Claire Zorn - The Sky So Heavy

‘Some.’

‘Good. Probably best to stick to drinking that for now. Maybe ration it and only drink what you need to. We’ll pop back in if we get any news on your dad. Try not to worry. Either way, we’ll be back in a few days to check up on how you’re doing.’

‘Okay, thanks.’

‘Take care.’ Constable Lund smiled and her partner gave me a curt nod. They trudged up the driveway and I closed the wooden door, resenting the warm air that had escaped.

I continued to send failing text messages to Mum, Dad and Lokey. And Lucy. I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened with us that afternoon if it hadn’t been for the missiles. Having so much time on my hands only intensified my endless conjecture about the whole thing. So I decided to go see her. Don’t get me wrong, my purpose wasn’t to go to her house and jump her, I just wanted to see how she was doing. Maybe it was because she was the only person I cared about who I could go and physically find, Lokey lived too far away to walk.

I told Max I was going to see Mr and Mrs White – he would have been unbearable if he’d known I was going to see a girl.

It had been days since I’d been outside. I expected to step out, go up the drive and onto the street, breathe in the space, look out over the valley and see that my world was still here. I didn’t expect to feel the claustrophobia of a world faded to grey. The pressing wall of the sky. Air that may or may not kill me. A deadened, suffocated still. The silence was oppressive. The only movement was my own breath. I made my way up the hill, looking at each house as I passed, each lawn smothered in grey, curtains drawn against the cold. The Ketterlys at number nine had their roller shutters down. Their house was one of those places that seemed designed to make all the other houses in the street look inadequate – roughly the size of a hotel with a fountain out the front. I mean, a fountain – what a wank. The guy was a surgeon and liked everyone to know about it. I bet he was wishing he had a heated driveway like Bill Gates. With the shutters down the house looked like a prison.

It seemed like the world was in hibernation. There were no birds calling, no breeze ruffling the trees, no cars passing down the street, no kids squealing, no lawnmowers. It wasn’t like the pause before a breath. It was like the world had suffocated. I lifted my face to the cold unfamiliar face of the sky and walked up the hill.

I wondered where else it was snowing. Was it snowing in the city? Was it snowing in Perth? Adelaide? It was impossible to gauge the seriousness of the whole thing without any information from the outside world; like being blindfolded in deep water and not knowing where the edge was. Mum used to talk about going on holidays to the country when she was a kid. No television, no phone. It was like taking a break from the rest of the world for two weeks, she said. A war could start and you wouldn’t even know about it until you got back. I used to struggle to imagine living without even a mobile. Surely the electricity was back up somewhere, it was just the mountains left in the dark, wasn’t it?

If things got bad Mum would come back for us. I clung to that while I trod water in the deep. Where the line was between this and bad, I didn’t know.

Lucy’s house was close to Starvos’ supermarket. From the outside, it looked as closed up as every other. I went up the drive and knocked on the front door. I waited – nothing. I knocked again. Still nothing. I followed the driveway down the side of the house where I came to a large window, the curtains were drawn across but there was a gap. With my hands cupped against the glass I could see into the living room and through to the kitchen. There were no signs of life. I knocked on the window anyway, called through the glass. Nothing.

I tried to replace the hollowed-out feeling in my chest with the idea that she was somewhere else warm and safe.

The walk to Lucy’s did yield one positive: Starvos’ shop was still open. I didn’t have any money on me though, so I went back home with the plan of collecting some, along with Max so that between us we could get as much food as we could carry. I made him put on four layers of clothing and then some old tracksuit pants and a jumper over the top. I took the last of the cash from Dad’s room. We found some beanies, an army green one for me and a striped Swannies one for Max.

‘Don’t touch anything,’ I told him. ‘You have to remember that.’

He nodded enthusiastically, practically pawing at the door. When we went out Max cupped his hands over his mouth, breathing into them, his skinny frame visibly jarring against the cold. He laughed and looked around.

‘It’s freakin’ freezing!’

‘Yes.’

The soles of our shoes crunched in the snow as we trudged up the drive. Twice Max lost his footing and slid backward, he put his hand on the ground to steady himself, then he looked at me in alarm.

‘Just don’t go licking your hand,’ I said.

Starvos was wearing a jumper. He sat on a stool behind the counter, doing the crossword in the back of a Woman’s Day . The shop was lit with tea lights, the air sharp with the tang of citronella.

‘They are the only candles I can find. At least the mosquitoes won’t be biting me!’ He laughed and shook his head. Barked a ragged smoker’s cough. ‘How are you boys? Your father, is he back?’

‘Not yet.’ I told him what the cops had said about people being stuck on the roads. I tried to sound positive, hyper aware of Max listening to my answer. ‘Don’t think it will be much longer.’

‘I hope not. Anyway, what can I help you with?’ Starvos motioned to the empty shelves. The only things left in the shop were chocolate bars and chewing gum at the counter. ‘My stock is in the storeroom. You can’t trust people in times like this. And I tell you now, four cans only, that’s all I can give you,’ Starvos instructed. ‘I’m sorry, I do want to help you with your father away, but I can’t let one person buy the lot, you know? I have a responsibility as a shopkeeper. I am in a difficult position.’

I asked for two cans of spaghetti and two of creamed corn. ‘Can I get a packet of chips?’

‘Yes. One. You must understand I have to be fair to everybody.’

‘No worries.’ I gave Starvos some money. He handed me the change.

‘Two-eighty change? How much are the cans?’

‘The cans are four dollars each. There is no stock coming in, prices go up.’ He shrugged as if it were a phenomenon completely out of his control. ‘I do not have to open, you know, but I do. It is my responsibility. As a shopkeeper.’ He handed me the plastic bag.

‘Right. Sure.’

‘You have a good day.’

‘That’s robbery,’ I muttered to Max as we left the shop.

‘Nah, this is robbery.’ He pulled two Mars Bars and some Juicy Fruit out of his pocket.

I laughed. ‘Where’d you learn to do that?’

He shrugged.

I took a Mars Bar from him. ‘You make a habit of shoplifting?’

‘He was ripping us off.’

‘You little klepto.’

‘What?’

‘Kleptomaniac. Compulsive shoplifter.’

‘At least I’m sharing.’

‘At least.’ I ran forward, swivelled my feet so I slid in the snow. Max laughed and did the same. We chewed our Mars Bars and slid our way down the hill.

We found a wire rack in the kitchen cupboard – the kind you use to cool cakes on. I propped it up on two bricks over the fire. Max watched me, gnawing his nails.

‘There,’ I said. ‘Instant barbecue.’

We heated cans of mushroom and chicken soup. Max found a packet of marshmallows. We stabbed them with forks and toasted them over the fire until their skin charred and they burst thick pink goo.