Half Lives (5 page)

‘I can’t, Mum.’ I couldn’t move. My body felt as if it had hardened in concrete.

‘You’ve got to, Icie.’ Mum’s expression was what Dad and I called her ‘Don’t Mess With Me’ face. Set jaw. Narrowed eyes. Flared nostrils. ‘Right
now you are your biggest obstacle. You’ve got to think positive. You can do this. Go to the gate and get on the plane. Your dad has another key. If worst comes to worst, we’ll meet you
at the bunker.’

‘Mum . . .’

She leaned in again and whispered, ‘Icie, we stole the keys to the bunker. We did all this for you. There’s no turning back now. Don’t let us down.’ She dug around in her
handbag. ‘How silly of me,’ she said with too much false enthusiasm. ‘I’ve left my driver’s licence at check-in.’ She seemed to be putting on a show for anyone
watching.

‘Next,’ the security lady said, extending her hand for my documents.

‘Go ahead, and I’ll meet you at the gate.’ She hugged me. ‘I love you.’

‘Love you too,’ I choked out. Everyone probably thought I was some stupid kid crying when I had to leave my mummy. All these queues and queues of people had no idea. They thought
today was just like any other day – and maybe it was. Maybe Mum was wrong. Maybe someone would stop the attack.

Mum walked away. She didn’t look back. Her shoulders straightened as she marched off.

Suck it up,
I told myself. Mum and Dad had sacrificed too much for me to lose it now. I handed my boarding pass and driver’s licence to the security woman perched on a stool. She
looked from the documents to me, circled something on my boarding pass and then passed my stuff back. When my backpack and I were all scanned, I turned back, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mum. But
it wasn’t the final farewell shot I’d imagined. She was surrounded by security and being led away. Any shred of hope I was feeling vanished. Not only was the world potentially ending,
but now I was going to face it alone.

‘Some things are just not meant to be.’

– Just Saying 23

HARPER

‘R
ace you to the spot,’ Harper says, but doesn’t wait for Beckett’s reply. She zigzags around the Mountain. Every inch of her
skin is covered to protect her from the sun’s burning rays. Scraps of material are wrapped and tied around her body.

She leads Beckett and Lucky to the Other Side of the Mountain. She needs to get Beckett alone. She slows when she sees the rocky outcrop up ahead, the place where Beckett found her
thirteen years ago.

‘Are you OK?’ Beckett asks when he catches up with her. Beckett’s features are like chiselled rock – strong and solid. His deep brown eyes radiate warmth. He
has a shock of white hair that splits his jet-black dreadlocks. His is the first face she looks for in the morning and the last image she sees before she falls asleep each night.

Harper shrugs.

He tugs at the frayed knots on her arms. ‘You looked like you were being attacked by butterflies with these pieces flapping as you ran.’

She likes the image of butterflies lifting her off the Mountain.

‘Why don’t we find you some clothes that fit properly?’ His finger finds a small patch of skin. She melts at his touch but elbows him away so maybe he won’t
notice the red rising in her cheeks.

‘I don’t mind using the scraps.’ She adjusts the material to cover any exposed skin.

They stare out at the Man-Made Mountains below. Lucky winds a figure of eight around their legs. Harper recalls the lights in the valley last night and shivers.

‘What’s the matter?’ Beckett says, draping his arm across her shoulders.

She curls into him ever so slightly. ‘I can’t believe I was Out There once, but . . .’

‘You’ve remembered something, haven’t you?’

She nods, too afraid to put these new memories into words.

She keeps staring straight ahead, even though she can feel his gaze upon her. ‘Last night, the lights in the Man-Made Mountains triggered something. I’ve been seeing
flashes of images, nothing that makes sense. It’s like fragments of a story.’

‘Maybe it’s just a dream,’ Beckett says, and draws her in.

She closes her eyes so she can concentrate on his touch, but the visions start again. Something is emerging from the darkness. It’s coming after her. Her eyes spring open and
search the landscape.
It’s not real,
she tells herself, but it feels as if she’s being watched.

‘I think I’m remembering things from before,’ she says as the images come into focus. She’s dreaming and remembering at the same time. ‘There are three
bodies lying on the floor. There’s blood everywhere. My ears ring with the most horrible bangs.’ She covers her ears because the sounds seem to ricochet inside her.

‘You are safe,’ Beckett says. ‘The Great I AM will protect you.’ He pauses and places a kiss on her forehead. ‘I’ll protect you.’

She wants him to hold her and make everything else go away.

‘Beckett,’ Harper says, ‘about those lights last night.’

‘Yeah,’ he murmurs, and scoops Lucky into his arms. The cat’s fur looks chocolate brown in the bright sunlight.

‘Beckett, I’ve been thinking . . .’ Her voice trails off. Lucky squirms in Beckett’s arms and Beckett releases her.

‘Dangerous thing to do.’ He playfully knocks his shoulder into Harper’s.

‘I, well, it’s just . . .’ She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He said those lights last night formed a heart. Maybe it is a sign. Maybe it’s time
for her to confess that her feelings for him have changed, deepened. Maybe he feels it too.

Suddenly Lucky crouches as if preparing to pounce. Her black pointy ears flatten against her head.

‘Did you hear that?’ he whispers.

Harper sweeps Beckett behind her. Adrenaline erases everything except her need to protect him. Lucky races off.

‘I thought I heard something,’ Beckett says calmly. He never panics, because he believes the Great I AM watches over him.

Harper hears it now. The faintest shuffle as foot displaces dirt. It could be Finch patrolling the Mountain, but his strides are usually swift and uneven.

There it is again. She triangulates the sound. It’s coming from somewhere below. ‘Wait here while I check it out,’ she says and heads down the Mountain. He
doesn’t obey; instead he follows her.

Harper notices swirls of dust dancing low to the ground. The path dead-ends at a nearly sheer wall of rock. A Forreal-shaped figure is scrambling up the rock. Its long, golden curls
are pasted with sweat to its neck and shoulders. Its hair is the colour of Harper’s when she bothers to wash it in the Mountain spring. It’s wearing clothes like the others in Forreal
do, salvaged from the Time Before, more holes than material. Its pale legs are scratched and bloody. When it reaches the highest point, it turns around and locks sparkling green eyes on Harper.

It
transforms into a girl about the same age as Harper. Harper can’t believe what she’s seeing. It’s almost like looking at her reflection in still water,
but Harper is lean and fit and this girl is curvy and soft. Is she dreaming again?

Beckett is at Harper’s side. A ray of sun illuminates the girl, casting a halo around her. He raises his hands to show he means her no harm. Her eyes scan him from his bare feet
to his loincloth. Harper thinks the girl lingers on his nearly naked torso before focusing on the white streak in his jet-black hair.

The girl’s lips twitch in a slight smile and then she disappears down the other side. Beckett scales the rock but Harper can’t move. All these disparate images are falling
into place. A picture is forming in her head. In this vision, she’s no bigger than a rockstar. Shadows claim everything but the image of a girl so much like the one she’s just seen. The
girls – the one now and the one then – have the same features and colouring as Harper. But in the dream, the girl’s face is contorted in anger. She’s pointing something at
Harper. It’s a weapon of some sort. The air explodes with a flash and smoke and the most deafening bang.

‘Beckett!’ she screams, and climbs up after him. Her voice echoes among the hard surfaces. He doesn’t know the girl is dangerous. She grabs his ankle.

‘Harper, what are you doing?’ He shakes free and pulls himself up on top of the rock. Harper catapults herself upward. She wraps her arms around him and anchors him to the
spot. Her panic makes her stronger.

She buries her face in his back. ‘Thank the Great I AM.’

‘I have to go after her.’ He tries to wriggle out of Harper’s grasp.

‘It’s not safe,’ she says. ‘Not with Terrorists Out There.’

‘She’s not safe,’ he says, but stops fighting.

His eyes are trained on the blonde figure moving at a steady speed down the Mountain. They watch her until she disappears into the desert.

Beckett closes his eyes. His lips are moving. Harper knows he’s sharing his secret hopes and fears with the Great I AM instead of with her.

‘Beckett,’ she says, because she can’t take the silence.

‘The Great I AM has led another Survivor to the Mountain,’ he says. ‘You shouldn’t have stopped me.’

Part of her is jealous of this spirit that will always come first with him. The only thing she truly worships and trusts and believes in is Beckett.

‘She looks . . .’ Beckett doesn’t finish his sentence. She knows what he was going to say:
the girl looks just like you
. She couldn’t be the girl in
Harper’s vision but Harper knows there’s some connection.

‘Let’s continue our patrol,’ Beckett says, and heads up the Mountain, away from the girl and Harper.

‘What should we do?’ Harper asks, struggling to catch up with him.

‘Nothing,’ Beckett says. ‘We can’t tell anyone else about the girl or the lights until we understand the significance of these events.’

It’s not like Beckett to keep secrets. ‘Why?’

‘You’ve seen how paranoid Finch and the other Cheerleaders have become. The Great I AM will reveal everything when it’s time,’ Beckett says with an assurance
that she suddenly finds irritating. The lights. These new images. The girl. Beckett can wait for the Great I AM’s pronouncement, but Harper already knows. She can feel it. These are bad
signs.

M
y parents never showed up. I waited as long as I could to board the plane. I’d kept my head down, afraid that the police,
airport-rent-a-cops, FBI, Secret Service, CIA or some black op commandos that were too top-secret for a name might come after me. Once I was on the plane, I’d scanned every row for my
mum’s blonde bob and my dad’s crazy hairdo. I’d even asked for a glass of water in the back galley and tried to infiltrate the first class-toilets to get a second and third look
at all the passengers.

I wouldn’t let myself believe that this meant forever. I’d meet them in Vegas or see them at the bunker-thingy. I’d held it together for as long as I could. I didn’t cry
until the wheels on Flight 868 to Las Vegas left solid ground. I curled towards the porthole and watched Washington, DC transform into a grid of twinkle lights. I cried for what I was leaving
behind and for what might lie ahead. My life had become a jigsaw puzzle dumped from an imageless box. I didn’t know how I was ever going to be able to put it back together again. Tears
dripped down my chin. I wasn’t strong or smart enough for this bizarre treasure hunt my parents had concocted.

I felt a tap on my shoulder.

‘You mind if I sit here?’ The voice was young and female.

‘Whatever.’ I scooted closer to the window.

‘The guy next to me had eye-watering BO,’ she said, and dropped into the seat beside me. ‘You OK?’

I sniffed and then I did that thing, which I hadn’t done since I was little, where your face seems possessed; you gasp in tiny breaths and your lower lip quivers.

‘Yeah, fine,’ I said, in a pseudo-normal voice.

‘Let me know if you’d like to talk to a total stranger about whatever is bugging you.’

I sniffed back a ginormous wad of snot. ‘Thanks.’

Inside I turned as black as the world outside my window. I cried until my body felt gooey. Somewhere over the Midwest, sleep hijacked my brain.

After what could have been minutes or hours, I felt another tap on my shoulder. ‘Something to drink?’

It took a moment for me to register where I was. My reality felt more like a dream.

It was a simple question, but I had no answer. I shook my head.

‘Come on. You’ve got to have something. It’s a long flight,’ my seatmate said. ‘Two Diet Cokes,’ she told the flight attendant.

I tried to pull myself from the darkness that was threatening to overwhelm me. I shifted in my seat so my tray table could be lowered. I lifted my shirt collar to my forehead and wiped my face
on the backside of the smiley logo on my T-shirt. I loosened a few dreadlocks by each temple and wrapped them around my spindly mass of hair, knotting them so air cooled my neck.

The flight attendant placed a plastic cup of ice and a can of Diet Coke in front of me. I poured some Diet Coke into the cup and watched the fizz bubble up. I took a sip and felt a smidge of
relief at this normal behaviour.