand as Homer’s epic poems in the original Greek were
for me?