The Sky So Heavy (19 page)

I stop the car out the front of Mr Effrez’s house. It’s pretty clear that Max is too much of a mess to get out. Lucy stays with him and I go up the path to the front door. I can’t help but worry that I’ll find Effrez dead as well, it seems to be my new habit. My luck isn’t quite that bad, though. Effrez opens the door and gives me a wide smile, something I have never witnessed before.

‘You came back,’ he says, leading me into the lounge.

‘Yeah’ is all I can manage to say. He must have noticed the defeat in my voice because he stops and turns around.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Noll. He’s dead.’

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there looking at me. Then he turns around and walks through to the lounge. He motions to a seat and I take it.

‘Well, that’s . . . that’s just appalling news.’

Effrez crouches down and opens a small cupboard beneath the window. I realise it’s a safe. He pulls out a bottle and takes a glass from the cabinet that stands where most would have a television. He pours a glass of the thin, golden liquid and hands it to me. I take a sip, it scorches my throat.

‘What happened? Did he get sick? He seemed well when he was here.’

‘No. I don’t know exactly. He was shot.’

‘Shot?’

I tell Effrez what happened, about our search for fuel and Max running back covered in blood.

‘This just happened?’

I nod.

‘Where is your brother?’

‘He’s in the car, out front.’

‘And you’re going to go south? Now?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re in shock. You’re not driving. Bring Lucy and your brother inside. You will stay the night, sleep. Go in the morning.’

His offer is not negotiable.

Effrez brings a double mattress into the living room. It fills the entire floorspace. The three of us will squish together on it, with some cushions stuffed down the side for extra width. I don’t know if it’s his mattress or where he plans to sleep if it is. I imagine him hanging upside down from the ceiling like a bat.

He heats two cans of spaghetti over the fireplace in his bathroom sink. He has cheese, which he grates over the top and it’s the most delicious thing any of us has eaten in months. The three of us sit cross-legged on the mattress. Effrez doesn’t talk, just watches us eat and then takes the bowls away when we are done. He returns with a notepad and pen.

‘I will give you the directions on how to get to the settlement. I also have a letter that I wish you to give to my friends when you arrive. There are six of them there plus others whom I don’t know. I will write my friends’ names down for you, you’re not likely to remember them if I tell you now, you look much too exhausted to remember your own names.’

It is past midnight by the time we get to bed. I fall asleep after what feels like hours. When I wake up sunlight is streaming through the window. I hear a loud knock at the door and get out of bed, careful not to wake Lucy and Max. I open the front door and feel the warm sunlight on my face, so bright that I have to shield my eyes. There are three people standing there: Noll, Alan and my father. They smile at me.

Then I wake to the gloomy half-light of the early morning.

Before we leave, Effrez hugs me tightly, then gives me a firm handshake.

‘Will you have enough fuel?’

I nod. ‘Can you please come with us?’

He shakes his head. ‘I cannot do that,’ he says. ‘Are you driving, Lucinda?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then I will not fear. You all take care, won’t you? I will be thinking of you.’

I weave the car through the streets, out of the city and into the southern suburbs. We reach the barricade. It is manned by a single army officer who opens it as we approach. There is no issue with letting people out of the city. We follow the highway and the houses become trees. The headlights throw yellow light on the road in front of us and it occurs to me that it has been much easier to see on this drive than it was on the way down.

‘It’s stopped snowing,’ I say.

‘You’re right,’ murmurs Lucy.

Above us, the light is trying to push its way into the sky. It is still thick with grey, but it seems higher than it was before. The landscape unfurls on either side of the road, acres and acres of gently undulating scrub, broken only by large clusters of eucalypts. The greens and browns of the vegetation are less vivid than I have seen before and the gumtrees don’t look as strong as they were, as if the colour from their leaves has bled into the sky. But they are still standing, still reaching up. Waiting.

Acknowledgements

Firstly, a gigantic thank you to my husband, Nathan. Thank you for your unfailingly honest feedback, the most valuable thing a writer can have. Thank you for believing that I do have the skills to pay the bills, especially when I was convinced otherwise. Thank you for being a single parent from time to time so I could write.

A big thank you to Associate Professor George Bryan for his help answering my ‘what-ifs’ about all things nuclear winterish, for being a boffin in general and knowing about random things like what is and isn’t possible when it comes to handbrake turns. (Even when I chose to ignore your input re the latter.) Thanks for also being my dad. In fact, thank you to both my parents for your enthusiasm and for never asking when I was going to get a real job. Thank you for teaching me the value of hard work.

Thank you to my dear readers: Marcella Kelshaw, Carla Brown, Lauren McCorquodale and Jo Mason. Thank you for your input and ideas and for offering to read my stuff. Thank you for being top people and the bestest, most loyal friends.

A massive thank you to my agent Sheila Drummond and also the team at UQP for taking a punt on a newbie. Special thanks must go to the ever lovely Kristina Schulz for always being so encouraging and just downright lovely in general. Also to my editorial team: Cathy Vallance, Kristy Bushnell and especially Jody Lee, whose wisdom, very, very early on, helped make this story the book it is today.

Finally, thank you Mr Ghetzzi for teaching me that words on a page can have an extraordinary affect on their readers’ lives. And for making me read
Heart of Darkness
.

I’LL TELL YOU MINE

Pip Harry

Kate Elliot isn’t trying to fit in.

Everything about her – especially her goth make-up and clothes – screams different and the girls at her school keep their distance. Besides, how can Kate be herself,
really herself
, when she’s hiding her big secret? The one that landed her in boarding school in the first place. She’s buried it down deep but it always seems to surface.

But then sometimes new friends, and even love, can find you when you least expect it.

So how do you take that first step and reveal yourself when you’re not sure that people want to know the real you?

‘I loved it. It has three of my favourite ingredients: boarding school, great characters, and a lot of heart.’ Melina Marchetta

‘What an angst-ridden, passionate and funny story!’
Good Reading

‘A beautiful debut told in a crisp, clear voice by an author who has expertly captured the struggle to find your identity, fall in love, and survive high school.’
Viewpoint

ISBN 978 0 7022
3938 0

First published 2013 by University of Queensland Press

PO Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland 4067 Australia

www.uqp.com.au

[email protected]

© Claire Zorn 2013

This book is copyright. Except for private study, research, criticism or reviews, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

Cover design by Jo Hunt

Cover photographs by
iStockphoto and Dreamstime

Typeset in Adobe Garamond 12/16pt by Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane

Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

National Library of Australia

Zorn, Claire, author.

The sky so heavy / Claire Zorn.

ISBN 978 0 7022 4976 1 (pbk)

ISBN 978 0 7022 5140 5 (epdf)

ISBN 978 0 7022 5141 2 (epub)

ISBN 978 0 7022 5142 9 (kindle)

Nuclear winter – Juvenile fiction.

A823.4

University of Queensland Press uses papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.