Skylight (Arcadium, #2) (2 page)

We sit the
fondue pot up against the tall window inside, because we’ve got the
door open and the candle keeps threatening to go out if it’s not
tucked away. Liss sits cross-legged next to me on the brown carpet,
spearing a marshmallow on a fork; Henry’s lying on his stomach
watching the storm with awe, his dark hair tussling in the wind;
Kean’s fussing over the fondue, stirring it and glancing up when
the lightning explodes; and Trouble’s splitting his marshmallows in
half and passing us the rest. No one argues with him, even though
we’d like to. I guess that’s his way of protecting us too—that and
the weapon wielding.

The walls are
all exposed redbrick, with just a small window boarded up on either
side. The room is dark; we don’t bother using candles unless we
need them. I can navigate myself through the house in perfect dark,
I know it that well, but half the time we just go to bed when night
falls and get up early to make use of the natural light. A storm
though, that’s worth staying up for. It’s almost like watching a
movie.

We all ooh and
ahh and point at the most brilliant flashes even though everyone
can see them, and we never seem to get bored. We all slather our
marshmallows in half melted chocolate, sporting our roughly painted
nails. And moments like this give me some kind of peace because all
the clashing and booming in the sky reminds me that there’s still
something out there more powerful than this stupid infection.

THE NEXT DAY is
hot, another in a long line of stonking, sweating, heaving, stuffy
days. Sometimes I wish summer would just end already but then I
wonder how well we’ll do in the winter months, forever stuck
indoors trying to escape the wind and cold rain. Will the day come
when we annoy each other so much that we can’t stand the sight of
one another? It’s not like we can get away and just be alone, not
with an apocalypse dragging on around us. We can’t even walk the
quiet roads alone. We have four lifetimes worth of tinned food,
ample water supplies, and gas bottles abound. It’s not supplies I
worry about now, it’s our minds. How long does sanity last under
great pressure? What happens if one of us explodes?

Liss, Kean and
Henry are in the kitchen making something fruity for dinner while
Trouble and I set the table with cutlery and candles. I can tell
Liss is busy opening cans because she’s quiet. She’ll be sitting
there, her tongue poking out with complete abandon for the world,
just twisting the can opener handle. For some strange reason that’s
what she loves doing. Opening cans. It doesn’t matter what’s in
them or who eats the stuff inside as long as she’s the one to open
them.

The thought
makes me smile; Liss always makes me smile.

Even after all
she’s seen, after all we’ve been through, Liss is still my slightly
annoying and oblivious little sister. The apocalypse hasn’t changed
her so obviously. But me? I don’t know. I must be a fruitcake now.
I’ve seen more human insides than a sixteen-year-old should have to
see, more blood and death and destruction. It must take its
toll.

I fill each
glass from our water jug, and I’m about to pour some in a plain
glass for Liss when I remember she’s totally obsessed with the
genie bottle glass. “Liss, where’s your cup?” I call.

“I have it,”
she calls back. I guess it’s almost like a safety blanket now.

“Dinner is
served,” Henry says, putting on a posh voice as he wheels out into
the dining room.

The candles
sway and spread their orange glow as far as the table edge.
Everything beyond that falls to harsh shadow. Faces appear blank
until the light grabs at their details.

Trouble claps
his hands and rubs them together, eyebrows raised, as the others
parade in from the kitchen in single file.

“It’s fruit
salad!” Liss says, walking very slowly and holding a big silver
tray with tinned fruit bits set out in circular patterns according
to colour.

“And flat bread
that I still have to get off the barbecue.” Kean deposits a jug of
water on the table.

“I’ll get it,”
I say, jumping up and heading to the door.

“Ooh. I’ll help
then.” Kean jogs to catch up with me and I hear Liss and Henry
giggling quite obviously about us. But who cares.

I step out on
the balcony and Kean follows.

“Did you have a
good day?” he says, turning the barbecue off.

“You should
know, since you were there for every single moment of it.”

Kean grins and
uses tongs to lift the foil wrapped packages off the grill.

When he closes
the lid something comes out of my mouth that I don’t expect. “You
don’t think we’ll get bored here, do you?”

“Of living here
as in the place? Or just living?”

I shrug one
shoulder and watch as Kean puts down the tongs and captures my face
in his hands. He holds me there for a few long seconds, just
staring at me with those steady green eyes, and we stand surrounded
by nothing more than darkness and peeping stars and the sound of
rustling trees.

I can see words
forming in his mind but they linger. Kean draws in a long breath.
“I could never grow tired of your eyes and your lips; your entire
face. If I had only that for the rest of eternity, I’d be
happy.”

I can’t tell if
it’s supposed to be a serious moment or if he’s just joking around.
“That was deep.”

He smiles. “A
man’s got a lot of time to think in an apocalypse.” He tips his
head to one side and lowers his hands. “Where’s this come from? You
feeling nostalgic?”

I quirk an
eyebrow. “Have you been reading the dictionary?”

Kean grins, one
of those quick as lightening ones that strike right into my heart,
and I sigh, just a little.

“I don’t know,”
I say. “When we were on the move we had a destination, you know…
something to focus on. But now what’s our point? It’s like we’ve
stopped and…”

“…Everything
else has stopped too?”

“Something like
that.”

Kean scratches
his head. “Maybe tomorrow we should head for supplies. Have an
adventure. Maybe a little ad-lib picnic.”

“A picnic with
the infected sounds great. Sunny with a chance of death.”

Kean gives me a
long look. “We haven’t seen any creepies for ages. Besides, what’s
life without a little risk?”

I roll my eyes.
“A day out then.”

Kean grabs his
plate of flatbread. “We should probably head in before all the good
fruit’s gone.”

I leave the
balcony door wide open, and a symphony of cicada music filters in
behind us. The others all have food on their plates but they’re
quite obviously waiting for us before starting. I swear Liss never
had so many manners before, and I have to wonder where she’s
suddenly getting them. Maybe she always had manners but chose to
ignore them. Or maybe it’s some kind of survival mechanism for
group situations.

I eat slowly,
weighed down by restless thoughts. I am alive but I am so bored. My
life is eat, sleep, sit on a balcony, sit on the couch, repeat.
There are no long walks, no radio, TV, newspapers, no movies, no
school, no jobs, no friends to visit. No future.

“How come—”
Liss shoves a peach in her gob and tries to keep talking at the
same time but soon realizes it’s impossible. She chews manically
and resumes speaking as soon as possible. “How come Trouble’s so
quiet?” Her eyes flick up at me.

I shrug.
Trouble glances at me. “Probably because he doesn’t speak a lot of
English.”

“Yes he does.
He says lots of things.”

Trouble is
about to eat a pineapple chunk, but he lowers his fork to half-mast
and stares intently at it, his ear cocked toward Liss.

I spear a mango
slice. “Well… he does know the basics.”

“But why not
everything?”

“Do
you
know everything?”

Liss purses her
lips and hums for a few seconds. “Most things.”

I narrow my
eyes. “How come you don’t speak Chinese then?”

“Well… it’s
because… the only one thing I don’t know is Chinese. But I know the
numbers. Up to five.”

Henry is trying
to stifle his laugh but it’s contagious and soon we’re all giggling
over nothing. Trouble laughs too and slaps his hand gently on the
table. Liss is the last to fall. Her brows turn down with
confusion, and she contemplates being angry with us. But she looks
at everyone, laughing into the sky or their laps or falling off the
table. And even though Liss doesn’t exactly know why we’re
laughing, she gets we’re not directing it at her. And once she
realises that, giggles bubble from her lips. This makes me think
about Trouble and how much he understands. It makes me wonder how I
would cope if it were me sitting at a table of Trouble’s family and
friends, and they were all chatting and laughing about something I
couldn’t understand. Would I laugh too?

“Game time!”
Liss bounces in her chair. “Cluedo!”

Kean has one
elbow on the table, his chin firmly planted in his palm. “We played
that last night. And the night before… and the night before that.
We need to step it up tonight.”

“Maybe we
should play Chinese Checkers,” Henry says. “For Trouble?”

Kean’s eyes
flick to his brother. “Just because he’s Chinese doesn’t mean he
knows how to play. Besides, I said we need to step it up. What else
have we got?”

Henry narrows
his eyes. “Cards?”

“Please, no
more Old Maid!” Kean pushes his empty plate away and puts his
forehead on the table. He turns towards me, his squished cheek
muffling his words slightly. “Is it time we taught them poker? We
can bet chores and always win. We’d be gods.”

My face holds a
simmering smile. “I’ve got it.”

Kean arches an
eyebrow and straightens.

“The Game of
Life,” I say.

Kean claps his
hands. “Yes! Perfect.”

I flick my
hair. “I know I am.”

Liss rolls her
eyes and disappears to the game cupboard, bringing back the box.
Henry watches her, itching to leap up and follow, but his eyes are
heavy with the knowledge that in the time it would take him to back
away from the table Liss would have completed the whole manoeuvre
with the ease of a butterfly fluttering its wings. He glances down
at the table and tries to cover his longing by gathering nearby
dishes and stacking them in a neat pile.

We push all the
dishes down to Henry’s end and shuffle in closer.

Kean sets up
the board, spinny thing and cards, while I surround the board with
candles.

“We should make
our own version,” Henry says. “The Game of Life Apocalyptic
Edition.”

“Yeah, cool,”
Kean says. “Oh, but wait… we’re already living that.”

Henry tips an
imaginary top hat. “Fair point.”

“But what jobs
could we have for our version?” Liss says.

“Scientist,” I
say.

“Creepy
hunter,” Henry adds.

“Rubbish worker
for a useless government facility?” Kean says.

“Oh, an
interpreter for Trouble!” Liss says, pointing straight at him.

Trouble grins
and nods, seemingly oblivious to our chatter, but still happy as
ever to be here with us. It’s times like this that I really wish we
still had a Chinese-English dictionary. We could write the Chinese
translations on the cards. We could be sure that he understands us
and that we understand him, just for a short while.

Liss has
several lucky dice rolls and takes the early lead. Then to top it
off she picks one of the best occupation cards, doctor.

“How am I
supposed to overcome this?” Henry stares at the Janitor card. “It’s
the lowest wage possible. I’ve pretty much lost already.”

“At least you
have an occupation. I’ve barely left the start line.” Kean pours
himself a glass of water. “Anyone want a drink?”

“Me, me, me!”
Liss ever so carefully holds her glass across the table.

There’s a
moment of pause as Kean leans over to fill her glass, where the
sound of trickling water and the muted cicada music from outside
blends like some sort of calming melody.

That is, until
the peace is shattered by the most imposing and strange sound.

Loud and clear.
Three precisely placed knocks. On the front door.

Kean jumps in
his seat and the water jumps with him, splashing onto Liss’ arm.
And in her surprise, the blue cup slips from her fingers and
explodes on the table.

We all
freeze.

NO ONE DARES to
move, and after a few moments of silence I begin to wonder if we
all imagined the knock. I can’t even recall the sound now, it’s so
foreign.

Liss stares
quietly at the broken glass chunks on the table, her shoulders
drooped, her bottom lip trembling — as if her loss is the most
important thing that’s just happened.

I look up at
the front door, just metres away. It’s solid wood with a narrow bar
of gaudy yellow security glass on either side: glass patterned to
obscure anything from view.

I catch Henry’s
eye first, then Kean’s. Both are serious and alert.

Trouble stands,
slowly, silently, reaching for the cricket bat leaning against the
wall. He found the cricket bat in the garage of a house three doors
up, and decided to give it a trial run, though we all know it’s got
nothing on the baseball bat Arcadium took from him.

I raise my
hand, even though I know he won’t do anything stupid, and Trouble
nods.

It happens
again. Three sharp knocks. Like a secret code.

My mind
searches for an answer, for a list of people it could be. Infected
can’t knock. The nearby houses are all abandoned. We’ve not seen
another living soul in six weeks. And anyway, who knocks in the
middle of an apocalypse?

Henry’s wide
eyes burn into me.

“What do we
do?” Kean mouths.