Skylight (Arcadium, #2) (18 page)

Kean grins at
me but says nothing.

“What?” I
say.

His eyebrow
arches. “Look what I found.”

He produces a
pair of purple floral Doc Martens boots.

“No way,” I
say, taking them slowly from him. “No way.”

“Yes, way.”

“Where did you
find these?”

I follow Kean
to the back of the store where shoeboxes are piled high in order of
size and type. He points to the Doc Martens. There’s a bright red
patent leather set, plain black with the yellow stitching, navy
with red stitching, and a small pale floral pair. My eyes catch on
these boots, and Kean realises a moment too late.

The boots are
the sister version of mine, and small enough for Liss. I feel the
change in me. I go cold, like my life is draining away. I picture
Liss walking beside me in our new boots. I picture us out on the
road, alone but together beneath the hot sun. The pain feels
permanent, like a bullet stuck beneath my skin.

Kean doesn’t
know what to say.

Trouble emerges
from the changing room, a smile beaming from his face. He does a
spin for us to show off his black jeans and sneakers, and a thin
marbled grey t-shirt. Very trendy.

I let out a
steady breath and grin back, giving him a double thumbs up.

“Very
original,” Kean says. “I love the use of colour.”

I smile. “I’ll
go find something for me.”

I think at
first I’m trying to recreate my original apocalypse outfit, but it
doesn’t feel right. I’ve changed. I’m older. I’m stronger. I keep
the jeans and boots and find a soft black blouse with crocheted
bits on the shoulders and back. And I pick it because I like it.
It’s not practical or weather proof or blood proof, but it feels
right. I grab some new socks and underwear and find Trouble and
Kean picking out watches by the register.

Kean looks at
the clothes in my arms and jogs around to the till. “Ring those up
for you, Madam?” Kean says half smiling, like a full smile might
push me right off the edge into a great void of grief.

“Sure,” I
say.

We walk out of
the store with our gear in fancy printed plastic bags.

“I think I’ll
go find the showers,” I say.

“We’ll come
with you.” Kean narrows his eyes. “Obviously not
into
the
showers, because that would be weird. But, you know, I’m sure the
men’s and women’s showers are in the same direction.”

“Yeah, um…” I
glance to the back to the shop. “Maybe I can catch up with you
guys?”

“Oh.” Kean
smiles awkwardly. “Sure. Yeah, no problem. Come on, Trouble, let’s
hit the showers.”

I watch them
leave and wait until they’re out of view. I duck back into the shop
and stride right to the back. I stare up at the wall of shoes, my
eyes only seeing one thing.

I don’t have
anything of hers. I didn’t bring anything. And maybe the little Doc
Martens with white flowers can never be Liss’, but I just know
she’d pick them if she had a choice.

I pull the
boots off the shelf slowly and glance over my shoulder before
hiding them in my bag of clothes. It’s stupid. I get it, but I
can’t stop myself from needing them. When I look at them I see
Liss, and that’s as good as any photo.

The female
showers are right next to the male ones. I can hear the water
running behind the door on the left, and maybe Trouble humming a
tune. I push through the door on the right, and thankfully the room
is empty.

It’s
surprisingly well equipped with all kinds of mismatched towels
piled on a shelf. All the used ones are in big laundry trolley,
which I peer into, because I don’t think I’ll ever trust that
anyplace is safe again, and it’s big enough for an infected to hide
in. The three showers are converted toilet stalls, minus the
toilets and plus a network of hoses held with clamps against the
black tiled wall. There’s a central drain in the middle of the
floor and it’s the water’s only escape route so the floor is
glistening and soaked. The air smells damp but there’s no mould
growing anywhere. I grab a towel, peel my sweaty clothes off and
hang them on the back of a stall door.

The water is
warm and pleasant on my skin. I let my hair down and soak it
slowly, rolling my neck from side to side, breathing in the quiet.
I don’t really care what the next week or two brings. I want
revenge, but how can you bring down a place like this, where people
are surviving. How can you kill something like an invisible virus?
How can I possibly make any difference to the world? I’m almost
more frustrated in the fact that I thought I was capable of
avenging Liss. Sometimes I burn with rage and sometimes I’m just
heavy and suffocated, like I could just lie down and never get up
again. The feelings come in waves, ever changing.

I finish up
smelling like warm vanilla soap and extract of mint shampoo. I
towel dry my hair slowly in the locked stall, watching the shampoo
bubbles float away under the door. This would be the most perfect
time for a bunch of infected to raid the centre and for me to be
caught completely unawares in the bathroom.

I dress in my
new clothes and look at my reflection in the sink mirror.

I don’t look at
myself in terms of how pretty I look or how plain I might feel
anymore. I look at how strong my eyes are. I check that I’m still
hiding the horror of killing infected human beings well enough. My
surface is just a surface; it’s what’s underneath that I worry
about now. I search my face for the humanity I’m afraid I’ll lose
after being beaten down so much, but I don’t know what it looks
like.

A woman enters
the shower room suddenly. I jump, totally startled.

Jessie smiles
sharply, like she’s surprised too.

“Sorry,” she
says. “Just came to make sure there was enough soap in here.”

“It’s okay,” I
say.

After Jessie
checks the soap pumps in the shower stalls, she comes out rubbing
one of her eyes.

“Stupid
contacts,” she says, pulling a bottle of eye drops from her holster
and administering a few drops. When she’s done she leans on the
bench. She crosses her arms like she doesn’t want to talk.

I watch the
back of her head in the mirror.

“So…” She says
finally. “I don’t know how much you know about Jacob…”

“How much does
anyone really know about anyone?” I say.

Jessie
nods.

“Were you in
Arcadium?” I ask.

“Arcada-what?”

I nod this
time. “Then how do you and Jacob know each other?”

Jessie stares
at the floor for some time. “Is he part of your group? He doesn’t
have the same quirky manicure as you three.”

I look down at
my hands, splayed out of the bench. The jellybean coloured nail
polish is chipped and peeling but it’s still there. The memory of
Liss holding each finger as she carefully painted pierces my heart
like a knife. I close my eyes against the pain, and carefully
remove the memory and lock it away under the category of too
painful for now.

“I didn’t mean
to… dredge anything up,” Jessie says.

I shrug and
open my eyes. “I don’t know what he is.”

“You shouldn’t
follow him again,” she says. “You can’t rely on him.”

“That’s funny,”
I say sharply. I don’t know if it’s because I feel like she’s doing
that thing that older people do, telling you what to do because
they think they know best even though they don’t know you at all,
or if I’m sticking up for Jacob; because let’s face it, who in
their right mind would let a teenager tag along on an important
mission to save the world?

“It’s funny
because actually he followed us.”

Jessie’s brow
flicks up. “Oh.”

I massage my
index finger knuckle. “You think bad people always stay bad and
good people are forever good, don’t you?”

Jessie thinks
I’m talking about Jacob but actually I’m talking about myself. She
gives a limp shoulder shrug. “I don’t believe in the in-between
anymore. There’s only dead or alive now.”

I don’t know
what to say, and it would be weird if I suddenly left, so I just
wait.

“I see you’ve
been to Surf ’n’ More,” Jessie says. “Nice threads.”

“Yep.”

She nods
slowly. “I just… you know, if you want… I’d be happy to train you
in nursing if you like. It’s a good career, you know, helping
people. Doing something real.”

I don’t say
anything. I just watch her.

“And if you
ever need me, I’m in the surf store next level up. It’s got huge
palm trees on the front, right next to the big skylight. You can’t
really miss it.”

“Okay,” I
say.

“Alright then.”
Jessie nods to herself and pushes off the bench. “See you
round.”

Kean’s waiting
for me outside, leaning on the railing, with the sunshine on his
back. “Please tell me you got some gossip out of her.”

“Nope, not a
thing.”

He sighs,
disappointed, and watches Jessie disappear down the escalator. “You
take a long time in the shower, you know that?”

“I wasn’t aware
I was being timed,” I say.

Kean looks away
for a second, but he recovers quickly. “Maybe I count every second
we’re away from each other.”

“Have you
secretly been reading poetry?”

“Maybe.” He
leans back on the gold railing. “Want to get something to eat?”

“Where’s
Trouble?”

Kean stands up
straight now. “He’s actually sleeping. I tried to as well but… I
was just staring at the ceiling, thinking.”

I cross my
arms. My plastic bag of old clothes rustles. “Thinking what?”

Kean eyes
harden a fraction. “Thinking what the hell am I doing here?” Then
he smiles, trying to lighten the mood. “And then I got hungry.”

“Can I put my
bags back first?”

“Course.”

We make the
detour quickly, and I catch a glimpse of Trouble stretched out on
one of the camp beds, on top of the yellow sleeping bag with his
arms curled above his head. Our backpacks have arrived and are
sitting neatly lined up against the wall.

We follow the
canteen signs, down the escalators and to the food court right next
to the escalators that lead down into the train station. Kean walks
into the canteen area first, kind of leading the way. It’s much
darker down here, with just a few spotlights on, and candles set
out on the tables. We’re surrounded by all manner of fast food
stores, Chinese, Indian, Burgers, all of that. They’re empty,
sitting in shadows, collecting dust. All except one, which is lit
up brighter than an exploding star.

There are two
people, one guy standing behind the bench, and a girl one sitting
cross-legged on it—laughing and giggling and slamming down cards
from a pack between them. The girl sees us coming first and she
just about throws her cards in the air, she’s so excited.

“Newbies!” she
cries, spinning around so that her legs are dangling off the side,
and she kicks them around madly.

We approach
cautiously, and when we’re in range the girl slides off the bench
and rushes at us. She doesn’t hug us or anything full on, she just
kind of grabs one of our arms each, like she doesn’t want us to go
anywhere. She looks us up and down.

“I like your
boots,” she says to me. “I have the exact same pair.” She grins and
suddenly lets us go so she can brush her brown curly hair back
behind her ears.

“Cool,” I
say.

“I’m Tina, this
is Mo. I’m guessing you’re Florence and you’re Kean.” She puts her
hands on her hips, triumphant. “Jessie already told me. I’m getting
a tattoo later.”

“Are you old
enough?” I ask. She seems too young for a tattoo. Maybe I’m just
trying to pick holes in this place, and I’ll take anything, even
underage tattooing.

Mo starts
laughing in the background as Tina’s expression falters. “I’m
eighteen, alright? It’s all perfectly legal.”

“Have you got
any ID?” Kean says, grinning.

Mo howls with
laughter and slaps his hands on the bench.

“Dammit, you
guys,” Tina says, pouting. Eventually she smiles again.

“Come on, Tina,
let the newbies eat. They’re probably starved.”

Tina rolls her
eyes at Mo. She turns back to us. “So bossy, he is. Good thing I
can beat him at cards or wouldn’t hang out with him, honestly. I’ll
get you a tray. Mo you can get them something.”

Mo smiles.
“I’ve got chicken and corn soup or vege broth to offer you. And a
fine selection of soft drinks, and fresh… well, definitely
uninfected water, anyway. I’ve also got Snack-a-Woos…” Mo grabs one
of the packets and reads it. “A chocolate biscuit centre smothered
in caramel, topped with marshmallow and covered in chocolate. I’ve
not been able to stomach anything remotely containing chocolate,
since I had to survive off it for a month straight.” He shakes his
head. “I am a broken man now, unable to enjoy chocolate.”

“Wah, wah, such
a sob story.” Tina plops a tray in front of us all. “What’ll it be?
I need to get back to beating his ass.”

“Chicken,” I
say.

“Vege,” Kean
says. “Thanks.”

We get our cups
of soup and head over to a table out of their line of sight. I can
still hear them though, laughing and shouting and generally being
excited. It’s inescapable.

“So…” Kean
blows on the top of his soup even though our soups are mildly
lukewarm.

I taste a
mouthful: bland, salty, repetitive. “So,” I reply.

“What, are we
trusting Jacob now?”

I swirl my
spoon through my soup. “Do we ever trust anyone?”

“It’s just…
we’re here, you know. What now? What’s the big plan?”

I bow my head
and press my palms to my brow. After some time of silence, I drop
my hands and look up. “I don’t know.”

Kean gives me a
long stare. “Do you still want to be here?”

“I don’t
know.”