‘Where have you been?’
I see Dad’s eyes narrow a little, and I can tell he doesn’t trust her. Dad doesn’t trust anyone. ‘I think I’d like to take my daughters home. Plenty of time for stories later.’
‘Sure,’ Violet says. ‘We’ll give you your privacy.’
Mateo takes a step forward, a question on his face. I shake my head slightly and turn away from him. Out of the corner of my eye I see him hesitate, then turn and walk off.
Better that Dad doesn’t know about Mateo. That’s not a conversation I’m ready to have.
‘Um.’ There’s so much to tell him. So much he doesn’t know. ‘We’ve been staying at the post office.’
Dad looks over at Grace, who still has tears running down her face. ‘I want to go home, Daddy,’ she whispers.
‘Get your things,’ Dad says.
He’s not going to like what I have to tell him. But I hope he’ll understand why I made the choices I did. We step into the post office and Dad switches on a torch, taking in our unmade beds and piles of dirty clothes without comment. Grace starts piling clothes onto her bed, rolling them up in her sheet to make a kind of swag. I copy her numbly.
I’m waiting for him to ask about Blythe.
Dad passes me the torch. ‘I’ll be waiting by the car.’
I hesitate, then step into the storeroom. Keller’s stuff is still there, his bed perfectly made, his clothes neatly folded. I notice things I hadn’t before. A battered stuffed unicorn. A copy of Blythe’s favourite book – Anne of Green Gables – on Keller’s makeshift bedside table. I rest the torch on the table and pick up the book. There’s a piece of card marking his place. I let the book fall open. It’s a photo, inkjet printed onto glossy card. A young Keller of maybe eight or nine stares back at me. Next to him is Mr Reid, his expression grim. I didn’t know Mr Reid very well, but I never saw him smile. Young Keller looks equally serious, his shoulders held stiffly under a perfectly pressed white shirt. It’s difficult to imagine Mr Reid ever showing any affection to his son.
There’s a manila envelope on the bedside table too. I pick it up. Inside are more photos.
Keller was a good photographer. I leaf through the images and see vast red landscapes, water tumbling into gorges. I see a boab tree at sunset, its spreading fingers painted red against a deep violet sky. I see the unfurling yellow and orange fronds of a grevillea, in sharp detail.
There are photos of people too. Peter Wu on stage in the Heart, performing a Shakespearean monologue, his brows heavy and his mouth open, poised to spill forth a flood of drama and tragedy. Violet Hickory in extreme close-up, red rock and spinifex reflected in her eyes.
Blythe. Waist-deep in the waters of Lake Lincoln, droplets of water suspended in the air around her, glittering like diamonds, her arms flung open, her mouth wide with delight.
I don’t dare to breathe as I stare at the photo. Blythe, so alive in my hands.
There’s a noise behind me, and Grace peers over my shoulder.
‘I remember that day,’ she says softly. ‘I lost my bracelet – you know the matching ones that Blythe and I both had, that Mum gave us when we turned ten? The clasp broke and I couldn’t find it anywhere. Blythe and Keller were horsing around in the water, but Keller noticed I was upset, and came out to help me look. He found it over in the grass by that old bloodwood tree.’ She pauses. ‘He wasn’t all bad.’
I’d spent so long seeing Keller as a villain I’d forgotten he was also a human being.
Grace and I take our swags and head outside. Dad is waiting by the car. The sun is fully up now and I can see the rusting badge – it was once a Datsun Bluebird.
The interior of the car is almost as bad as the outside. Everything is caked in orange dust. The upholstery is torn and covered in a thick layer of grime. The front passenger seat is missing entirely, the space it once occupied taken up by a pair of blue milk crates covered in a weathered green tarpaulin. As Grace and I climb over into the back, my sneaker catches a corner of the tarpaulin and kicks it to the side. I can see an old canvas bag containing bicarb soda and vinegar, and I have a sudden memory of Clarita in the canteen at Hansbach, rummaging through a drawer.
Dad sinks down in the driver’s seat, reaching over to twitch the tarpaulin back into place.
The car trip is too noisy to allow any conversation. The old Bluebird bounces and judders along the dirt road, each bump and pot hole sending jarring vibrations through my spine. Air and dirt roar in through the spaces where the windows once were, and Grace and I pull our T-shirts up over our faces to try to stop the choking orange dust from filling our eyes and lungs. It’s uncomfortable and hot, but it’s over too soon, and we’re walking in our old front door and it’s like nothing has changed but everything has changed.
I haven’t been back to the house for months.
There’s a thin layer of dust on everything, and the air is stale. There’s an open jar of Vegemite on the kitchen bench, and the end of a loaf of bread that is just a withered stump of grey mould. A butter-knife is balanced on the lid of the Vegemite jar, and I know Blythe was the last person to touch it.
She’s everywhere.
The white unicorn sneakers she ruined on that last emergency drill are in the laundry sink, waiting to be washed. Her books and clothes and jewellery are strewn all over the house. And I know underneath my feet there are tiny flakes of her skin, strands of her hair.
I want to turn and run outside.
But there’s a sound coming from the back of the house. A scratching beyond the laundry door.
Dad doesn’t signal to us. He doesn’t say anything, or even hesitate for a second. He strides over to the door, pulling a gun from the back waistband of his jeans – his Glock – and in a smooth, practised movement, he unloads the clip into the laundry door, shooting straight out in front of him at chest height.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
With each shot, Blythe dies again.
Grace is frozen in horror. I feel my knees give way from beneath me and sink to the carpet. Fear and adrenaline course through me.
The gun and the laundry door are smoking, and I can smell the same copper and sulphur scent that haunts my nightmares.
Dad pulls out another clip. He ejects the first one and slams the new one in place, holding the gun up and ready to shoot as he kicks the laundry door in.
I look up from the carpet and peer through the smoke to the laundry floor, littered with bits of door.
There’s a moment of silence, then the scuffling sound starts up again, along with a high-pitched whine. As Dad swings the gun around to the source of the noise, I suddenly find myself surging forward.
‘Stop!’ I yell.
The noise is coming from the cupboard on the other side of the water heater, where we keep the dog food for…
‘Panda!’ shrieks Grace, as a very knotty, dirty, excited dog emerges from the cupboard.
Panda scrambles over to Grace and me, barking joyfully, her tail a fierce blur. She barrels into me, pressing her wriggling body up against me, covering my face with licks. I feel myself start to cry, and she darts over to Grace, who has sunk to her knees beside me. Panda can’t stay still, writhing and whirling back and forth between us, licking and letting out little yips and whines. She rolls over onto her back and then leaps back at us, pushing her face up against my face. I can feel her whole body trembling.
Grace and I laugh and cry and rub her belly as she licks away our tears and whips us with her tail.
I haven’t felt so uncomplicatedly happy in months.
‘Did you come back here looking for us?’ Grace asks her, and Panda responds with a joyous bark. ‘You must be starving.’
‘There were two massive bags of dog food in the laundry,’ I say. ‘She’s probably been doing okay, as long as she didn’t guts it all down at once.’
Panda doesn’t feel particula
rly skinny, although it’s hard to tell through her matted, tangled coat.
‘You need a bath, and a good brush,’ Grace tells her.
Grace looks happier than I’ve seen her in weeks. In months. Since well before the EMP.
A shadow looms over us, and I look up to see Dad. ‘Shave her,’ he says. ‘No point in wasting time brushing that out.’
The joy drains away, and I realise that I can’t put it off anymore. Panda whines and presses her nose against my cheek.
‘Dad,’ I say. ‘Blythe’s gone.’
He looks at me, his expression unreadable. ‘I know.’
We sit on the couch, Grace and I, with Panda stretched across our laps. Dad sits in his armchair, his hands resting on his knees. He looks out of place here in this house, all grizzled and bronzed and grimy. An action hero in an ordinary living room.
‘How did you know?’
‘Recon,’ says Dad, like it should be obvious. ‘I wasn’t about to walk back in blind, was I?’
Dad has been watching us. He knows that Blythe is gone. He probably knows about the Paddock too – he would have seen the solar panels and other bits and pieces around town. Did he spy on our party last night? Did he see me dancing with Mateo? Did he see me go back to the hotel with him? My stomach turns over. Could he have been watching when Keller died and we didn’t save him?
I stare at him, but his eyes give nothing away.
I realise that this means his dramatic arrival was staged, calculated for maximum impact. A feeling of profound uneasiness creeps over me.
‘So tell me what happened.’
I take a deep breath, winding my fingers into Panda’s fur, feeling her heartbeat.
And I tell him.
I tell him about the power going off, about going into Jubilee to investigate. I tell him about deciding to head to the mine with Mateo to find answers.
I don’t tell him about the kissing and anaphylaxis.
I tell him about what we found at Hansbach, about meeting Keith and hearing about the solar storm. I tell him about leaving the cairn for him as a signal, in case he was still there.
‘Good girl,’ he murmurs, and despite everything I feel proud to have won his approval.
‘But you weren’t there, were you?’ I ask.
Dad shakes his head. ‘Of course not. I would have left you a reply.’
There’s something in the way he says it – I can’t quite believe him. ‘Then where were you? Where have you been?’
Dad waves a hand. ‘Later,’ he says.
I tell him about returning to Jubilee, about moving to the Paddock with the twins. He nods when I tell him about our decision to keep the Paddock a secret, and I swallow a lump of unease. He won’t be nodding for much longer.
When I tell him about Keller finding the Paddock, his face turns as dark as a thundercloud.
‘How did he find it?’ he says through clenched teeth.
‘I don’t really know,’ I tell him honestly. ‘He had suspicions – he’d delivered so many mysterious packages here, he knew something was up. I thought maybe Blythe told him, because she liked him, but she swore she didn’t—’ I glance at Grace, who is teasing out a knot in Panda’s fur. She hasn’t spoken since we sat down, but I can see something in her face. A certain set of her jaw.
And I realise that it was her.
Grace told Keller about the Paddock. She showed him the way.
She glances up at me, and I see a flash of guilt.
‘Prudence?’
I blink, then spread my hands. ‘I guess he followed us back there,’ I say. ‘It’s possible we weren’t being as careful as we should have been to keep our tracks hidden.’
‘You should have known better.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Dad gestures at me to continue. Panda wriggles a little as Grace works on another knot, before laying her chin back down on my knee.
‘Then the others found out about the Paddock,’ I say. ‘Everyone in Jubilee found out.’
Dad doesn’t look surprised, only disappointed.
I open my mouth to tell him about how I told Mateo, and Mateo told everyone else, but Grace beats me to it.
‘Keller,’ she says. ‘Keller told them.’
I glance over at her, but she’s looking down at Panda, working on the knot with grim determination.
Dad shakes his head in disgust.
Grace can’t save me from the next part though. I tell him about the meeting in the Heart, about my decision to share the Paddock with the town. Dad’s expression is unreadable.
‘I couldn’t see any other way,’ I tell him. ‘They already knew it was all there. It wasn’t safe for us anymore. Grace had an infection and we needed help. I tried to do the best thing for our family.’
‘And was it?’
I swallow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Was it the best thing for our family?’
His face is as cold as stone. Grace’s fingers stop picking at the knot.
‘Keller got hold of one of the guns,’ I say, ‘and Grace was delirious and didn’t know what she was doing. It happened so fast. Nobody meant for anyone to get hurt. It was an accident.’
Dad’s knuckles are white on his knees.
‘I’m so sorry, Daddy,’ Grace whispers.
‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ he murmurs. ‘It’s okay. None of this is your fault.’
He doesn’t look at me, but I know what he’s not saying.
It’s my fault.
I tell the rest of the story. I tell him about the council, and about how the community came together to make things work. But there are no more nods of approval. No more good girl. I don’t think he’s even listening.
When I finish, he gets up and walks right out the back door, without a word. I look out the window and see him heading towards the Paddock.
I guess he needs to see it for himself.
Grace and I start cleaning up – wiping away the dust and getting the house into some kind of order. I’ve become used to the luxuries of Jubilee – running water and solar-powered refrigeration. Plenty of food. Here, there’s nothing. What little food we left behind has gone bad, or is riddled with mould and maggots and pantry moth larvae. Panda follows me like a shadow, her wet nose touching my ankles with every step. I open all the doors and windows to let some air in. We haul buckets of water from the water tank, and use some to clean the kitchen and wash the orange road dust from our skin. The rest we save for drinking.
‘Why did you tell him it was Keller who spilled about the Paddock?’ I ask Grace, after we’ve been working for an hour or so.
She wrings out a cloth in the sink. ‘I didn’t want him to be angry with you,’ she says. ‘I want everything to be okay again.’
Blythe’s absence is a chasm between us. For the first time I wonder if Grace ever wishes that it was me who died.
‘You told Keller, didn’t you? About the Paddock?’
She doesn’t deny it. She scrubs at an invisible spot on the bench with her damp cloth.
‘Why?’
A long moment goes by before she answers. ‘I wanted him to like me as much as he liked Blythe. We’d always shared everything, but he was something that was just hers. I didn’t…’ She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t bear it.’
I head out to the orchard and pick the last of the summer apples. They’ll have to do for our dinner tonight, there’s nothing else. We can go into Jubilee tomorrow and collect our rations. I guess we’ll have to reallocate things, now Dad is back.
I have an uneasy feeling that a lot of things will change, now Dad is back.
The sun is starting to set, but the sunset is subdued. Pink and orange stain the horizon, but everything seems far away. Somewhere, the sky is lit up with blazing colours, but it isn’t here. There’s nothing happening here.
In the distance, I can see a figure silhouetted against the ridge. It’s Dad, returning from the Paddock.
I pick up my basket of apples and head back
to the house.
Dad lights a fire in the back yard, and builds a stove over the top of it using some concrete blocks and the grill from our barbecue. He produces several tins of soup from his milk crates in the car, and heats them up in a saucepan before dishing them out to Grace and me in bowls. He eats his own straight from the saucepan.
I eye the soup tins, and think about all the supplies at Hansbach that we left behind because we didn’t have room in the Holden.
Nobody speaks.
I put down my bowl and let Panda finish my leftovers.
‘Dad?’ I say at last.
He grunts in response.
‘What happened to you?’
He doesn’t say anything, and for a while I think he’s not going to speak at all. But then he finally sets down his saucepan and looks at me.
‘I survived.’
‘But where have you been? It’s been four months since the solar flare happened.’
Dad’s jaw clenches. ‘It wasn’t a solar flare.’
‘It was,’ I say. ‘It was on the news before it happened. And the aurora…’
Dad gives me a withering look. ‘Don’t be so naive, Prudence. They want you to think it was a solar flare. But how do we know? The government releases a report saying there’s going to be a solar flare. The media picks it up. Then this happens.’ He gestures around at the darkness.
‘What was it really?’ asks Grace, her voice barely more than a whisper.
‘It was the government.’ Dad puts his fingers to his jaw and massages the skin.
‘Our government?’ I ask.
He shrugs. ‘They’re all the same. Totalitarianism thrives in chaos. Make people panic, and they’ll follow you like sheep. Create enough fear, and you can get away with anything and still look like the good guys.’
‘But phones are working again,’ I say. ‘Things are getting better.’
Dad snorts. ‘Calculated,’ he says. ‘Lulling you into a false sense of security. That way you stay put. Don’t run. Don’t think. Like the way they calm cattle down before leading them to the slaughter.’
‘Dad—’
He silences me with a glance. ‘I’m talking, Prudence. You know what’s going to happen next? People will start getting sick. It’ll look natural – some kind of pathogen caused by the conditions they’ve been living in. A bad flu, or something like that. But it’ll kill people. Thousands. Maybe millions.’ He glances at Grace and me with a frown. ‘To be honest, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already.’
After the Lights Go Out Page 24