Skylight (Arcadium, #2) (5 page)

Jacob allows a
dramatic pause. “When I’m ready,” he says.

I stare at the
map. “So the crosses are all…” I don’t know why but I can’t bring
myself to say it.

“Dead
facilities, correct. Though, to be fair, these two were overrun
through no fault of my own.”

I nod, trying
not to pass judgement. There are six black crosses and maybe
another twelve gold stars.

“How did you
get all this information?” Kean asks.

“It’s not an
exhaustive list, by any means. I knew of the idea of facilities
from my time in the army, but the actual locations were all gleaned
on the go.” He smiles plainly. “Just like I gained the door code
from you.”

“Why not go to
the city first, then?” I say.

Jacob makes a
raspy sound with his throat. “Good question. I didn’t know about it
until I overheard Doctor Harding communicating with them via
radio.”

I look to Kean.
I have no more questions and it doesn’t seem like Jacob will be
around long enough to bother us. Kean nods in the silence.

“Well,” I say,
“good luck, I guess.”

“I can’t offer
you two and the Chinaman a front row seat to saving the world?”

This makes me
smile. Not because it’s funny, but because of one thing I am
absolutely certain. “Jacob, there is nothing in this world that can
make us leave everything we have here. Nothing at all.”

Jacob stands at
the end of his driveway and covers us as we make our way home. And
by cover us, I mean he stands there with his gun hanging loosely in
his hand, watching us.

Trouble is
still sitting at the table when we arrive, watching the flame of a
lonely candle. Kean sits and I lean on the back of one of the
dining chairs.

“What happened
to good cop, bad cop?” I say.

Kean runs his
hands through his sandy hair. “It was the Milo. My one weakness. My
kryptonite.”

“I thought I
was your one weakness.”

“I’m going to
stop digging this hole right now. Before we realise how many
weaknesses I have. But I don’t think that went badly, you know. I
don’t think he’ll be a threat. It’s like he’s having a holiday or
something.”

“I think so
too. I hope so, anyway.”

Trouble clears
his throat, watching us with expectant eyes.

“Would you like
to do the honours?” Kean says.

“Oh, no.” I
grin. “This mime is all on you.”

I SLEEP IN
late, almost until midday, and I do it partly because I’m tired and
mostly because I can. I think about Jacob’s plans, covering his
kitchen like the inside of his brain. I mean, he knows exactly what
he’s done and where he’s going next. He’s the knight on a
chessboard, forging forward in leaps and cutting strategies, while
I’m hanging back all king-like where it’s safe.

Finally it’s
Liss that drags me from my oven of a bed. It’s like if you don’t
get up when the heat first descends you’ve no chance; you’re just
stuck forever in a sleepy state, too weary to move, too overcome to
care. I could lie there all day and all night, but Liss won’t
relent. First she stands in the doorway, hands on her hips just
staring like she can telepathically communicate with me. Next thing
I know she’s jumping on the bed, jolting me around and making
enough noise to raise the dead.

“Alright.” I
use my foot to push her off balance and she collapses onto the bed
with a squeal.

“Are we being
attacked?” I ask.

Liss goes still
and frowns. “No.”

“Then why the
urgency?”

Her eyes go
wide. “I made you breakfast.”

“Really?”

Liss bites her
lip and nods. “Yes, because Kean said we’re going to the park, but
we can’t go until everyone is up, and everyone is up but you.”

I rub my eyes
like that will somehow help me to keep them open. “Oh, I see.”

“Come on, Flo.
We never go
anywhere
.”

“Sure we do. We
go to the balcony and the kitchen and the living room and the roof.
What more do you want?”

Liss crawls
onto the bed and tries to squish me, but she’s too light and I feel
sorry for her, so I don’t bother pushing her off.

“I want to go
to the park,” she says, getting her face right in mine. “Come on.
Get up, get up, get up,” Liss chants. “Get up, up, up, up, up.”

“I’m up!” I
groan and roll her off me, and we both spill onto the floor. For a
moment I lie on the carpet, cooling my face because it’s a few
degrees lower than the air temperature.

“Up, up, up.”
Liss tugs on my arm, brightly determined.

“I am up,” I
mumble.

“You’re on the
floor.”

I nod slowly
and sigh. “Yes but, at least I’m not in the bed anymore.”

A horrible
sound sails though the open window, the lace curtains fluttering in
the breeze. A forlorn moan, frustrated and inhuman. I jolt up and
rush to see. Liss grabs my arm and I drag her along. We peer out
the window. At first there’s nothing, and then Jacob comes into
view. He’s walking backwards, gun loose in his hand. The infected
woman, swipes at him with anger. She’s never quite close enough to
get him. She jerks along, swiping and groaning and raging at Jacob,
who is as calm as ever.

“What’s he
doing?” Liss asks.

“Leading it
somewhere.”

The infected
woman has long brown hair and is in remarkably good shape—no blood
on her at all, all limbs attached.

Jacob looks up
at us and waves.

Liss waves
back.

We watch until
we can’t see them anymore. The air goes silent.

“Get changed,”
Liss says. “I have a surprise for you!”

I narrow my
eyes at the bowl Liss holds out. “What is it?” I sit at the dining
table and Liss forces a big silver spoon into my hand.

“Barbecue baked
beans, obviously.”

What she omits
is that the smiley face is made out of pineapple chunks and its
hair is fashioned from something like spam.

“Mmm.” My lips
tighten automatically.

The moment Liss
disappears upstairs to get ready for our excursion, I push the
additions to the side of the bowl and make a start on the baked
beans. I sit in the oven-like heat for about a minute before
scooping up the bowl and heading outside.

Kean stands,
leaning back against the corner railing, a can of lemonade in his
hand. I join him and see what he’s watching.

“Oh. My.
God.”

Trouble is
doing pushups with his feet raised on the wooden swing. And he just
keeps going and going, staring at the wooden planks, muscles
pumping. The swing barely moves.

My stomach
muscles clench.

“How is that
even possible?” I say.

Kean hands me
his drink. I take a sip and pass it back.

“How is
that
even possible?” Kean says, points to my breakfast
bowl.

“It’s a gift
from my sister.”

“Ah, so you
have to eat it or she’ll think you don’t love her.”

I peer over the
edge of the balcony. “I was thinking of chucking it over the side,
but I think she’ll know.”

Kean laughs.
“I’ll do it. I’ll take one for the team.”

I finish the
beans and hand the barbecue and pineapple spam soup over.

“It’s like
we’ve joined forces with the Terminator.” Kean nods to Trouble and
shovels in a mouthful. He chews quickly, swallows and pulls a
dramatic sour face. “Oh, wow. That was disturbing.” Kean finishes
Liss’ creation as quick as possible, washes it down with lemonade
and wipes his forehead. He hands me the empty bowl.

“How many do
you think he can do?” I ask.

Kean scoffs. “A
million, I bet. No, no. It’s probably insulting to put limitations
on Trouble.”

“How many can
you do?”

Kean laughs.
“Like, at least five. You?”

“Yeah, sure. I
could do five.”

Trouble drops
his feet to the ground and lines up next to the swing. He lowers
himself, his chin almost touching the balcony, his arms barely
struggling. Liss grabs one of the swing ropes for balance and
climbs on Trouble’s back. Slowly he pushes up, and Liss cackles,
almost falling off. When she gathers her balance, Trouble busts out
a row of twenty pushups with my sister standing on his back. And he
does this with a smile.

Me and Kean
share our feelings of inadequacy with a long look.

“I mean, how
can you beat that,” I say.

As Trouble
refreshes in the bathroom, the rest of us gather on the balcony,
breathing in the late morning heat. Liss and Henry are both on the
wooden swing, ropes creaking softly every time Liss kicks off the
floor. They glide back and forth, subdued and quiet.

I sit
cross-legged in the shade, picking the stray bits of nail polish
off the skin around my nails. Kean leaning on the railing, fifty
pages into a book called The Plague by Albert Camus.

The trees are
perfectly still and silent today. The white sun heats us from right
above.

“Did you like
your breakfast?” Liss calls.

“Loved it,” I
say. “Thank you.”

She beams.
“I’ll make it again for you tomorrow.”

Kean glances
over his shoulder as my expression falters, and he just laughs.

A few minutes
later, Trouble comes out in fresh grey jeans and a mottled grey
V-neck t-shirt. He stretches his arms, rolls his neck, and then
sits in front of me. He gestures for my left hand and I give it up.
This is a ritual Trouble started, right back when we’d found our
house. My hands weren’t great, and became stiff and clawed because
I’d stopped using them so much. At first he just massaged my palm,
to get the blood flow going or something. And eventually moved onto
my fingers and joints, when they could take it. The response was
nothing short of amazing.

Kean sits
beside us, sets his book on the floor, and takes my right hand.
Trouble has been silently teaching Kean his techniques, and they
work together. As a result, my hands are always improving. And
Trouble reminds me to keep moving them all the time. I don’t know
what my injuries would be like if Trouble wasn’t here to look after
me.

Today we have
something to do. We’re heading to our favourite park, which is just
a short walk up the hill, in the sealed backyard of a fancy house.
But we don’t often go beyond that boundary, unless we’re searching
for food. And even then we don’t go more than a half hour walk
away. Apart from going to the park, reading, playing board games
and making food, we do nothing. We just exist in out little space,
doing simple things to keep ourselves alive, and nothing more.
There’s not a lot to look forward to. Jacob’s presence kind of
changes things, gives us a bit of uncertainty, but I’m sure it
won’t be long before he’s gone and we’re all alone again. He has a
plan, he knows exactly where he’s going, what his life is going to
mean.

“What do you
think our next move should be?” I ask Kean.

“What do you
mean, like after lunch?” he says.

“No, I mean…” I
look around at everything we have — the space, the fresh air, the
bright sun and the protection of trees. “Are we just going to wait
here for the rest of our lives?”

Kean pauses.
Now he’s just holding my hand. A small crease forms on his
forehead. “Do we have a choice?” he asks.

I stare at our
entwined hands. “I don’t know.”

“What do you
mean? Do you want to move?”

I grit my teeth
as Trouble kneads my worst knuckle joint.

“No. I mean,
that’d be no different. We’d still be stuck in this limbo.”

Kean strokes
the side of my hand with the tip of his finger — so light it’s just
a tickle. “Is this about Jacob? Do you want to go zombie hunting or
something?”

“No.” I shake
my head. “But I want to mean something, you know? More than
this.”

Trouble makes
one of my joints ping and I snatch my hand back. “Ow.”

Trouble holds
up his palms in apology.

“I don’t know,”
I say. “Maybe we should probably go to the park now.”

We’ve adjusted
our walking formation since being in the Dandenong Ranges, because
we hardly ever see infected wanderers. Trouble walks up front with
Liss and Henry stays between them, so that if Henry needs a hand
getting up the hill Liss and Trouble can give him a push. Trouble’s
cricket bat rests against his shoulder, ready to swing any moment.
He covers the right; Liss keeps an eye on the left side.

Kean walks
backwards so he can survey the scene behind, and I walk forward,
surveying the scene and making sure Kean doesn’t fall into a
pothole or something.

The sun is hot,
burning the sweat right off my face, but the park we’re heading to
is in the shade and right next to our fresh water supply. That’s
what makes it bearable now, the thought that it won’t always be
this bad.

The park is
really someone’s back yard. It’s a big leafy area; all fenced in
with fancy curled wrought iron bars, with a tennis court to one
side and a freshwater stream sweeping across its lower plane. We
did think about taking over this house, since it’s so close to
water (and it’s a bit fancy), but there’s no way to keep it secure
with all the smashed floor to ceiling windows. Plus it’s nice to
have somewhere special to go.

Our park is
only a few minutes walk up a gently sloped road, which is not
nearly as nerve wracking as walking the same distance in the
suburbs. Who knows, one day the infected might starve to death and
we’ll be able to walk the distance on our own, whenever we like, in
complete safety. Maybe. Maybe not.

We continue on,
in our relaxed formation and when we reach the house we go single
file — Trouble at the front, me at the rear, and Kean in the
middle, hovering behind Henry’s wheelchair in case we have to bolt
suddenly.

We enter
through a narrow gate in the tennis court fence, which we keep tied
up with rope. That way, if the rope’s disturbed we’ll know
someone’s been here, and also it means we can never accidentally
lock ourselves in.