After the Winter (The Silent Earth, Book 1)

by Mark R. Healy

  When that ended Ellinan went inside and came back with a football, which we tossed to each other in a triangle. The ball was completely deflated and this led to it feeling more like a game of frisbee than football, but the children loved it anyway. We also played a game of hide and seek, a pastime the children had perfected over the years, since I failed to discover their elaborate hiding spots even once while it was my turn to search.

  We returned to the house at dusk and the children went to the bathroom, going through a routine of cleaning themselves up after play. There was no water from the faucet so they made a show of wiping their hands with tattered hand towels.

  “Dad always made sure we cleaned up,” Ellinan explained.

  They disappeared into their rooms and came out a short time later in their pyjamas. These too were in a bad state. Both of Ellinan’s sleeves had fallen off, and Mish’s pants were falling apart around the knees. A part of me was made horribly sad by this charade but I made no mention of it.

  “You can sleep in Dad’s room,” Mish offered shyly.

  I smiled and shook my head. “Thank you, Mish, but I don’t think that would be right. I’ll be okay here on the sofa.”

  She nodded. “Is there anything we can get you?”

  “Uh, how about one of those ice cream sundae things with the chocolate sprinkles on top?” I said, smiling facetiously.

  Mish grinned and made a disparaging noise, pretending to be annoyed, and Ellinan laughed.

  “We ran out of those yesterday,” he said.

  I considered in mock thoughtfulness. “I guess I’ll get one at the next town.”

  “Brant,” Mish said, her face suddenly grim, “where did everybody go?”

  I looked from one to the other, rubbing my chin awkwardly. How to explain a situation like this to ones so young - emotionally young, at least. I didn’t want to outright lie to them, telling them a pleasant fairytale, but nor did I desire crush their spirits with the awful truth.

  “Well, Mish,” I sighed, “there was a conflict that you might have heard about. A terrible series of battles. Do you remember that?”

  “We saw some of it on the TV,” Ellinan said.

  “Yeah,” I said, sorrowful. “A lot of people died. A lot of good people, innocent people. And afterwards, a lot more people got sick, and there wasn’t enough food to go around. People like me and you, we made it through, but a lot of others didn’t.”

  They were both silent for a moment, and then Ellinan said quietly, “Do you think they’ll come back some day?”

  I thought of the west, of everything that was waiting there. Reaching out, I patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah. I think they will.”

  He smiled at that. Mish’s face brightened considerably also.

  “Now why don’t you two head off to bed?” I suggested.

  “Okay. Thank you, Brant. Good night,” Mish said. She spun on her heel and headed off to her room.

  “Night,” Ellinan said.

  “Good night, Ellinan.”

  And so they went off to sleep in their beds, even though synthetics required no sleep. This pantomime they’d been programmed to perform each day determined their every movement. Tomorrow they would get up and do it all again. And the next day. And the day after that.

  I lay back on the couch in the silence of the house, my thumb running restlessly back and forth along the edge of the photograph in my pocket, and I hoped tomorrow would be the day I finally saw home again.

  26

  The buzzing sound cuts through the darkness. It’s loud, like a jackhammer. It goes on and on and doesn’t stop.

  I look over at the clock. Who calls at three in the morning? Has to be a wrong number. They’ll give up.

  The phone stops. I sigh, nestle my face back in the pillow. Hope I can get back to sleep.

  It starts again almost immediately, just as loud and as grating as before.

  I throw back the covers. “Seriously? What the hell...?”

  I shamble across the carpet, sleep clinging to me like the arms of a lover trying to drag me back to the bed. There’s a ghostly white halo thrown across the wall, illumination from the flip. It buzzes and vibrates on the dresser.

  I fumble for it and scoop it up in my hand. It’s Jenn. I brush my finger across the screen and her face appears, pressed in tight. Anxious. Her chestnut hair is bedraggled, which is most unlike her.

  “Jenn, what’s going on?” I’m torn between concern and anger at the intrusion.

  “Brant, they’ve hit London.”

  My fuzzy brain processes that for a moment. I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut.

  “They’ve hit London,” I repeat vaguely.

  “Yes, they’ve hit it. I just got off the-”

  “Just hold on a second, Jenn,” I interrupt, irritated. “Hold on. What’s the big deal? They’ve been hitting it for months. They’ve hit everywhere. They’ve hit here, even. Just yesterday that school down on Charlotte Street got levelled, you know the-”

  “Brant, shut up and listen,” Jenn practically shouts. I’ve never heard her yell like that. She wipes furiously at a strand of hair that has fallen across her face. “They’ve hit London,” she says, slowly and deliberately. “Turn on the news. Now.”

  She finally cuts through the haze of sleep that’s surrounding me. I get moving, out of the bedroom and through the kitchen. The automatic lights click on. I keep going, into the living room. For a moment I see the glow of skyscrapers in the distance through the plate glass window that takes up one entire wall. Closer, the dark outline of houses stretches out down the hill. It’s peaceful and somehow lonely out there at this time of morning.

  The wall glows as content from the Grid streams in, and now the face of a female TV anchor materialises. I flick my finger across the flip and Jenn’s face transfers over to the corner of the display wall. I place my flip absently on the coffee table as my eyes dart across the numerous feeds that are appearing before me.

  The headline on the ticker reads Detonation Over London.

  “Jenn, what the hell am I seeing?”

  “It’s bad, Brant. It’s really bad. They’re saying nine million casualties. Maybe more.”

  I scrub at my face. This is like a nightmare. Maybe I’m dreaming.

  “It’s a hoax.”

  “It’s not a hoax, Brant,” she says, the desperation in her voice evident. “Snap out of it! Please.”

  “But they said there was no way it would escalate this far. The last estimate I saw said there was less than one percent chance of these weapons-”

  “That doesn’t matter anymore!” she yells, clasping a hand to her forehead, her eyes glistening with tears. “It’s here. It’s happened. It’s right there in front of you.”

  The anchor, a neatly presented woman in her thirties with dark hair is droning on about casualties, international response, possible subsequent targets. Behind her, a grainy video shows the afternoon skyline of London interrupted by a blinding flash. The video cuts out and another one takes its place, this time shot from a different location.

  Jenn’s face shifts and she looks down at something. “Oh god. No,” she wails.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m getting a buzz here from a colleague that New York has been hit.”

  “Holy shit. Holy shit, Jenn.” The gravity of it begins to dawn on me.

  “You need to get out,” she says urgently, pulling herself together. “You need to get out now.”

  “What about you? What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Leave Europe if I can. I’ll figure something out.”

  “Okay.” I turn away.

  “Brant, do you remember June’s farm?”

  I stop, turn back. “Yes, of course.”

  “I think you should head there. It’s out of the way. They know you. They’ll look after you.”

  “June’s farm,” I mutter. “Yes. Good idea. I’ll go there.”

  “Brant.” Jenn’s
voice quavers and tears roll down her cheeks. “Can I see Zade? Please?”

  Even though we’ve fallen out of love and been separated for more than a year, my heart still goes out to her. Right now I feel closer to her than I have in a long time.

  “Of course, of course,” I say gently. I collect the flip and wipe my hand across it, and Jenn’s face transfers over from the wall. I hasten across the kitchen toward the back of the house. “Listen, don’t worry about us. We’ll be okay. Just look after yourself.”

  She’s about to say something in response when the screen goes white. A red icon depicts that the connection has been lost.

  “Dammit.” I redial the number as I head down the hallway. It doesn’t even ring. The red icon flashes again. “Shit.”

  I pocket the flip as I reach Zade’s room. The glow of the city through the window outlines the crumpled form of the doona and the side of his face as he sleeps. I leave him there and head back to my bedroom. I pull down a suitcase and start stuffing clothes inside. Socks, pants, shirts. Don’t forget something warm. A jacket.

  Out in the kitchen I gather what I can - tinned food, water. Snacks. Batteries. A flashlight. Don’t bring everything, I caution myself. Just the essentials. As an afterthought I take the photo of Zade that’s stuck to the fridge and tuck it into the bag.

  In Zade’s room, I flick the light on, start hauling things out of his drawers and into the suitcase. Shoes, trousers, a coat. His teddy. A couple of random toys and a book. I make a racket, but he doesn’t even budge.

  In the bathroom I grab toothbrushes and toothpaste and some basic toiletries.

  I haul the bags downstairs, dump them into the trunk of the car, bouncing the suspension in my haste.

  I take the stairs back up three at a time. In a few moments I'm back in Zade’s room. He’s so still and peaceful. I slide my hands under the doona. It’s comforting and warm underneath. I wrap my hands around him, drag him across toward me.

  “Come on, buddy,” I croon. He doesn’t hear me. He’s out to it. I cradle him close, his little blue and yellow dinosaur pyjamas warm and soft. His head lolls in the crook of my arm.

  I scoot around the bedroom, the kitchen. The living room. Searching for anything I might have forgotten. I think that’s it.

  I thump down the stairs. Zade’s eyes open ever so slightly. He moves his head.

  “Heya, Zade,” I say, injecting as much enthusiasm into my voice as I can. “We’re going on a little car trip.”

  He rubs vacantly at his nose. “I’m too sleepy, Daddy,” he says grumpily.

  “Aw, come on, don’t be like that. This is a fun adventure.”

  I open the rear car door and gently place him in his seat. I buckle him up and tuck a coat over him to keep him warm.

  “Where’s the adventure?” he says groggily, his interest piqued.

  “Secret,” I say, giving his leg a squeeze and then closing the door. I open the driver’s door and get in.

  “Tell me,” he moans playfully, his voice hoarse and cracking from having just woken.

  I hit the remote and the garage door shudders into life. The car hums and the display illuminates before me, the route already configured for a trip to work. I delete it with a swipe and adjust the map, setting a course for the highway out of the city instead.

  “Can’t tell you where just yet,” I say. “But you’ll see very soon.”

  “Awwww,” he complains, but he’s already craning his neck out the window eagerly to see where we might be headed. “Ooh, it’s dark.”

  “Yep, we need to get up early for this secret place. That’s how secret it is.” I edge the car forward, waiting impatiently for the garage door to offer enough clearance for us to pass through. It takes forever. I’m muttering angrily at it, telling it to speed up. Then we’re out, into the driveway, the door behind us sliding downward again.

  Down the hill, I can see lights in several houses. Word is getting around. As I watch, another light across the road winks on and the shadows of people moving about inside drift out into the night. I pull out slowly and turn down the hill. Two doors down I see Frank hustle across his driveway to his car, his arms laden with the weight of suitcases. He’s still in his nightrobes. He peers out at me, searching my face through the little round spectacles he wears on the end of his nose. I just stare helplessly back at him, unsure what to say. I pass by and it feels like slow motion. He begins to raise one of his hands as if to wave, but it’s weighed down by too many suitcases and he lets it drop again. I don’t stop. We coast down the hill.

  The nav points me onto the nearest route to the highway but it’s already getting congested this way. I flick through a series of alternate routes but the estimated time for all of them is longer than the current option.

  We stop, a long line of cars ahead. Gridlock at three-thirty in the morning.

  Without warning there’s a brilliant flash in the sky to the east. I cry out and shield my eyes. The cars respond like a herd of frightened cattle, lurching forward as one and bashing into the fenders of those in front of them. One screeches out and turns, heading back in the opposite direction where the lane is clear.

  “Daddy! Lightning!” Zade cries out.

  No. Not lightning. I know exactly what that is, just like everyone else in this lineup of cars. But I realise with relief that it’s not close. It didn’t hit our city. It must have detonated somewhere further inland. There’s a dull red glow out there on the horizon, and it’s getting brighter.

  A car in front of us pulls out and starts belting along the wrong side of the road. I do the same, putting the pedal to the floor.

  “Hehe wheee!” Zade laughs. “Daddy, you’re fast!”

  I’m too tense to even respond. I follow the other car for about a click. There are now others pulling out and doing the same. I can see the highway on-ramp up ahead. It’s in sight. But there must be fifty cars in front of me.

  The lane ends and I put my indicator on, try to merge back in. I don’t like my chances. No one is moving, and the face of the guy in the car beside me is set, resolute. He just glares at me. He couldn’t say get behind me any clearer if he’d shouted it in my face.

  I turn my head, reach back to Zade. He’s looking out at all the cars.

  “Where’s everybody going, Daddy?”

  “I guess they heard about the secret, too.” His hair is sticking up all over the place, little red tufts catching the glow of tail lights from outside. He looks so vulnerable.

  “I hope we get there soon,” he says.

  “Sure,” I say. I smile weakly. There are tears forming in the corners of my eyes. “We’ll get there. We’ll get there real soon.”

  But I can’t bring myself to believe it.

  27

  Ellinan and Mish observed me heft the jagged rock, turning it in my fingers until I found the sharpest edge. I ran my finger gently across it.

  “Yeah, this will do.”

  They watched me, curious, little half smiles on their faces. They’d forgone their morning chores at my request - Just this once, Mish had instructed sternly - and had followed me out onto the street where I’d used the broom to clear away the accumulated dust and sand from the asphalt. I knelt and began to scratch with the rock, drawing a rough square with a single stroke in the middle.

  “Know what it is?” I teased.

  They gave each other a baffled look. “No,” Ellinan said. “I think you’re just making this up as you go along.”

  “Give me a minute,” I said, and scratched some more. Another square joined to the first, this time with the number two inside. “There.”

  “Is that it?” Mish said, perplexed.

  “Come on, guys,” I said, disbelieving. “You’ve never seen this before?”

  They shook their heads, sceptical. I kept going. A three. A four and a five side by side. Still no reaction. I completed the course and stood over it proudly.

  “Tada!”

  “You can count to eight,” Ellinan said
dryly. “Congratulations.”

  “You two have never heard of hopscotch before?”

  More head shaking.

  “Okay, let me demonstrate for you.” I gathered up three stones by the side of the road and handed one to each, then took my turn. “To start, you throw on the first square.” I tossed the stone and hopped across the course, completing my turn. “Now, if you miss with your throw or step on a line, you lose your turn. Simple. So, why don’t you have a go?”

  Mish stepped up, frowning and perturbed, but by the time she’d make two successful turns she was laughing, and Ellinan was attempting to shoulder his way into the game. I joined in, and we played for the best part of an hour without stopping. The kids picked the game up quickly and proved to be very adept at it, going so far as to incorporate fancy gyrations into their hops. Eventually I moved aside and allowed them play against one another.

  It was a distraction meant to lessen the impact of my departure.

  On the edge of the street, I picked up the satchel and slung it over my shoulder, standing there with a sad smile as their eyes fell on me, their game petering out.

  “Hey,” Ellinan said, jogging over to me and grabbing my arm. “Let’s make one that goes up to fifty.”

  “It sounds like fun,” I said, smiling. “But now that I’ve shared the last of my secrets with you, it’s time for me to go.”

  His hand dropped away and he stepped back, nodding. Mish folded her arms and kicked idly at one of the stones on the hopscotch course.

  I’d anticipated this would happen, and tried to imagine ways to counteract it. Creeping off in the middle of the night was an option I ruled out immediately. I owed them more than that. I considered asking them to come with me, but what could I offer them? I didn’t know what was waiting for me back home. I might be leading them out of their safety net here and into the hands of Marauders. I couldn’t guarantee my own safety out there, let alone theirs, and in truth, I didn’t think they would want to leave. This was their home. This was everything they’d ever known.