Half Lives

by Sara Grant

  I’d made it as far as the food court with the typical McDonald’s, Starbucks, something Mexican, something Chinese and a potato place, when an announcement rang out. The speakers crackled. The voice was garbled, like someone speaking while eating popcorn. I couldn’t understand a word. After the announcement ended, everyone seemed to stop – as if suspended in jelly.

  ‘What did it say?’ I asked a man in a blue, pin-striped suit who was standing near me. When he didn’t respond, I asked a lady in a floral sundress and floppy hat. ‘What did they say?’

  Before she could answer, everyone started talking at the same time. Tension in the airport increased by a factor of a bazillion. A plump-ish, normal-looking mom snatched the ice cream cone from her son’s hand, dumped it in a trash can and dragged him in the direction of check-in. Everyone moved in a pack, slowly and orderly at first, and then a few people started to do this race-walk thing. I was swept away like an extra in Attack of the Killer Tomatoes. I didn’t resist. I needed to find another flight.

  ‘What did the announcement say?’ I asked an elderly couple. They were on a mission and I had a difficult time keeping pace with them.

  ‘All flights are grounded until further notice,’ the white-haired man shouted without slowing down. At least that’s what I thought he’d said as he raced away.

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  9/11. The date popped spontaneously into my brain. Mum and I had watched some documentary about 9/11. One of the first things the government did was ground all the aeroplanes. Had the attack begun already? I shoved that thought into the dark recesses of my grey matter and covered it with a healthy dose of Dad’s platitudes: ‘it’s never as bad as you think’, ‘what you fear the most never happens’.

  Then my mum kicked in: ‘worrying doesn’t do shit’, ‘control what you can control’.

  I did what I always did in times of extreme distress: I reached for my iPhone. Surely there was an app for being stranded in a strange airport after being kicked out of your home under some mysterious national security threat. But my pocket was empty and I grieved for that missing hand-held extension of me.

  Someone ploughed into me from behind and I fell to my hands and knees. Another guy leapt over me as if I were a hurdle instead of a human. He misjudged my height – or I might have accidentally arched my back at the precise moment he jumped. He knocked me to the floor, but at least I took him with me.

  ‘Watch what you’re doing!’ the guy screamed as he staggered to his feet and hurried away. I was airport roadkill. My knees and palms stung. A woman with a bawling toddler in a stroller ran over my fingers and didn’t even pause. I tried to stand but my backpack made me top-heavy, so I wobbled back on my butt. People huffed or muttered as they swerved around me. No one stopped.

  If people were reacting this way already, what would happen when they learned the awful truth? I needed to keep my head down and my mouth shut and get to the bunker as fast as I could.

  Finally the corridor cleared. Only I, and some surfer-looking guy on crutches, remained. I regained my balance and stood. I tugged the hem of my shirt, brushed the dusty patches on my knees, and followed in the wake of the stampede.

  By the time I reached the main check-in area, queues snaked into a spaghetti bowl of humanity. Airport staff in bright yellow vests tried to corral people, but they looked as sweaty and nervous as the rest of us. General announcements rang out that might as well have said ‘abandon hope all ye who are stranded here’. Skirmishes erupted over positions in line. The airline staff shrugged and waved their hands. Nothing they could do. People exited the airport in droves. Marooned visitors staked out territory. A herd of college-age kids in matching orange T-shirts circled their Samsonite suitcases near the information booth. A gaggle in business suits huddled near the ticketing kiosks. Lone travellers rotated like those gooey hunks of meat in kebab shops, watching the arrivals and departures being cancelled one by one. Alliances were forged. Battle lines drawn. Some surrendered. Others appeared all too eager to fight.

  I weaved through the crowd, trying not to make eye contact or get too close to anyone. I was sure they could tell I had a better chance of surviving all this. I had a map to a top-secret bunker and money strapped to me like a bulletproof vest. I couldn’t tell if they were infected with some bio-sickness or if their pained expressions were just fear.

  I decided to try another mode of transportation. I had to get out of here. By the time I hiked out to Avis and Hertz, their parking lots were empty. I meandered back via the parking garage. I heard people bartering to be the sixth man in a Ford Fiesta bound for Flagstaff.

  Back in the terminal, I told myself to think short-term, not long-term. It was the opposite of what my mum was always trying to convince me to do. I couldn’t sit here and wait for the airport to re-open. I was itching to be on the road – away from all these people who now felt like nothing more than conduits of disease and death.

  I focused on what I needed to do and not on what was going on all around me. It was a gift. The Isis Ann Murray action figure came with built-in blinkers. I’d refused to see the impending break-up with Tristan, even when Lola had told me she’d seen him kissing Molly ‘Ho’ Andersen. I wouldn’t consider that my parents might divorce even though they’d had separate bedrooms for nearly a year. But it was hard, even for me, to overlook the fact that something ginormously horrific was going on.

  The only way I was ever going to get through this was to pretend it wasn’t happening. The world wouldn’t end on some random Friday night. I mean, we were only a few weeks away from the American Idol finale. I had to graduate and have sex – at the very minimum.

  Just get to Vegas, I told myself, and it will all be OK. My parents will come and get me and tell me this has been an extreme misunderstanding and my life will get back to normal.

  I didn’t know it then but OK and normal were already long gone.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Everything happens for a reason. You just may never know what it is.’

  – Just Saying 76

  BECKETT

  When Beckett wakes the next day, his first thought is of the mysterious girl. Before his eyes open, he can see her there as if she is waiting for him. Like the sun, he travels a daily unalterable path from morning to night. Breakfast. Walk the Mountain with Harper. Sayings for the rockstars. Lunch. Meditation and counselling. Sayings for the sick. Dinner. Storytime. Patrol the Mountain with Harper and Finch. Every day he lives for others. But today, for the first time in his life, he is doing something for himself.

  ‘I’m going to meditate near the Crown,’ he tells Harper, who always sleeps between him and Finch.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ Harper is fully awake and wrapping a scarf around her neck.

  ‘I want to be alone.’ He sees the hurt in her eyes. Recently he’s found Harper’s desire to protect him stifling.

  ‘Do you think that’s safe?’ she whispers.

  He glares at her, sending the message not to give away their secrets – the lights and the girl. ‘I want to be alone,’ he says again, a little too vehemently. ‘I’ve received a message from the Great I AM.’ And it’s not a complete lie. This desire to see the girl again could be a message from the Great I AM. He has asked for guidance and understanding. An urge this powerful must be from the Great I AM.

  Harper pokes Finch’s blankets with her toe. ‘Finch, let’s you and me . . .’ He’s not there. ‘Finch must be on patrol already.’

  Beckett grits his teeth. Will he ever be alone?

  ‘See,’ he says, softening the angry edges of his voice, ‘I’ll be perfectly safe.’ As he stands, he gives Harper a kiss on the forehead.

  The cave air is sour with sleep, warm bodies and stale smoke. Farther back in the cave, he can hear the rockstars beginning to wake. Atti is poking her face between the curtains that separate the Cheerleaders from the rockstars. Beckett wonders how long she has been waiting there. He waves to her and she gives him one of her wonderfu
lly wonky smiles.

  ‘Hey, Cheer Captain!’ Atti says too loudly. Beckett thinks the Great I AM packed too much energy in her little body.

  He raises a finger to his lips to remind her to keep her voice down, but it’s too late. The Cheerleaders are stirring. Atti races to him, treading on Cheerleaders as she goes. Her path is punctuated with grunts and squeals. She hugs him, and he feels guilty about wanting to sneak away. ‘Are you ready for your Walk of Enlightenment?’ he asks her, demonstrating what a whisper sounds like.

  She nods and keeps on nodding. She will be tested on the Great I AM’s Just Sayings she has transcribed in her Facebook. If she passes, she will lead Forreal on a Walk of Enlightenment up the Mountain. She will be the first new Cheerleader they’ve had in nearly two years.

  ‘Harper is helping you study, isn’t she?’ Beckett asks.

  Atti nods and nods and nods again.

  Beckett bends down and whispers in her ear, ‘I think you should go and surprise Harper.’

  She giggles and practically dives on to Harper’s pile of blankets. Harper gives Beckett a look that says she knows what he’s done. He’s catching two squirrels with one nut.

  He makes his way to the cave’s entrance before anyone can follow. The Cheerleaders shift in their blankets to clear a path for him. Their eyes track him as he exits. Beckett often feels like a bird soaring between the Great I AM and the Mountain, but today he feels like a spider trapped in its own web.

  ‘Any news?’ Beckett asks the two Cheerleaders who are guarding the cave.

  ‘The Mountain was quiet. The Great I AM has blessed us with another beautiful sunrise,’ Heck says.

  ‘Have a mediocre day!’ Beckett says, and waves.

  ‘Whatever,’ they reply as he passes.

  Lucky scampers up beside Beckett. He sometimes wishes he could have Lucky’s life. She comes and goes as she pleases.

  ‘Good morning, Lucky,’ he says, and lifts the cat into his arms. She purrs and nuzzles the crook of his neck. She doesn’t care that he has disrupted their routine. She’s just happy to see him.

  ‘Hey, Beckett,’ May calls, and stirs a meaty mixture that is suspended from a tripod over the fire. Her back is permanently hunched as if she’s always studying the ground. ‘What are you doing up so early?’

  ‘Hey, May,’ he calls back. ‘I’m off to meditate.’ She’s always up before dawn, cooking the morning meal. Forreal survives because everyone has a role and a responsibility.

  ‘Whatever!’ she says with a wave. Lucky leaps from Beckett’s arms and runs to May. Lucky meows and May finds a few scraps to satisfy her.

  Beckett sneaks out of Forreal, taking the path behind the Mall tiled with multi-coloured bits of plastic. He loops the Mountain before he heads to the place where he and Harper saw the girl. He feels light with his secret mission.

  Disappointment settles in his chest when he rounds the corner where the trail they followed dead-ends and she’s not there. He climbs the rocky wall and scans the valley below. He watches the shadows grow as the sun rises. How can he feel such a loss for something he never had in the first place?

  The next day and the next he steals away as often as he can to the spot where he saw the girl. He makes excuses to Harper and takes great care to make sure no one follows him. Unlike the first time he looked for the girl, he slips these secret searches in among his responsibilities, but he can tell a few of the Cheerleaders are starting to notice his disappearances.

  He fills the days with thoughts of her. He etches her image in his memory. The shiny hair curling down her back, not matted in dreads. The full, figure-eight shape of her body. Those eyes a colour he never knew eyes could be. He has conversations with her in his head. He tells her things he can’t tell anyone in Forreal. He imagines how she would look at him if she didn’t know his direct connection with the Great I AM. He’s beginning to wonder if she was some sort of hallucination.

  He holds his breath as he approaches the secluded spot. If she’s not there today, he tells himself, he will stop coming here and waiting for her. Part of him wants to turn around. If he doesn’t check, then he can imagine she’s there, always there, waiting for him. But believing is seeing, so says the Great I AM.

  He turns the corner to where the path dead-ends. And there she is. She’s standing in front of him. He almost can’t believe it. He wants to rush to her, but he knows this closeness he’s created is only in his imagination.

  She’s wearing denim shorts. Loose white threads create a fringe at the jagged hem around her thighs. She’s drawn a symbol on her dingy T-shirt. Three triangles form a sloppy circle. The triangles float near one another like three separate pieces of pie.

  ‘You came back,’ he says. It takes every ounce of strength to keep his distance. She blinks those green eyes at him. They remind him of the lush oasis around the Mountain spring. That’s what she is to him. ‘I’m Beckett.’

  As if in a trance, she walks over to him and touches his face. He closes his eyes. His attention narrows to the softness of her fingertips as she traces a line from his brow to his chin.

  ‘Beckett.’ His name is like music on her lips. When he opens his eyes, she jerks her hand away. ‘I wanted to make sure you were real,’ she says shyly.

  He cocks his head. Such a strange creature. ‘What did you think I was?’

  ‘I don’t know. A ghost or something. I’ve heard rumours that this mountain is haunted by strange . . .’ She wipes her hand on her shorts. ‘Sorry.’

  She climbs up the rock. ‘Come on!’ she calls and he follows. The two stand side by side and stare at the desert below.

  He finally works up the courage to speak to her again. ‘Where did you come from?’ He realizes he is leaning forwards, eager to touch her.

  ‘I live in Vega.’ She points to the Man-Made Mountains.

  ‘Vega?’

  ‘That city down there.’ She bites her lower lip.

  He remembers the lights. This girl was the light in the Man-Made Mountains. ‘Is it safe in Vega? Our ancestors told us of horrible beasties that live Out There.’

  ‘I’ve seen mountain lions and coyotes,’ she says, and backs up to the rock’s edge. ‘Is that what you mean?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ He decides not to scare her with talk of Terrorists.

  The girl sits cross-legged and pats the space next to her. Beckett suddenly feels vulnerable out in the open. He’s been wishing for her and now she’s here, but it doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t know what to say. She shouldn’t be on the Mountain.

  ‘Where are you from?’ she asks and cranes her neck to look up at him.

  ‘I live in Forreal,’ he says. He’s not sure how much to reveal. Suddenly this all seems like such a bad idea. After seeing the lights, Finch is itching for a fight. He’s convinced that anyone and anything Out There is a threat. What would Finch do if he found her?

  ‘For real?’ she says, breaking the word into two parts.

  He doesn’t correct her. ‘It’s on the other side of the Mountain.’

  She tosses her hair over her shoulder and Beckett marvels at how it bounces and falls down her back. He is mesmerized by her round face, rosy cheeks and full pink lips.

  He sits facing her. He can’t hear the Great I AM over the pounding of his heart. He has so much he wants to ask. He’s imagined this moment over and over, but now he’s too afraid to break the spell. They take turns pretending not to stare at each other. He tests questions in his mind but none of them seem right. And, as the Great I AM says, Knowledge can suck.

  ‘I probably should go,’ she says after a few more minutes of silence.

  ‘Can we meet again?’ he asks.

  ‘I’d like that,’ she replies, and places her hand on his leg. Her touch sparks something inside him. His attention focuses on her hand. ‘I’m Greta, by the way.’ She writes her name in the dust. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow at sunset.’

  Beckett stares at the letters. He can’t believe it. G-r-e-t-a. Great. It�
�s a sign. The Great I AM has brought them together. It must mean something.

  She stands and brushes herself off. ‘Why don’t we meet down there?’ she says, and points to a cluster of rocks that Beckett knows hide the entrance to a small alcove. It’s the perfect secret meeting spot.

  ‘I will see you there tomorrow,’ he says, but then wonders how she knows about that hiding place. How many times has she hidden on his Mountain? He wipes those thoughts away. It doesn’t matter. She’s here and it’s as if she were always destined to be here.

  Even after she leaves he can still feel the warmth of her touch. He can’t wait to see her again and be a boy and a girl, nothing more and nothing less.

  Chapter Seven

  GRETA

  Greta glances back one last time. Balanced on the rock tower and wearing nothing but a strange leather skirt, Beckett looks like one of those statues she found in Vega, except he’s in one perfect piece – not broken like everything else. Every curve of muscle is carved into his glistening brown skin. As he climbs up the mountainside, the shock of white that splits his jet-black hair flashes like a bolt of lightning streaking across a stormy sky.

  Her life has been about constant motion. Those moments with Beckett felt as if they were suspended in time. She imagined they were the only two people left on Earth. There were no meetings to draw up rules. No things to lug from here to there. No food to be gathered or cooked or served. No brothers to herd. She should have asked more questions. What will she report back to Da? Her first real mission and she has failed.

  Greta lets gravity speed her pace down the mountain. Her legs are pumping almost faster than she can control. She can’t stop her momentum, much like she can’t stop Da. She’s seen him assimilate other communities into the cogs and wheels of their progress. She doesn’t want that to happen to Beckett. She wants Beckett all to herself. She wants to feel what she felt with him again. It was only a moment but everything calmed and the world, normally so full of tension and obligation, narrowed to one person who looked at her like no one ever has before.