Arcadium by Sarah Gray
Chapter 2
TODAY WE HAVE to find water. I think there’s a service station somewhere down the road. It’s always risky going into places like that; they’re almost always cleaned out and they have all these nooks for infected to get stuck in, but it’s still worth a try because without water in this heat, well… we’ll just die.
We have melted Snickers bars for breakfast, since I figure peanuts are probably the healthiest ingredient we have here… or maybe it’s potatoes from the chips. But really that’s a tough call.
“Ready?” I ask.
Liss licks the chocolate off her fingers and seems pleased. I used to love chocolate but eating it all the time kind of grinds, especially since I can actually feel the sugar crash now. Ugh.
I open the roller door a crack and lie on the floor, peering out. When I’m happy, I lift it just enough so I can crawl out and survey the area. It’s all clear so I beckon for Liss.
I can feel the heat already, it’s going to be one of those days: those sweaty, uncomfortable, fatiguing days. We’ll need water very soon.
We scale the fence and drop down quietly. There are definitely infected in the area, I mean, we did just see a bunch yesterday… but aside from that they’re always out there, even if you can’t see them. They might be stuck in a house, or behind a fence… or in a service station. And I bet they see us, even though they can’t always get to us.
“How far to go now?” Liss is wearing her oversized aviator sunnies. I can see my reflection in the mirror lenses and it looks pretty scary. Greasy brown hair pulled back into a bun that I haven’t taken out all week, tired eyes and dry lips. I look away.
“Definitely less than yesterday,” I say.
“Clearly.”
Up ahead there’s a park in the distance, flat with a few trees dotted in the overgrown grass.
Liss finishes her last drop of water and screws the lid back on. “I’m out,” she says.
To me it sounds like she’s talking about ammo. Maybe water is as precious as bullets. It’s our weapon against dehydration. Wow. With jokes like that I must already be dehydrated and going crazy.
“I need to pee,” Liss says.
At least she’s not dehydrated. “You know the drill.” We operate on a drop your pants and go right next to one another method. Weird, I know, peeing on the nature strip in the middle of the street, right next to my kid sister. It’s too risky to go out of each other’s sight just for some stupid privacy. And, like almost anything, you get used to it if you have to.
Liss points to a silver water fountain just inside the park boundaries. “Do you think there’s any water in there?”
“Good spotting. You want to go check?”
She presses her lips together and stares at me. “You sure?”
I’ve already surveyed the scene. The park is flat and free of infected people. “Sure.”
Liss runs over, constantly looking around. She’s becoming more aware and I can’t help but smile. It’s a good thing. Liss presses the button and water shoots out in an arc, but she backs away, suddenly all suspicious and takes off at a run.
“What is it?” I say, watching her closely when she returns.
Liss is holding her hands out. “There’s water but it’s no good. There’s blood on it.”
“Did you touch it?”
“The button yeah, but not the blood.” She’s breathless from her run but won’t drop her hands to her side. “I don’t think so anyway.”
“Ok.” I get the antibacterial wipes, pull one out of the packet and seal it again. “Flip your hands over?” There’s no blood. I pass her the wipe and she scrubs her fingers with it.
“Good call,” I say. “You can never be too careful.”
Liss balls up the wipe and leaves it by a street lamp.
We keep walking, trying to stick to the shade but as the sun moves across the sky it’s hard to hide from it.
Liss pushes her sunglasses up the tiny bridge of her nose and says, “It’s hot.”
Well, thank you, Captain Obvious. “Are you thirsty?” I say.
Liss nods.
“Give me your bottle.”
Liss hands it over and I pour some of my water into her bottle. “I’m only doing this because you’re my sister. You’re my family and we look out for each other.” I pass her the bottle and watch her drink. “You don’t ever give anyone else your water or food. Ever. Not anyone. Got it?”
She gives me a little soldier salute and screws the cap back on. Up ahead I catch a flash of movement and my senses prickle. I don’t need to tell Liss, it’s like she can read me instantly. I duck and she copies. We stay crouched, and a lonely infected person wanders across our path. It’s an older man, with a potbelly, a stained shirt and business trousers, and a tie flapping in the breeze.
He’s not really a threat; he doesn’t notice us even though he passes within fifty metres of us. I figure their sense of smell isn’t any better than ours, since they started out human. But they can still hear and see movement, so I put our own brand of sign language into use.
First it’s the quiet sign: it’s pretty universal, straight index finger to lips. Liss copies to show me she understands. Next it’s the single-file-and-follow-me sign: two fingers together pointing in the direction I want to go.
We move along, still crouching. It’s slow going but our lives are worth it. The single-file-and-follow-me sign completely obliterates the stay-back-while-I-check-the-intersection rule so Liss follows me like a shadow.
It’s clear ahead and to the right. To the left is the infected businessman, but he’s wandering away with his back to us. There’s no point in waiting, where there’s one infected there tend to be loads more just around the corner. I reach back and grab Liss’ hand and together we creep across the open space.
That’s the only infected person we see for the rest of our walk. We pass by the service station but it’s been looted like crazy so I don’t bother going in. Later in the evening it starts to cool, but only a bit.
We haven’t dared speak since seeing the infected man, and that was hours ago. “I think turning in early today’s a good idea,” I say.
Liss nods.
“You ok?”
Liss fidgets with her backpack straps. “Yeah.”
I pick a house on the corner. It has security screens over the windows and doors and not much glass. Those are the safe houses. Liss waits just inside the front fence and I try the door. It’s actually locked, dammit, but I really want this house. I check under the mat and round the pot plants. Bingo.
A spare key is under one of the dead plants. It’s a win, but then I also know that a locked door sometimes means dead bodies inside and they are spectacularly gross.
I unlock it and step in. It’s dark and shadowy and stinking hot. And the smell, it hits me in the face like a fly swatter… that’s definite dead body smell. Ew. I pinch my nose with my fingers, and breath from the corner of my mouth so I can’t taste it.
The hallway, lounge and kitchen are clear. Off the hallway are three closed doors. And since the infected can’t open doors I decide not to check them.
It’s strange that this is totally acceptable now, just walking into someone’s home, perusing their things, eating their food. The house kind of still looks lived in. Two shirts and a towel hang off the back of chairs, long since dried. Candles sit half burnt. The toaster and kettle are plugged into the wall sockets with switches on. Old crumbs litter the bench while empty shoes stand guard by the back door.
The good thing about this house is the enclosed backyard, and there’s a small bungalow out there too.
I go back and get Liss before checking any further. I have another rule that if I have to leave Liss outside it’s never for more than thirty seconds.
“Block your nose,” I say.
She does it straight away. I swear she was never ever this obedient in normal times.
“Cupboard check. You got it? I need to do a quick check outside.”
Liss quietly pulls open the cupboard one by one and I peer out the window. The backyard is small and square and the fence is high. And because it’s a corner property, the border runs along the road, so we can always see what’s going on out there.
“Got some water,” Liss says.
“Nice. Any other drinkable liquids, tins of food, jars, that sort of thing, put them on the bench. I’ll be two seconds.”
I step out into the backyard and check the bungalow. It’s just a small detached room and it’s unlocked. The air is musty but it’s not warm dead person smell like in the main house, so it seems like a good place to stay.
Liss has done a good job picking out food. We’ve got baked beans, tinned fruits, a sealed packet of Tim Tams, a two-litre bottle of water and a can of Pepsi.
“You want to eat outside?” I say. “It’s safe.”
“Yeah,” Liss says. It sounds like she’s got a cold but she’s just blocking her nose from the gross smell.
In the garden we set up on the outdoor table and benches. For some reason Liss likes opening cans. It’s just her thing. So she sits there peacefully engrossed in her metal slicing, opening every tin we have. And it’s nice to be outside too, almost like normal times. Fresh air and warm sun, hanging out in the garden… nearly feels like freedom. Well, just a tiny bit.
Liss sips the sugary juice from a tin of peaches and I eat half of the cold baked beans. There’s a lot to be said for baked beans. Maybe I didn’t appreciate them before but it’s the one tinned food meal you can eat cold and it still tastes ok.
Liss spears a peach half on her fork. “Hey, Flo…” It’s her question voice.
“Mmm?”
“If I got infected, would you kill me?”
Why do kids always ask the hard questions? Next thing I know she’ll be asking me where babies come from. “Would you want me to?”
She tries to shove the entire peach half in her mouth but can’t quite manage it so she spits it all back into her hand. Again, I wonder how she’d survive out there alone.
“I… maybe. But wouldn’t I already be dead?”
I shrug. “Does that mean I shouldn’t kill you?” It’s weird because I can think of so many times I’ve said I will kill you in the sisterly way you do sometimes without really meaning it.
“Um… I think… you can decide.”
“Ok. And I’ll work it out when it happens.” But I already know the answer. I’d run away and leave her to roam… then I’d die early from diabetes, eating only chocolate because that’s all that seems to survive the apocalypse, and that would be the end of a very tragic story.
For the evening’s entertainment we lie on our stomachs on the bungalow roof and play eye-spy from our vantage point. The green tin roof is still warm but we have a nice mild breeze sweeping over our backs.
I’m half way through guessing a word beginning with B when I hear the unmistakable noise of human chatter.
“You hear that?” I whisper.
Liss nods.
“Where?”
Liss checks the to the left and I check right. She nudges me with her shoulder and points.
“Stay flat,” I whisper. “And don’t move.”
We watch like birds of prey as a group of normal uninfected people walk down the street, totally oblivious to us. The man at the front has a shotgun, and the man at the back has a small handgun. Between them there are another ten people. Two kids, six women and two more men. The kids look just a bit younger than Liss, and it looks like they’ve got mum with them.
It’s easy to wonder where they’re going, if they might know of any news of a secret cure. But that’s a huge group to be looking after, hugely dangerous. I’d never help them… I’d never be able to help them. I can hear them talking from here, so they’re just sitting ducks for the infected. I give them a week, maximum. Sad but true.
We watch them until they’ve disappeared and the chatter is no longer audible.
Liss rolls her two front teeth over her bottom lip and looks at me. “They won’t last long.”
I’m beginning to think I’ve trained her too well.