Skylight (Arcadium, #2) (19 page)

“Whatever you
want to do, Trouble and I will always be there. We will always have
your back and we will always pull you back from whatever darkness
you fall into. You’re not alone.”

I strain a tiny
smile and scratch my thumbnail along the edge of the table. . “Can
I ask you something?”

“I guess that
wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Kean says.

“If we weren’t
in this position, if the world hadn’t gone to pieces and there was
no apocalypse… do you think we’d still be together?”

Kean’s
expression falters, just slightly.

“Would we have
even met?” I say. “Would we have even liked each other if we didn’t
need each other?”

Kean frowns
thoughtfully. “Does it matter? It’s too late for us anyway. I love
you and you love me. Hypotheticals don’t really come into it.”

I know there’s
no way to know unless I lived another life. And I know that we’ll
never know if everything that happens is just random or if we’re
destined for things. And I know I shouldn’t ask questions like
that. But I feel like I just need some answers, even tiny little
ones. I need something.

Kean watches me
as he eats a spoonful of soup. “This soup is really something.”

“Liar.” I grin.
“The soup is awful.”

“Alright. I’ll
admit it’s not exactly up to my standard.”

Something pangs
inside me, like a rubber band sling-shotting into my heart, and I
realise what it is. I miss our old plain and private life, Kean’s
food, the simple small things like sunlight on my face, absolute
quiet and stargazing in the dark. I miss the comfort of being
settled, and watching the life around me.

I don’t think I
can ever really be this person who’s reckless and dangerous and
bold, no matter how hard I try.

I DON’T GO to
dinner with the others. I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling —
the very plain, white ceiling. Which I think is perfectly
acceptable, considering… oh, I don’t know, everything. I just need
some time away from every one, time to breath. After a while I take
out the pale boots that remind me of Liss and set them next to my
purple ones. And I just stare at them, thinking about her. Liss is
so clear in my memory it’s like she’s right here.

The roller door
rises with a crumpling sound. I jump up, stuff the white Doc
Martens in my backpack and whirl back to my camp bed.

Kean smiles,
crossing the room with a foil covered bowl in his hands.

Jacob sits at
the service desk with a pen and paper. Trouble does a few stretches
and walks the perimeter of the room before sitting on his bed.

“Got you some
takeaway,” Kean says. “Rice and veges.”

“Thanks.” The
bowl’s still warm. As I eat everyone is quiet, in their own
headspace. When I finish my meal I take the empty bowl to the
desk.

Jacob ignores
me, head down, pen moving.

“What are you
drawing?” I ask.

Jacob sends me
a long look. “A duck.”

“Huh,” I say,
walking back to my bed. I kick my feet up and recline as Kean
wanders over to Jacob.

“Never took you
for the arty type,” I say.

Kean leans over
Jacob’s shoulder. “Man, I don’t mean to be critical but your duck
kind of looks like a map. Maybe you need more practice.”

Jacob stares at
the wall for a second, narrows his eyes and forces down a smile. I
just know he’s laughing on the inside. It’s just a small moment,
but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jacob do that before.

With nothing
else to do, we head to bed. Jacob switches off our light but stays
up for maybe an extra hour. I twist around in my sleeping bag,
still fully dressed, and watch Kean’s face. Sleep always looks so
peaceful. His head’s tucked up against his shoulder, his arm
dangles just over the edge of his camp bed. Emergency lighting
trickles through the sheet-covered window like a nightlight. I lie
awake for hours, in the soft dark.

There’s no
peace in my mind and I just can’t fall asleep. Kean’s nose
twitches, he takes a deep breath and his head turns away.

I whisper at
the lowest tone, “Are you awake?” I reach out, about to touch his
hand.

“I’m awake,”
Jacob says loudly behind Kean.

Trouble sits
bolt upright beside me. “Hnh?”

Kean opens one
eye. “I am now.” He rubs his eyes and stares at me with a lazy
grin. “Awkwardly, so is everyone else.”

“Since we’re
all awake,” Jacob says, “we could do some team reconnaissance.”

I share an
annoyed glance with Kean but he says, “Anything that gets us home
faster is good with me.”

Six minutes
later (I love my new watch), we’re armed with torches and slowly
lifting the roller door so it won’t make any sound. Trouble holds a
long yawn and stretches his arms across his body. The torches
aren’t necessary because of the low-key emergency lighting, but you
never know. We pad silently along the cream tiles, glancing from
floor to ceiling, looking for I don’t know what. Maybe cameras
following us or bloodied handprints or signs that say human testing
this way.

I tap Jacob’s
shoulder and he turns as we walk.

“What are we
looking for?” I whisper.

“Surveillance.
Entrance and exit points.”

“And I thought
we were here to investigate new decor trends,” Kean says.

“Unfortunately
for you, comedian isn’t one of the desperately needed Skylight
careers,” Jacob says in his low voice.

“Yeah,” Kean
says. “They took it off when they saw you coming.”

A smile creeps
onto Jacob’s face and he goes quiet. The banter reminds me of how
Kean and Henry are around each other, how they feed each other and
spur each other on without really meaning to. And that makes me
think of Henry, all alone. I wonder if he’s sitting with Liss or
trying to ignore her. But then I think Henry’s a lot like his
brother: kindness is effortless for them — hope comes standard with
the package.

Trouble looks
across at me and squeezes my shoulder. I swear, it’s like he
knows
what I’m thinking. Must be a parent thing.

Jacob leads us
down a frozen escalator to the street level and eventually comes to
a stop at a dead end: a big red curtain hangs over what was once an
exit to the street.

Jacob licks his
bottom lip, gauging the situation. He glances across at me.

“Exit?” he
says.

I nod.

Jacob walks
right up to the curtain and draws a corner back. Behind it is a
large, sturdy wooden framework, kind of like jail bars, and beyond
that is the glass wall and tall automatic doors leading out onto
the narrow alleyway. The street is invisible in the dark, but on
the other side the shopping centre continues; a walkover bridge
connects the buildings on the next floor up.

Jacob inspects
the wood, the joins, the hinges. We slip into the narrow corridor
of space between the curtain and wooden structure.

A gentle
scraping sound floats down to us. We all look up in unison a man
with wide shoulders, a flannel shirt and a serious expression sits
above us on a platform, leaning heavily back on his chair, his legs
kicked up on a stool. He’s concentrating on some kind of small bowl
thing in his hands, oblivious to us.

He must feel
the four of us staring at him though, because he glances casually
in our direction and starts when he sees us. He runs a hand over
his bald head. “Pheeewie,” he says, “hard to tell infected from
regular people in the dark.” He whips his feet down but stays
seated. “You folks want out?” he asks, peering at us.

Jacob blinks a
few times before replying. “Just inspecting the fortifications. For
peace of mind.”

The man
flattens his lips and nods. “Ten four.” He kicks his feet back up
on the stool. “You folks settling in well then?” He keeps turning
the handle on his canister, the gentle scraping noise resumes.

Jacob crosses
his arms. “It’s a slow process.”

The man hums in
agreement.

“What are you
doing?” I ask.

“Keeping watch
on the street.”

“No, I mean,
what’s that spinning thing?”

Hank looks down
and chuckles. “Grinding my own coffee beans.” He shrugs. “It’s the
simple things, isn’t it? Listen, don’t let me sit here all high and
mighty, come on up here if you’d like to see the view. I can grind
a few more cups.”

I’m closest to
the ladder so I climb it first. The wooden platform is probably
about three metres off the ground, and at just the right angle to
see the width of the street. And it’d probably be an interesting
view if it wasn’t so dark.

“Hank Martins,”
the man says, greeting everyone with a handshake as they arrive.
“That there’s Louis.” Hank points across the street to the other
building. He unhooks a walkie-talkie from his belt and brings it to
his mouth. “Show your face, Louie, I got guests,” he says. We stare
out into the dark as Hank holsters his radio. A few seconds later a
torch lights up and vague outline of a face and waving hand
appear.

“Poor bloke,”
Hank says. “He’s American. Was on holiday when the…stuff hit the
fan. Now he’s stuck here.” Hank shakes his canister of coffee
grinds. “How many more should I make?”

“None for me,”
I say.

“I’m good,”
Kean says.

Jacob nods and
looks back at Trouble. “Make it two.”

Hank looks over
Trouble thoughtfully. “Is he a mute?”

Jacob looks
over Hank slowly. “Something like that.”

“Why not brick
up the door?” Kean asks. “Wouldn’t that be safer?”

“Safer than
glass and wood and sentries and escape plans?” Hank smiles. “Brick
are just one layer. This here’s a multi layer system. Take for
instance this wooden barrier. It’s full of hinges, capable of
folding back like a curtain and letting vehicles in and out. That
glass is shatterproof, those doors open wide enough to move
whatever we need in and out. That curtain there looks beautiful and
is great for privacy.”

“But wouldn’t
bricks be stronger?”

“Mate, you can
never block out the bad stuff completely. But I do believe you can
monitor it and stay on top of it.”

“How often do
you open the doors?” Jacob asks.

Hank adds some
more beans to his coffee grinder and starts winding. “Oh, not
often. I’d need official permission, unless a survivor was right on
the other side. Then I’d just pop em open for a second and let the
poor sod in.”

Kean's brows go
up. I go rigid. Jacob doesn’t react.

“So…” Jacob
says slowly, “you have controls right there?”

Hank puts down
his grinder and pulls out a gas burner and pot set. “Oh yeah, right
there on the wall.” He reaches into the shadows for something and
pulls out a huge shotgun. “And I got this to persuade people to
stay away from it. You’ve got to be trained to know when you can
save a life and when it’s too late.” Hank discards the shotgun and
pours a plastic bottle of water into the pot. He flicks a dial and
the gas lights.

Jacob folds his
arms. “Is that ah… an Aliva Ultimate Camp burner?”

Hank looks
surprised. “Yes, sir, it is. Best of the best. Doesn’t even give up
for the apocalypse.”

Jacob nods.
“Mmm, agreed. I’ve had the privilege.”

“Perfect even
heat saturation. It’s no espresso machine, but I wouldn’t be
lugging one of those around these days.”

Jacob
laughs.

I roll my eyes.
“Suddenly I feel so tired,” I say.

“Yeah, me too,”
Kean says. “Maybe we’ll leave you connoisseurs to it.”

Jacob settles
on the ground and gestures for Trouble to join him. “Don’t you kids
do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Is there
actually anything you wouldn’t do though?” Kean says.

“True,” Jacob
nods. “Try not to get killed then.”

“We’ll do our
best,” I say.

“Always do,”
Kean says.

As we walk back
to our room Kean looks confused.

“What?” I say.
“You think the security isn’t good enough?”

Kean thinks for
a moment then shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s worse. I
think…I think Jacob is kind of growing on me.”

A small laugh
follows and tiny smile, and it honestly surprises me. “I know how
you feel.”

“Don’t get me
wrong, I don’t trust the guy, but I don’t feel bad around him.”

I nod. I feel
it too. Aside from the fact that Jacob saved my life, he keeps
including people where others would push them away. He let me join
him on a clearly dangerous journey and wasn’t worried I’d slow him
down. Right now he’s hanging out with Trouble, which is nice. Jacob
led the way in the underground, he looks after himself, he makes
tough decisions in a snap. He’s not one of us, but who’s to say he
won’t be one day?

I’m the first
to wake up in the morning. Or at least I think I am for a few brief
moments, before noticing that Jacob’s bed is empty.

I shake off my
open sleeping bag, do a couple of Trouble style stretches and
wander over to the bench. The list of jobs is still sitting there.
Somehow I don’t believe they’d let us do any of these things. I
have no training in any area, except maybe survival, and I’m not
about to be a soldier or some gun-wielding up-all-night security
guard. I slide onto one of the bar stools and lean my elbows on the
bench. That’s when I notice the extra paper underneath Jessie’s
list. I push the list aside. Jacob’s map is incredibly detailed,
with perfect straight lines and smooth curves. Everything is noted,
from lights to switches to a behind the scenes of the canteen area,
estimations of distance and time taken to walk and run those
lengths. I imagine this is what his brain looks like; a series of
black outlined maps, accessible in folders, sketches of people’s
faces, details of conversations recorded. Clean and clinical and
black and white.