by Unknown
In the morning, after breakfast, Connor walked around the outside of the house, checking that none of the boards he’d nailed over the downstairs windows had been torn loose.
“We need to go to the well,” said Scarlett. “Our water’s running low.”
“Later. I’m going down to the beach.”
Scarlett grimaced. “Must you?”
Connor nodded. “I’ll take my rod and see if I can catch a trout for dinner from the river.”
He crossed a field, stirring up puffs of faintly acrid smelling dust with each footstep. The dust clung to his throat like mucus, making breathing uncomfortable. The river was little more than a muddy stream. He took out his knife, carefully sliced a little skin off the heel of his hand, baited a hook with it, and cast off. He got a bite almost instantly and reeled in a large brown trout. He beat it against a rock until it stopped flapping.
He made his way along the riverbank, through a deserted village, to the beach. He expected to find nine or ten bodies, but there were dozens strewn across the sand amidst the wreckage of the crude rafts they’d crossed the Channel on. Hundreds of carrion birds, rats, foxes, cats and dogs scavenged their flesh. As he moved amongst the bodies, he saw faces of every shape and size, every age and color, all frozen into the same expression of fear and desperation.
The sun was fast burning off the pale mist that hung over the beach. Soon, Connor knew, the corpses would blow up like obscene balloons and the air would fill with the scent of roasting flesh. He worked quickly, rifling through pockets and bags. One bag contained a couple of unlabeled tins and a roll of banknotes wrapped in plastic. He put the tins in his rucksack and flung the money away.
A sound caught his attention. Glancing around, he saw a little girl, about six years old and vaguely Arabic. She sat hunched over, eyes closed, crying. One side of her face was crusted with sand and blood. Conner stared undecidedly at her a moment. Then, with a heavy breath, he lifted her in his arms. She didn’t struggle or even open her eyes as he carried her back to the house.
A look of horror came over Scarlett’s face. “What’re we supposed to do with her?”
“I don’t know.”
Connor dampened a cloth and cleaned the girl’s face, exposing a cut on her forehead that had already scabbed over. There were no other visible injuries. He laid her down on the sofa and covered her with a blanket.
“She can’t stay here,” said Scarlett. “We’ve barely enough food to feed ourselves. You’ll have to take her to one of the camps.”
Connor made no reply. He fetched a couple of large, empty plastic water bladders and handed one to Scarlett. “We’d better get going.”
“Alright, but we are going to talk about this later.”
They followed the river inland, holding umbrellas to protect themselves from the sun. The air was hazy with dust whipped up from the surrounding fields by gusts of hot wind. After a couple of miles, they came to a wide, empty road, its surface cracked and potholed. They passed a gaunt man sat at the roadside, head in hands.
A banged-up old truck appeared on the road ahead. It pulled up beside them and four masked figures carrying pistols and automatic weapons got out. “Are you British?” said one of them.
“Yes,” said Connor, avoiding eye contact.
“Seen anyone else around here?”
Before Connor could reply, the gaunt man staggered into view. Eyes popping, he raised his hands and began gabbling in a language that might’ve been Italian. The crack of a gunshot rang out and he fell over. Two of the figures picked him up and heaved him into the river. As he sank from sight, a cluster of shadowy brown streaks converged on him.
The figures returned to the truck and drove off. “They call themselves militia?” Connor spat in disgust. “They’re nothing but goddamn murderers.” He pulled Scarlett close and held her until she stopped shaking. Then they continued walking, looking over their shoulders every few paces.
They began passing groups of people lugging water in every type of container imaginable. The people eyed them warily. Many carried knives, axes, metal bars and other crude weapons. They joined the back of a queue so long they couldn’t see its end. Soldiers in shabby uniforms patrolled the ragged line, struggling to keep its weary, bickering occupants in order. One approached them and asked to see their identification papers.
“How many people are in front of us?” asked Connor.
The soldier shrugged. “Hundreds. Thousands, maybe.”
Connor squinted up at the clear blue sky and savage white sun and wiped his face on his shirt. An hour passed, then another. An old man a few places ahead of them collapsed in the fierce heat. Two soldiers dragged the old man away like a sack of grain. Scarlett swayed on her feet. Connor let her lean against him. He felt a hand tug at his arm and a familiar voice said, “Hello, Connor.”
He turned towards a thin, dust-colored man. “Hello, Tom. How are you?”
“Not too bad, considering.”
“How’s Megan?”
Tom’s face creased. “Not good.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all this stinking dust. She can hardly breathe for it. Listen, Connor, I’ve been meaning to come over to your place and speak to you about something.” Tom leant in close, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “We’re getting out.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning. A few of us are heading north. They say there’s still running water in some places up there. You’re welcome to come along.”
Connor puffed his cheeks. “That doesn’t give us much time to prepare.”
“We’ll come,” Scarlett said.
“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” said Tom.
As Tom hurried away, Connor said, “Are you certain about this?”
“Yes.”
“But this is our home.”
Scarlett shook her head. “It was.”
It was almost dark by the time they got back to the house. The girl was awake. She lay staring at them; her face as blank and pretty as a doll’s. Connor lit a fire while Scarlett gutted the fish and dropped it into a pan. As they watched the fish cook, Scarlett said, “She can’t come with us.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. The militias will kill her, probably us too if they find her with us, and I wouldn’t blame them for it.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“Can’t I? There’s barely enough food and water left for our own people.” Scarlett flipped the small fish over and began cooking the other side. “And what if Tom’s wrong? What if it’s just as bad in the North as it is here?”
A troubled frown creased Connor’s face. “I don’t know. We can deal with that when we come to it.”
“It’s done,” said Scarlett. “You can divide it.”
Connor sighed and shook his head. He divided the fish and offered a small plate to the girl. She licked her lips, but didn’t move to take it. He held out a forkful to her, and she accepted hesitantly. A light came into her eyes. Quick as a snake, she grabbed the plate and began to eat with her fingers. Connor smiled.
“She can’t come with us.”
Connor looked at Scarlett, his expression set. “Yes she can.”
They stared at each other a moment. With an exasperated huff, Scarlett stamped from the room. Connor ate his fish, then went in search of her. He found her packing clothes into a rucksack.
“You’re going to get us killed,” she muttered, not looking at him.
“I won’t let anyone harm you, I promise.”
Connor took hold of Scarlett’s shoulders and kissed her neck. She stiffened at first, and then relaxed a little. “You’re a good man, Connor Wade,” she said, closing her eyes. “Too good for this world.”
After Scarlett had finished packing her rucksack, Connor went through it and removed any items that weren’t absolutely necessary. When their bags were finally packed, they took a boxful of photos, letters, diaries and the like downstairs
and threw them on the fire. Tears welled in Scarlett’s eyes as she watched thirty years’ worth of memories go up in smoke.
They slept fitfully that night, clinging to each other like frightened children. Once Connor heard the girl crying. He moved to go to her, but Scarlett tightened her grip on him. “Don’t get too attached to her,” she warned.
“Let go,” said Connor. He took the girl a teddy bear he’d bought for Scarlett many years before. She clutched it against her chest. He stayed with her, humming softly, until her eyes drifted shut.
The light was bluish-grey when they got up. Scarlett went from room to room, saying goodbye to everything. She said goodbye to the paintings she’d done back when people still did that kind of thing. She said goodbye to her jewelry, her ornaments, and her books. “I know it’s stupid,” she said, struggling not to cry. “I know they’re just things.”
“It’s not stupid,” said Connor.
He wrapped a shawl around the girl’s head and shoulders so that her face was hidden. “That won’t be enough,” said Scarlett.
They left the house. Connor didn’t bother locking the door behind them. “What would be the point?” he said. “We’re never coming back here.”
They followed a cliff top path to a village roughly a kilometre to the east. Thirty or so men, women, and children were gathered at the edge of the village, along with three donkey carts loaded with baggage. Some of them, recognizing Connor and Scarlett, said a subdued hello. Tom shook Connor’s hand and smiled at Scarlett. Then, noticing the girl, he asked, “Who’s this?”
“My niece,” said Connor.
Tom stooped to look under the shawl. “Hello, what’s your -” he started to say, but seeing the girl’s face he drew back with a gasp. “She’s not your niece. What the hell’s going on here?”
“He found her on the beach,” said Scarlett, drawing a sharp glance from Connor.
Tom looked at him in horrified disbelief. “Are you insane? We can’t take her with us.”
“I already told him that, but he won’t listen.”
“We could hide her amongst the baggage,” suggested Connor.
Tom shook his head vehemently. “It’d be suicide.”
“I can’t just leave her here.”
“Then you’re not coming with us, it’s as simple as that.”
“We won’t come, then.”
“Yes we will,” said Scarlett.
“But-”
“Save your breath, Connor, nothing you can say will make me change my mind. I’m finished with this place.”
Connor’s eyes pleaded with her. “Do you realise what you’re asking me to do?”
Arms folded, she stared back without pity. “I’m not asking. You took a vow, remember, till death us do part.”
The muscles in Connor’s jaw flexed. He looked away from Scarlett at a landscape devoid of vegetation except for a few stunted, leafless trees, and his face twisted in revulsion. “I remember,” he said at last, barely audible. He turned to Tom. “Can we at least take her to the nearest camp?”
Tom moved away and gathered some of the others together. There was a brief, heated debate. Then he returned and said, “We’ll take her to a camp or hand her over to the first soldiers we meet, whichever comes first.”
They started walking, crowded together like zebras on the African savannah. Connor glanced at the faces around him. They all wore the same slightly dazed, apprehensive expression. It was an expression he’d seen countless times before on the faces of those who pitched up on the beach.
Before they’d gone a mile, they saw the soldiers. Scarlett handed the girl over. She went with them quietly, her soft black eyes fixed upon Connor. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
They continued walking.
“Christ, I’m so tired of all this,” said Scarlett. “How much longer can it go on?”
“Don’t worry,” said Connor, watching a blazing sun rise into an endless blue horizon. “It won’t be much longer now.”
Home in Time for Breakfast
Clyde Andrews
My brother Frank was always the smart one. He always got fantastic grades, went to Monash, and is now a professor of some-such institution or other; he has told me so — no, he has rubbed it in many times. Frankly, I don’t give two hoots about it. What makes him happy is fine with me. He can keep it. I just wish he would lighten up, relax and just accept things as they are between us. He’s the smart one, I know that. He doesn’t have to gloat about it all the time. Plain and simple.
Today was his birthday, and naturally, in his obscure, irritating, and confounding way he left a message on my answering machine. The light was blinking at me as soon as I got up. He must have left it in the middle of the night. Damn typical.
He said he wanted to see me straight away. Who does he think he is? I mean, I was going to see him anyway. Why must he be so melodramatic about things? He’s infuriating sometimes.
I played the message again as I fumbled for my car keys by the hall table. He did sound excited about something.
‘Michael, come quick. I have something awesome to show you. I don’t have to tell you that this can’t wait, because I really don’t think that you would fully understand. So just come and see.’
See? Infuriating. How I put up with him is anyone’s guess. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was my only sibling and much younger than myself. Sometimes I really hate being the big brother. There seems to be an inherent responsibility with that role that sometimes I just did not want to know.
I pulled into his driveway. A neat and impressive driveway that led to an equally neat and impressive house. There was one thing about my brother: he liked the finer things in life. A point he mentioned, like everything else, all too frequently.
I knocked on the door.
There was no answer after a few moments. Was he trying my patience by not answering? He summoned me, after all.
I knocked again. Still no answer. Right, that tore it.
I pulled my keys from my pocket in frustration. I peeled back each key on the ring with force until I got to my brother’s spare. I jammed it in
the door and entered. I really did not care how he was going to react to that. I just felt like socking him one in his pretty-boy face right about now.
I quickly saw that the house was empty. My mood changed from that of a bull being given the red flag to that of concern. If he knew I was coming, why was he not here? I checked his study. If he was going to be anywhere and not announce himself, it was surely there.
I entered his study. In it was his old wooden table, his oversized armchair and a massive bookcase. Frank, however, was nowhere to be seen. This was indeed odd.
I was just about to turn and leave when I noticed a note on the table. Curious, I naturally picked it up.
Dearest Michael, it began.
God he was infuriating. When did he ever call me dearest? I really did owe him a punch. The damn little upstart. I swallowed hard and continued to read.
If I am not back for breakfast on my birthday, please come and get me. Something may have happened if I am not here with you right now —
Something may have happened? What sort of thing was that to write? Something may have happened indeed. Yeah, I’ll bet something happened. I’ll bet that when I see him again I’ll see to it that it does happen. I saw there was more to this cryptic letter.
Please sit down in the chair, Michael. You may notice that there are a few buttons on it. I have made it simple to follow —
I glanced at the chair in question. Sure enough, there were three buttons on the left arm. Two green, one red. I continued to read, ignoring the making it simple crack in the letter. I just knew it was a snide reference as to his perception of my intellect. All This, however, was somewhat intriguing, and really had ignited my curiosity. I bet he knew that would happen too. Damn Frank. Damn family.
The chair is only the ‘vehicle’ in which you will travel. Yes, Michael, I hav
e invented something. Something profound. I can travel in time, Michael. Just think of it. IN TIME! And just in case you were wondering, the actual machine is far bigger than you can comprehend. It begins in my lab —
Again, another reference. I winced, but read on. Realizing that I was now sitting in the chair. I glanced passed the paper I held in my hands and looked at the buttons. The top green one said Forward. The bottom green one said: Backward. The red one did not have any words on it but I could guess its purpose.
I have set the co-ordinates to the exact time that I visited last. All you have to do is press the backward green button. When the screen flashes amber, don’t be alarmed. (It is only a signal to tell you that have reached the pre-set destination) Immediately press the red button to stop the machine —
Now I really was confused. What screen? What machine? And more importantly, what the bloody hell was going on?
See you soon, signed Frank. P.S. hopefully I am all right!
Was he just showing off or was he just naturally a jerk? Knowing him, he was naturally a jerk. Nevertheless, this seemed different somehow. If he really were showing off, he would be here right now, rubbing it in my face. I thought about it for a long time. I thought about it for so long in fact that I could not estimate the time that had passed. It seemed like an eternity. I felt like just getting up and leaving. Stuff him and his eccentric ways. Serve him right if he was in trouble. I thought.
I looked down at the green backward button. It was an intriguing notion. Imagine traveling in time. I smiled.