Split Infinity

by Thalia Kalkipsakis

  I grip the handrail and start after Warrah. The air is actually pretty clear in the stairwell thanks to the almost airtight fire doors.

  Both of us are panting by the time we reach the doorway leading to the roof. Sweat drips down Warrah’s flushed face. She lifts her wrist to swipe when I say, ‘Wait. Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘If you’re fast.’

  ‘Why did you help me? Why warn me not to jump, let me know what the drug was meant to do?’

  Her whole chest heaves. ‘Because if they couldn’t stop you from disappearing, I knew what would happen next.’ Her jaw pushes forwards, her anger clear. ‘The only reason you’re still alive is because they think they stopped you time travelling.’

  I stare back as my mouth clamps shut. No words. This woman saved my life.

  Before I can work out what to say, Warrah swipes and pushes a shoulder against the door. Immediately I’m hit with smoky wind blasting so hard that I can hardly see. I lift a hand against the whipping dust.

  A guy wearing goggles and a long white coat has just made it to the roof ahead of us. Ang, I assume. We all turn to find the sky billowing angry black smoke. Even as we watch, the fire beneath it continues to grow and then die, replacing itself newer and stronger, rolling towards us like a monster with a single purpose.

  All around us, ash is blowing in swirls like black snow. Some is eerily pretty, but other flakes are glowing, angry red suckers sent out from the monster, searching for a new place to catch hold.

  The helejet looks like an oversized wasp, with six fat jet engines for legs. It has to fight against the force of the wind just to position itself for landing and I find myself straining with it, willing it to land safely. To save us.

  It hits position on the landing pad and Ang lifts an arm, holding us back until the pilot signals.

  Now we’re running through the dirt and the ash and the smoke, clambering into the cabin. I fall onto a seat in the corner and strap myself in as the helejet shifts again into a slow lift.

  Ang sits near the pilot and, even though I don’t catch half the things the pilot says, enough swearwords reach me in between ‘ash’ and ‘smoke’ to get the idea he’s not happy being sent into this. There’s a pause as the jets shifts mid-air into high rev and then, with a whoosh, the helejet lifts. My stomach lurches as all the blood seems to be sucked to my feet. Despite the warmth from the wind, my hands are cold and shaky. I close my eyes and force myself to concentrate on each breath. This vertigo is like nothing I’ve known.

  I grip the shoulder straps and manage a glance out the window. It’s hard to see what’s out there because it’s so smoky. Dammit.

  I’m not sure I can do this. Not sure anymore if it’s even a good idea. I haven’t had a chance to test for sure that I can skip after being dosed with Zygoral. But almost as soon as I contemplate staying in the cabin, waiting until it takes me safely back to the ground, I know that I can’t. I have to warn Mum before the fire continues towards Mill Park. She’ll be listening for emergency alerts, but there won’t be any. And once she sees the fire coming there might not be any time to get away.

  I thought I’d be with her when the fire started. Hoped that she’d know how to skip by now. Somehow I’ve managed to make the same mistake again. The firestorm is coming for her, and I’m not there.

  I have to trust my instincts that I can still skip.

  Strangely, it’s Boc who flashes into my mind, with his constant pushing to go higher, crossing his arms and daring me to try harder. Once you harness the fear, you’ll be able to do anything.

  If it wasn’t for him pushing, playing with danger, I’d never contemplate the jump I’m about to take.

  First time around, I was caught by the Feds, trapped in our room, because of Boc.

  This time, it’s because of him that I have a chance to escape, and rescue Mum.

  When I check again outside the window the ash has been replaced by a half-decent view of grey sky. It’s a sign that we’re out of danger and immediately my heart lurches at what that clear sky means, beating so hard in my throat that I’m sure the veins must be throbbing.

  I suck a sharp breath in through my nose, drawing on all I’ve learnt. Somehow I manage to push down the fear into my chest and hold it there.

  Before I can stop myself, I steal one last glance at Warrah. She’s already watching me, concerned creases around her eyes. Maybe she can see how much of a mess I am right now.

  My chin drops as I mouth, ‘Thank you.’

  The last thing I see before I close my eyes is a confused tilt of her head as she goes to speak.

  But I’ll never know what she was going to say, because I squeeze my eyes shut, cross my fingers.

  And disappear.

  I return into mid-air with the hum of the helejet already a distance away. Instantly I drop, plummeting like a helpless insect, my arms and legs flailing, fighting to regain my balance.

  A gasp escapes and I strain to see how high I am, how far from the ground. I’m so weirdly off-balance that just by turning my head, the rest of my body gets pulled around like a rag doll and I end up on my stomach.

  This is worse. It’s like I’m being force-fed air. Tears stream from my eyes, but I’m not sure if it’s just an effect of the air or the fact I’m about to die.

  I’m falling too fast to scream. It’s difficult to focus on the buildings and streets below. So near, and so terrifyingly far.

  Don’t think. I let go and drop into the tunnel.

  Suddenly safe. It’s like I’ve landed on a blanket of space. I could float here forever. Maybe I will. But no, the sooner I face that fall, the sooner I’ll be able to warn Mum. Like she has so many times before, she brings me back.

  With a gasp I return, gravity pulling me once more. I’m accelerating fast.

  This time I’m better prepared for the wind and the speed. The falling is easier this way. I drop into the tunnel again.

  It takes two more skips before a flat roof rushes up to meet me so quick that I let out a squeak and launch into one last jump.

  As soon as I return, I hit the edge of a windbreak, grazing my ribcage as I slide sideways onto the roof. It’s been lined with that insulated rubber stuff, so it just knocks the wind out of me.

  Maybe it’s the rush from falling out of the sky, or perhaps because this is my first real moment of freedom after so long. Or because I didn’t die. But for just a few seconds I lie on my back, chest heaving with adrenaline as I grin into the grey sky. I’m alive.

  And free.

  Movement to one side catches my attention and I watch as a piece of cloth drifts down to settle on the rubber beside me. One side is glowing red, still smouldering, but enough of the cloth remains to make out some sort of chequered pattern. Perhaps a curtain, or someone’s shirt …

  Whatever it was, it seems like a message from another place. One that’s gone to hell.

  I sit up. The helejet has brought me a distance from the fire front, but it’s so wide I’m still in the path. I have to get out as soon as I can, but before I do anything I have to warn Mum.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  WHEN I TRY to stand, my body reminds me what I’ve just been through: aching ribs, stiff neck, sore head and a thick, dry tongue. Being naked is the least of my worries.

  The entrypad at the door leading down from the roof responds to my manual override first try. Thank cripes. I’m not up for another jump off this roof.

  I cross my arms against my chest, wincing as my elbow brushes the graze on my ribs. Delicately, I pad down the stairwell. The air in here is clean, no smoke. Without an evac notice, these people aren’t going to realise the fire front is coming until it’s almost on top of them. No wonder so many died.

  Scrub that. So many still might.

  I’m hoping for a residential block because most of them have a laundry, but as I sneak along the hall I find only wide room after wide room with big desks and tinted glass: an executive floor. I’m part way along the hall when a
door beeps and slides open right near me.

  I dash back to the stairwell. Maybe I’ll bail on the top floor. I pad down to the next level, push the fire exit open and listen. It’s calm down here, just the thuck of a ball being hit every now and then, and the sound of runners squeaking on floorboards. Squash courts maybe?

  After what I’ve been though, the noises of everyday life seem so out of place. Whoever is making those sounds is just going about their day, same as any other. The hallway is empty so I risk a few steps in. To one side I catch the steady rhythm of running feet; I’m guessing someone running through a holo-forest on a treadmill-track.

  A gym? This is promising.

  Moving fast, I slip from the safety of one alcove and into the next. I’m close to the centre of the building and the bank of lifts when I find what I’m looking for: a change room.

  Ten minutes later, I slip back into the stairwell wearing slacks and a shirt with chunky heels that are impossible to walk in. Best of all I have a pair of comspecs from a bag in the corner of a shower cubicle.

  I’m clumsy at first, swiping thin air as if I’ve never used a computer in my life. After a while I pull up a virtual keyboard and begin to feel more like I know what I’m doing. It takes a bit of time hacking into the grid, no shortcuts of course, but that’s the best way to locate Mum without her dot being tagged on the comspecs already.

  While I’m in, I also check the location of the comspecs on the grid. I’m southwest from the research lab but still in the line of the fire front. Flying over the top of the heat and smoke must have been too dangerous for the helejet, but the fire front was too fast and wide to travel sideways.

  When I call Mum it goes straight to her message bank. She must be with a client. I launch into a message: ‘Mum, it’s me. I’m fine. But the fire is heading for the northern suburbs. You need to get out now.’

  I flick off, and wait. Seconds later the phone beeps. I answer straightaway.

  ‘Scout, is that really you?’ Her words are breathy and jagged, on the verge of tears.

  ‘Yes. It’s me.’ I keep my voice low and sneak a few steps away from the door. The sound of her crying on the other end makes my throat go tight. ‘I’m fine, Mum.’

  ‘Where are you? I’m coming to get you.’

  ‘No.’ It takes a while to get her past the fact that I’m okay. The fact that I’m free. Again, she hesitates when I tell her to get out of the office building and meet me at home. Last time, the fire didn’t make it past the CBD let alone Footscray, and it seems to be tracing the same path again.

  ‘Really?’ A single sniff. ‘There’s been no evac notice. This cool change signals the end of the danger, doesn’t it?’

  I swallow back a scream of frustration. I warned her to watch for emergency alerts, but that’s the last thing I should have told her. Without an official evac notice, she simply continued going about her life. Trusting the government to keep its citizens safe. Assuming that the smoke was from far away, and no threat.

  ‘Mum. Listen to me. You have to –’ A gasp at the other end makes me break off.

  ‘Oh my god …’

  My heart slows. ‘What?’

  ‘The fire,’ she breathes. ‘I can see … flames. It’s close.’ She’s speaking really fast, her voice coming in and out as if she’s moving at the same time. There’s the sound of rustling. A door swishing open.

  All the blood drains from my face. If she can see it, that means she’ll have to outrun it. And that means I don’t have much time either.

  ‘Stay on the phone,’ Mum says. Her voice is jerky as if she’s walking as she speaks.

  ‘No. I have to go.’ Already I’m heading down the stairs. ‘Get to a taxi okay? Don’t try to catch the train.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll meet you at home.’

  ‘And if the taxi hits a traffic jam, you get out and run. Okay? Keep moving south. No matter what.’

  ‘Okay.’ Her voice is fainter now. ‘Sweetheart? I love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’ I switch off.

  The wind has picked up when I make it outside; ash and smoke thick in the air, making me cough with every other breath. I’ve only gone about three steps when I ditch the heels. I’ll be faster in bare feet.

  It’s great to be on the ground, to feel it solid beneath me, but in some ways I was safer up high. On the roof I could see what was coming; down here buildings are all around me, blocking my view in every direction. In terms of the fire, I’m running blind.

  When I make it to the next intersection, I’m able to see along the crossroad in the direction of the fire. Black smoke is billowing, exploding in the distance, enough to make people stop and point. A woman who looks a bit like Mum swipes her compad and starts talking quickly, glancing every now and then at the black clouds.

  It makes me think of what I was doing only minutes earlier, calling Mum to warn her about what’s coming. As I watch the citizens around me, I realise what I have to do. Out of all these people, I’m the only one with an instant escape. They’re the ones who need to get away from this place, not me.

  The comspecs are folded shut, held tight in my fist. Quickly I check the nearby alleyways and end up sitting on the edge of a bricked-in garden bed overlooking the intersection.

  More people are reacting now, and pretty much the first thing each person does is get on the phone. Maybe the government doesn’t want to share the info, but its citizens will.

  I send out alerts on all the social sites I can find, but they’re just coming from some woman called Eliza Schmidt, the owner of the comspecs. For all I know, she might be some loony scam artist. I need to send out an official alert that will trigger the alarms.

  It’s easy to find the emergency alert department, but not so easy finding a way to trigger their alerts. They’re all there, ready to go with the flick of a button, but without any clearances there’s no way to do it. I press the tips of my fingers into my temple, frustration growing.

  Embers and ash are falling as thick as when I was first on the roof of the research lab. A few smartcars headed in the direction of the fire pull into a side road and turn back the way they came but some just keep travelling straight for the fire, their users busy watching the screen inside their car.

  A couple on foot come bolting for the intersection, only stopping for the crossing point. The urgency about them seems to trigger something in the people around and their movements sharpen and increase.

  Not everyone gets it, though. Above me, a door slides open on the second floor of a residential block and a man in an old dressing gown stands there yawning. He lifts a hand to catch one of the embers floating past his balcony and then turns back inside. But how many other people are asleep? How many people are locked in a shower cubicle or busy working in an office that’s been fitted with air-con and purifiers?

  I shift slightly on my butt, squaring my shoulders as I keep searching. The longer I take with this, the less time they’ll have to get away. I blow a fluff of dyed black hair off my forehead.

  Mason would know.

  He’s at home, easy to find. I tag him and send a message: How do I send an evac alert? Quick. Warn everyone you can. Scout.

  His reply takes only a few seconds: Where are you?

  That’s no help. I don’t have time. I’m typing again, desperate, when a second message comes through, just a link.

  I click through to find code for the emergency alert that was sent out to fire-affected outer suburbs three days ago. Clever. I copy and forward it to citizens in the northern suburbs. Mason’s work-around was to echo an earlier alert, but at least it will look like it came from the right department.

  As soon as it sends, the comspecs receive it: EMERGENCY WARNING. Firestorm moving your way. Take immediate action. Evacuate now.

  An alarm rings out from the office buildings behind me and even though I’m the one who triggered it, the sound of the alert makes my muscles tighten. Suddenly the danger feels real, and coming closer.

  I
send another message to Mason before stashing the comspecs: Thanks. I’m OK.

  The streets shift into higher gear, people pouring down around us from their buildings and onto the footpath. The smartcars heading in the direction of the fire turn around and come back the way they came as even more smartcars pull onto the streets from car parks all around.

  I send one more message to Mum: I’m OK. Promise. If I don’t meet you at home, it means I’ll be back in a few days.

  She’ll work out what that means. Hope she’s made it out by now.

  I stash the comspecs in a pocket and pull off the woman’s shirt so that I’m just in a T-shirt underneath. Then I wrap the shirt around my mouth, tying it at the back of my head, trying to block the smoke as much as possible. I begin along the nearest street that leads in the opposite direction from the fire. My instinct is telling me to move south, so that’s what I do. Maybe I can help someone before I jump.

  The wind has picked up and embers fall like black snow. People are coughing and calling to each other. To one side, two male voices rise in anger and the crowd ripples outwards.

  Behind us is the distant rumble of the fire and closer is the sound of shuffling shoes in between wheezing and coughing. It’s difficult to move fast enough, there are so many of us. It’s as if we’re all stuck on a slow-moving conveyor belt, held in tight by each other and the buildings around us.

  The smartcars are no faster than the people walking. Some honk their alarms. One guy climbs out of his car and pushes past other people on foot, leaving his car blocking the way. It’s not long before the crowd surges onto the road, and the cars come to a complete stop.

  A deep rumbling makes me turn to find the shifting plumes of black smoke so close that I can see the flames rising beneath. The crowd shifts into a new gear, surging forward. To one side a man falls. Another man tries to grab his arm but he gets pushed down by the momentum of the crowd. Above it all, the wind picks up and the fire behind us accelerates into a roar.