Skylight (Arcadium, #2) (12 page)

Right in front
of me.

The noise
nearly shatters my eardrums. Glass shards spew everywhere.

My whole body
kind of jolts in reaction and my heart just about forgets to pump.
Slowly, I look back at Jacob, realising he just shot the window
out, narrowly missing my face.

He doesn’t seem
to notice my horror.

“Flo,” Kean
calls, and I jump back into action, unlocking the door from inside,
flinging it open and swiping through the broken glass so I can
release the handbrake.

“Yep,” I call
back and we both start pushing. My face pulls into a grimace as I
put my shoulder into it. Pushing cars isn’t exactly a miracle, but
at the same time it’s not easy to get the thing moving from a
standstill, especially with the ever-present threat of death
hanging over us. Once it’s moving, I steer off to the left and a
few seconds later we abandon it, letting it roll into Railway
Parade and bump into the gutter.

One car down,
loads more to go. And I desperately hope the next car is
unlocked.

It is, but
there’s a vile smell coming from the cabin, so I hold my breath as
I duck in to get the handbrake. This one’s automatic too. I push
the lever from park to neutral and get out quick and start heaving
it along. I steer it off to the left and it rolls under its own
steam for a while before gently nudging the silver car.

“Time to pick
up the pace,” Jacob calls.

I freeze and
feel my eyes widen. Kean touches my shoulder as he jogs past. “Keep
going,” he says under his breath.

So I do. We’re
unarmed, in the open running through an obstacle course of
potential infected hiding places. It feels wrong. It feels insane.
But I guess that’s what team work feels like sometimes, relying on
the rest of the chain, hoping the other links don’t break and just
set you loose.

I chase after
Kean and we move another car that’s packed full of suitcases; the
owners are probably on a permanent holiday now. This time, on the
run back, I hear them. The low distracted moans and sandpaper
shuffling feet.

The first
bullet for an infected goes flying over our heads. I try to control
the panic fluttering in my chest. The bullet hits its target with a
soft squishy explosion and subsequent splattering sounds. It’s
close too.

My lungs heave
as we reach a yellow rust bucket of a car. There’s no more room to
the left so I aim it to the right, going for a narrow pocket of
space on the other side of the road.

We push the car
straight and then I hang hard right on the wheel. The side scrapes
against the candy cane painted boom gate, and more bullets go
flying around us.

I haven’t
spotted the infected yet but they’re coming for us, tracing the
gunshot sounds back to us.

It takes double
the effort to get this car up the angled footpath, and as I leave
it to run back, an infected woman comes out of no where, storming
towards me like we’re age old enemies. She swipes and on sheer
instinct I cover my head and duck.

I hear a bang
and her head explodes into tiny pieces behind me. I try to focus on
Kean as he gestures wildly, but I can’t stop myself from looking
back.

Infected bodies
flow through the traffic on the other side of the boom gates. Loads
of them.

My heart
sinks.

“Two more,”
Kean yells. “Come on.”

We run back to
a cobalt blue ford and I try the door. Locked.

I think of
taking my elbow to it, but I rather like my elbow, and we have a
rapidly narrowing time frame.

“Jacob!” I
scream, pointing to the window. I twist away and in a flash the
window shatters. I feel for a door lock but the car is so new it
seems to not have one, which is just fantastic. So I worm my way in
the window, while my feet dangle out like bait for any passing
infected. I stretch across for the handbrake.

“Florence!”
Kean yells.

I push out of
the car, just in time to see the huge infected man bearing down on
me like a freight train. Normally I’d say I have great response
times, but I just freeze. Though I think it actually saves me from
running into a bullet, because the air splits again, and a tiny
metal fragment sears into the guy’s brain, causing total
obliteration.

“Oh,” I
say.

I only stop for
a second and then start pushing the car, stepping over the headless
infected and accidentally squishing his hand in the process. I
shudder at the feeling of soft flesh and solid bone beneath my
shoes.

The bullets
come hard and fast and all over the place. Doubles to my left, one
flying right, three more to the left where infected spill from
behind shops. I put all my effort into pushing the car faster, just
stomping right over the fallen bodies because I don’t have a
choice.

It’s like some
kind of messed up game of Tetris. We move the cars and slot them
together, hoping there’s enough room for the next.

I glance up at
Jacob as we weave back through the cars. His two guns seem to be
shooting independently of his attention. He’s looking in one
direction, popping off some infected with his right, but his left
hand is extended too, doing the same thing and he’s not even
looking that way.

Around us,
infected drop.

I hear moans
from all sides now, it’s disorientating. If it wasn’t for the
gunshots coming from one place, I wouldn’t know which way was up or
down.

A drop of sweat
rolls over my brow — from the heat, from the running. I’m wound so
tight that the tiny movement surprises me.

Last car
now.

I hear the
four-wheel drive following and glance back. Jacob has dropped to
one knee so he can’t fall off. It almost looks like he’s aiming one
of the guns at me. The black barrel has me entranced for a second,
and that’s all I need to lose concentration and go tumbling
backwards over one of the dead bodies.

I crunch over
it onto a bare patch of concrete. I’m on my back suddenly, stunned
and staring up at the blue sky. The impact vibrates in my teeth. I
roll onto my stomach and catch a glimpse of all the feet heading
our way. I want to vomit but I push myself up anyway. If I have to
chuck and work at the same time in order to survive, I’m sure I can
find a way. My hands slip over the car, looking for purchase on the
wheel. Kean is doing all the hard work now, and I’m just yanking on
the steering wheel. We glide the last car out of the way and
Trouble is right there, engine running, watching us with urgent
eyes.

Kean grabs my
hand and we dash back. He rips open the four-wheel drive’s door and
I fling myself forward so he’s got enough space to tumble in after
me.

The door slams
and Jacob bangs on the roof. “Go!” he yells.

Every window is
swamped with infected; they block out everything. Leaning in
between the front seats, I gesture wildly at Trouble because he has
no idea which direction to go. He drives through the crowd,
crunching over bodies and knocking them out of the way, but at just
the right speed to make sure Jacob doesn’t go flying off the roof.
At least, I think he’s still there.

Trouble drives
through the gap we’ve made, turns sharp left onto the train lines,
and heads straight through the empty station. We bump over the
shifting stones on either side of the tracks and Jacob’s fingers
appear in the open crack of the passenger window. I watch Jacob’s
grip, expecting his to come flying off, but it doesn’t falter.

Jacob lets off
a few final shots into the crowd following us, but we’re leaving
them behind, and they’re all stumbling and falling over the strange
angled terrain of stones.

Kean touches my
hair. “You ok?”

I nod.
“You?”

“Just
wonderful.”

I let out a
sigh. “Well, that was…”

“Not incredibly
fun,” Kean finishes for me.

For a moment
I’m lost in his gaze. “Not exactly the words I was thinking.”

Kean wipes his
brow and his eyes slide away to the front windscreen.

Ahead of us is
Murrumbeena Station.

“We should let
Jacob back in,” Kean says.

“Probably.” I
tap Trouble on the shoulder and give him the stop sign. Trouble
lowers the passenger window for Jacob, not willing to give up the
driver’s seat now.

Without any
apparent effort, Jacob slides back in, his guns already holstered
or hidden or tucked away wherever they go.

“That went
well,” he says, rolling the window up.

I lean forward,
chewing my lip and staring out the windscreen for a while before
saying, “If you were in IT, how do you know so much about
guns?”

Jacob glances
up at me through the rear-view mirror. “Everyone goes through basic
training in the army.”

I sit back and
run my hands through my hair. “I wouldn’t call what you just did
basic
.”

We pass through
the next station pretty quickly, and then bump-jolt along the
railway line slowly, enjoying the air conditioning. Eventually the
infected will forget all about us like we never existed and they’ll
just walking in circles, stumbling into each other. This terrain is
too difficult for them to catch us up.

I guess in some
way the infected are like sharks, dangerous in a frenzy but when
they’re just meandering along, oblivious to everything that’s not
moving or making noise, they’re not so bad. But then again, I
wouldn’t want to insult the sharks.

“You sure
you’re ok?” Kean asks.

I nod. As long
as I’m doing something, I don’t think about Liss. “I love a good
road trip,” I say.

Kean pulls his
lips in a tight smile, and I wonder if he’s trying not to think
about all the danger Henry’s in at the moment.

Long platforms
of mottled red bricks come into view. They’re laid with cracked
bitumen, lined with white strips and those little risen dots of
orange and yellow plastic that are supposed to let people know that
they’re about to walk right off the platform. The train tracks
still look in good condition, and I wonder where all the trains
might be. Rubbish is strewn all over the place; plastic bags and
ripped newspaper pages collect in corners. Empty plastic bottles
and abandoned socks cover the ground, like some kind of arty
collage of human legacy. Graffiti paints every inch of fence lining
the tracks—a smash of colours and tags.

The signal
lights hang useless. The collection of wires strung above us sway
in a gentle breeze, against a backdrop of a seamless summer
sky.

Blue and white
signs for Carnegie Station are all still proudly standing tall.
Everything’s so familiar, but so quiet. I’ve caught the train from
here into the city hundreds of times before, for a day out
shopping, for the Victoria Markets, for our school orienteering.
I’ve been packed into the carriages at peak time, and seen the
students battling with the doors as they try to leap on at the last
second. I’ve seen people getting their backpacks trapped in the
vice grip of the automatic doors, and at least ten times, I’ve
narrowly missed being one of those people myself.

But all those
things are lost now. And when my memory fades will they be gone
forever? Just like that?

I shake my
head. Sometimes I just get sentimental about stupid things.

“I bet there’ll
be loads of infected at Caulfield, and probably a train or two,” I
say. “It’s where a couple of lines meet.”

Jacob nods, but
doesn’t say anything. He’s already planned out his mission on the
old Melways maps in his kitchen and memorised it in his computer
mind. That’s enough for him. But I wonder how a few images of lines
can ever truly tell you about what a road is like?

We arrive at
Caulfield Station without discussion — not even about emergency
procedures if something goes wrong.

There are four
train lines and four platforms, two on the outsides, housing most
of the red brick buildings, and two floating like an island between
the tracks. These are half covered by an enormous old forest-green
painted shade structure, which is pretty much a big roof with just
decorative poles holding it up. Everything beneath it is plunged
into deep shadow while the rest of the exposed platform stretches
out into the burning sun.

Trouble stops
the car and we idle.

There are
trains at every platform, but they aren’t parked neatly. The big
silver bodies are abandoned with doors flung open and graffiti and
old blood spilling out of them. Carriages leave tiny gateways of
space to the openness beyond.

There are loads
of suitcases too, like people were trying to make a run for it with
all they could carry. They’re all split open, clothes flapping in
the breeze. And above all that towers a big orange building,
perfectly spotlighted in the sun, with gunmetal grey windows and a
sign for Monash University, the second campus we’ve passed on our
journey so far.

I don’t know if
I ever would have gone to uni, or even passed my VCE in the first
place, but it’s just another set of things I’ll never get to try in
my lifetime. Yet another blaring billboard of the normal times
rubbing what I can’t have in my face.

Trouble looks
over his shoulder with curiosity and I know we’re thinking the same
thing.

What now?

“THAT WAY.”
JACOB motions to the right and Trouble follows his lead, pressing
the accelerator gently.

We pass by one
of the trains, so close I have to press my face against the car
window to look up at it. The carriage windows are vacant of
travellers, but thick with smears of blood and death. I shrink back
into my seat, trying not to imagine what it would be like to be
locked in a packed carriage with an infected person loose.

“Some serious
craziness went down in there,” I say to Kean.

Trouble stops
the vehicle again and we all look forward.