Claire Zorn - The Sky So Heavy

‘They’re feeding the people on that side of the barricade,’ Lucy says. ‘Keeping everyone else out. Which leaves us with a significant problem.’

‘We need a plan,’ says Noll.

‘What are we gonna do?’ asks Max.

‘We’re going to make a plan,’ I say.

‘So, the plan is to make a plan,’ Max says.

‘Yes, Max, that’s the plan.’

He laughs and I love him for it.

We drive slowly back in the direction we came from. Eventually we reach an exit and we creep into the back streets of suburbia, looking for a place we can stop and not be noticed.

My head is wedged in the small space between the side of the headrest and the driver’s side window. It is my attempt to find a comfy sleeping position; driver’s seats aren’t really designed to encourage sleep. There’s a reason for that, I guess. We have locked the doors and Lucy has made an attempt at ‘fixing’ the broken window by covering it in plastic and gaffer tape. As I slosh around in my semi-consciousness I am grateful for the gun in my back pocket.

My eyes snap open.

The gun.

‘Lucy,’ I whisper. She whimpers and in the dark I can’t tell if she’s awake or not.

‘Lucy?’

‘Yeah?’

I listen to hear if Noll has woken up, if he has, he isn’t making any noise.

‘Luce, I’ve left the, the, you know. I’ve left it behind.’

‘The gun ?’

‘Yeah, I had to lose it before they got to us at the barricade. It’s under one of the cars.’

‘Oh crap.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Take Noll with you.’

‘There’s no way he’s going to want to go back to get a gun. He wouldn’t want us to have it in the first place.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘There’s no time to talk him into it now, anyway. I have to get back before light or they’ll see me.’

‘Fin, no. It’s not safe.’

‘It’d be safer if I had the gun.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No way. Stay here.’

She grips my hand. ‘We’ll wait for you.’

‘You bloody well better. Lock the door after me.’

She doesn’t say anything. I hear her swallow and she keeps hold of my hand for a minute. Then she lets it go and I step out of the car into the cold.

I keep the torchlight low at my feet when I can and I listen like I’ve never listened before, there is nothing but my footsteps, my breath and I swear I can hear my heartbeat. The snow isn’t deep underfoot, but walking is harder than it would be if I’d had a normal diet over the last three months. I find the freeway again and I follow the beam of the torch along it, into the black. My limbs feel weighted and I’m not dressed for this, even though I’m wearing five layers of clothing. I wonder if it is possible to freeze your arse off, literally. If it is, I’m a prime candidate. I try to move quicker.

I flash the torch up ahead, quickly so I don’t draw attention. It catches a flicker of a tail-light. I turn the torch off and head in what I hope is a straight line. A hint of morning has begun to show through the edges of the dark, I can just make out the shapes of the cars up ahead. I try to remember where we stopped the car when we got here, I retrace my footsteps, keeping low to the ground. Every move I make, every breath and heartbeat feels loud and clumsy. With another quick flash of the torch I catch a glimpse of the sign on the barrier and am able to orientate myself. I move through the cars. When I reach the spot where I think I stowed the gun I have to lie on my stomach to scan under the car with the torch. No gun. I check under the next car, and the next. Nothing. Maybe I came from the wrong angle.

I back up a little and then I feel a hand on my shoulder. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or maybe it’s a lesson I learnt from my encounter with Starvos, but I don’t flinch or startle, instead I turn and throw a punch into the dark and my knuckles connect with a jaw. Its owner lets out an ‘ooof’ sort of noise and in the second when I’m deciding which direction to sprint, he rushes at me and tackles me onto the ice. I try to shove him off, I take another swing but I can’t see what I’m aiming at, we tumble around and I manage to grab hold of his ear. I yank his head back and try to get him off me. It works. I scramble to my feet but he grabs me by the ankle and pulls me down, my head hits the ice via a car bonnet. And then he’s on my back.

‘Put your hands behind yer head!’ he yells. I can’t shift him as he has me pinned. I do as he tells me. He brings my hands down behind my back and cuffs my wrists with plastic tape – the same stuff they use to anchor toys in their packaging. He yanks me to my feet and flicks a torchlight on. I turn to look at him and recognise him as the same guy from before.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask. ‘You can’t arrest me, man.’

‘I told yer not to come back here. I tried to fucking tell yer.’ He starts to march me back to the barrier. We reach the embankment next to the road and I stop moving my feet, I let myself drop and he has to try to keep me upright. He’s shorter than me and can’t quite manage it.

‘Walk!’

‘No, I think I’ll just rest for a bit.’

‘Walk!’

‘What’s your name?’ I ask, like we’re sharing a bus seat or something.

‘Walk!’

‘I’m Fin. Oh, you already know that, hey? I have a younger brother, he’s twelve. Haven’t seen my parents for almost four months, so I’m pretty sure they’re dead.’

‘Shut up. Get on yer feet.’

‘I’m supposed to be halfway through year twelve. How old are you? How long you been in the army?’

‘Shut up.’ He tries to get me to stand up but I throw myself to the ground and roll onto my back. In one swift movement he drops the torch into the snow, takes the rifle from his shoulder and points it in my face. Twice in two days, that’s really something.

‘I will shoot yer.’ It’s like he’s trying to convince himself as well.

‘Where’s your family?’ I ask, super polite.

Morning light creeps into the sky and I can see his breath heaving in and out. He cocks his head to the side.

‘Out west. Get up.’

‘Just sit down for a minute, mate. Take a load off. I’m not goin’ anywhere.’ I manage to work my way into a sitting position. ‘They have a farm?’

‘I tried to tell yer, man. I fuckin’ tried. I’m not responsible for this, for what will happen to yer. I tried. Get up.’

‘Seriously, dude, what’s going on here?’

‘WE NEED TO KEEP EVERYONE WHERE THEY BELONG SO WE CAN ACCOUNT FOR THEM!’

‘This is about numbers? Account keeping? You’re kidding yourself, you know that, right? Does it work the other way? You got people from over there trying to get over here?’

‘Get up.’

The muzzle of the rifle has wandered from my head. He’s still looking at me though.

‘Hungry? I’ve got a Mars Bar in my back pocket.’ I can reach it with my hands behind my back, I kind of fling it onto the snow next to me.

‘You got a mean tackle, man. Rugby?’

‘League,’ he mutters.

‘Yeah, none of that private school bullshit. Seriously, eat it. Sit down.’

He drops his arse to the snow, his jaw is rigid, defiant, but he picks up the Mars Bar.

‘Yer don’t know nothin’,’ he says. ‘These are good people, these blokes. I follow their orders: I eat when they tell me, I shit when they tell me. Yer don’t do that for nothin’. There are reasons for this.’

‘Yeah? What are they?’

‘We can only do so much at a time. We gotta keep the area secure before they roll out phase two.’

‘Which is where picking people off at the barrier comes in?’ I speak softly, not wanting to aggravate him. I have to convince him we’re on the same side in more ways than one. He doesn’t reply.