Skylight (Arcadium, #2) (17 page)

As Jessie
introduces herself to everyone, her eyes linger on Jacob. She’s
wearing a kind of double shoulder holster, meant for guns she
obviously doesn’t have. I think I see a pen sticking out of one of
the pouches.

When she’s
satisfied with all the greetings, Jessie puts her foot up on one of
the benches and leans her elbow on her knee.

“Well,” she
says to the security team, “I guess you boys can go back to
whatever it was you were doing.”

The main
soldier sighs and scratches his head. “Hell, I was just staring at
the wall until these guys tripped the motion sensors. Just about
fell off my chair at the sound.”

Jessie looks
amused. “Unfortunately for you, they’re mine now. Run along.”

The soldier
turns to leave, and the others follow. A few steps later he calls
over his shoulder, “Have fun, Jess. Oh, and, watch out for the tall
guy, he doesn’t like needles.” He winks and then disappears down
the escalator.

Jessie watches
them for a few beats. She seems distracted. Then, without warning,
she fixes her eyes on Jacob, walks right up to him and slaps him
across the face.

JACOB STANDS
STILL, his chin lowered. I glance across at Kean, who looks just as
confused. Trouble watches with a plain expression.

“I told you,”
Jessie says slowly.

Jacob blinks
then looks up. “I didn’t know you were here,” he says. “I didn’t
know you were alive.”

“Liar.”

“This is
certainly some kind of welcome,” Jacob says.

“The kind a
liar deserves?” Jessie’s lips pinch, but her eyes aren’t daggers.
They’re surprised, confused, frantic.

“Would you send
me back out there?” Jacob’s voice is low. The pair stare each other
down. “Out to die. Alone.”

“I didn’t.”

I lean in to
Kean. “I’m confused.”

“Yeah…” he
replies.

“I thought you
were dead,” Jacob’s words are burning. “I thought—”

“I was dead!
You should have just let me be.” Jessie squeezes her hands into
fists.

“Siblings,
BFF’s or lovers?” Kean whispers. “What’s the bet?”

Trouble raises
his brow at me. I just shrug.

Jessie and
Jacob stand almost nose to nose like two opposing armies on a
battlefield.

“I don’t think
she’s going to back down,” Kean says in my ear.

“Well I don’t
think he will either,” I say.

Kean nods.
“Like, should we leave them?”

Jessie’s eyes
cut to us. She runs a hand through her hair. It falls back into
place as if nothing happened. “I’m being rude,” she says. “He’s
being rude also, but I’m bigger than him.” She looks back to Jacob.
“I’m bigger than you.”

Jacob puts his
palms up. His cheeks are red above his stubble.

Jessie looks up
at the glass cone ceiling and raises her arms. “Welcome to
Skylight,” she says grandly. She drops her arms and lowers her
gaze. “Honestly, of all the admissions, I had to get you. It’s been
four weeks since survivors arrived. Four weeks and then you turn
up.” She grins, but it’s bitter sweet.

“So…” Kean says
slowly. “How do you two know each other?”

The smile fades
from Jessie’s face. Neither answers the question.

“There is a
speech I’m supposed to give you,” Jessie says. “About
congratulating you on surviving, reassuring you that you’re safe
and that our community welcomes you. Blah, blah, blah. I don’t mean
to sound cynical, but you guys don’t seem like you need all that
reassurance crap so I’ll just skip ahead.”

“You’ll get two
cold meals and one hot meal a day, an opportunity to work and help
others, and a room.”

Jacob watches
her, as though he is seeing something different to what we are. He
tries to dissect the layers of her mind and find the thing that
changed, that went wrong between them. He wants to find the hatred.
He wants to save her from it.

Jessie ignores
him. She has strong shoulders, freckled arms, long fingers that
clench whenever Jacob speaks.

“That’s very
motivational,” Jacob says deadpan.

“I’ll show you
to your room,” she says as she turns away.

We climb an
immobile escalator to the next level and follow Jessie past a whole
lot of shops with curtains covering the glass fronts and roller
doors hanging halfway like sleepy eyelids. Some of the store signs
remain, some have been removed.

Our shop is
nameless. Its one window is covered by a billowing white curtain,
which I think is two sheets stitched together. A white roller door
hovers halfway open. The natural light can only reach so far and
shadows dissolve the back of the shop. Jessie switches on a row of
floor lamps.

“Don’t worry if
you’re afraid of the dark,” Jessie says, looking at me. “There are
proper lights at night.”

I don’t know if
it’s a challenge or a dig or something. I just raise an
eyebrow.

The shop space
is emptied of goods and shelves, and filled with eight camp-style
fold out beds, each with a white pillow and a bright yellow
sleeping bag with orange zippers and stitching. The service desk is
still there, set up with three shiny red bar stools, a tray of
glasses and a large plastic bottle of water.

“If you need
me, I work in the health unit.” Jessie pauses then adds, “in the
brick factory.”

“Who else
sleeps in here?” I ask.

“No one. We’re
set up to take more people, but survivors are pretty rare these
days.”

I nod.

Trouble stands
with his hands on his hips, admiring our small box of a new
home.

“Canteen is
downstairs, to the left of the station exit. Bathrooms are sign
posted. Breakfast is six to eight, lunch from twelve and dinner
from six to eight. One of the guys will bring up your bags, minus
the weapons.” Jessie’s eyes flicker to Jacob. “But they’re kept in
safe storage by the labs, so when you leave just let one of us know
and we’ll get them.”

“Sorry,” I
interrupt. “So you’re saying, just like that, if we want to leave
we can?”

“Yeah. People
do it all the time.” Jessie frowns. “Well, not so much anymore, but
some go out searching for loved ones or scavenging for themselves.
Why?”

I shake my
head. “No reason.”

“Seems a little
too good to be true?” Jessie crosses her arms. “I thought that too,
but you get used to feeling safe again.”

“That sounds
nice,” Jacob says, all gentle and kind. There’s something between
him and Jessie, but whatever it is, it’s not your standard story.
I’m not sure if Jacob’s capable of a
honey-can-you-get-some-milk-and-bread kind of love.

Jessie gives
him a long icy stare, and for a moment I think she might spill
what’s on her mind, but at the last second she looks away. “I
should wrap this up. For new clothes, there’s a store down to the
left. You’re supposed to earn credits to swap for clothes, but
since you’re new, you’re entitled to two sets of clothes on the
house. Go where you want, do what you want, I don’t care. People
here are welcoming. They understand the baggage everyone carries
with them now.” Jessie pulls out a folded piece of paper and
flattens it on the desk. “There is work detail—a hard labour day
just once a fortnight, but if you want to earn credits for stuff,
you have to train in a career.” She smoothes her hands over the
paper, avoiding our gazes. “These are what we need filled at the
moment.”

I lean over and
read the first few lines of the list: chef, chef assistant,
entertainment officer, supplies logistics, postie. The jobs seem
normal; nothing like forced labour.

“If you need
anything just ask someone,” Jessie says, stepping back toward the
roller door.

Trouble watches
passively with his arms crossed. He switches his gaze from Jessie
to Jacob.

“I should get
back to work.” She makes a show of nodding to Trouble, Kean and me
while ignoring Jacob. “Nice to meet you.” She ducks under the
roller door even though there’s no way she’d hit it, and
disappears.

Jacob starts
rummaging through the cupboards behind the service desk, as though
nothing is wrong. Trouble and Kean gravitate toward the paper
Jessie left. I follow them, taking a seat on one of the six red
barstools set by the desk, but I keep my eyes on Jacob.

He pulls out
every thing of value and sets the stuff on the bench top. He knows
I’m watching him, but he carefully avoids acknowledging it. His
eyes absorb every fruit and nut snack bar, read every label on the
bottles of water. He even inspects the paper towels thoroughly.

“Well, that was
easier than I thought it would be,” Kean says, ripping open a fruit
and nut bar. “I mean, we only almost died twenty times.” He splits
the nut bar into three bits and gives one to Trouble and me.

This doesn’t go
unnoticed by Jacob. He rips open a whole bar and destroys it in a
few bites.

“I’m still kind
of waiting to be gassed. Why didn’t they gas us? And keep us on
lock down for a week? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Arcadium must
have been one of a kind,” Kean says.

Jacob makes a
noise of disagreement.

“Or not…” Kean
says. “So now what?”

He asks me but
Jacob replies. “Shower, clothes, food, recon and sleep.”

“Man with a
plan,” Kean says.

“At least I
didn’t abandon my helpless little brother.”

“You know, it’s
people like you that make it all them and us. He can’t walk so he
must be incapable of living and looking after himself. My little
brother is much more than just fodder for your bitterness.” Kean
jabs the air with his finger. “And I don’t know what you did to
Jessie to make her hate you so much, but I bet you deserve it.”

Anger sizzles
in Jacob’s eyes. “You don’t know
anything
, kid.” With that
Jacob heads for the door.

“Where are you
going?” I call.

Jacob doesn’t
turn back. “I have things to do,” he growls.

I stretch my
neck. “Oh the tension,” I say flatly.

“I’m not sure I
care,” Kean says, “but do you reckon Jacob and Jessie were an item
or something?”

I shrug.

Trouble chews
his nut bar slowly and looks around.

“I guess we
should hit the shops then,” Kean says.

We wander along
the corridor, passing empty stores and closed roller doors. It’s
darker down here, with only the backup lights on, and the clothing
store is a brightly lit beacon. We don’t pass anyone on the way. I
guess they’re all working or hanging out someplace we don’t know
about. I’m not sure I have the energy to be suspicious of this
place yet, especially since Skylight has been nothing but
welcoming. It’s just Jacob I wonder about. I worry about who he is
and what he’s capable of; what he’s done and what he’s become. I
know that I am not the person I used to be. I’m so far from myself
sometimes it’s like I’m watching myself from a distance as I meet
new people, make decisions, take action. I get that we’re all
changing but I don’t know where to draw the line. I mean, how far
is too far from being a human? It’s impossible to know until
someone crosses it, and I just know Jacob will get there first.
There’s a list of things about him that don’t make sense: why he
followed us, why he crashed the four-wheel drive, why Jessie
slapped him? Why he’s so capable with weapons? Why he thinks he can
save the world, taking one facility at a time?

“Do you think
I’m crazy for following Jacob?” I ask Kean as we step into Surf ’n’
More.

Piles of jeans
sit neatly folded on rows of black shelves. Shirts hang in perfect
order. Hats and sunglasses adorn rotating stands.

“Are you asking
if I think you’re crazy or if I think you made the right choice?”
Kean says.

Trouble does a
double thumbs up to know one in particular and wanders to the back
of the store.

“What’s the
difference?”

“Well…” A small
line dents Kean’s brow. “The thing is, I don’t know what’s crazy
anymore. I think we have a better chance being right, but then
whose standards are we measuring up to now? Without anyone to tell
us, we end up having to decide for ourselves. Look at me, I left my
brother.”

“I left my
family.”

“And then they
followed you. We’ve all made choices, and we don’t know if they’re
right. None of us are innocent.” Kean sits a straw beach hat on his
head. “What do you think?”

“I say which
way to the beach?”

Kean laughs and
puts the hat back.

I set about
going through the women’s section, which gives me a bit of a
breather since the guy’s section is down the back. I look at
everything but don’t touch anything. There’s a mismatch of all
sorts of surf brands and labels from different stores and it’s
quiet too—no store music, no people noise, no clinking money.

It’s kind of
exciting, I guess. Not a
scream at the top of your lungs and do
a happy dance
kind of excitement, more like
scratching a dud
match against the side of the box and the moment you decide to give
up, it lights
. That kind. Like a new set of clothes can change
my life. Like my luck might be changing.

After we left
Arcadium, we ditched their white space-themed uniforms and all
we’ve found is mismatched, scavenged, odd sized clothing. I’m
pretty sure I’m wearing a dead person’s outfit right now; we
probably all are.

I find a shelf
of black jeans and sift through for my size. The pair I pull out
still have a price tag: $189.

Kean approaches
with his hands behind his back. He’s dressed in a white baseball
tee with green sleeves down to his elbows, new jeans and navy
high-tops. He looks… everything looks so normal. It’s like deja vu,
standing in the surf store with new clothes. I always think about
what it would be like to meet Kean in the normal times. Would we
have even noticed each other?