The Last Girl

by Michael Adams

  ‘I’m not sure I can help with the second part,’ he said. ‘The roads are in pretty bad shape. But I can definitely do the first part.’

  ‘What?’ He had my full attention. ‘You’re a doctor?’

  Nathan nodded and shook his head. ‘Yes, no—medical student, second year.’

  ‘Then you can—’

  ‘An IV’s no problem,’ Nathan said. ‘But if I’m right about something we might not need to worry about that.’

  I blinked at him.

  ‘I might—might—be able to wake your brother up.’ He looked from me to the Goners all around us. ‘You and me, Danby, I think we might actually be able to save a lot of these people.’

  FOURTEEN

  Nathan and I stayed shoulder to shoulder as we advanced through the living dead. Him sweeping the street with his nail gun, me pointing the Party Duder’s .45 at shadows: we were the least intimidating post-apocalyptic militia imaginable. Luckily the only movement we encountered was our own shadowy reflections shifting across car windows and shop glass.

  ‘Hardware store first, then pharmacy,’ Nathan had said. ‘Can I explain while we walk?’

  I’d nodded and picked up the Party Duder’s gun. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Obviously, I don’t know what happened to the world,’ Nathan began as we crept deeper into the city along Church Street. ‘But I think I know how it’s left people. See this guy?’

  Nathan made a beeline for a man in overalls standing in the intersection, hands spread in front of his face like he was trying to ward off the attack of an invisible bird.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘It freaks me out.’

  Gently, Nathan straightened the man’s arms until he stood at attention. Then he stood back like a window dresser admiring his work.

  ‘Why’d you do that?’ I hissed.

  ‘I wanted to show you,’ Nathan said. ‘It’s called “waxy flexibility” and it’s a classic symptom of catatonia.’

  ‘That’s good news?’

  Nathan rubbed his hands together excitedly. ‘It is. Catatonia can be reversed.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘They used to use electroshock—’

  I bristled.

  ‘—but more recently they’ve had a lot of success with Lorazepam.’

  He saw I didn’t know what that was.

  ‘It’s a fairly common benzodiazepine. Have you heard of Valium? It’s like that.’

  Valium I understood: girls at school swore by popping a few to smooth out their comedowns.

  ‘But doesn’t Valium make you sleepy?’

  ‘Usually, yes, but it has the opposite affect on catatonics,’ Nathan said. ‘They’ve done studies.’

  ‘Studies?’

  ‘Danby, the results are good,’ he said. ‘Something like an eighty per cent success rate.’

  ‘How long does it take?’

  Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Minutes, maybe an hour.’

  That didn’t seem very definite. I looked at him.

  ‘It’ll vary,’ he said. ‘But it doesn’t take long. I was about to get what I needed to break into a pharmacy and try it when I heard the music.’

  I was so excited I was skipping. I felt like a kid at Christmas: not that that expression would ever be used again to herald something good.

  ‘There’s our first stop,’ Nathan said.

  The HomePlace outlet’s windows had been smashed in the chaos. We climbed in and hit the aisles to help ourselves to what Nathan reckoned we needed to get past the DrugRite’s security shutters and plate-glass doors.

  ‘So you said you don’t know what happened,’ I said as we lugged our newly liberated backpacks through the narrow spaces between cars. ‘But what do you think happened?’

  Nathan glanced at me over his shoulder. ‘I’ve only got theories.’

  ‘I’ve only got time.’

  ‘At first I thought it was me,’ he said with a laugh. ‘That I was losing my mind.’

  I chuckled darkly. ‘Same here.’

  ‘Then I thought maybe it was a toxic leak, a viral outbreak, something making everyone hallucinate,’ Nathan said. ‘But the little I could get from the screens showed it was happening all at once all around the world. There’s no way a weather system or transmission vector could spread whatever it was that fast.’

  Nathan pushed himself up between cars to clear a very obese and very dead woman wedged between panels. I followed up and over, careful not to inhale until I was clear of the corpse. Not that it made that much difference: everywhere we walked there was the sickly sweet tang I’d first smelled coming off Bogan Jesus. I pulled the chewing gum from my pocket, popped a piece into my mouth. ‘Here,’ I said, offering some to Nathan. ‘It helps a little.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, squeezing out some gum, and returned the packet. ‘Okay, so what I thought was that an idea could conceivably travel that fast, especially through social media. So that made me think we were experiencing some sort of mass psychogenic illness.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘An epidemic of shared delusion. In the Middle Ages crowds would suddenly start dancing and it’d spread to hundreds or thousands of people. The mania would sweep across the countryside for days or weeks and some people would literally dance themselves to death from exhaustion. No one’s ever been able to explain it. You still see it today. Schoolkids or factory workers all become convinced they’re sick and everyone comes down with the same physical symptoms even though it’s all in their heads. Usually it’s in the undeveloped world, so you might put it down to lack of education or superstition, but it also happened after 9/11 in the United States. There was a small and contained anthrax attack in New York but thousands of people all over America developed real symptoms even though they hadn’t been exposed to anything.’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ I said.

  Nathan stopped. Sweat glistened on his brow and he waved his baseball cap to fan his face.

  ‘Look around,’ I said. ‘We didn’t imagine this. We didn’t make this up. We really could hear what people were thinking.’

  He nodded. ‘We could. That’s where science ends. After that, it’s just me thinking out loud, if you’ll pardon the pun.’

  I smiled. ‘Go for it.’

  ‘Telepathy officially didn’t exist,’ he said. ‘But we all knew what it was like when someone said something we’d just been thinking, how sometimes it’d feel too one-in-a-million or too meaningful to be coincidence. It really felt like getting a glimpse behind the curtains of our world, sensing that everything and everyone was connected.’

  We reached a wall of traffic, vehicles arranged across the street like ramparts. A four-wheel drive had gone up onto a sports car. Other drivers who’d tried to go around had gotten stuck or smashed into shopfronts on either side. Nathan and I climbed onto a Lexus.

  ‘There,’ he said, pointing to the DrugRite at the end of the block.

  We slid back down to the road.

  ‘Where was I?’

  ‘Behind the curtains, glimpses of telepathy.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘think about everything you ever said, everything you ever wrote, posted, texted, drew. What were you doing?’

  ‘Expressing what I thought.’

  ‘You got it.’

  ‘So what’s changed that more than anything in our lifetime?’

  I knew the answer. I felt its absence acutely. ‘Connectivity.’

  ‘Say human evolution’s not just about passing on genetic material but about passing on what we think. Then—boom— radio, movies, television, computers, the internet.’

  We reached the DrugRite, its metal shutters padlocked to the pavement. I turned and Nathan reached into my backpack for the boltcutters we’d liberated from HomePlace.

  ‘Keep an eye out,’ he said as he bent to the padlock.

  As I surveyed our audience of Goners, he kept talking.

  ‘We used to talk to one person face to face. A century later we’re tweeting,
blogging, texting, messaging and updating for hundreds or thousands or millions. We’re trying to let everyone know everything we’re thinking and doing as we’re thinking and doing it. Telepathy didn’t exist but we were trying to make it real.’

  ‘You’re saying we hit the fast-forward button on evolution?’

  Nathan shrugged. ‘There were always articles about how constant connection was rewiring our brains? What if they were right? I mean, really right?’

  The padlock snapped with a ching.

  ‘Let me do the other one,’ I said.

  He stood up and handed me the boltcutters.

  I knelt by the remaining padlock, grunting as I squeezed the blades against the steel. ‘Evolution’s supposed to be about selection for survival, right?’

  Ching.

  ‘Right,’ he said.

  ‘Well, why would we develop an ability that’s about to make us extinct?’

  Nathan shrugged. ‘Like you said, maybe we fast-forwarded evolution, developed this power or sense or whatever, way before we were ready for it. If prehistoric man had moved from fire to gunpowder in the same day, do you think we’d even be here?’

  I slowly rolled up the metal security shutter. Nathan started assembling the glass-cutter from HomePlace. We’d decided it was smarter than smashing our way in. The last thing we needed was to draw the attention of any other Party Duders.

  ‘So, why us?’ I asked, hunkering down beside him. ‘You and me?’

  ‘Why could we tune into other people but they couldn’t tune us?’

  I nodded.

  He shook his head. ‘Beats me.’

  ‘Did you crash out for a second?’ I asked. ‘Go into that nothing place?’

  Nathan looked at me. ‘Yes, right at the start. It was horrible.’

  ‘It was,’ I said. ‘But we both bounced back. We’ve got that in common.’

  ‘True. But it’d make sense for that to be a function of our immunity—or whatever you’d call it—rather than a cause.’

  I went quiet for a moment as he worked. ‘Before this happened, did you have any flashes?’

  Nathan listened as I quickly described the odd occurrences leading up to Christmas. My sanitised version of Mollie’s party stopped at me hearing thoughts. I left out my freak-out and my diagnosis as a mental case. I didn’t want to scare off my new friend. My only friend.

  Nathan shook his head. ‘I didn’t have anything like that.’

  But I’d come up with a new brainwave.

  ‘I know!’ I said. ‘A few weeks ago I went off all screens, all social media, all devices, everything. It was only for six days. But maybe that had something to do with it?’

  Nathan grinned as he stuck the cutter’s suction cup to the plate glass. ‘If that was the reason then we’d be surrounded by babies and senior citizens. As for me? I was on screens 24/7 right up to when it started.’

  ‘Well,’ I harrumphed, officially out of theories. ‘I’m a Virgo.’

  Nathan’s eyes widened. ‘Wow, me too!’

  I’d been joking. ‘Really?’

  ‘Gemini,’ he said with a smile. ‘You’re on the right track. There has to be a reason—or maybe several contributing factors—but right now with just you, me and the dead guy we don’t have enough of a sample to tell us anything.’

  Nathan extended the cutter’s arm enough for the blade to slice a circle the size of a manhole.

  ‘Here goes nothing,’ he said.

  We didn’t know whether the DrugRite had an alarm with its own power supply. He turned the blade through a screeching circle. Together we used the suction handle to lift free a large glass disc. No siren or flashing lights.

  Nathan smiled.

  We crouched down and stared into the dark pharmacy.

  ‘So,’ I asked. ‘Who goes first?’

  ‘Rock, paper, scissors?’

  I laughed and nodded. It wasn’t a game two telepaths could use as a decider.

  Climbing into the DrugRite was like passing through some air-lock portal into a space station. The daylight behind me seemed distant, Nathan talking was a far-off transmission and dust motes drifted as if in zero gravity. I breathed deeply. The atmosphere wasn’t sour with smoke or decay but scented with the calming citrus of carpet cleaner. This place was exactly how it’d been preserved three days ago: a time capsule. It made me want to curl up in a ball and wish my way back.

  ‘Danby, a little help?’ Nathan said.

  I snapped out of my daze. He handed the backpacks to me through the hole and carefully stepped into the DrugRite.

  We switched on our flashlights, played the beams across the aisles, headed to the back for the hard stuff. Nathan strode behind the pharmacist’s counter and scanned the shelves.

  ‘Jackpot!’ he said, holding up a yellow-and-white box. ‘There’s at least fifty boxes of Lorazepam here. Twenty tablets in each.’ He scooped them into his backpack. I moved to join him. ‘Let me get this and the IV equipment,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you get the other stuff we talked about?’

  As I browsed for electrolytes, painkillers and first-aid kits, I glanced back at Nathan. His flashlight was still darting as he searched the drug shelves.

  ‘He’s dead,’ Nathan said as he stepped into Starboard.

  My heart thudded. ‘Oh, no.’

  Plasma Guy was still in his prayerful pose but he’d soiled himself. The smell cut through the liniment we’d rubbed under our nostrils in the pharmacy. Evan was still breathing steadily under the booth. I peered at Nathan as he draped a tablecloth over the corpse.

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Could’ve been dehydration, shock, an underlying condition,’ he said. ‘Arms raised like that, it might’ve strained his heart.’

  I should’ve gotten him down. My neglect had contributed to another death. But I’d feel guilty about it later. All I wanted now was Evan awake so we could get the hell out of Parramatta.

  We carefully lay Evan on a table. Nathan lifted my little brother’s eyelids and a shone a little torch into them.

  ‘Pupils responsive,’ he said. ‘That’s good.’

  At least I’d gotten that right.

  Nathan slipped a thermometer into Evan’s armpit and listened to his chest with his stethoscope. Then he wrapped a cuff around his arm and pumped it up. When the thermometer beeped, he checked its little screen.

  Nathan looked at me gently.

  ‘I’ve seen this in the others,’ he said. ‘Evan’s pulse and respiration are really slow, his blood pressure’s pretty low and his body temperature’s two degrees below what it should be.’

  My hand went to my mouth. My eyes were glassy.

  Nathan shook his head and smiled. ‘No, no—it’s a good sign. It means his body’s conserving energy. Like a hibernating animal.’

  He nodded to reassure me. ‘Seriously, Danby, it’s a good thing.’

  I wiped my eyes, managed a smile. ‘I’m glad but I don’t want him like this for another second.’

  Nathan’s eyes darted away from mine.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  He pushed the palms of his hands against his temples, like he was trying to squeeze something out of his head. ‘I’ve been trying to remember.’

  ‘Remember what?’

  ‘The studies,’ he said, glancing back at me. ‘They used a low dosage of Lorazepam. But—’

  ‘You don’t know how much to give him?’

  Nathan shook his head, stared at his shoes. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s just great,’ I said. ‘What do we do now?’

  Nathan looked wounded. ‘I’m doing the best I can. Ordinarily, I’d consult the internet.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ I touched his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He brightened. ‘Look, a low dose is anything from one to ten milligrams. We can experiment.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘No, not on Evan.’ Nathan pointed past me at the street outside. ‘We try it on someo
ne else.’

  My stomach sank. Not because what he was suggesting was wrong. Because I knew any objections I raised would only be to make me feel better before I let him convince me to play god on guinea pigs. I’d save us both the time and angst.

  ‘Who do we choose?’

  Nathan’s shoulders relaxed. ‘If we can find someone his size—’

  ‘Not a chance,’ I said. ‘If something goes wrong, I don’t want some kid’s death on my hands.’

  ‘It’s a mild sedative,’ Nathan said. ‘The risk of overdose is minimal.’

  ‘But if it works, then we’ve got a scared child to deal with.’

  Nathan nodded. ‘Do you know how much Evan weighs?’

  Actually, I did. Stephanie had gotten me to take him to his last medical appointment. ‘Eighteen kilograms.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘About fifty-five.’

  ‘So, one-third,’ Nathan mused. ‘We look for a woman your size. We give her a one-milligram intramuscular injection and then another one every ten minutes. Whatever brings her around, we use one third of that dose on Evan. It should work.’

  ‘Should work?’

  ‘It will work,’ Nathan said. ‘Trust me.’

  It’s not like I had a choice.

  FIFTEEN

  We walked from Starboard into the business district that had spooked me earlier. The shadows seemed deeper. But I felt safer. There was strength in numbers, even if we only numbered two. And we had our weapons.

  Nathan paused to check every Goner with his stethoscope. I didn’t know why because none were women my size. Evan’s vital signs might be strong but the Plasma Guy’s death had spooked me. I wanted to get on with finding our test subject. Nathan let his stethoscope hang back around his neck and joined me in the middle of an intersection.

  ‘Doing a sample,’ he said. ‘Seeing what we’re up against.’

  I nodded and led us between cars. ‘Tell me, but let’s walk and talk?’

  ‘There are forty people back there. Seven dead. Most of those have clear injuries or are elderly. It’s a good result.’

  ‘Really?’ I looked at Nathan in disbelief. ‘A good result?’

  He nodded. ‘Thirty-three people in reasonable health. It’s better than good. It’s remarkable. Some have probably been offline since Christmas Day but everyone’s been down at least since the Big Crash.’