From the Indie Side (17 page)

Three

Two

One

From nowhere, I
felt a huge pressure in my head. It built and built, and both hands
flew up to my skull as though if I held it I could stop it from
exploding. And then the feeling suddenly changed, and spears of
pain shot through both ears, along with a strong sucking sensation.
And then I must have passed out.

I woke up with
a staggering headache, to find I was lying on the floor on my back,
in darkness. My body ached, and I was dripping wet. I thought I
could taste blood, but that sense was overpowered by the cloying
stench of wine. I moved a hand out to push myself into a sitting
position, and felt my palm being bitten. I snatched it away and
felt the skin with the fingers of my other hand, finding a number
of slivers of glass embedded there. I pulled out those large enough
to find easily, and realized that all over my body my skin was
stinging. I reached out gingerly to find the floor was covered with
liquid and tiny pieces of glass. Slowly, I pushed the shards to one
side as best I could, in order to clear a path toward the steps.
Then I made to get to my feet, but found my legs were too wobbly. I
stopped for a moment to try to think, but the dark was making me
paranoid. My ears were ringing, and yet I could hear breathing
too—and I couldn’t be sure it was mine. Panic began to rise at the
thought that I might not be alone down here. I moved awkwardly on
my hands and knees, trying to make sure an area was clear before I
gave weight to a movement, but wincing more than once when my knees
struck something painful and sharp. At the bottom of the stairs I
found a piece of cloth, and then it was easier to brush aside the
glass and check it had gone before heading up on all fours. The
debris lessened as I made my way up.

There were
thirteen steps in the cellar—I had counted this numerous times—yet
this time I had reached fifteen by the time I felt the door. I
reached up and patted the wall until I found the rail, and it took
all my strength to pull myself up. I had a horrible moment when the
door wouldn’t give and I thought I was trapped, but after another
push it opened, and I staggered out into the daylight of my dad’s
hallway, collapsing in relief when I found myself back in familiar
surroundings.

I lay on the
carpet for a moment, breathing heavily, never more grateful for the
daylight. When I eventually looked down I saw I was covered head to
toe with red wine. I sat up, noting the stains I was leaving on the
light brown carpet, wondering vaguely what my scrupulous father
would think of that.

I had been in
survival mode while escaping the cellar. Only now did I wonder what
the hell had just happened. I felt for my phone in my pocket,
knowing it was tough to get a signal out here but praying
anyway.

The screen was
black. It wouldn’t even turn on.

I crawled
across to the wall and leaned my back against it, trying to gather
my thoughts as I sat there. At first it seemed as though nothing
here had been affected, but then I felt a breeze shiver against my
skin, and looked up to see that the windows up here had blown, and
that Dad’s curtains were swaying gently in the wind. After what
seemed like a long time I pulled myself up again and moved along,
leaning on the wall. I returned to the cellar door and tried the
light switch again, but it seemed the bulb had blown. Only from the
light that snuck in past the open doorway could I make out the dim,
empty rows of wine racks, and the carpet of glinting, red-stained
glass.

Poor Dad, I
thought. All that work of his bleeding out on the floor.

Next I went to
the window. In the distance, the dollhouse city stood immutable. I
made my way around the whole house looking for anything else amiss.
At the back, the vine leaves shuddered against their poles, and I
saw that the windows of my car had shattered too. I had a flash of
fear that I might have left my car keys in the cellar, and quickly
felt in my pocket, grateful to find them there. I went out, sat in
the car, and turned the ignition.

The car was
dead.

In that moment,
I had never felt so alone.

I thought of
the long driveway leading away from the house. I knew how far it
was just to get to that annoying gate, so I can’t explain what I
did next, except to say that my head was obviously affected—my ears
were still ringing, and all rational thought was lost amid a
growing fog of panic.

I walked back
into the house and rinsed a dishtowel under the sink, grateful to
see the water was still running. Clinging to this indicator of
normality, I toweled off the worst of the wine, not even
considering the shower. Then I stuck my head under the faucet and
gulped as much water as I could, some part of my brain knowing that
was important, but not going so far as to remind me to also fill a
bottle. Neither did I think to look for sunscreen and a hat,
despite the fact that this was well-worn mothering advice I cajoled
my kids with daily. Then I walked away from the house without
looking back, meandering down that long driveway as though I was
just off to check the mail.

I was delirious
before I even found asphalt.

There was no
strength left in my legs. I was just staggering, having an
out-of-body experience, counting my steps and placing bets on
whether I could reach the next number with a zero while still
upright. My wine-saturated skin felt tight to the point of
shriveling, and I knew I was burning up. The resulting smell was
reminding me of a fancy chicken recipe I always made with tomatoes
using Dad’s wine, and I was amused at the thought of making my own
mouth water, trying to remember if I had ever heard of anyone
eating their own body parts before.

At one point I
realized I wasn’t sure if I had turned left or right out of Dad’s
driveway. I glanced up and down the road to find it all appeared
the same, and realized I had lost the option of retreat. As the
heat seared away my strength I began to shiver, and I wondered how
close I was to dying. I told myself I was being melodramatic. If I
wasn’t back by lunchtime surely Graeme would be worried… but
perhaps the kids would run him so ragged that he wouldn’t even
notice. It might be getting dark by the time he tried to call
me.

I didn’t think
I would make it till then.

And then
I had a thought that seemed to upend all the others. I remembered
that crushing, sucking pain in my head. What if the same thing had
happened to
them,
too?

An unbearable
question, and no way to answer it.

I sank to the
ground. Why had we not stuck together? The children always asked to
come with me. The novelty was still exciting. I had only grown more
reluctant after Mum died, wanting to protect them from Dad’s grief.
Believing that I was doing them a favor by limiting their exposure
to anything troubling. Forgetting that they might have lifted Dad’s
spirits. Besides, there was always a mountain of stuff to do at
home; if Graeme and I split the chores we could get so much more
accomplished. Except our days out together—we had forgotten to
accomplish that.

I had no energy
left to get up again. As I lay in a heap, fear prowled through me,
striking at every dead-end thought, leaving me in agony. I was
incoherent by the time I heard the truck rumbling.

For the first
time in what felt like hours, I tried to pull myself up. I thought
it was my family come to rescue me.

But someone
else had found me instead.

He stopped his
truck and gave me water, then lifted me into the passenger seat. I
was too weak to object to anything, least of all hands that took
care of me, even if they were a stranger’s. The sun shone straight
in my face as we drove along, making me keep my eyes closed. I
tried to twist around, but there was no getting away from the
glare. I needed to lean on something, but my head kept smacking
against the door frame as we bounced around. I hadn’t the
strength to stop it. It felt like we drove for hours, but I
must have been mistaken as the sun was still strong when we finally
pulled up.

This day was
never going to end.

The sudden
stillness after the bumping over rough ground had jolted me
properly awake, and I pushed myself wearily to sit up.

I recognized
the building, but it took me a moment to process my memories and
begin to place it. Then I realized: it was the convent. I had
always called it that, even though it had already been a tourist
attraction by the time I first saw it, an elaborate structure two
hundred kilometers from civilization that had been a spiritual
retreat for over a century before it became a destination for
day-trippers. I had been here once before. On that first visit I’d
held one small hand in each of mine, listening to the little ones’
bored moans as we wandered around pretending to admire the stained
glass, really only there because Graeme wanted to see the Spanish
architecture and it was an excuse to get out of the city for the
day. I remembered that Katie wanted an ice cream and I said no to
her so many times that she ended up in tears and I was angry, and
that it had all felt so extreme at the time. How ridiculous it
seemed now. How I wished I had just bought her the damn cone.

I became aware
my Samaritan was watching me, and gathered the courage to look into
his eyes.

I was relieved
to see nothing there to make me afraid. He was tanned, with short
blond hair and deep creases in his face. His gaze was direct and
considered. I thought I was quite good at reading people: I would
have said he was sizing me up.

“What happened
to me?”

He didn’t
answer straight away. Then, “I don’t know.”

“Why have you
brought me out here?”

“I don’t think
it’s safe in the city.”

I tried to
visualize what was happening at home and felt that unbearable
falling sensation again. “Do you have a phone?”

He reached in
his pocket and held one up and for a moment I was filled with
relief. Then he said, “I do, but it won’t work.”

“So why don’t
you think it’s safe in the city?”

“Well, after
all my windows shattered and I woke up with a headache, I drove
that way to begin with. All I saw were cars and houses with
shattered windows for a whole hour. Couldn’t find a living soul,
didn’t even see a body. It began to freak me out, so I turned
around. Then I found you.”

It only then
registered that his windows were broken too. No wonder the sun had
felt so strong.

“So you don’t
have any idea what happened?”

“I don’t know
for sure, but I think there’s been some kind of bomb.”

“In the
city?”

“Yes.”

I thought about
that. About Graeme and Katie and Jake. The tears came quickly and I
bit back the urge to wail, looking down at my hands.

I felt
completely lost. Unaware of where I was, until he spoke again.

“I think we
should get inside and see what we can find. I’m hoping they might
have working communication and some food. And it’s proper
shelter—we can’t stay in the truck unless we keep the engine
running.” He jumped down from the cab, and a moment later he was
opening my door.

“Here,” he
said, holding out a hand to help me down. As soon as we began to
move I felt weak and dizzy. I leaned on him and gulped air, trying
not to be sick.

“So why are we
here?” I asked.

He paused,
shrugged. “Best place I could think of. Besides, there aren’t many
places to go out this way.”

That was true;
I remembered as much from the tour. The religious order that built
the convent had made it deliberately inaccessible, much farther
removed from civilization than it was nowadays. There was only one
road leading up to the building, which ran in a loop all around it.
Other than that it was just flat compacted sand that merged into
low-lying bushland in the distance.

I had a vague
memory of our car being parked on a nearby patch of dirt, and us
trying to corral the kids into it. Jake running off and chasing a
flock of cockatoos that had been pecking at the empty red earth;
the way he laughed at their indignant shrieks as they took to the
safety of the skies. I hadn’t thought I’d be here again. It was one
of those out-of-the-way, empty places there was no need to visit
more than once. A tick in a box. No reason to suspect I would ever
be back.

I found I was
trembling, and I wasn’t sure whether it was from the fear of the
unknown or the intangibility of those memories. There was something
horribly wrong. I didn’t want this to be all I had.

I needed to
understand what had happened. “What makes you think it was a
bomb?”

Again he took
his time to reply. “I was in the army for a long time. Warfare is
changing. There’s something about this—I think it might be some
kind of EMP.”

“What’s
that?”

“Electromagnetic pulse. Knocks out everything electrical—though
supposedly without damage to human life.” He frowns. “Whatever. If
I’m right, it’ll cause chaos.”

“That’s why our
phones don’t work?”

“Yes—if I’m
right.”

“My car didn’t
work either—how come your truck does?”

“The newer ones
rely far more on electronics.”

As we drew
closer to the building we were overseen by the grotesques: carved
stone devils with forked wings that stared down from each quarter,
eyes forever open in horror. Last time I had been fascinated,
taking photographs from every angle. Today I couldn’t bear to look
at them. From high above they watched us, and I wondered if we were
the only moving specks they could see in acres of deserted
scrub. 

Eventually we
reached the building. There was no sign of anyone. I immediately
noticed that the windows were still intact, but there was only
darkness behind them. To the left of the main building I could make
out the muted colors of the stained glass in the chapel.