Claire Zorn - The Sky So Heavy

Lucy was making faces at me, trying to make me laugh.

‘Yeah, Mum. It’s cool, it’ll be fine.’

‘Call me when you get home, promise.’

‘Yes, Mum.’

I hung up. Lucy frowned.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I think we should go.’

‘Sure, you know we could grab a coffee—’

‘No—’

The wail of a siren sounded over the loudspeakers: the evacuation alarm. It was usually reserved for bushfires. An announcement followed, it told anyone who was still on the school premises to go to the quadrangle immediately.

‘What’s happened?’ Lucy asked.

I told her what my mum had told me.

‘We should go to the quad,’ Lucy said.

‘No, I reckon we should get out of here. Go into town, get food. Get a bus from there.’

We shoved our stuff into our bags and left the library, ducking down a side path that led behind the science blocks. Soon we were on the driveway and then out onto the main road.

By the time we got into town the sky had changed. It was like the sun was being choked with thick orange dust. The sky glowed, throbbing with colour, but it was like it had swallowed up all the sunlight. Everything beneath the sky – the streets and buildings – was monotone. People were standing out on the street looking up, like they expected to see Godzilla crash through the streetscape.

‘Oh my God,’ Lucy whispered.

We looked up, absorbed by it. It was beautiful – and wrong.

Lucy tried to call her mum but couldn’t get through. She tried again and again. I could see her bottom lip starting to tremble. She put her phone away and took my hand.

We went to the big supermarket near the highway. The aisles were already half empty. Mute, we both grabbed trolleys and filled them with whatever was left. Baked beans in barbecue sauce, canned sausages, creamed corn, canned baby carrots, as much bottled water as we could carry home.

We carried the shopping bags up to the bus stop.

‘It’ll be okay,’ I said, even though I had absolutely nothing to base that on.

I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Lucy was distracted and she twisted a strand of hair around and around her pinkie. When the bus came we got on and I sat next to her. I wanted the trip to be over because I felt awkward, like I was failing. But at the same time I didn’t want the afternoon to end. The sky was weighed down with colour and light and under any other circumstances it would have been romantic. We didn’t say anything the whole way. The bus reached our stop and we both got off.

‘Can I help you carry some of your stuff?’

‘No, it’s okay, it’s fine.’

‘Really, it’s no problem.’ I held out my hand. She gave me one of her grocery bags to carry. We walked across the road and down the street a bit to Lucy’s house. I followed her up to the porch and waited while she unlocked the door. I handed her the grocery bag.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘I’ll call you, okay?’

‘Bye, Fin.’ She leaned over and kissed my cheek. I watched her go inside and disappear from my life.

I dropped my keys twice trying to open my front door. When I got inside I dumped the shopping bags and called my brother’s name. There were no signs of life. I went through to the living room and there he was, game console in his hands, eyes on the TV screen.

‘Max, why didn’t you answer the phone? Mum’s been trying to call you… Max?’

His eyes didn’t leave the screen. I took the controller from his hands.

‘What are you doing? Fin! You dickhead! I’d almost finished level seven!’

‘Haven’t you seen outside?’

‘What?’ He went to the window. His eyes widened. ‘Whoa. Cool!’

‘Not cool, Max. Definitely not cool.’

A thin woman with too much make-up told us that the nuclear missiles had been launched around four pm, Australian time. The woman looked out at us from the television screen and told us that it was unclear what had gone wrong. She crossed to a concerned-looking man who said that firestorms from the blasts would have incinerated cities and wilderness areas. According to scientific modelling it would be a matter of days before clouds of dust and ash choked the atmosphere and, as a result, the temperature would begin to drop. He made cheery predictions about infrastructure collapse, crop shortages and global famine.

I called Mum again. She made me list every food item I had bought from the supermarket. At the same time I was talking to her, Kara, my step-mum, arrived home carrying grocery bags, still in her yoga outfit.

‘Is that your mum?’ she asked. ‘Tell her I got water, so she can stop calling me.’

‘Did you hear that?’ I asked Mum.

‘Yes. I also want you to get every bottle and container you can find and fill them with tap water. Do it now, straightaway.’

‘Okay.’

‘Fin, they want me to go to Canberra. I don’t know if I will. I’m not too sure what’s going on yet, but I want you to stay where you are, okay? If things change I will find a way to get to you. Do you understand?’

‘Yeah. Mum, do you think people could be overreacting?’

‘Fin, it’s my job not to overreact.’

We did as she said and filled every available container with water, lining them all up in the garage. After that, we all stayed in front of the television, watching the never-ending news bulletin. The picture regularly dissolved into a stutter of pixels.

There were no pictures from the disaster zone. We’re used to having pictures of everything – from security footage of suicide bombers to Nicole Kidman’s kids. There were no pictures and no live crosses to reporters in the disaster zone. There was nothing in the disaster zone. All that was left to broadcast was endless speculation about the immediate future of the planet, the weather, food – and the estimated death toll. Entire nations had been vapourised. What a way to go. At least it would be quick, that’s what people were saying, as if that was a consolation.

The news coverage went round in circles and the prime minister called for calm. There was footage of a huge television screen erected in Martin Place to show the news to city workers. News showing the news.

I sent a text to Lucy. R u ok? I didn’t know what else to say.

Dad got home just before dinner. He came through the living room and nodded at us, then went into the kitchen and talked to Kara quietly. I could hear Kara’s voice getting all high-pitched and emotional, then Dad came out of the kitchen, clapped his hands together and announced dinner was ready. Kara put the bowls on the table without making eye contact with anybody. It was some sort of lentil and chickpea curry. Hell, if I had to cook dinner for my step-kids, I’d probably make sure it was something just as inedible.

‘Is it going to snow?’ Max asked. ‘Radioactive snow?’

‘No, it’s not going to snow radioactive snow,’ Dad said, shaking enough salt on his food to preserve it.

‘How do you know?’ Max asked.

‘Yeah, Greg, how do you know?’ Kara said.

Dad glared at her discreetly, but not quite discreetly enough for me not to notice. He shovelled food into his mouth. ‘I don’t know. But I bet you it’ll all be over in a couple of weeks.’

‘What if it’s not?’ Kara said. ‘They said on the news it could affect the climate for years.’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen the news. I’ve been at work.’

‘Oh, is that a hint, Greg?’ Kara asked. ‘I told you I’ve got some work on next week.’

‘That wasn’t a hint. I was simply saying that I’ve been at work all day and I haven’t had the luxury of watching the news.’

‘Can’t you look at it online, Dad?’ Max asked. He looked genuinely puzzled.