The Last Girl (20 page)

I sighed. ‘Do we start our good deeds now and leave first thing in the morning?’

Nathan frowned. ‘What worries me is who we might wake up.’

We could both see that our debut Revivee was using the gift of life to rifle through the pockets of a dead dealer acquaintance—despite having already filled her backpack with prescription narcotics.

Nathan shook his head in disgust. ‘She can’t hurt us. But what worries me is what might happen to us if we revive someone who’s really bad or really mad.’

I flashed to those afternoons I’d spent with Mum making the ‘Turn Your Trash Into Treasure’ flyers that she sticky-taped to telegraph poles up and down the mountains.

‘What?’ Nathan asked when he saw me smiling.

‘We don’t have to be there when they wake up.’

Nathan looted the laptop and battery-operated printer from the electronics shop downstairs. Together we worked up the wording.

‘How many should we print?’ Nathan asked. ‘The instructions should bounce from mind to mind anyway.’

‘The more the better,’ I said. ‘Just to counteract Chinese whispers. People thought I was a soul-sucking ghost and an alien cockroach.’

Nathan laughed. ‘Say what?’

We sat across from each other at the accountant’s desk and I told him about Dad and Stephanie and getting away from Beautopia Point. I talked as I added electrolyte powder to bottles of water from the kitchen. Nathan listened as he made up syringes of Lorazepam solution. The printer churned through a ream of paper. When I finished my story, he gazed at me silently.

‘What?’ I asked. ‘Are you okay?’

Nathan capped the last syringe. ‘What’s amazing is that you’re okay after all of that.’

I didn’t know that I was. I didn’t know whether I should be proud I’d survived—or scream for the very same reason. But I nodded. ‘Let’s make these up.’

We began assembling what we’d dubbed our RSKs—Revival Survival Kits. Six loaded syringes, another six Lorazepam tablets, a bottle of electrolyte drink and a roll of powder sachets, a packet of painkillers and a ream of instruction flyers—all sealed into large zip-lock sandwich bags.

‘So,’ I said. ‘Where were you when it happened?’

Nathan busied himself in an RSK.

‘I wasn’t that far from here,’ he said. ‘I was just coming off the night shift. Then everyone was going nuts. It was horrible. I—I—’

Nathan blinked and seemed far away.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you stupid girl.’

I tuned to Cassie and saw what he saw.

Cassie had reached her friend James’s apartment building in Olympic Park. She’d found Sammy face down but alive in the garden outside. It’d only taken her a minute to mix up Lorazepam and stick it in his butt cheek. She’d left him there while she went up and did the same for James, who was stretched out on his faux-zebra rug with empty bottles and bags licked clean of powder. Cassie didn’t know how long it’d take for her friends to wake up. But she was going to pass the time with a little taste of the heroin from that dead dealer. I pulled myself away from her as she sank into her opiate oblivion.

‘She could be dosing everyone in that building with Lorazepam,’ I said bitterly. ‘And instead she does that.’

Nathan reached over to put his hand on my wrist. His fingertips were warm on my skin. I moved my arm a little so our hands could slide together. Our fingers interlocked, gentle at first, then tighter as we made a fist together across the desk. The connection was soft but strong.

‘We can’t control what people do,’ he said. ‘We just have to do our best to help them.’

I nodded. He smiled. We uncurled our fingers. There was no awkwardness. We went back to preparing RSKs.

‘So,’ I asked, ‘how do you reckon we should do this?’

We agreed to begin a few blocks east. We’d look for people with good vital signs and who looked like they could help others. We’d swab our person, set out the syringe we needed from our stashes, and put their RSKs where they couldn’t help but see them. We’d repeat the process, moving up the street, until we’d both found ten people. Then it’d be hit and run, injecting from farthest to nearest, as we raced back to the office. Plan was to be back in our hideout long before anyone came around.

‘All done,’ Nathan said, sealing his last RSK. ‘You ready?’

As I’d ever be.

I used a stethoscope to listen to a heavy-set guy crumpled in the doorway of a pawn shop. In his Hawaiian shirt, shorts and sandals, he looked like he was on his way to a barbecue. He stank of stale booze but had a strong heartbeat and was breathing evenly. I reckoned this big fella weighed about one hundred kilograms. I hunkered down with my backpack, set a full syringe atop his RSK. Once I’d swabbed his hairy bicep, I used a marker pen to circle the sterile skin. Then I looked around for my next patient. It felt unfair, terrible, to bypass a boy crouched by a fire hydrant and an old man in the gutter. But we’d agreed fit adults would respond best and be able to revive others—and that would include their younger and older loved ones.

Across the street Nathan opened the driver’s door of a white hatchback—and slammed it against the smell. But he got lucky with a silver sedan and started prepping the driver stuck behind the wheel. My next candidate was a thirty-something woman in a sundress sprawled on the back seat of her station wagon. She had pulled a straw hat down so hard over her eyes that it had torn. I guessed she was seventy kilos and squirted a syringe down to size before prepping her and laying out the RSK.

By the time we reached the middle of the block, our backpacks were empty. Nathan tapped his wrist. I glanced at my phone and held up six fingers. He nodded. We were on schedule. If this worked, whoever woke up would have maybe an hour to orientate themselves before it was fully dark.

We gave each other the thumbs up.

Steeling myself against squeamishness, I crouched and slid a syringe into the circled bicep of a woman wearing a fast-food uniform and a badge that identified her as Jackie. She’d crashed at the wheel of her hatchback. Nathan went to work on an Asian woman laid out beside a delivery van. I hurried along the footpath to a woman in her pyjamas and heard Nathan racing between cars to find his next mark.

Within minutes, I was finishing where I started, jabbing the Hawaiian shirt guy, throwing the last used needle in my backpack.

‘How’d you go?’ Nathan said, joining me.

‘Good. You?’

He nodded.

We jogged along the block, jumped over Goners, tore down the alley, clattered up the fire stairs and slammed the kitchen door behind us. I’m not sure why we were so frantic. Our minds were alert to anyone coming online. So far no one had.

I flopped onto the couch beside Evan, felt his forehead and listened to his breathing.

‘How is he?’ Nathan asked, panting and pacing around the coffee table.

‘Seems okay.’ I checked my phone. The battery was almost gone. I’d have to find a replacement—or a power source. ‘It’s six ten.’

‘Ten minutes.’ Nathan nodded. ‘We did a good job.’

‘Not much good,’ I said, ‘if I doesn’t—’ But then it started to work.

So-hot-So-thirsty
, Jackie thought as she woke. In front of her on the steering wheel was her RSK. She didn’t question where it came from, just ripped it open, unscrewed the drink bottle and drank deeply.

Oh-God!-What-happened?-Did-I-have-a-stroke?-No-Jesus-
look-at-this—

Cars were banked up all around, shadows draped over steering wheels, people sprawled along the street. Now she began to remember. Some of them had been like that before she’d been sucked down.

Tony!-Baby!-Where-are-you?

Her hand shot out and turned the key in the ignition uselessly.

Ran-the-battery-down-with-the-stereo-and-air-con.

Panic flared in her.

Is-everyone-dead?

Then she saw the flyers in the RSK and pulled one out.

You-must-read-and-remember.

Nathan and I heard hope bloom in Jackie. Then she was out of the car, clutching the RSK, mind streaking ahead of her cramped legs. She hoped Tony was where she’d last seen him— in the lounge room of their house, face pressed against the TV, working his way through a case of beer. If he’d passed out there, he might still be okay. She didn’t care what he had done, what he’d thought. She needed to forgive him, for him to forgive her.

Then we heard Ray, my Hawaiian-shirt guy, come online, and, in quick succession, others began to stir and come around in various states of discombobulation and disbelief.

‘Nine,’ said Nathan, tallying them.

‘Eleven,’ I corrected because James and Sammy were sitting by Cassie—who was snoring on the zebra-skin rug. The boys’ minds were overlapping amiably now they’d followed their friend’s example and shot up some smack.

Everything’s-gone-man-But-like-we’re-kings-now-
Others-over-in-Parramatta-Fast-food-chick-Reading-about-
Lorazawhatnow-Oh-check-this-stuff-out-Pharmaceutical-
grade-speed.

‘They don’t count,’ Nathan said, sitting on the couch next to me.

By six thirty, fifteen of our people were awake. All that steadied them—and then it was only just—were the drinks that eased the terrible thirst and the RSKs that gave them hope.

Someone’s-in-charge-helping-It’s-gonna-be-okay
, the woman named Traci thought, crying softly.
Mum-Dad-I’m-gonna-
come-home-now-and-help-you
.

Then, as though their minds were stretching, getting the blood flowing, their thoughts rose up, got louder and started to crossover.

‘Now we find out if they can handle it,’ I said softly.

Nathan put his hand on mine. ‘It might be all right.’

What-happened?-Who’re-you?-Traci-Cory-Ray-How’d-
we-get-here?-What’s-it-say?-Revive-people-So-thirsty-The-
convenience-store-have-more-drinks-God-are-they-all-dead?-
I-remember-Oh-God-it-was-like-this-Hearing-your-mind-
It’s-different-now-Not-so-loud-Who-wrote-this-left-this-bag?-
Junkies-out-there-No-man-it-wasn’t-us-It-says-they’ll-all-die-
We-have-to-save-God-I’m-aching-Gotta-find-my-wife-kids . . .

Like magnetised iron filings, the thoughts clumped together, even as the people thinking them stood warily apart, sizing each other up across cars and the street.

No one spoke out loud. But no one screamed.

Gotta-find-Tony-I’m-Frank-Who’re-Sammy-James?-They’re-
spaced-out-God-can-see-why-they-do-it-So-relaxed-I-need-a-
drink-Stay-sober-My-name-is-Ravi-All-I-remember-is-Music-
wasn’t-loud-enough-That-guy-didn’t-wake-up-Grab-his-bag-
got-more-stuff-No-it’s-mine-I-need-it-for-my-kids!-Okay-stay-
calm-Says-we’ll-find-this-stuff-any-pharmacy-Whoever-woke-
me-up-should-have-let-me-die!-Cut-the-self-pity-Don’t-tell-me-
what-to-think-Please-don’t-don’t-do-this-again!-Think-the-best-
Lorazepam-I-could-sell-this-stuff-To-who-you-idiot?-You-can’t-
talk-Ray-you’re-the-criminal-Guys-gotta-work-together-At-
least-think-together-Man-there’s-so-much-smoke-Is-everything-
still-Look-don’t-worry-about-any-of-that-I’m-finding-my-
family-using-this-Lorazepam.

Nathan beamed at me. Our Revivees were like I’d been when I came back from the void. They had more control over tuning each other in and out and their new groupthink was more like a passionate town hall debate than a black-metal moshpit.

‘Can’t afford to get sucked into it all again,’ I said, echoing what Ray had just thought as he struck out east on his own.
Gotta-find-Lyn.

‘Bigger problems now than who’s the biggest wanker.’ Nathan parroted Jackie, also heading east but sticking to her side of the street.
Tony-baby-hold-on.