The Survivors (Book 1): Pandemic

by Alex Burns

  “Alice? You okay?”

  Jack came up behind me, looking concerned. I nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “You left there in a bit of a hurry,” he said softly, blue eyes staring at me intently.

  I kicked the tree stump. “All these people dead… Sarah, Lucy, all my friends dead, my brother and dad and fiancé are probably dead too for all I know, and Crackhead Jimmy’s still fucking alive.” I kicked the stump again. “It’s bullshit. What the hell, Jack? Can you explain that? What the fucking hell?”

  Jack’s arm shot out, like he wanted to stop me from kicking the poor stump but through better of it. He shook his head.

  “I can’t explain any of this, Alice. It’s fucked up. What can I say? There is no explanation. We…” he trailed off and looked up at the sky, as if he might find some answers flying by on the wind. “We can’t keep asking why us? Why them? Why did we survive when so many didn’t? I don’t know. Random chance? Fate? I don’t fucking know. But…” He paused and sighed. “I dunno, Alice. I’m a plumber and a farmer, not a philosopher. We’re still here though, for whatever reason, and we need to deal with it.”

  I chewed my lip. “I wish I wasn’t, sometimes.”

  Jack reached out for me. “Don’t say that.”

  We stood there in silence for a few minutes, then Jack let out another sigh.

  “Come on, let’s go back in. I don’t think anyone else is going to arrive.”

  “That can’t be it! Is that it? That can’t be all that’s left. There’s barely anyone in there!”

  “I know…”

  I shook my head, not wanting to believe it. I followed Jack back in, staring resolutely at his broad shoulders and trying not to cry yet again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I took a seat at the back of the hall. I looked around at the motley group of survivors. Why us? Why did we deserve to live? Or was living the punishment? I could almost hear Tristan’s voice in my mind, telling me not to worry about it. It is what it is, he often said when I’d start to get into one of my existential spirals. Not that he could really talk though. He’d been the one who’d said life was pointless because the sun was going to blow up one day… I missed him. I missed him so much it hurt. I squeezed my fists so hard together that my nails dug into my palms and shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I looked around the hall again. There were only about thirty of us. There’d been more than this many people in my year level at high school. How could this be all that was left?

  Jack walked around to the front of the hall, where his grandfather was standing by the stage looking a tad nervous. He cleared his throat.

  “Thank you all for coming this morning,” Andy said once the chatter died down. “This had been a hard time for everyone. An impossible time. I don’t think anyone here has not been touched by this tragedy.” Kristy let out a small sob and covered her mouth. I stared at her hunched back, wondering how many people she’d lost. I felt strangely detached as Andy went on.

  “I know a lot of us know each other, but there are a few new faces to me, and I’m sure others. Why don’t we start by just going around and introducing ourselves for everyones benefit.”

  “And actually, why don’t we sit in a circle instead of rows,” Jack called out. “There’s not that many of us, and it’s make it easier to have a proper discussion. Pa and I organised this meeting, but we don’t necessarily want to lead it…”

  A murmur of consent rippled around the hall and the scrape of chairs as we obediently got up and rearranged ourselves. I glanced at Mum. We’d put too many chairs out. So many of them were empty. I picked up a chair and moved over next to her and Charlotte.

  Once we were settled, Jack coughed and stood up again.

  “‘Spose I’ll go first then,” he said and looked around at everyone. “I’m Jack Allen.” He paused again and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “My partner, Sophie, my parents, and my brother, Simon, all died in the pandemic.” He said down abruptly and looked at his grandfather. Andy nodded at him but didn’t stand up.

  “Andy Bristowe. Jack here’s my grandson. My wife is fine. Well,” he frowned down at his knotted hands. “As fine as she can be at any rate. But yes, we lost our two daughters and all of our grandchildren apart from Jack here.”

  Mum glanced down at Charlotte. I could almost read her thoughts. We shouldn’t have brought her here. Mum put her arm around the small girl and held her close.

  Andy turned expectantly to the woman next to him. It was Fiona Hall, the minister’s wife. While looking down at her lap, and her hand clutching the cross she wore at her neck, she quietly introduced herself. The Reverend had died, as had their two children. She didn’t know why she was alive or what God’s plan was.

  I blinked. This was going to be the grimmest getting to know you activity I’d ever participated in. We moved around the circle. Cranky old Mr Douglas was next. He just said his name and then stared at the man next to him. He didn’t have a family as far as I knew. No one to lose. He was lucky.

  I didn’t know the man next to Mr Douglas. He was bulky and looked like he was in his mid-forties or so. He had receding brown hair and sad eyes. He clutched the hand of the teenage girl next to him tightly.

  “Tony MacDonald,” he said in a surprisingly soft voice. The name rang a bell. I glanced at Mum. “My accountant,” she whispered before Tony went on.

  “And this is my daughter, Neisha.” He took a deep breath and seemed to look at Neisha for strength. “The Red Death took Neisha’s mum and her sister, Ellie.”

  Next were two teachers, Melissa and Ben. Melissa knew her parents had died, but didn’t know about her siblings. They were scattered around the world. Ben wasn’t sure about his family either. “I haven’t heard from them since just after quarantine went into effect. They’re in Sydney. I guess no one’s enforcing quarantine now though… I could go and find out…” He looked down at his hands and frowned.

  Judy, the publican, was next in the circle. I think everyone already knew who she was. “Mum’s still kicking, obviously,” she said in her raspy voice, nodding at the older woman sitting next to her. “But only my niece, Lily, made it out of the rest of the family.” Judy stopped talking and clutched her mother’s hand. I knew Judy’s husband had died years ago. I wasn’t sure how many nieces and nephews she had, or siblings.

  “I’m Betty Pike,” Judy’s mother said in a strong voice that surprised me. “Like Judy said, it’s just me, her and little Lily now.”

  Sitting next to Betty were two teenagers.

  “My name’s Rhys. Rhys Hatton,” the boy said nervously. He had short dark hair and looked like he hadn’t slept for days. “I’m the only one left in my family,” he said. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mum cover her mouth with her hand.

  “Same,” the girl next to him said in a hollow voice. “Well, I dunno about my grandparents or aunts or anything, but my family here are all dead. My name’s Addison Black by the way.”

  I glanced at Mum, wondering where these kids were living, and what they were doing. I noticed Ben and Melissa looking at each other with concern as well and vaguely wondered if they were a couple.

  Crackhead Jimmy was next. “Um. Hello. Um. I’m Jimmy. James Finnegan, I mean. Um, yeah.” He scratched his cheek and looked up at the roof. “I dunno about me brother or sister. I hope they’re okay, but Mum and Dad are done.”

  The black haired young woman who looked vaguely familiar introduced herself as Bec Harlock. I realised with a jolt that she’d been a few years behind me at school. She’d grown from a gangly, awkward teenager into a beautiful woman.

  “My parents are gone as well,” she said quietly after clearing her throat. “And my sister, Jess. I’m not sure about Ebony though. I haven’t been able to get in contact with her…” I swallowed hard. Jess had been in my year level. We hadn’t been super close, but we’d been friendly. She’d always been nice to me, unlike the next person.

  Kristy could barely get her words
out. “All gone,” she croaked. “All of them. My husband.” She stopped and pulled a soggy tissue out of her sleeve. “All my babies,” she whimpered and then started wailing. Looking slightly alarmed, Bec and the woman on Kristy’s other side put their arms around her and tried to comfort her. We all watched helplessly as the distraught woman tried to get herself under control again.

  “Sorry,” she said with a hiccup.

  “There’s no need to be sorry, dear,” Betty said, reaching over to pat Kristy on the hand. “You cry all you need to. We understand.” Kristy smiled wanly at the old woman.

  “Kristy has five children,” Betty said, looking around at everyone. “Your Maddisyn was Lily’s best friend,” she said to Kristy. Kristy’s face crumpled again and she buried her face in her hands. I felt a sudden stab of guilt. Sarah and I had laughed meanly at the names Kristy had chosen for her five kids. Laughed at Kristy for just staying in our hometown and popping out babies. I tried to remember the poor dead kids’ names. They came back to me in a rush. Alliyah, Maddisyn, Jaxon, Kaileb, and Samikah. It didn’t seem so funny anymore, somehow.

  I knew the next woman’s face but not her name. I’d seen her many times in the fish and chip shop over the years where she worked with her family. None of them were here, I realised with a sinking heart.

  “My name is Neylan Sadik,” she said softly with a faint accent. “I am the only one left in my family here. Like many of you, I don’t know about my extended family. Some of them are up in Brisbane, and my parents are back in Turkey… I just don’t know…” she trailed off, looking sadly at Kristy who was still quietly sobbing into her tissues. I wondered why the rest of us weren’t sobbing messes either. We had every reason to. Maybe, like me, they all felt cried out, and utterly drained.

  And so we continued around our depressing circle. After Neylan came three middle-aged men. One of them I only recognised with a start after he started talking; it was Mr Kenna (or Eric, as he introduced himself). He’d been my Grade 5 teacher. He’d had a lot more hair back then. My heart sank even lower when he confirmed that his wife and daughter had both died. Mrs Kenna had been the art teacher for most of my primary school years, and I had many happy memories of making a mess in the art room and her clucking over us and admiring our artistic genius. Their daughter, Josie, had been a year younger than me. The evidence was right there in front of me, but I was still finding it hard reconcile what I was hearing to reality. It still felt utterly surreal that so many people were suddenly gone, just like that. Our world as we knew it was done.

  The young Asian man with a toddler on his lap introduced himself as Vincent. He was Josie’s husband. A tiny part of me was relieved that Mr Kenna still had his grandson, although, glancing at Charlotte who was wide-eyed and pale, I knew a child was no replacement for the parent lost.

  So many people lost. I felt hollow by the time we got to the last few people in the circle. Two teenage siblings, Olive and Charlie Tucker. Their parents and younger sister had died. They weren’t sure about their grandmother. Too many parentless kids, I thought, looking around. Would we need to start an orphanage? What were they going to do?

  The last person in the circle before it got back to Ina and us was a man a few years older than me, with very thin brown hair and a beer gut. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him until he said his name. Jon Wilson. I stared at him in disbelief. He’d been one of the best looking guys in high school, and I’d had a major crush on him for a few months in Year 9. To say he hadn’t aged well was an understatement. Those thoughts rushed through my battered mind and I felt a major stab of something like guilt for thinking about someone’s appearance when we were surrounded by so much tragedy.

  Ina spoke next, quietly but firmly.

  “My name is Ina Lewis. My husband died many years ago, and for that I can now be grateful.” She looked around. “My son, granddaughter and great-grandson all live in Melbourne. I can only assume that they did not survive, because I know Reg and Cherie. They’d be here if they were alive. But they’re not.” Ina’s chin wobbled slightly and Mum reached across Charlotte to give her hand a squeeze.

  The collective eyes of the group turned to Mum. She cleared her throat with a small cough.

  “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Jenny Buchanan. This is my daughter, Alice, and granddaughter, Charlotte. Charlotte’s parents both passed away.” Mum’s voice started to waver and she paused to take a deep, steadying breath. “We’re not sure about my son Tom, or my ex-husband - most of you know Greg. He’s somewhere up north in the Kimberley area…I hope they’re okay, but I don’t really know for sure.” Mum sat down again. Jack looked at me but I shook my head. I didn’t want to speak.

  “Okay,” Jack said. “Thanks for that.” He let out a deep breath. “I know that wasn’t easy.”

  “Perhaps we should have a minutes silence for all the people who we’ve lost,” Fiona Hall said in a subdued voice.

  “Yes, good idea,” Mr Kenna said. A few others nodded.

  “All right then,” Jack said with a nod.

  People looked down at the laps, some closed their eyes. I reached for Mum’s hand and held it tightly. Jack clutched both of his hands together in between his knees and kept his eyes lowered.

  Silence.

  I started to think about Sarah and Chris, Lucy and Alan, all of the old acquaintances and friends who I’d just found out were dead. I wondered about my cousins up in Queensland. I’d probably never find out what had happened to them. Tristan. Would I ever find out about Tristan? I shut my eyes tightly and forced myself to think about something else, anything else.

  It was starting to feel like longer than a minute. I wondered who was keeping track of the time. I glanced around the circle. Jack caught my eye. I raised an eyebrow in question. Jack glanced at his grandfather who nodded.

  Jack coughed. “Thank you,” he said simply. “We will not forget.”

  “So, what do we do now?” Neylan asked as people came out of their reveries.

  “I think it’s safe to assume now that no one is coming to help us, not yet anyway. If we’re like this here, then it stands to reason that it’s similar all over, don’t you think?” Jack looked at me as he said the last bit, but I just stared back at him.

  “Alice? You were in Melbourne.”

  I felt myself go red as nearly everyone turned to look at me. Kristy was still crying and looking down at the floor. I kept my eyes on her as I started to speak. “It was…” I paused, trying to find the right words. “It was grim,” I managed. Not quite right, but it would do. “There wasn’t many people around… I don’t know if they were just hiding or…worse. But I didn’t see or hear any signs of the authorities at all after about a week or so of quarantine.”

  “The authorities are people too,” Judy said. “They probably caught it as well.”

  “Or they have their own bunkers and are all safe and locked away and have abandoned the rest of us plebs,” Jon Wilson muttered. I looked at him in surprise, as did a few there. I caught Bec rolling her eyes.

  “So,” Jack said. “I think it’s safe to say we’re on our own for now. We’re going to need to make a few hard decisions.”

  “Like what?” Mr Douglas asked briskly.

  “Well, for starters - what do we do with all the people who’ve passed away?”

  Kirsty wailed again and a few others wiped their eyes, but nodded. Jack paused and looked around the room. People glanced at each other and started muttering to their neighbours.

  “What are our options, realistically?” Judy asked loudly, her voice carrying over the crowd.

  Jack deferred to his grandfather.

  “Well, as much as I can figure, we really only have two… burial or cremation. And we need to decide whether to do individual burials, or…” Andy trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

  “Or all in one big pile,” Betty finished off for him with a sigh.

  “Like the plague pits,” Ben, the ginger teacher said.
I stared at him, along with everyone else. “Sorry,” Ben said quickly.

  “No, go on.” Andy motioned for him to continue.

  “Uh, okay then. Um.” Ben’s skin colour was rapidly changing to match his hair colour. “Well, my specialisation is history, specifically medieval history… I don’t know how much you remember from your history classes but the, um, when the Black Death tore through Europe in the Middle Ages, people were overwhelmed. The dead were often buried in what we call plague pits. That’s, uh, that’s just what came to mind.” Ben sat down abruptly. I hoped he had a better classroom teaching manner than public speaking manner.

  “What about the disease?” Judy asked. “Would it even be safe to bury them? Would it be better to burn them?”

  “I don’t know,” Andy said. “Any doctors or infection specialists here?” Andy asked helplessly.

  “I’m a nurse,” Bec Harlock said, raising her hand slightly. “But I’m sorry, I just don’t know for sure. We’ve all survived, but is it just dumb luck or are we somehow immune?”

  “Out of curiosity, how many of us here caught the virus but survived?” Mary Johnstone, the electrician, asked. I shook my head, along with most other people.

  “Charlotte caught it,” Mum said. “She recovered.”

  Everyone’s eyes swivelled to the small girl. She buried her face in Mum’s lap. Mum patted her reassuringly on the back.

  “I got it,” Kristy said in a choked voice. “I got it first. I infected my family. But it didn’t seem to hit me as hard as it hit Dan and the kids. I don’t know why. I tried to look after them, I really did, but it was so hard… My youngest, Samikah, died first. She was only two years old.” Kristy started crying again. Neylan pulled the distraught woman into her arms and murmured to her.

  “I already buried my family,” one of the teenage boys said. Rhys, I belatedly remembered his name was. “In the backyard. I didn’t know what else to do.” He briefly looked up at Jack, and then back down at the floor, scratching his arm.