Claire Zorn - The Sky So Heavy

I stop the car as the first soldier closes the gate behind us. He comes up to my window.

‘Hand it over then,’ he says, as if nothing has happened. Lucy hands me the box and I pass it through the window to him, my hands shaking. Noll passes through the three bottles of whisky. I give them to the soldier.

‘Hope you got more of them,’ he says. ‘They’re doing random checks for documents on this side. You wanna hope they’re thirsty.’ He walks away from the car.

There are more people on the streets here than on the other side. They congregate on corners but don’t give us more than a glance. They mustn’t be as hungry. The streets are icy but drivable, walkable. My mother’s apartment is in Annandale, a suburb close to the centre of the city. I weave the car around blocks of houses and apartment buildings.

It is incredible how much things have degenerated after three months without proper infrastructure. The most noticeable thing is the rubbish, piled on the footpaths outside apartment buildings: discarded drink bottles and plastic food packaging spilling onto the street. The most elite inner-city suburbs have become swamps of rubbish, abandoned cars and mounds of grey slush. I count four half-starved dogs wandering the streets and three more lying dead on the side of the road – family pets turned away from homes where food is too scarce to feed them. I also start to notice bright yellow posters taped to the telegraph poles and glued to the side of buildings. I slow the car to look closer at one. It reads:

If you notice people sheltering in unusual places, like bus shelters, warehouses or in vehicles, you must alert the authorities. If you know of anyone harbouring people whom you suspect are not residents of the inner district, it is for your own protection that you notify the authorities. These people are unauthorised refuge-seekers and are a threat to YOU and YOUR FAMILY. Speak up, it’s for your own good.

‘Lovely to know we’re welcome,’ says Lucy.

I try to pick up the pace.

The last time I had been to my mum’s was Christmas Eve. Max and I had sat through the world’s most awkward lunch with Mum, her new boyfriend Steve, and his two kids: a girl and a guy, both at university. The conversation didn’t really progress beyond ‘Can you pass the rolls?’ If I had known it would be our last Christmas under (somewhat) normal circumstances I probably would have made more of an effort.

Lucy and Noll wait in the car while Max and I make our way past the rubbish that is piled up out the front of the building. We walk up the path through what was once garden but is now just dead shrubs. We go through the front doors of the apartment building into the little tiled foyer. A glass security door blocks the stairs leading up to the apartments. I hit the button on Mum’s intercom, even though I know it is pointless. Max pulls at the handle of the locked door.

‘How’re we gonna get in?’ Max asks.

I go back outside and tilt my head back, looking up in the direction of the third-floor balcony.

‘MUM!’ I scream. Max follows and does the same. We stand there screaming like idiots for way longer than is necessary. The thought that she might not be here had visited me from time to time, but I had put it in the ‘I’ll worry about that when it happens’ category. I give up yelling and take to ramming the glass door with my shoulder instead. It’s more painful and about as effective.

‘We need something heavy,’ I say. Max points to a large terracotta pot with a dead shrub in it by the door.

‘If you take one side and I take the other, we can swing it into the door,’ I say.

‘It’ll break the glass,’ says Max.

‘That’s the idea.’

‘Cool!’

Together we lift the pot and shuffle over so we are in front of the door.

‘On three, yeah?’

Max nods.

‘One, two, three.’ We hurl the pot toward the glass. It connects and the door shatters with a splintering popping sound. We pick our way across the glass-littered foyer and head up the stairs. Apartment doors open, people come out, looking down the stairwell at us.

‘Oi!’

‘What the hell are you doing?’ yells one of them.

‘Sorry, we broke your door,’ says Max.

‘Yeah, you should be!’ yells someone else.

‘We’re looking for our mum,’ I tell them. Most drift away. One guy stares at us as we come up the stairs.

‘You shouldn’t ’ave done that,’ he growls. We ignore him and he goes back inside, slamming his door shut.

We reach Mum’s door. I bang on it with my fist.

‘Mum!’

Max joins in. We wait, both of us out of breath from breaking the door. I pound on the door again. ‘Mum!’ We wait. And we wait. Both of us stand there for a long time, well beyond the point when it’s obvious she is not there. I glance at Max, his forehead is creased with worry.

‘What are we going to do, Fin?’

I have no answer.

‘What are we going to do?’

‘I don’t know.’

His voice hardens. ‘You said we would find her.’

‘I said we could try.’

‘You said it would be okay.’ He hurls the words at me. ‘You don’t know anything.’

‘Max…’

‘You’re useless! You don’t know anything!’ He shoves me against the wall, catching me by surprise.

‘Max, just calm down.’

‘You calm down!’ He pummels me with his fists. I try to take hold of his arms, manage to get him in a bear hug.

‘Max, calm down.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘We’ll break in and we can stay, wait till she comes back.’

‘What if she doesn’t?’

‘It’s all we can do.’

Back at the car I suggest my plan to Noll and Lucy.

‘Did anyone see you go in?’ asks Lucy.

‘Kind of. We had to smash the security door.’

‘Right. Subtle. So we’re talking more than one person?’

‘More like the whole building.’

Lucy and Noll look at each other.

Noll shakes his head. ‘It’s too much of a risk. You saw that notice.’

‘I don’t see what choice we have. It’s less risky than sleeping in the car, that’s going to look pretty bloody suss, isn’t it?’

‘I’m not comfortable with it. We’re going to have to break down the door, unless you know how to pick locks, Lucy. Obviously not part of Fin’s repertoire.’

‘Unfortunately, lock picking is not one of my many skills,’ says Lucy.

‘Then that’s only going to mean more attention, just in case anyone missed you smashing the door,’ says Noll.

‘Okay. Let’s all start hating on Fin ’cause he was trying to find his friggin’ mother.’

‘I’m not being facetious, Fin. I’m trying to figure this out.’

‘Guess what? Me too.’

‘Do you two want to take it outside?’ asks Lucy.

Neither of us reply.

‘Right. Well, if anyone’s interested in my opinion, I think we should drive around and see if there’s another option, accommodation-wise. Somewhere we can at least hide for the night. I’m reluctant to leave all the food in the car, but if we take it all up into the apartment – which we have just broken into – people are going to see us and then we will be four kids in an apartment with a broken door and a mother lode of food surrounded by possibly starving people who may not only attack us, but call in the military while they do it. So I’m going for plan B.’

‘Which is to make another plan?’ asks Max.

‘Exactly, my friend.’

‘We would be able to defend ourselves,’ I say.

‘What? With the gun?’ asks Noll, in a sulky, trying not to be interested way.

‘How do you know about—’

‘I saw you pull it out from under your seat when we were at the barricade.’

‘Oh.’