by G. Benson
“Never thought I’d see anything like that,” Joy murmured as they drove up a hill and were able to catch sight of the entire burning hospital in all its glory. Her cheek was pressed to the top of Taren’s head where it rested on her shoulder.
“Definitely not,” Taren answered.
Jets screamed overhead again, so low it felt like they were going to hit them, and both of them flinched down, shoulders hunching up. Their hands grasped for each other.
More bombs.
They jumped, pressed closer.
Being much further away now, the heat blast was far less intense, but the sound hit them as hard, the burst of light taking over the sky like orange lightning. Taren forced her eyes open and watched flames lick up and up, as if taking over the spread of the sky itself.
“I knew so many people in A&E when we ran through it,” Taren whispered, light almost burning her retina.
Joy pressed closer, and didn’t ask anything more. Which suited Taren, because she couldn’t talk about it anymore than that, a lump like a ball in her throat.
She’d not seen Arif, in the end. Now she’d probably never know what had happened to him.
Getting to Taren’s would only take fifteen minutes, absolutely no traffic on the road and the stillness creeping in on them. Streetlights lit their way as if it were any normal night.
Within the streets, nothing moved, as above them the sky screamed like a war zone, sound pressing in on their ears. Nothing could have prepared her for the sound of bombs, of screaming jets. The sight of a blast, so close to having included them.
The orderliness of the neighbourhoods they drove past hurt to look at in contrast to the buzzing of the sky overhead.
As they got closer to Taren’s, the feeling on the ground started to change. They saw people, faces pressed to their windows as they drove past, like ghosts watching the outside world. Police cars drove past them towards the hospital, sirens wailing. Military trucks rumbled after the police, people in fatigues standing on the back and squinting back at Joy and Taren, pressed into the tray of the ute. None of them stopped, though.
“What the hell is going on?” Taren hissed. “Why aren’t they stopping us?”
“Maybe they’re in a rush to get to the hospital.”
“Like maybe the bombs didn’t work?” Taren whispered.
“I can’t think that.” Joy’s voice was hard.
Taren could get that. More jets flew over them, the sound piercing her ears. “Where is everyone?”
“Maybe they evacuated up to a certain point,” Joy said, gaze fixated on one of the trucks that had passed them.
A speaker on top blared out, “Go immediately to your home. You will not be asked again.”
But the truck kept speeding in the direction of the hospital, turning a corner and disappearing from sight.
“And they just left everyone else behind?” Taren asked.
“Maybe they don’t know what it is, how bad it is.”
“Wouldn’t the news have spread? Twitter? Facebook? TikTok?” Taren grabbed her phone out of her pocket. “Still no fucking service, never mind.”
Joy turned, her face inches from Taren’s, concern flooding her features. “Do you think they’ve taken out all the cell towers?”
“Is that a thing they could do?” Taren’s voice edged up, she could hear it, the notes playing along the edge of hysterical. “Isn’t it satellite now?”
“That’s probably easier to lock down, then.”
The hospital felt like ten years ago, somehow. The acceptance of their phones not working was part of that experience. It had been fight or flight, survival—there’d been no real point panicking about their phones not working, those little bars showing how strong their reception was completely absent. But now, here, back in air surrounded by roads and houses, shops, and supermarkets, the sight of people who didn’t look like they’d been dragged through a horror house standing on their front steps watching them—with all of that, working phones suddenly seemed important. Back in the real world: how did phones not work?
“I don’t know.” Joy’s hand squeezed hers as Taren spoke. “I know we agreed they must have used some kind of suppressor around the hospital, and I guess it made sense if they were trying to hide what was happening. But how are they getting away with that here?”
Joy’s gaze went back to their surroundings as they passed a shopping centre, the car park empty, police standing at the entrance seemingly ready to turn anyone away from entering.
The gaze of the police was heavy on them, hands resting on their belts as they took in the group in the ute. One of them took the radio on her shoulder, speaking into it as their ute trundled on.
“We look like shit,” Taren said.
“We do.”
“You have blood in your hair,” Taren told her.
“You really need to look in a mirror before you throw accusations like that around.” Joy’s fingers came up, gently pushing wild curls back from Taren’s face, the tips of her fingers tracing her jaw, so gentle. “You look like Carrie from the prom.”
Taren gave a bark of surprised laughter. “I want a shower.”
“That would be heavenly.” Joy swallowed, leaving her hand brushing Taren’s cheek as they swayed in the back with the movement of the ute. “Are we near your house? I think we’re going to have company. Those police people were very much not happy to see us out in the street.”
Some of said police started heading for their car as they grew smaller while the ute moved further away.
“Oh, no,” Joy muttered.
On the other side of the street a door opened. A tall man stepped out, backpack on. The police glared back at their ute, then back to the man.
“Sir, go inside.”
“This is a free fucking country, I don’t care what’s been announced, you can’t keep me in my house.”
As they turned the corner, the last thing they caught sight of were the police changing direction towards the man, hands up placatingly.
“Do you think it’s because we’re at least going away from the hospital?” Taren asked.
“Maybe.”
“We should be pulling in right about now.”
The ute turned, slowing, and came to a stop in Taren’s driveway.
Taren blinked, the familiarity of her street settling over her like an old, well-loved blanket. It could be any day returning home from a horrendous shift, the streetlight out three houses down, like it had been for ages. Her street still had a lot of cars parked outside people’s houses. Some, she could see through the cars’ windows, were packed. But people hadn’t left.
What were they being told? How was this working?
More jets, higher up and further away, flew towards the hospital, the sound not so horrendous.
The ute doors started opening, and with one last, gentle swipe of her thumb over Taren’s jawline, Joy stood up and limberly jumped out of the tray, one hand on the edge to support herself. Taren followed, stepping up to the side and vaulting over. A whimpering sound escaped her at how hard it was on her knees when she landed on the concrete driveway.
Joy raised her eyebrows at her.
“Shut up,” Taren muttered. “Not all of us are agile.”
“You’re several years younger than me.”
Taren mimicked her, then reached for Xin’s door, helping her slide out of it after Raj had tumbled out. Xin’s hair was a mess, skin still far too pale and clammy. But her eyes were brighter, more awake. She looked nothing like Owen had, and that ball of unease in Taren’s stomach lessened.
“How you feeling?” Taren asked, as Xin put her arm around her shoulders and they started walking towards the front door.
“Oh, great,” Xin breathed. “Top of the world.”
“Bit hypoxic?” Taren smiled down at her.
She gave a breathy giggle. “Something like that. I don’t feel angry, or hot, or any of those warning signs
though. Oh, God.” Her voice was suddenly full of concern. “I don’t look like Owen right before, do I?”
Cocking her head, Taren pretended to consider her, and panic flashed in Xin’s eyes. “No,” she whined. “I do, don’t I?”
Taren chuckled, “Not at all.”
“Asshole,” Xin muttered.
They stopped at the door, a dawning realisation creeping up Taren’s spine as she stared at the weathered wood.
“What’s up?” Natalie asked from behind them.
“I—shit, I don’t have my keys. I don’t have anything but my useless bloody phone in my pocket.”
Everything was in her locker at work.
She turned, Xin shuffling with her, and looked down the step at the others, all crowded below. Everyone blinked back up at her.
“Do you have a key under your mat?” Scott asked.
Joy threw him an appalled look, which he missed but Taren caught. She caught Taren’s amused expression, and managed to appear contrite.
“No,” Taren answered.
Natalie walked up the step and reached around her, trying the door handle. Typical person who tried the obvious.
“If that was going to work, I would’ve—”
The door swung open, and Natalie smirked.
“That’s not good,” Taren muttered, staring into her dark hallway.
“Maybe Lola’s home,” Xin suggested.
“Lola?” Natalie asked, axe held up.
“My cousin,” Taren told her. “But we always leave the door locked, even when we’re home.”
Jackets hung on the right of the entrance, gently swaying from the draught caused by the open door. Shoulder to shoulder, Xin, Taren, and Natalie stared down.
“Lola?” Taren called.
No answer.
“We need to get inside,” Scott said. “Sorry to rush you, but I don’t think we were meant to be driving around the streets and I saw some cops eyeing us off.”
“We noticed that too,” Joy told him.
“Xin, walk with Raj.” And Taren supported her until her weight was on Raj, and Taren stepped through the doorway alone.
All the lights were off.
“Could she be at work?” Natalie’s voice drifted to her, sounding far away from Taren’s spot inside.
There was a scuffling sound behind her, but her eyes stayed on the hallway.
“She could have been called in, but from the looks of outside it seems like everything is closed.”
The scuffling got louder, then Joy’s presence was next to her, and that band around Taren’s chest eased.
“Lola!” Taren called again.
“Maybe,” Joy said when there was no answer, “she left and forgot to lock the door behind her?”
“Could be,” Taren agreed. “Though, weird. For her.”
They walked down the hallway, the kitchen coming up on the right, and Taren popped her head around the corner. Empty. Dishes in the sink from lunch. A coffee cup on the kitchen bench. Seeing that, and nothing having jumped out at her, Taren went from room to room quickly. The lounge room, opposite the kitchen, was vacant, the remote strewn on the couch, the cushions in slight disarray, as if someone had lain back on them recently. The bathroom down the hall, empty, though it smelled fresh, like someone had had a shower, the scent of shampoo lingering in the air. Their bedrooms were empty, Taren’s heart sinking when she saw Lola’s bed was made, no sign of her cousin fast asleep in it. As if sensing the disappointment in Taren, Joy ran a hand, soft, down the back of her arm, their fingers brushing together.
It would have been a relief, to see Lola there.
She went back down towards the kitchen, Joy following her, calling the others in. “No one’s here.”
The seven of them gathered in the kitchen and for the first time, Taren took them all in. Xin slumped at the table, the bandage on her stump no longer a stark white, covered in the dark rusted colour of dried blood. Raj leaned against the counter, blood dried down his shirt and bruised beneath his eyes, gaze lingering on Natalie, who was in the chair next to Xin at Taren’s small table, her own eyes sharp on Xin’s face, as if checking on her constantly. Or waiting for something.
They were all, deep down, waiting to see if Xin was changing.
Scott hovered in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, staring at the ground. Ro sat at the table gingerly, shoulders hunched, staring around as if unsure how they’d got to this table in this kitchen.
All of them were a mess. Blood in various places, shirts ripped, grimy from their race through that tunnel.
“Can we turn that on?” Ro asked, jutting their chin in the direction of the TV.
“Good idea,” Scott said.
Taren walked over and switched it on, stepping back to see what was on.
Writing scrawled over the screen, a voice reading out the text on a loop.
“This is a state of emergency. All citizens, unless directed by military or police force, are to stay where they are. An explosive device, possibly rigged with a biological weapon, has been left in Queen’s Royal Hospital, a public hospital south of the river. All staff and patients have been evacuated safely and are in a quarantine area for safety. If any of your loved ones were there, know they are safe and well. Anyone in the blast zone has been evacuated, and anyone in closed zones is to remain inside, ready to move if asked. Have packed in your car identification, a change of clothes, and any medications you may require. This is a state of emergency.”
And so it repeated. Taren changed the channel. The same thing. Changed channel again. The same message.
That was why it wasn’t pure chaos outside: no one really knew what was going on.
“Biological weapon,” Scott snorted. “Well, that’s one way to describe it.”
Joy gave a mirthless laugh. “Everyone is safe and well.”
Despite herself, Taren grabbed her phone from her pocket, the urge to check in on Lola, on anyone, too strong. Nothing.
“Still no bars?” Ro asked.
Taren shook her head. Every single person pulled their phones out and checked them. Again. Every single one of them slumped in disappointed.
“Anyone want a shower?” Taren asked. “We have food here, too.”
Raj stood up. “I’ll make us spaghetti.”
They all blinked at him.
“What? Cooking is a nice distraction. Any veggies? Vegans? Halal?”
A few raised their hands.
“Alright, veggie pasta. I can do that.”
He paused in the kitchen, looking at Taren, who waved a hand. “Raid away. Use whatever. Want a hand?”
“Nah, I got it.” He did, too, scrubbing his hands in the sink before opening the fridge and pulling stuff out, going through cupboards and grabbing things as he needed. A pot pulled out, a frypan.
Scott joined him. “Let me chop something? I need to do something—anything.”
“Xin—you want a shower? Anything?”
Xin blinked up at Taren from her seat at the table, dark smudges under her eyes. “I’d love a lay down, to be honest. Just for a little while.”
“We have a wickedly comfortable couch.”
Xin got up, and Taren led her into the lounge room, calling over her shoulder, “There’s a bathroom down the hall, and an en suite in my room. Towels are in the cupboards there—help yourselves. There’s a clean basket of clothes you can raid in the lounge room.”
Because what else could they do, but keep doing things? There was an itch crawling up Taren’s back, a sick feeling sitting heavy in her stomach. She didn’t want to stop and let that feeling take her where it wanted to. Didn’t want to reflect on this ridiculously awful day.
So she wouldn’t. She would settle Xin in. Have a shower. Eat with the others. Steps to all these things spread out in front of her, easy to focus on. Simple to do. She knew how to do these things. Be a friend, be a nurse, be a person with d
aily tasks.
She knew that. She did not know how to process this day. So she wouldn’t.
Xin sat with a gasp, eyes roving around the room. Taren grabbed a blanket she kept on the arm of a big squishy armchair Lola usually curled up on.
Not thinking about Lola. Lola would be fine. Maybe she’d covered a shift at work and was now stuck there. Or she’d gone to the shops and couldn’t leave. She would be fine.
“Here you go.” Taren knelt in front of Xin, looking up at her.
Xin’s lost gaze finally fixed on Taren’s. “What the fuck was this day?” The words came out low, gravelly. Her gaze went down to her side, to the stump wrapped in gauze. She stared at it, her jaw clenching and unclenching, the tension visible. “What the fuck, Taren?” Her voice was choked with tears.
Taren had nothing to offer her, because what the ever-loving fuck, indeed?
She pushed up and wrapped her arms around Xin, who pressed her face into Taren’s neck and let out a gut-wrenching sob. Running her hands up and down her back, Taren murmured nonsensical things and let her ride it out until Xin, exhausted, lay down on her back. The blanket slipped over her easily, and Taren smoothed her hair.
“I’m going to get you more painkillers, okay? And some fluids. We left them in the ute, I think.”
Xin nodded, eyes closed and face pinched. Taren didn’t want to leave her. Staying would be kinder. But Xin needed painkillers. And sleep.
She pushed up, walking down the hall, passing the kitchen where Ro still sat at the table, staring at their hands, Joy across from them. They were murmuring to each other. Scott and Raj were frying onions. The smell made her stomach rumble, and she didn’t understand how her body could do such a normal thing right now.
“Scott, are the meds in the ute?”
He turned from where he was chopping carrots. “Sure are.” He fished into his pocket and then threw some keys towards her. Which, luckily, she managed to catch. “They’re under the back seat, I think.”