Half Lives

by Sara Grant

  I woke up to the image of Chaske standing naked, arms open wide against a field of blue. His long black hair fluttered down his back. His once muscular body had withered, but he still looked majestic as he lifted his face to the sky. His skin glistened.

  Then he took flight.

  ‘No!’ I screamed, and scrambled to the edge. At the last moment, I pulled back. I didn’t want to see his broken body below.

  I didn’t wonder why. He’d told me already. A flood of grief the size of a galaxy-wide tsunami crashed over me. I collapsed into sobs that I was sure made the mountain quake. I cried until everything else faded away. I don’t know if I slept or lost consciousness, but when I opened my eyes, grief hit me all over again. The sadness hollowed me out. My eyes were open but I wasn’t awake.

  I searched the pale blue sky for a cloud or bird or anything. But the sky seemed vast and lonely. I inhaled but the air soured in my nostrils. I could somehow smell the damp, stale air of the bunker and the sour scent of Chaske’s decay. The once warm sun now seared my skin. The pasty white of months underground was being toasted into a harsh pink.

  I didn’t want to move. Leaving this spot felt like leaving Chaske behind. I closed my eyes. I could picture him vividly. This spot couldn’t hold him, only his death and whatever remained of his flesh.

  I walked back to the bunker. I studied the symbol that had already scabbed over on my wrist. Chaske’s body was at the bottom of the ravine but I felt as if he were still walking beside me.

  A wave of nausea overwhelmed me. I dropped to my knees. My stomach convulsed and my mouth and eyes watered. I gagged and retched but nothing came out. My stomach rolled as if something had found its way inside me and was knocking like a pinball into my internal organs. This was it. The poison had finally grabbed hold.

  The next thing I remembered was waking up on the ground, my limbs sprawled at awkward angles. I drew my knees into my chest. My breasts felt tender and sore. I didn’t want to die here like this, defeated, curled like a baby in a womb. If I were going to die, I was going to do it my own way.

  As the sun set, I ate a whole power bar and gulped water, no longer worried about conservation. I felt exposed and helpless on this mountainside now. I went back into the bunker but kept the door open. I sat in that space with its walls covered in Marissa’s faces.

  I took out my pen and notebook. I finally knew what I wanted – no, needed – to say. I wrote our story. I wrote until my hand cramped. I wrote in long, rambling sentences with no punctuation and questionable spelling. It took me days but I wrote until I’d said everything I needed to say. The ink was fading and the last few words were only indentations on the paper. I wrapped the notebook in heavy plastic bags. The Egyptian-like relics that would remain in my backpack would include: candy-corn-flavoured lip gloss, a keyring with my purple sparkly initials, my Capital Academy ID card, four stale Tic Tacs and two mismatched earrings. I shoved the notebook to the bottom of the backpack and folded the canvas around it. My shiny Save the Planet, Rock the World badge glinted in the flashlight.

  And I waited for death to find me like it had everyone else.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  ‘Endings are beginnings.’

  – Just Saying 156

  HARPER

  Harper touches her torch to the dry branches and waits until they start to smoke. She watches the flames lick at the twisting vines of the Crown. Her seed of fire blossoms into a red rose. Without this sign, Beckett’s just a man whispering ‘Peace’ into the abyss.

  She tries to look through the flames and rolling smoke as if she might see Beckett ascending to lead Forreal and Vega.

  She is bathed in firelight but darkness snakes around her. She hears cracking but it’s not coming from the fire. She sees a creature rising out of the flames. She staggers away from the Crown. The creature is gaining on her.

  Harper trips and crashes to the ground.

  ‘Harper,’ it says, squinting down at her. She tries to crawl away. Pain rips through her brain. Stars flash in her eyes with every move. The creature advances at a steady, hobbled pace. She tries to pull herself upright, but the creature curls his fingers around her ankle and pulls her back. She claws forwards, and he drags her back towards the flames.

  She flips over and stares up at her attacker.

  ‘Finch,’ Harper shouts and lands a kick squarely on his beak-like nose.

  He screams and releases her. He covers his nose, now gushing blood.

  Harper springs to standing. Her head swims with pain.

  ‘You found the Heart, didn’t you?’ Finch growls. ‘What was in the Heart? Tell me!’

  She doesn’t mean to but she glances in the direction of the Great I AM’s backpack. She realizes too late what she’s done. Finch follows her gaze. She can’t let him have it. She dives for it and rolls away, pinning the backpack to her chest. She flings it free, a safe distance up the Mountain.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He laughs and begins to stamp out Harper’s fire.

  Harper knows what she must do. She walks straight towards him. She pivots and kicks him hard in the stomach and thrusts him into the burning Crown. He clutches her wrist and pulls her into the flames. Her clothes ignite and the fire burns with the bite of a million fangs. As the flames engulf him, his grasp melts away. Harper tumbles on the ground, smothering the flames that cling to her.

  Harper can feel the fire eating holes through her skin. She can feel the darkness again. It’s coating her. With her last ounce of strength, she finds the Great I AM’s backpack and rests it near the fire she and Beckett built. Lucky curls up on the backpack.

  The entire Crown is alight now. The flames stretch skywards and create a wall of heat that shimmers against the morning sky. The kindling sputters and spits sparks and ash. Harper imagines her burned and broken body as part of the Crown. Beckett will usher in a new era of peace. She’s sure that one day people will praise him.

  Smoke is rolling off her, creating a grey cloudy halo. She would give anything to see him one last time. She whispers through the pain, ‘Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.’

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  ‘Knowledge can suck.’

  – Just Saying 257

  BECKETT

  The top of the Mountain glows in an eerie ring of light. The Great I AM has sent a sign. Forreal and Vega stand transfixed.

  ‘I have come to deliver a message of peace and hope,’ Beckett calls from atop his rocky perch. ‘We must set aside our differences and discover how we can live together.’

  The Cheerleaders’ faces are pale with surprise. Finch must have told them he crossed the Crown. Where is Finch? He started this. Beckett can’t believe Finch would abandon Forreal.

  He can see the way Greta’s people are looking at her. It’s similar to the way the people of Forreal used to look at him.

  Greta squeezes his hand. ‘This is Beckett,’ she tells her people. ‘He is a prophet and the leader of Forreal.’

  She tells how he saved her from Finch. She talks about how he’s seen the sacred Heart of the Mountain. ‘We can’t let bad things define us,’ Greta says. ‘We must learn what we can from difficult times and become better people.’

  Beckett realizes she’s quoting what he said to her on the Mountain. She is elevating him to mythical status. He and Greta can never go back to the way things were before, but maybe together they can lead and be the link between their two cultures.

  Beckett’s thoughts flash to Harper. She was supposed to light the Crown and then make her way back to Forreal. Beckett scans the crowd. He can’t see her anywhere. She should be here by now. Worry sneaks in.

  ‘The Great I AM has sent a sign,’ Beckett shouts. ‘We will work together. We will rebuild Vega. We will find peace.’

  And the battle lines disappear as the people of Forreal and Vega ease closer to Beckett and Greta, with upturned faces full of questions – and hope.

  Beckett invites the man Greta calls Da and the other leaders of Veg
a to the Mall tomorrow to outline a plan for working and living together. He asks the Cheerleaders to pass around baskets of berries, nuts and dried meats. They share cool water from the Mountain spring.

  He should be enjoying this moment, but something’s wrong. He can feel it. He moves through the crowd, hoping to glimpse Harper’s straggly dreads.

  Greta strides up next to him. ‘You were wonderful,’ she says, and hugs him, giving a little yelp of pain when he squeezes her back a little too tightly.

  He looks around again. Everyone is staring at them. He still doesn’t see Harper.

  ‘I haven’t seen her,’ Greta says. She doesn’t say it, but he can tell she knows the secret behind his miracle. ‘I think you are right. We all need to believe in something greater than ourselves.’ She touches his cheek. ‘Go and find Harper. She deserves to celebrate too. Even if she is a . . . what did she call me? Even if she’s a Tristan from time to time.’

  As he walks through the crowd, people reach out to touch him. It’s like walking against the wind. People search his eyes as if they hold the answer. The Cheerleaders tell of Beckett’s birthmark. Whispers follow him as he heads up the Mountain.

  He has ended the conflict, at least for now. But what he hadn’t anticipated was that now he is part of the miracle. He has always considered himself a conduit for the Great I AM, but now he’s afraid his miracle has made him the message, not the messenger. Now more than ever, he needs Harper.

  He races up the Mountain. The air is heavy with smoke. He stops when he sees the glowing embers of the Crown. The once great barricade is a smouldering pile of ash. It feels strange to see beyond to the Mountaintop. The Mountain feels naked.

  ‘Harper!’ Beckett shouts, as he crosses the black line of ash. ‘Harper, where are you?’ he yells again, standing motionless, ears straining to hear her reply. He feels trapped in this smoky fog.

  ‘Beckett.’ His name is more breathed than spoken.

  ‘Harper?’ he asks, not sure if he’s imagined his name in the rustling ash.

  ‘Beckett.’

  He’s sure he heard it that time. A breeze clears the smoke and he sees her. Even in the dim light, Beckett can see that her body and clothes are burned. It’s as if she’s turned to ash too.

  ‘Beckett,’ she says again.

  ‘I’m here, Harper. I’m right here.’ He kneels down beside her. He reaches out but he doesn’t make contact.

  ‘Harper, what happened?’ Beckett’s heart begins to pound.

  ‘Finch,’ she says slowly, as if the effort to speak his name is exhausting. ‘Did it work?’

  ‘Yeah, Harper, just like we imagined.’ He tells her about everyone gathering and the future that now seems possible.

  ‘I told you so,’ she says, and there’s a hint of a smile on her blistered lips.

  ‘I will listen to you more from now on,’ Beckett says, but the words catch in his throat. He thought he’d lost her.

  ‘Finch is dead,’ she says.

  ‘It’s over, then,’ Beckett replies.

  ‘I think it’s only beginning.’ Her eyes flutter and then close.

  ‘Harper,’ Beckett whispers. ‘I love you.’ He doesn’t mean the romantic kind that he had started to feel for Greta. This love is etched into every cell of his being. It helps him stand. It lets him breathe. It makes him a better man.

  ‘Save Harper.’ Beckett whispers his demand to the Great I AM. He will not lose her. She is the greatest miracle in his life. He needs her by his side in this new uncertain future they have created.

  Beckett sits beside her. Her hands are too burned to hold so he strokes the singed stubble of her hair. ‘I won’t leave you, I promise,’ he tells her. He needs to get her down the Mountain and cool her skin in the Mountain spring. He will move her when she’s had the chance to regain her strength.

  Lucky stretches and Beckett sees the backpack he found in the Heart.

  He pulls the notebook from its protective shell and slowly opens the cover. He reads:

  The Property of Isis Ann Murray.

  Please don’t read because I’m such a loser in English.

  If found, please destroy. My life is humiliating enough

  without someone posting my drivel on Facebook.

  He can let what’s in this notebook remain a mystery or he can read it and know the truth – as if there is such a thing. This book could offer the secrets of life and the meaning of everything. Beckett believes it’s his destiny.

  ‘Isis Ann Murray.’ He says the name out loud. ‘I. A. M.’

  Beckett reads every word in the tattered notebook. The enlightened journey of the Great I AM transforms into one girl’s desperate attempt to survive. The mountain, no longer sacred but poison. This place they worship has been disfiguring and slowly killing them. Why would man make something with such deadly power and leave it here to exact its revenge on future generations?

  The last few words have been lost to time but he understands. Icie never intended to leave such a disastrous legacy.

  He Says, even though he now knows he is speaking to a girl, an inert speck of dust that was caught in a big bang. Tears are streaming down his face. He realizes the true power of what he’s discovered. If a girl could become a god, then he, Harper and Greta have the power to create a new future for Forreal and Vega.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  In that cold, dark cave, I begged death to come.

  Death was the only thing that would end this pain.

  I even sat with Chaske’s gun in my hands for a while, but I couldn’t do it.

  I let memories of Chaske fill me.

  And I cried.

  And cried.

  And cried.

  Until I felt empty.

  But instead of death, a furry black head peeked through the door. Bright yellow eyes gleamed.

  ‘Midnight,’ I whispered, and she leapt into my arms.

  And I realized I wanted to live for Chaske and everyone who had gone before.

  Resurrected. That’s how I felt. I’d been brought back from the dead.

  I wanted to leave the mountain, but I couldn’t. Chaske was here. I could feel him shining down on me like my own personal North Star. And even after everything, and beyond all logic, I thought my parents might find me one day. If they were alive, they would not stop until they returned to the mountain.

  Maybe I’d lost my mind, but I finally thought I’d found my calling. I was destined to guard the mountain, to keep the poison at its heart from harming anyone ever again. I sealed my backpack with my story inside the bunker. I hoped it would explain everything when I was no longer around to warn people. After locking the door, I piled rocks in the opening that was once covered by the infinity stone. I built a wall, wedging pebbles in every crack to create a solid barrier. I vowed to never return to this place. I tossed Chaske’s gun down a deep ravine and watched it smash against the rock walls until it disappeared from view. I would never kill again.

  Midnight and I moved into the cave Tate had found on our trip up the mountain. As I patrolled the base of the mountain, I sang Tate’s songs: ‘“Wha Eva. Wha Eva. The bad, the good. Wha Eva. I put my faith in Wha Eva. Wha Eva alone”.’ Why those fragments stuck with me, I’ll never know.

  As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was getting sick. I was nauseous and exhausted. I was sure it was because of the radiation. I dressed in one of Chaske’s T-shirts and covered myself with Marissa’s Cheer Captain button-down. I wore Tate’s watch so that I would remember all three.

  But then they came. They saw my fire and they made a pilgrimage to the mountain. It was a group of young kids about Tate’s age. They had been at one of those isolated schools for troubled kids. All the administrators and teachers had abandoned them or died. These kids had survived in their compound, which was near Lake Mead. But then they’d seen my fire, and they’d thought it was a sign.

  ‘You can’t stay here,’ I told them. ‘It’s not safe.’

  They didn’t se
em to hear me. They had hugged me, cuddled Midnight and warmed themselves by the fire. They were dirty and exhausted and I couldn’t turn them away, not yet. A few of them were sick. I segregated them in the cave and brought them food and water. I made them as comfortable as I could and prepared myself for more death.

  But these kids survived and thrived. I couldn’t explain it. They had what I assumed were the lingering effects of the virus that had ravaged the world, but these kids slowly recovered, completely recovered, and no one else got sick. They thought that the mountain and I had cured them. Nothing I could say or do would change their minds. If I believed in such things, I might have thought it was a miracle too. But I had stopped believing in anything but myself.

  We organized into teams and I handed out assignments. We took turns venturing into the outskirts of Vegas and salvaging anything we could use. We built a gathering space, which I jokingly referred to as the mall.

  I gathered them together and told them stories about my journey to the heart of the mountain with a cheerleader and a rock star. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them about Chaske. He was mine and mine alone. I told them my mum and dad would come one day because I wanted to believe it and I wanted to give them hope.

  When I had finished my story, a little girl, who I had nicknamed Lola for her spiky hair and tough-as-nails attitude, asked, ‘Is this for real?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘this is for real.’ Even though my story was starting to feel like something that happened to someone else. ‘You must never cross the thorny hedge or . . .’ I wanted to tell them the truth, and I would someday, but I needed them to believe me now. ‘If you cross and go up the mountain, something horrible will happen.’

  ‘Like you mean you’ll die or something,’ a boy everyone called Beckett asked.