Less Than Little Time (Between Worlds Book 1)

by Sabina Green

  I closed my eyes and turned away from them. All air escaped my lungs, my chest burning. I stepped out again, using the trees as crutches. I was resting my hands on the bark and it tore them up in response. I could still feel Dad’s gaze on my back, I knew he was there, but I couldn’t turn around and face him again. If I did, I would lose the will to leave.

  I stumbled over roots and slipped on wet moss. My pyjamas tangled in branches, my slippers and the hem of my trousers soaked by the damp forest. I walked until my legs gave in. I crawled to a trunk of a fallen tree and nestled against it.

  There was something wrong with my hearing. All I could hear was the whirring of my blood, like I was submerged in water. But I saw just fine, my eyes first rested on the ferns, and then on the thick green canopy of branches. So beautiful, I thought.

  My thoughts turned back to my family. Devastation greeted me like an old friend, hugging me and patting me on the back. Soaking into me like rain into parched land. Watching me cry a river over the future I wasn’t allowed to live.

  Frank

  “Grampa, where’s Mummy?”

  Mark

  One would think that my lungs and the bronchi–barely working and feeling like they’re on fire–would dominate my every thought, that they’d be the only thing I worry about. Surprisingly though, I managed to fit in other things too.

  Even in this state–probably because of my bitterness–I was still angry with the system which was turned on its head. Where only the very rich could achieve any sizable change, the kind of people who didn’t mind climbing over others to get a little higher. It was a world in which regular people meant little. Unless influential people care about you, you didn’t matter. Your voice didn’t count.

  I wish I could have looked into people’s minds, one by one, find out why they aren’t revolting against this system. How could they live in their tiny world, consisting only of work, hobbies and friends? Why don’t they all, or at least the majority of them, want to join the Association and try to change things? Establish new rules, a new regime. Find serenity, peace.

  Did they perhaps see things the way I did, that nobody cared about them, because they didn’t have enough money and influence? If they couldn’t do anything about it, why bother?

  I wondered if I would have joined the Association and The Collective if my childhood had been happy, or at least free of violence. Why would I have? It was the way I grew up that shaped my character and moral values, made them so different from my peers’. I wouldn’t say that they were completely indifferent to the weaknesses of others or that they agreed with violence, but since it never personally affected them, they turned a blind eye to it all.

  Was I taking my revenge on other people because I was unlucky to be born to the bad ones?

  I wished selfishly that I had a little more time to spend with Connie. But I knew that joining The Collective and helping to shape a new world was the right thing to do. There was such a poor choice of leaders, past and present, and one could only try to choose the lesser evil. What would it be like if a truly influential position went to someone who cared about people, animals, the environment? But how could someone honourable, with a clear conscience and unselfish intentions get into a leadership position?

  This was exactly why The Collective had put so much effort into ensuring that the only survivors were considerate, helpful people who treated everyone with respect, valued animals and the gifts of nature. People who didn’t take anything for granted. I wondered who would end up leading the new community.

  I focused on these idyllic images and peace finally wedged itself into my life. I was almost sorry that I wouldn’t be a part of this new world. But I knew that I wouldn’t be happy there, not even in that community of good people, because I wouldn’t be able to let go of my past.

  My thoughts immediately went to the man who’d become a legend in The Collective. I couldn’t speak for everyone, but I definitely wasn’t the only one who admired him. He was the only criminal whose actions I agreed with.

  He was from Perth, but I never got a chance to meet him personally. In The Collective he was only known under the initials PF. He definitely wasn’t a saint, and when it came to violence, he didn’t hold back. What he had done was horrific, and often repulsive, but I could completely understand his reasoning. I probably wouldn’t be capable of it myself, hell, I couldn’t even enact my own revenge on my parents and Raymond Davis, besides coughing in their faces. I didn’t have it in me to hurt them, but that–at least in my opinion–didn’t mean that PF didn’t have any problems with violence. I think it was the exact opposite.

  He couldn’t bear the sight of innocent people suffering, and he repaid whatever was done to them in equal measure. He didn’t want to keep relying on a dysfunctional system and disproportionate or nonexistent punishment, so he took justice into his own hands. I had no idea how he researched his cases, if he had access to police and government files, or if he collected all the information on his own.

  An eye for an eye, that was his motto. He robbed a thief of the things he’d stolen, and a little bit more, to get him to experience the very situation he’d caused to someone else. A man who kept his cat locked in a cage for two weeks and let it die of hunger while he was on holiday was shut into a cage too, left without food for two weeks. A man who’d been abusing his wife for ten years got his arms and legs broken.

  He admitted to all his actions indirectly. As soon as he was done with a case, he made an anonymous call to the police and told them the victim’s location. He also left a lot of evidence of the crimes the person had committed before they had a taste of their own medicine.

  I saw the photos many times. He’d clearly started small and worked his way up to bigger cases. Some photos were too much even for me, because while I was glad that PF was taking revenge on those who were skinning animals or burning them alive, torturing, murdering, raping… It was a lot to take in.

  What made him do it? And how could these cases, before PF focused on them, have slipped the attention of the establishment? If he was able to get evidence, why were the police unable to? The answer was obvious: there were so many cases, that the powers were simply too overwhelmed and couldn’t manage to deal with all of them. And we were back to The Collective’s main reason for getting rid of humankind.

  I was so consumed by my own thoughts that it took a while to realise that The Collective’s name sounded aloud.

  The TV had been on for a few days now. I could have reached for the remote and turned it off, but that would fill the room with silence, and I didn’t want that.

  The report on the screen was making a connection between the release of the plague and the video The Collective had published two months ago. According to the reporter, there was no doubt that the virus was released on purpose, and that the purpose was to endanger the human population. It was just a speculation, they weren’t sure yet. They had so much on their plate, trying to control the spread of the infection, that they couldn’t focus on searching for potential culprits.

  They weren’t asking why the plague was released, they just needed somebody to blame and punish. They were focusing on the millions of infected people all over the world, on hospital capacities, especially intensive care units which were now the refuge of hundreds of thousands of people in critical condition.

  Human suffering was the only thing people could see right now.

  I was glad that The Collective had taken care of animals in this chaotic time. It couldn’t ensure that every single animal gets the care it needs, there was no list of all house pets and cattle on small farms. But we had a basic idea based on veterinary and farm lists.

  The Collective members had split into two groups some time ago. Those in the first line got infected right away to spread the plague. While the infection rolled out, a part of The Collective stayed back, so that they could come rescue the animals once their own
ers didn’t want to or weren’t able to look after them. After the second part of The Collective came out, they would of course get infected, but they would have three weeks to take care of every animal they could find in zoos, homes and farms.

  All the animals would finally be free, unbound and unthreatened by man.

  I had forgotten to tell Connie about this part of the plan. It was a good-enough excuse to ring her, even though I’d only called her this morning. I needed to make up for the time I lost in the last few days. Any kind of communication with her made me happy and calmed me down, and that single short conversation earlier just wasn’t enough. I needed more.

  You can call any time, she said, and I was determined to take her up on it. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t have ended that last phone call at all and kept talking to her day and night, until the very end. The idea of the two of us listening to each other breathing seemed outright intimate, in the circumstances it was almost as alluring as lying next to each other. Obviously, the reality was very different, instead of peaceful breathing we would be listening to the other person suffocating in a coughing fit, wondering if this particular one might be their last. There was nothing romantic about that, but I wanted it anyway.

  The sound of the phone ringing calmed me down for a moment, I was glad she hadn’t turned her phone off again. But she wasn’t picking up, and I started to worry. What if…?

  My heart was pounding wildly, trying to beat its way out of the ribcage, not allowing me to draw a breath.

  Frank

  I saved my own personal breakdown for after Ruby’s bedtime. First I chased her into bed–Grampa, why can’t we read tonight? And what about singing? But I’m not sleepy yet. Will you lie down next to me?–and when, after the longest half an hour of my life, her breathing finally slowed down, I went into the shower to cover the sounds of my grief with pouring water. I got out only when the hot water ran out and I started shaking with cold.

  I took as much time as possible drying myself off and putting pyjamas on. Having something physical to do meant not focusing on the memory of Connie disappearing into the forest. I was exhausted, but there was no way I could go to bed, I simply wouldn’t sleep. The door to Connie’s bedroom was attracting my attention, as if she might still be there, but I did my best to resist the quiet urge to enter. I was tidying things in the living room and then went into the kitchen–where have the landlords been, anyway?–to make myself a cup of tea I felt no desire whatsoever to drink. But it warmed me up at least.

  I was still half expecting it all to be just a bad dream I was about to wake up from. My mind kept turning back to the news talking about a highly infectious virus, and Connie’s illness. When I had connected these two things in my mind, I felt a stab of fear for the first time. But that had nothing on the conversation in which my daughter admitted to her involvement in The Collective. I remembered their video very well. Even back then I’d known that we would hear from them again. Now my fears had become reality, and I couldn’t believe that Connie could have anything to do with them! My only daughter… Infected, dying… This couldn’t be real!

  I’d run out of ways to keep myself busy, and the immense wave of thoughts was hurling my way. I didn’t even realise what I was doing and my hand was on the door handle. I opened the door, entered the bedroom where Connie used to sleep, and turned a lamp on.

  My eyes immediately went to her suitcase. Until this morning it had been shoved under the bed and as far as I knew, she didn’t need to reach for it at all, because soon after our arrival at the farm she’d become bedridden. She hadn’t even changed pyjamas. Now the suitcase was lying open in front of the bed and its contents, previously carefully organised, were lying in it in complete disarray. Was she looking for something before she’d left the farm? But then I noticed the letter.

  There was a thick white envelope lying on the bed, its colour blending in with the sheets. It had no name or address, but I assumed it was for me. Was this supposed to be a goodbye? My throat tightened.

  I didn’t know if I had the strength to read whatever my daughter wrote me. But that didn’t mean much, since I also didn’t have the will not to read it. I opened the unsealed envelope, took out several sheets of paper and, to my surprise, two heavy brass keys. I dropped them onto the bed and focused on Connie’s letter.

  Dad,

  I never imagined that we would be separated, at least not for long. I thought, actually I took it for granted, that we’d spend our whole lives together. The last few years were tough, my cancer and surgery, Lewis’ accident and the way it paralysed you, it was a lot to deal with. It was hard, but we were together and always managed one way or the other.

  Obviously, everyone has to die eventually, but us? I assumed that was a very distant future. Not even in my wildest dreams did I think that our time together would amount to just a few weeks.

  The events taking place in the world right now have very little and yet, everything, to do with me. By the time I got swept up in it, all the steps had been planned out and things were already in motion. I was just a pawn in a huge game of chess that The Collective, a sister of the Animals and Environment Protection Association, was playing. They would have been just fine without me, but when I’d found out all the details of their plan, I had to join.

  It sounds pretty unbelievable, but The Collective had decided to get rid of all human population, so that people couldn’t keep hurting anybody. Everything in me was fighting against it, and yet I couldn’t help but agree–we both know that there has been more than enough suffering already! But not everyone was supposed to die. A representative of The Collective had assured me that they would spare some people, those who are worthy of a second chance. So no wonder that you and Ruby made it on their list. And that’s where I came in, because my part was to ensure your safety.

  I’d been comforting myself with the fact that the world–the whole planet, just imagine!–will emerge from the plague in absolute peace, and that you and Ruby will be allowed to survive to see it. I had to make sure that nothing goes wrong, and that you two are as safe as possible.

  I need you to follow my instructions like your and Ruby’s lives depend on it. After everything I’d been through in The Collective, I couldn’t bear it if your chances of survival were threatened in any way.

  The Collective has set up a shelter for the survivors to wait out the chaos, panic and looting caused by the infection. Your shelter is on a farm owned by people called Darlene and Hugh, and as far as I know, they have no idea it’s there. It’s a remodelled basement with a secret entrance–you’ll find it behind a bookcase in the living room. You just have to move the bottom panel and you’ll see an entrance to a short corridor.

  What…? I stared unblinkingly at the letter in my shaking hand.

  You’ll have everything you need to survive there. Water, food, all kinds of provisions. There is a calendar on the wall right next to the entrance, it’ll show you the day when it’s safe to leave the shelter. All I know about the virus is that it’s lethal and that nobody without a vaccine will escape it, but I’m relying on the experts’ calculations. Don’t be freaked out by the six months in isolation, you’ll have each other. You might be imagining some tiny space, infinite darkness only disrupted by a candle, but that’s not the case–you’ll see what I mean as soon as you go in.

  According to The Collective representative, when you emerge after the six months, there won’t be anybody there to cause you any harm. The virus will have done its job, it will only spare the ones who’d been vaccinated.

  You and Ruby can go out then. I need you to go on a trip–the route will be marked out on a map you’ll find in the shelter. It’s a several hour long hike (at a child’s pace) through some farms, orchards and vineyards, to a place you can’t miss or overlook. There is a tree there which will become the centre of your new life.

  It’s not a regular tree, you’ll see right
away. It was taken out of the ground and put back upside down, its roots reaching for the sky, its branches deep in the soil. The trunk is painted a rich blue, and the branches are covered with various good luck charms.

  This strange, unforgettable tree is where you’ll meet the other survivors who have spent six months in shelters on nearby farms, just like you. I don’t know any of them personally, but I know that it’s a diverse mixture of adults and children of different nationalities and personalities. I’m sure you’ll soon find friends and support while building a new community.

  We’re leaving the rest up to you.

  Dad, I would never voluntarily give up any opportunity to be with you and Ruby, but right now I don’t have a choice. I don’t want you to worry too much about what’s going on around the world. I would like so much to be with you in New Zealand, but I couldn’t have come, forgive me. I’d like you to remember me healthy and happy, the girl who was always fighting for the right thing. This time it’s your and Ruby’s health, your life, and to me that is the most important thing in the universe.

  Take care of each other.

  I love you both, my thoughts will always be with you!

  Love,

  Connie

  I had to read the letter several times before I could digest some things. Right from the start it was obvious that Constance never planned on leaving Australia, probably so that she could participate in more activities of this Collective. Why did she go against her word and flew to New Zealand to us?

  She also wasn’t planning on telling me anything, that much was clear from the letter. She was writing it to someone who had no idea about The Collective or an intentionally released plague. Why did she confide in me in advance? I couldn’t bear the fact that I can’t ask her about this… or anything else.