The Survivors_Pandemic

by Alex Burns

  “God, what a horrible thought. I spotted a pack of dogs on my way here. They were all bigger dogs too, now that I think about it…” I kept scanning my eyes, trying to spot Maggie.

  “I reckon the cats’ll be fine, so long as they can get outside.”

  I snorted. “Not my cat. She’s useless.” I looked up and down the road. We could see all the way into town now, but there was no sign of the dog.

  “Sure, sure. Every cat lover says their precious puddy cat doesn’t hunt birds or native animals, but in reality, precious puss is a manic serial killer.”

  “I know, I know, but seriously, I’ve got a defective cat. We’ve had her for over three years and I’ve yet to see the slightest evidence that she can hunt anything other than her stuffed toy fish! We’ve had frogs and lizards come inside the house and she just followed them around, not touching them or anything. She runs around in circles under birds and meows at them. She’s a weirdo, I tell ya.”

  Jack let out a soft laugh. “I’d like to see that.” I laughed as well. We both looked at each other and then stopped suddenly.

  I looked around again, shielding my eyes from the now-bright sunlight. I called out for Maggie, but got no response.

  “I hope she didn’t just bolt,” I muttered, worry creeping in. “She doesn’t know this area very well at all yet.”

  We kept walking, kept calling out, and not talking about anything other than our pets. Despite his previous words about felines, he had an old ginger cat named Oscar. “Bloody murderer he is too,” Jack said. “I swear he kills for the pleasure of it, not because he’s hungry or wants to eat. Maybe he can feed your cat? We had to start keeping him inside, but he still manages to sneak out every now and then and leave us a charming present on the door step. On the plus side, we haven’t had a mice or rat problem since he adopted us.”

  “He adopted you?” I asked with a quirk of my eyebrow.

  “Yeah. I found the cheeky little devil lurking in the chook shed when he was half grown. Skittish little thing he was then too. Didn’t trust us much as first, but slowly he made his way from the chook shed to the garage and then into the house. One day he just came in and jumped on the couch, confident as you please. He’s stuck around ever since.”

  He also had a resident magpie that he’d raised after it fell out of its nest a few years ago.

  “She’s free to come and go as she pleases. I don’t believe in caging birds,” he said. I thought guiltily of the few budgies we’d had over the years when I was younger, stuck in small cages. Sarah had ‘accidentally’ freed the last one. I belatedly wondered if Jack had had anything to do with that…

  “Does she swoop you?” I asked.

  “Nah, not me. She just comes down and perches on my shoulder to say hello and then flies off again.”

  “Quite the Doctor Doolittle, aren’t you?”

  Jack snorted. “Have you ever met my Pa?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  We were getting closer to town. There was still no sign of Maggie. Horatio was doing laps around us, and it was he who eventually found Maggie, quivering and whimpering, half stuck in a blackberry bramble.

  “Whatcha doin’ in there, Mags?” I asked her in what I hoped was a calming voice. Her long fur was all tangled. Jack went to help pull her out, but she shied away from him, going further into the prickly bush. He paused and stood back, talking calmly at her the whole time.

  “Maybe you should give it a try,” he said to me. “Here, take my jacket, it’ll protect you better from the thorns.” I was only wearing running gear. It kept me warm enough as long as I was moving, but it wasn’t exactly thick. I pulled it on and then approached the scared dog.

  “Hey there Maggsie Moo Moo,” I cooed at the frightened dog. “It’s all right, we’ll get you out of there, don’t you worry.”

  The dog glanced from me to Jack and back to me again. Jack took a few steps backwards. Once he was far enough away for Maggie’s liking, I stepped closer to her. She tried to come to me but the long hair on her legs and belly was tangled in the blackberry thorns. I pulled the coat over my hands in a vain attempt to protect them and pulled the dog out of the brambles.

  Once she was free, the dog just sat there looking up at me as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. I shook my head at her and sighed. After a few moments she must have decided Jack wasn’t so bad and walked over to him for a sniff and pat.

  “Mum would be happy to see you,” I said quietly after we started walking again. Jack rubbed his hand through his hair and then scratched his beard, not quite looking at me.

  “I’ll come over soon,” he promised. “I just… I… I need to check back in with Nan and Pa. Nan’s struggling… she… well, anyway. They’ll be wondering where I got to.”

  “All right,” I said. “Where do they live again?” I asked, suddenly realising I had no idea.

  “The second farm on Dale’s Lane. The one with the bright blue gate.”

  I nodded. I hadn’t been down that way for years, not since I last took the school bus, which I scared myself by realising was over a decade ago.

  “Are you staying there?”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah. For now.”

  Jack patted both the dogs goodbye. I stepped up close to him and hugged him hard.

  “Don’t be a stranger,” I said.

  Jack nodded again and loped off up the track, glancing back at me and giving me a slight wave. I stared after him until he was out of sight.

  Horatio led Maggie back to Mum’s. I trailed after them, lost in thought. I followed the two dogs through Mum’s front gate. The gravel crunched under my runners and a memory of Sarah, Tom and I hunting for olivine in the newly delivered gravel bubbled up. I half-smiled, remembering how excited we’d gotten over each little green nugget, imagining how rich we were going to be. Mum had broken our poor little hearts. Olivine wasn’t worth anything, it was just a pretty rock.

  I stopped and stood staring at Lucy’s SUV, sitting patiently in the driveway. I hadn’t really unpacked it yet. I felt reluctant. Part of me was scared by the finality that unpacking the SUV would mean. Could mean. I shook my head, trying to think straight. Sometimes I felt fine, and almost forgot that so many people had died. Forgot, somehow, that I’d never be able to see or speak to, or listen to my best friend or my sister. Then it all came crashing back to me and I could hardly breath under the weight of it all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I pulled open the back door and kicked off my muddy, wet runners. Horatio and Maggie almost knocked me over in their eagerness to get inside. The warmth of the living room hit me after the brisk morning air. The sun may be out, but the temperatures were still relatively low.

  Mum and Charlotte were both in the living room. Mum was staring off into space and Charlotte lying on the floor in front of the fireplace, looking intently at a book about dinosaurs.

  “How was your run?” Mum asked after I accidentally slammed the door shut behind me.

  “Fine,” I said. “I bumped into Jack Allen.” I peeled off my jacket and planted myself in front of the fire to toast my backside.

  “Ah, good. I’m glad he’s still all right…” Mum trailed off and stared into the fire. “He’s a good lad,” she said after a minute. “His parents? His partner?” Mum asked.

  I glanced down at Charlotte. She was utterly engrossed by the triceratops on the page. I gave my head a quick shake. Mum sighed and closed her eyes, mouth downturned.

  “His grandparents are still here though,” I said. “D’you know them?”

  Mum nodded. “Andy and Shirley? Are they still on the farm?”

  “Yeah. The one on Dale’s Lane with the blue gate apparently. Jack’s staying there for now, to help them out.”

  Mum nodded, her eyes returned to the flames.

  I stood in the shower, letting the hot water rush over me. I’d grown up during a drought. Short showers, no longer than three minutes, had been drilled into me since I
was small. Wasting water was hugely frowned upon. I couldn’t bring myself to care much at that point in time though. I hadn’t had a proper shower for over a week. I just stood there until my hands went wrinkly and the water started to run cold.

  Mum gave me a slightly reproachful look when I finally emerged from the bathroom but refrained from saying anything about the length of my shower.

  “Once you’re dressed I want to show you something,” she said as I dashed past her wrapped only in a towel.

  I pulled on my jeans and a dark blue hoodie and went back out to Mum. Charlotte was immersed in a second dinosaur book.

  Mum beckoned me to follow her.

  “What did you want to show me?” I asked, following her outside.

  “Just what I’ve got prepared. We can add the food you brought with you to it.”

  Ah, yes. Mum’s stash. She led me out to the old garage. Untidy piles of junk sat outside it, almost blocking the door.

  “Don’t want to make it too easy for anyone to steal from us,” Mum said. I raised my eyebrows. This was Turalla. The residents seemed to pride themselves on not locking their cars or houses. I couldn’t imagine anyone breaking into Mum’s old garage. The newer shed looked far more promising for starters. The last time I’d been out here the garage had been full of boxes, crates and random bits of furniture belonging to Dad, me, Sarah and Tom.

  I stepped into the garage. There was a new (well, it looked quite old actually, but it was new to the space) shelf that stood blocking most of the view. Mum flicked the light on and gestured for me go around the shelf.

  “Wow.”

  It was almost unrecognisable. It was neat and orderly. Gone were the childhood and teenage mementoes. Shelves upon shelves were laden with tins, jars and boxes of food. It was like a mini-supermarket.

  I stood gobsmacked, staring around at it all.

  “Wow,” I said again. And then, “where’s all our stuff?”

  Mum gave me a look. “I’ve been telling you guys to come and sort it out for years or it was going to the tip.”

  “You threw it out?!” I yelped. I tried to remember exactly what I’d left there.

  “No,” Mum said with a sigh. “It’s in the other shed. Sarah helped me clean it all out a few months ago.”

  “Right. How long do you think all this will last us?” I asked, stepping closer to examine some of the jars. It appeared Mum had been busy pickling and preserving.

  Mum rubbed her forehead. “I’m not sure. Depends on how many we have to feed… Just you, me, and Charlotte? Maybe a couple of years. More people? Obviously less. We’ll need to supplement and basically become self-sufficient over the next few years.”

  “You think it will last that long?”

  Mum looked at me again, something like pity in her gaze.

  “Well… with the way things are shaping up, we’d best be prepared.”

  “But it could go back to normal?”

  “Maybe one day… who knows, Alice? But I don’t think it’s going to any time soon. Too many people…” Mum trailed off and bit her lip. I could tell she was trying not to cry again.

  “Well,” I said after a moment of trying not to cry myself, “you’ve got a pretty impressive veggie garden out there. That’ll help.”

  Mum nodded. “Yes. We’ll need to put more effort into it though if it’s going to be our sole supply of fresh vegetables. The chickens give us plenty of eggs most of the year, and we can barter any excess roosters or hens in the future, or eat them…”

  I screwed up my nose. Mum sighed. “You may not always have the luxury of being a vegetarian,” she warned.

  “I’ll see how I go,” I said stubbornly. “You don’t have a rooster, anyway.”

  “Lynette does. Did. I’ve been feeding her flock as well.”

  “Ah.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Mum said. “This,” she waved at the food on the shelves, “is just to get us through the adjustment period. If we get the chance, it would be prudent to add to it though. You never know.”

  We spent half an hour unpacking the SUV and adding my food to Mum’s stockpile. Once we were done, I followed Mum down to the vegetable garden, dodging puddles and piles of pony poo.

  “I might get you to collect that up so I can use it for fertiliser,” Mum said almost absentmindedly, nodding to the poop.

  “Can’t wait,” I muttered.

  Sammy spotted us and came cantering up from the other end of the paddock. He head-butted Mum in a friendly way. She patted him and then pushed him out of the way with a practised swish of her hips as she opened the gate to the veggie patch.

  Mum had always had a decent veggie garden. As kids we’d often been sent down before dinner to pick some silver beet, pull up some carrots or onions, or pick some tomatoes and lettuce for a salad. I’d been spoiled for life on tomatoes. Store bought ones never tasted even half as good as those sun ripened homegrown fruit from the backyard. I’d had limited success over the years with my own vegetable growing efforts. I usually didn’t bother with it much over winter. Gardening never quite appealed once the cold rainy days set in. That didn’t appear to have thwarted my mother.

  I gazed around the garden beds in awe as Mum and I tramped through. She had a bed of broccoli that looked almost ready, a dozen cauliflowers growing merrily away, another bed full of kale and cabbages. Potato plants took up another bed. Silver beet and colourful swiss chard took up half another bed, with baby lettuce on the other side. Peas ran up some lattice, and the broad beans looked ready to eat.

  “The lettuce is growing very slowly, but the kale is going gangbusters,” Mum said, looking around. “I hope you like kale.”

  “I’ll manage,” I said with a snort. “What else have you got?”

  “Garlic and leeks, but they won’t be ready ’til summer.” She bent over and pulled out a few weeds. “I’ve got a whole bunch of seedlings growing in the greenhouse. We’ll plant them out in a month or so when it starts to warm up a bit. We’ll have tomatoes, capsicum, pumpkins, zucchini, corn, carrots, spring onions, beets, celery, cucumber, melons, and a few other things that I’ve no doubt forgotten…”

  “That’s great, Mum.”

  “We’ll need to be hyper vigilant on the pest control, and I’ll need to track down some netting to keep the possums out. We can’t afford to lose any crops anymore. No just nipping to the shops to get some garlic because the black aphids killed all our garlic plants!” I gave her a puzzled glance. “That’s what happened last year,” she said. “When I went up to Queensland last year to visit Helen, I came back and the aphids had all but destroyed my crop! Little bastards.” Mum shook her head, frowning at the memory.

  “I’ve never had any luck with cauliflower,” I said. “Bugs always seem to get to them. Yours look good though!”

  “Like I said, Alice. We need to be vigilant.”

  I nodded and looked around at the fruit trees. Some of them were new. I couldn’t tell what they were without their leaves though.

  “What have you got in the orchard?”

  Mum took a deep breath and looked around. “Sammy killed a few of the trees last year. The damn pony ringbarked them. I’ve got a couple of apple trees,” she said, pointing to a few of the newer, smaller trees. “Two different sorts of plum, two peaches, a nashi pear, a normal pear, that one there’s a fig tree, the old apricot tree is still going strong, there’s the lemon tree of course - can you pick a few for me?” I obediently wandered over to the heavily laden tree and picked a few. Mum continued her inventory, “then there’s the tamarillo, that little one is an orange tree but it hasn’t produced any fruit yet. I think that one’s a nectarine tree - it just popped up. This little one here is a pomegranate but we won’t be getting any fruit from that for years, it’s pretty slow growing. Hmm, what else? Ah, yes. That one over there is a cherry, the old quince tree is up by the fence of course, and I’ve got some blueberries, blackberries and raspberries over there as well,” she said pointing behind us at
the fence. “Oh, and this little one over here is an avocado, but I don’t expect we’ll get any fruit on it either for a few years yet.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  “When they’re ripe we’ll need to get busy preserving,” Mum said, nodding to herself.

  “D’you know how?”

  Mum arched an eyebrow at me.

  “I just mean, well, I know you can make quince jelly, but…” I vaguely remembered her making pickled onions when I was little but that was about it.

  “Of course I can. I can read, can’t I? There’s a whole library filled with preserving and homesteading books in the study. I’ve had all the equipment for years.”

  “Right. Good then.”

  “Besides, where did you think all of those preserves in the garage came from? I didn’t buy them.”

  I held my hands up in acquiescence. Standing out there admiring all Mum’s hard work, it was almost easy to forget everything. Almost.

  “Have you thought about how to tell Charlotte?” I asked later that night. Mum and I were sitting on the couch. Charlotte was in bed. The dogs were both sleeping in front of the fireplace. “She didn’t ask anything today. I was kind of waiting for her to…”

  Mum frowned into the fire. “I know we have to tell her, and soon, but… It’s - it’s just so much easier pretending…”

  I stared at Mum. She was usually the kind of person who took whatever life threw at her and faced it head on. Although she’d never lost a child before or had to tell her granddaughter she was now an orphan, I thought harshly to myself.

  “I know,” I said quietly. “It’s much more pleasant to pretend they’ll come and pick her up in a few days, but…”

  “But they’re not,” Mum said firmly. “I know, Alice. It’s just that once we tell her… we’ve shattered her life. There will always be that divide - before her parents died, and after. Is it so wrong of me that I want the carefree ‘before’ stage to last a little longer?” Mum clutched the cushion to her chest. I scooted myself closer to her and nestled up to her like I was a small child myself.