The Last Girl

by Michael Adams

  ‘We’re stuck,’ Jack said, turning off the music. ‘Debris.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ I tried to keep the panic out of my voice.

  We’d bake inside the car if we stayed here too long. Evan and Michelle were already clammy against me.

  I leaned forward to look at Jack. His eyes were closed in concentration. Nick opened his door, got out, and put on gloves. Up ahead, big men were already out of their vehicles, getting to work in the rippling haze. Through smoke and snowy ash, they banded together to heft blocks and girders clear of the tracks.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Jack said finally. ‘We’ll be on our way in a minute.’

  We emerged from Blacktown’s city centre into an unburned strip of suburbia. Rows of townhouses on our left. People didn’t stir on their balconies and in their backyards as we passed. Sports fields on our right. Movement I thought was me seeing things. Maybe a visual echo of soccer players about to kick off. But the trio of people jumping and waving were real.

  ‘Jack!’ I grabbed his shoulder. ‘Look!’

  ‘I see them.’

  The convoy slowed. A woman ran towards us. Yelling incoherently.

  ‘Can you hear her?’

  Jack meant her mind. I told him no.

  ‘The others?’

  I shook my head.

  Nick leapt onto the railway tracks to aim a revolver at this scrawny woman in a dirty floral dress. The big bruiser stormed from the back hatch to point his rifle at the poor wretch. I whiplashed in my seat. Saw more gunmen scrambling from vehicles.

  ‘Don’t!’ I said to Jack.

  ‘Stop!’ the guys with guns shouted in unison.

  The woman skidded in the dust and reached for the sky. She was close enough that I could see her confusion. What looked like a rag-tag UN convoy had appeared on the railway line. She’d thought her prayers were answered. Now she was facing a firing squad.

  ‘Don’t shoot!’

  Out on the soccer ground her two friends held stiff arms aloft in surrender.

  The moment stretched. I hitched my breath against the barrage of gunfire.

  ‘Chill,’ Jack chided. ‘I promised.’

  Jack crunched down the embankment, a .45 tucked in the back of his jeans, flanked by his guards. He closed on the woman quickly, they spoke for a moment and she dropped her arms to hug him. She led him to her companions and they pumped his hand like he was a politician or preacher. Then they all seemed to study their feet. That’s when I saw another person lying on the field amid backpacks and shopping bags.

  Jack knelt by the figure. A second later, he helped a teenage boy to stand.

  ‘Hallelujah, praise Jesus!’

  I heard the woman clear across the field as she threw her arms around the kid.

  The two men chattered at Jack. He held up his hands to calm them and talked for a while. The slender dark-skinned man nodded. But his squat offsider jabbed angrily at the suburban sprawl beyond the park. Jack spoke some more. Whatever he said seemed to mollify the guy.

  Jack led the group back, minions spread out behind them. As they drew closer, I got a better look at the woman’s bedraggled companions. The sleepwalking boy with a sports drink had inherited his mother’s gaunt features and frizzy hair. I figured the taller man was Somalian because his fine features and colouring were like those of my old maths teacher. But the argumentative dude—sullenly kicking up dirt with his thongs, pale belly shining from the bottom of his blue singlet—was a cartoonist’s idea of a hangdog Aussie.

  Jack guided them to our car.

  ‘Danby, this is Tina, her son Joel, and their friends Jamal and Baz.’

  ‘I wanna thank you,’ Tina said, eyes shimmering as she clasped my hands through the window. ‘For saving my Joel.’

  I looked from the woman to Jack. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ he said. ‘You saw them first.’

  Jack smiled at me warmly. He was being generous with the credit. His eyes in the lead vehicle must have spotted them before I did. Maybe this was him acknowledging my influence. If I hadn’t been with him, he might’ve driven on. Or worse.

  ‘Your boy might take a while to come good,’ Jack said to Tina. ‘He’s been through a massive trauma.’

  ‘I feel okay,’ the kid said—or Jack made him say. ‘Tired.’

  Tina hugged her son. ‘I’m just glad to have him back.’

  Jamal’s mouth was tight. His eyes were heavy. I wondered who he’d lost and how much survivor guilt he bore. ‘We couldn’t find that injection stuff,’ he said. ‘The fires were too hot. Those men were killing people. But we prayed, and God, He has delivered you to us.’

  Baz sniggered. He was like a creepy neighbour. When I looked at him his eyes darted to Evan and Michelle and to the supplies packed in the back of the Pathfinder.

  ‘Youse have done all right, haven’t ya?’

  Tina reeled on him. ‘I’ve had it with you! No one’s making you come. Stay here if you’re so desperate to find her. But you won’t, because you aren’t— You’re all talk.’

  Jamal nodded, arms folded.

  Jack looked at me, eyes widening. I forced a smile, hoped stopping wasn’t a mistake.

  Baz’s face went red and he balled his fists. ‘Now listen here, just because I—’

  ‘We’ve heard it,’ Tina cut him off. ‘We know.’

  ‘Guys, chill out,’ Jack said.

  Baz spun around. For a moment he looked like he wanted to hit Jack. Then his weasel eyes flitted to the armed men all around.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, stepping down. ‘Whatever you say.’

  Jack nodded. ‘We’ve all been through a lot but we’re in this together. Let’s get you into a car, get you something to eat and drink and get our nurse to look you over.’

  ‘You did the right thing,’ I said when we were underway again. ‘That was good.’

  Jack chuckled. ‘I guess we’ll see.’

  I settled in with Evan and Michelle.

  ‘That guy, Baz? Didn’t he want to come with us?’

  Jack twisted around to look at me. ‘When he saw what I did for the kid, he demanded we go and wake up his wife.’

  ‘Oh.’ So Baz wasn’t any more of a bastard than anyone else. ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘I told him we’d send someone to get her.’

  ‘Will you?’

  Jack faced forward with a sigh. ‘He didn’t really want me to. That’s what he wanted me to say so he could leave with a clear conscience.’

  My stomach clenched at what I may have in common with Baz.

  As we bumped across ridges of gray gravel, pulled west by ribbons of shining steel, Jack strummed his guitar softly. I welcomed his warm instrumentals in the face of the great silence that spread out around the convoy. After we found Tina and friends, I expected we’d find more clusters of people who’d avoided the Big Crash. But no other survivors waved at us from windows and rooftops and backyards.

  Jack set aside his guitar and busied himself scribbling in a leather-bound notebook. I hoped he wasn’t composing a song about the way of the world that he’d want to try out on me. I couldn’t hold in a giggle.

  ‘What?’ he asked looking over his shoulder grinning.

  Think fast. Don’t insult him.

  ‘Oh, it’s just, with Tina on the scene,’ I said, pointing at the vehicle ahead of us. ‘I guess I’m not the last girl anymore.’

  Jack frowned. I made an exaggerated sad face. Blood rose in my cheeks. My silly spur-of-the-second joke had been meant to sound self-deprecating. It’d come off as an awful and needy overshare.

  ‘No,’ Jack said, face all earnest. ‘That’s not the reason that I want you—’ He saw my stricken expression and he made himself laugh like he was in on it.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, facing forward. ‘Better lift your game. Tina, hmm.’

  Jack’s flush had tinged his ears pink. My joke had blindsided him. I felt bad he was embarrassed—and guiltily good that I had go
tten under his skin.

  ‘So our new friends?’ I said to break the tension. ‘I wonder how they’re doing?’

  ‘They’re fine,’ Jack said.

  Of course—he really could tell me. He was in that car with them as surely as he was in this one with me. ‘But that Baz guy? He’s a real glass-half-empty asshole.’

  I thought about Baz and my theory as the convoy rumbled onwards. Maybe it wasn’t his fault. Maybe he had a mood disorder. Maybe he—and Tina and Jamal—had been on meds like me and Nathan.

  ‘Jack, can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Hang on.’ He kept his head in his writing for a few moments and then closed his notebook. ‘Okay, shoot.’

  ‘Have you ever been . . . mentally ill?’

  Jack smiled darkly. ‘You think I’m crazy?’

  ‘You saw Nathan through Tregan?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Well, you heard him say he was on medication. I was, too. Just before Christmas I had what they said was a psychotic episode and they put me on this stuff. So I thought maybe that’s what Nathan and me and you and them have in common.’

  The vehicle rattled around debris. Jack considered what I’d said. ‘What were you on?’

  ‘Lucidiphil.’

  ‘And Nathan?’

  I told him.

  ‘It’s a good theory,’ he said. ‘But Lithium carbonate’s a salt. Lamictal’s a sodium channel-blocking anti-convulsive also used to treat bipolar disorder. Lucidiphil’s a fourth-generation anti-psychotic that blocks dopamine and serotonin receptors.’

  Jack shrugged off my look of disbelief. ‘I know that stuff because one of the guys is a pharmacist. The point is they’re three very different drugs. If everyone on psychiatric medication was immune, half the world would be up and about.’

  I nodded. It made sense.

  ‘To answer your initial question,’ he continued with a grin, ‘I might be crazy but I’ve never been prescribed anything.’ Jack made shower-scene-from-Psycho screeches. ‘Do I have to worry about you? You said they “claimed” you had a psychotic episode.’

  I looked out the window. ‘It was a misdiagnosis,’ I said, not caring if he believed me. ‘So what’s your theory on what sets us apart? What makes us special?’

  ‘Special?’ Jack smiled. ‘That’s what they used to call educated convicts who were set free to help build society.’

  I laughed at that. ‘More fascinating facts from the mind of the Old Government House caretaker?’

  Jack nodded. ‘What makes us special? I know a lot of stuff but I don’t know that. Could be it’s a quirk of DNA. Chosen by God. Destined by fate. Maybe we’re just— Whoa.’

  The convoy stopped.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Take a look,’ Jack said, stepping out.

  Penrith’s skyline wasn’t far off. But between here and there was where a diesel engine hauling cargo had collided head-on with a commuter train. Carriages lay scattered along the embankment. Chains of coal cars had bucked off the track and battered through houses. Craters smouldered in streets and backyards. Even with most debris spread on either side of the railway, we still faced a dead end of bent steel and ripped track and downed pylons.

  ‘This is what you saw?’ Jack asked.

  I nodded. ‘I had a glimpse of the train driver, right at the start, and I got echoes later on, but I had no idea it was this bad. You didn’t see it?’

  Jack closed his eyes. ‘I guess it was out of my range. But now I’m here I remember. Really faint, from other minds, like flashes from a dream you’re not sure you had.’

  I looked around. The roads were barely visible for the smashed cars, chunks of train and collapsed walls and roofs. Even monster trucks wouldn’t get us through that mess. I supposed we were close enough to hike to Clearview but then we’d have to leave most of the supplies. We were stuck. Just when the Blue Mountains were visible as a shadow rising from the hazy air.

  ‘What do we do?’ I said.

  He looked at me. ‘We’ll deal with it.’

  Jack was prepared. His army unpacked tools and oxy torches and began cutting and dismantling. Like a well-rehearsed emergency crew they carted twisted iron from the tracks and chained bigger pieces so the most powerful vehicles could haul them free. Watching them work around us made my head spin. I didn’t know whether Jack had to micro-manage his minions or whether he could just set and forget.

  Jack and I hauled a concertinaed metal sheet clear and let it slide down the embankment. When he wiped sweat from his brow, his gloves left muddy smears on his forehead. My stitches stung with heat and perspiration.

  ‘Getting there,’ Jack said with a grin.

  Enough wreckage had been cleared to create a corridor that would soon be navigable. Jack handed me the water bottle.

  I gulped it down but remained parched. ‘I’ll get us some more drinks from the car.’

  Evan and Michelle were side by side on the back seat and happily entranced in Snots ’N’ Bots on a tablet. Seeing them like that gave me pause. The kids didn’t have any skills suited to this or any occasion. They were too small for grunt work. Evan hadn’t turned out to be a savant. Michelle was unlikely to be some pint-sized genius. Evan had been raised for my benefit. But why did my little brother need a playmate—any more than they needed to play a video game? My best guess was that Jack was trying to ease my fears. He was showing me Evan doing something familiar and what it’d be like when my little brother and Michelle were back to themselves. I didn’t know whether it was sweet—or sick.

  I grabbed bottles of water and headed back to our work site. But Jack was standing on a far embankment and staring into the distance. As I headed his way, passing minions lugging axles, I walked by Baz and Jamal conspiring in the shadow of a signal box. They went quiet when they saw me. I had the feeling that if I could tune into their minds I wouldn’t like what I heard.

  I handed Jack his bottle. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘We need to check that place out.’

  I followed his gaze down the hill. Inside a razor-wire perimeter stood a clump of brick buildings amid gum trees. The parking lot was filled with camouflaged trucks and earthmovers: a fleet of vehicles especially made for driving over and clearing just about anything.

  ‘Combat engineer regiment,’ Jack read from a sign by the abandoned checkpoint and empty gatehouse. ‘I’m going to leave some people here to get those vehicles. We also need to collect any guns and ammunition and explosives from inside.’

  I rounded on him. ‘Why? Isn’t that a bit over the top for self-defence?’

  Jack swigged his water and looked at me wearily. ‘Has it occurred to you that we should take it so someone else doesn’t?’

  It hadn’t. I didn’t much like the idea of a Party Duder armed with a bazooka. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘We don’t know who else is out there,’ he said. ‘Are you ready to go?’

  I looked back with him along the railway. The last segment of curled track had been pulled free.

  The way forward was clear.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The convoy slowed as it rumbled through Penrith station. Bodies were scattered across its platforms. I couldn’t tell who was alive and who was dead. The town’s office blocks and massive shopping plaza hadn’t been touched by fire yet.

  I was breathing hard.

  ‘You okay?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  I wasn’t fine. What was particularly not fine was that there were thousands around us who could be helped. I should demand that Jack stop and do his voodoo. Tell him to let me out so I could find a pharmacy and start dosing people with Lorazepam. But all that mattered to me was getting to my mum. I wasn’t going to say a word.

  The convoy trundled out of Penrith and across an iron truss bridge that took the railway over the Nepean River. The foothills of the Blue Mountains finally took their correct shape and colour. We drove through Emu Plains, the last patch of flatland suburbia, and began the
gradual rise up into the bush. The few houses nestled here amid eucalypts had tall television antennae. This far out they’d needed them to get a clear signal.

  I sent my mind out to check that Jack was being true to his word. What I didn’t find turned my stomach inside out. Tregan and Gary were gone.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing,’ Jack snapped. ‘Really.’

  Scanning for Robert was no use either. Cory and Anne were nowhere to be found. But then I hit faintly on Ravi and Wayne—and learned from their minds that everyone was safe. The Revivees weren’t being menaced by the Biker and the Cop or anyone else. But they were breaking up like a broadcast getting fainter over distance. That made sense. We were at the outer edges of the telepathy and there was no one to act as relays between us and the Revivees.

  Jack was rigid in his seat. I wanted to ask whether he could still control the Biker and others. Then I saw Nathan. He was in my mind, a shimmering figure, seen through the eyes of a woman named Joanna.

  Help!-I’m-alive!-Thank-God-But-where’s-Daniel?-My-family?

  Joanna’s last memory was falling forever in the hallway of her Westmead apartment block. Now she was blinking back into life and looking at Nathan hunched over her neighbour Tatiana.

  Who’s-this-Indian-dude?-What’re-you-doing?-Don’t-hurt-her-What’s-this—

  Joanna’s fingers were curled around a plastic bottle filled with orange liquid. Beside her legs was a clear plastic bag containing syringes and a printed flyer. Other people were also surrounded with drinks and bags.

  So-thirsty.

  The drink was warm and salty but it refreshed every cell in her body. She saw bottled water and first-aid kits in the hallway. A bundle of rifles leaned against an apartment door. The scene was fading from my mind. But before it disappeared entirely, Nathan was back with Joanna, leaning in to look at her.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said.

  Joanna didn’t fear him anymore. She’d been dead. He brought her back to life. Now he looked like the one in trouble. His breath was coppery. Pupils like pinpricks. He winced with every movement. She guessed this guy was only on his feet thanks to some powerful painkillers.

  ‘I’m Nathan,’ he said, forcing a smile, giving a thumbs up. ‘The flyers in this bag will explain what you need to do. What they don’t say is that there are people in the west who want to hurt us. They’re even more dangerous because we can’t—’