Apocalypse 2 Read online

  The overall experience didn’t massively fill me with confidence, but enough to feel I at least had a shot. After an exhausted ascent back to the hovercraft I just sat there on the ridge for what seemed like an eon. Behind me, obscured by ash, the remains of a city, in front of me kilometres of unknown hills and beyond that, well, nothing but hope. But it may as well have been the Pacific Ocean, Phoenix a raft and somewhere out there I was hoping to stumble across a tropical island paradise.

  Again, all the surety I had in the plan when it was an idea or scribbles of pencil on paper meant nothing when I was standing knee-deep in it without a safety net (actually, that’s probably a life jacket if I want some metaphor consistency).

  It was a lonely place on that ridge.

  Maybe half of the eon was spent there because I was frozen to the spot, knowing the next move I made, the one that took me over the edge, was utterly significant.

  I remember going back down the other side of the hill, finding a heavy piece of wood, taking it back to the top and hurling down the Mars face. I wanted to see how the ash would react. Maybe I was looking for an excuse not to go, I’m not sure. Anyways, the ash took the impact, sucking the wood into its surface. It was a thoroughly unspectacular finish. The decision was made for me. The surface appeared stable enough not to avalanche but soft enough to offer some give.

  Dropping Phoenix over the edge was terrifying. The angle was severe enough to make me feel like I had to lean my body weight to the uphill side just to keep everything in balance. I barely had any power on, just enough to let gravity take over. Between the low visibility, the lunar barrenness and the manoeuvres I was putting Phoenix through, well, I was nervous. At best.

  I was only maybe 50 metres or so down the hill when everything came unstuck. The ground beneath Phoenix gave way, opening up a small hole. The hovercraft started falling in and over. As I wasn’t travelling fast at the time the whole incident seemed to happen in slow motion. Everything not tied down started tipping out. I did my best to maintain my position at the controls but it wasn’t long before the angle got too much and my feet were on the ash while my hands were still on the controls. Phoenix was nearly sideways and still tipping over.

  My feet sunk into the Mars-like surface, food cans and who knows what else rained down on me. It was in the moment I realised the gravity of the situation, like literally. If Phoenix tipped there was next to no chance I could get her upright again. I’d be stuck in the middle of nowhere with no way out of Adelaide, and a long way from home. Worse still, I’d have no way to transport my goods wherever I went next. It was everything I owned and this was my one chance to keep it that way. I let me feet find solid grounding in the ash, moved my hands from the controls to a solid part of the cabin wall and braced to stop her rolling over with everything I had.

  It reached side on and kept rolling over. Something fell from one of the storage containers and struck me right on the eyebrow. Blood started flowing. I tried to blink it away as my hands were busy. As the topple continued I remember trying to move my feet to gain more purchase, but they were locked into position, stuck up to my knees in ash.

  I tried to lower my body to maintain the force of my pressure against the fall but it was all too late. Things had reached the point of no return. Phoenix was going to come down on top of me. I just tried to position myself as best I can so I would be between the seat and the controls when everything fell down on my head. I kept pushing, knowing each ounce of energy I exerted could be the difference between walking away or not.

  I screamed and prayed.

  Then a noise tore out from the hovercraft, trumping the sound of the slow motion crash – ripping, twisted and metallic. I continued to scream and push.

  Then the falling stopped. Phoenix hovering over me at a crazy angle, somehow. I was still pressing back on her with all my might and stayed that way for as long as I could. Every part of me burned and my energy drained. I gave up to the inevitable and slowly eased back. She pressed on me a little further, but as I released the tension, Phoenix stayed there.

  It was only when I looked at the back of the hovercraft that I realised what had happened. The fan farthest down the hill had wedged into the ash; it had partly broken from its mount and was twisted at a thoroughly unhealthy angle.

  I pulled my feet clear of the ash and backed out of there. I walked a few paces up the hill, sat and surveyed my situation. Dire was a word that springs to mind. Hopeless wasn’t too far behind.

  I just sat there and cried. It wasn’t just any ordinary cry, it was the type you save for those special moments when you realise you’re nowhere – a raw, guttural, I don’t care if anybody sees me, FU life wail!

  Of course, I didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing me, what other moron would be trying to do what I was doing? Answer: no one, I was the only moron.

  Eventually I went back over to Phoenix to investigate. She was probably overturned at a 60-degree angle. The fan on the ground didn’t look good but the other seemed in reasonable shape. I gave the hovercraft a shake. I felt there was a chance to right it again and maybe a chance to get it back up the hill again if – IF – I stripped it bare of all supplies. Everything not involved in steering or propelling her was a burden right now.

  I donned my ash boots then set about the task of ferrying supplies to the top of the hill. I knew if I could get her there, almost the entire trip home was downhill or flat – doable on one fan.

  I lost all track of time but it felt like each run up the hill took me a good fifteen minutes. It was exhausting carrying all that extra weight. Despite each return trip creating a channel in the ash, making the following run a little easier, I was running on fumes by the last load. But there was no time for recovery. The day had already fast forwarded to mid-afternoon and I had an upturned craft to deal with and a whole bunch more to do if I had any chance of getting home before dusk.

  Getting Phoenix back upright again was a little easier than I thought it would be once the extra weight was jettisoned. Falling back into the ash also cushioned the blow of the fall, limiting too much further damage to the port side fan. It was still attached to the mounting in just the annoying way that meant I couldn’t remove it without a serious operation. Instead, I unplugged it from the generator, gaffer taped the living fury out of it and prayed it would stay in position all the way home.

  Then, to prove my luck had changed for the better, the generator started on demand and the lone fan burst into life. I zig-zagged my way back to the top of the hill (it seemed a loaded HC with two fans handled the same as an empty one with one).

  It took another hour to repack everything before I found myself sitting on the edge of the hill once again, more than half a day later, staring over the lunar landscape, tired and defeated. I had no words. In fact, the only thing I could muster was a laugh at the sheer level of evil life could throw at me in a seemingly endless combination of punches.

  I was lost on top of that hill. Directionless. Without a plan. Broken.

  Eventually I spat over the edge, jumped into Phoenix and limped her home. I took Hancock Rd down to Lower North East road to avoid the crazies at the shopping centre (so Lower Portrush Rd becomes Portrush Rd and Lower North East Rd is a completely separate road from North East Rd… yep, that makes sense).

  Apocalypse 8 million billion: Me 0

  *

  Home again

  I was lost on top of the hill and remained there (lost, that is) for many weeks to come. What evil genius this world is now. It kicks your feet out from under you then sucker punches you while you lay in a heap on the ground. Seriously, if I wasn’t so bitter from the whole debacle, I’d have more than a little respect for the sheer level of evil.

  I’m in a dark place… in a dark place (mental state/weather combo). Admittedly the sun seems to want to peek through more and more these days, but the soupy yellow sky still veils it. I could do with some real sun, ya know. I dream of that – feeling its warmth cradle my skin. It’s like I
’ve spent the months since the rock hit barrelling through this endless tunnel of yellowy brown with no let-up, no end in sight. I know that sun is the end I need… or the beginning. Surely it will bring back some sanity to this world.

  It’s a lonely world too. My best friend is a hovercraft; a slapped together, beaten up, work shed creation. I am acutely aware that this is not the sign of a healthy mind… but the friend options aren’t exactly beating down the door these days (in fact the last person to beat down the door tried to kill me, so that’s probably not a bad thing). Besides, she’s good company. She doesn’t talk much to be honest, but I understand. She’s been through a lot. We both have. What she doesn’t say in words, Phoenix expresses in other ways. So do I. I’ve been tending to her injuries, rebuilding her physically. I think it’s helping us both mentally. We don’t have to say it… we just know.

  They’re small steps but important ones. That hole within my spirit follows me everywhere. Fi, God I miss Fi.

  I know I’ve got to fight the blackness. There’s no point in existing if I don’t. And I can’t not exist (as much as the idea has crossed my mind at times). Fi, Mum and Dad would kill me if they knew I took the cheat’s way out. But it’s more than that even. Right now, I could be the only person on this Earth that remembers them (I’m hoping I can add Jason to that list, but the comms between here and London aren’t exactly great). So, survival is not just about me, it’s about my memories… the people I know. I, and maybe I alone (or is it me?), carry them with me.

  I guess it’s this thought process that has given me something – a direction. No, not even a direction really, the kernels of a concept that could lead to a direction. True direction is still a million miles away, perhaps stuck permanently on the far side of that lunar landscape beyond the hills, screaming at me ‘you shall not pass.’

  I need people. I need company. I need to talk to someone… to relate to someone. I need to tell them about the people I knew. I need to share the memory of their existence so that somehow, in some way, they live on. Anyone will do… just someone.

  It’s just another angle of the evil genius that is this world, when people need each other the most they push each other away.

  Right now, the only places I know that people exist are the shopping centres – Norwood, Tea Tree Plaza, Firle… maybe. But I also know none of them seem to be too keen on visitors dropping by.

  It gives me a place to start at least. Of the three I’d pick Firle as the safest option, but is it even an option at all? Is there anyone still there? Surely they would’ve gone through any supplies they had by now. And when that happens there’s only one way to stay functioning. They need to find more and, unless they’ve come up with something I haven’t seen yet, that means raiding at the very least, possibly killing.

  Maybe, in this world, you have to get that Norwood ‘kill or be killed’ attitude or you die. Evil genius.

  There has to be a better way. Surely, despite everything that’s happening, we can still find enough humanity among us to want to connect? Is it too much to ask for a place to exist where the cost of your survival doesn’t have to be the death on another? A gathering place for those who want to rebuild, not to compound the destruction. Am I mad? Is there someone – anyone – in this wasted city that still feels the same?

  Haha… even if there is, how would I find them? That was a sarcastic laugh… I was sarcastic laughing!

  I’m rambling. That happens a bit these days. It’s knowing the things I want – such simple things – seem further away than the distant speck of sun at the end of that endless tunnel of yellowy brown.

  I have hashed out a plan of attack though. I’m going to head up the hill to the Jamesons’ place. I was there rock night. They survived. Maybe they’re still there now. God it would be great to see a familiar face again. Faces are one thing – one awesome thing – but familiar faces, they’re everything.

  If I draw a blank I’m going to head back via the Firle Hub. I might do a bit of a recon drive-by to see if anyone is about. Can’t hurt (please don’t be famous last words). I’ll keep my distance, but it should be enough to see if there are signs of life about. I can assess from there.

  Tomorrow, which I have decided feels like it should be around September 23, 2014, I shall start to rebuild.

  September 23, 2014

  To be honest, that was a little underwhelming. I guess my expectations were a little too high but, when I’d decided that I was ready to hit back at life and it gives me donuts in return, well, balls! Balls to you, life.

  I left just after 10am to take Phoenix up to the Jameson’s. The last time I’d travelled that path was returning from their place the morning after rock night. It was a strange journey, so many memories flashing through my mind. It transported me to that day.

  It was clear; the blue skies partially blocked by all the spot fires on the Adelaide planes. The roads were covered in debris back then, but the ash hadn’t come yet (and to think I thought things were bad then!).

  I zig-zagged Phoenix (she was handling as good as ever, I might say) up the foothills and drew up to the Jameson’s. It was obvious there was no activity at the house. All the usual tell-tale signs – ash piled up to the front door handle, no track marks in the surrounding ash… even one of the front windows was broken, where it looked like someone had used it as a raid entry point.

  It was a pretty flattening feeling not to even get to the door with a sense of anticipation. I climbed the steps to the front of the house and yelled, ‘hello’. After a short pause and no response I repeated it, then climbed in through the broken lounge window when it was clear no one was about.

  Meanwhile the memories of rock night came flooding back. Being back in the house where I watched my life change in a matter of moments unleashed serious emotions… ones I didn’t even know I hadn’t dealt with yet. Loss – that’s what I was feeling. Not the loss of the people who were taken from me, but the loss of… well, normal. The loss of freedom, of carefree, of first-world problems… I cried (what is with me lately?).

  Their place was a mess. Once the weather gets in, there’s no way back these days. Ash covered everything. Despite it, I could still see the place like it was. I didn’t even need to close my eyes to see the people gathered, trying to conduct normal conversations while they counted down to the unknown. I climbed the stairs to the living area and balcony. The TV was on, in my mind, the broadcasters trying to inform us but seemingly not knowing more than we who watched.

  I looked out over the balcony. That was the spot. That’s where I was when all hell broke loose. All of a sudden I could see the city sprawled below me, a grid of white and yellow lights on an impossibly clear night. Then the sky roared red and that rock, that gigantic fraction of a rock, tumbled past as if in slow motion.

  It was on its way to Melbourne. Not that we’d work that out for a few minutes. We were just glad not to be underneath it when it touched down. After a flash I saw the blast wave again – grabbing everything in the Adelaide Hills, apart from the hills themselves, and exploding it over the city in front of me.

  Oh and the fireballs too, punching from the sky into the suburbs. And then came the final hit – the tsunami. From our vantage point it was a black shadow, stealing the lights from the coast, eating its way inland, all the way to the CBD and beyond. I was praying, just praying, I had a place to go back to at that point.

  God, how had I not dealt with this yet?

  I dusted down one of the couches as best I could, flipped the cushions over and sat, well, slumped really. The events of that night just flashed through my mind, over and over. They were interspersed with snippets of conversation and interaction that stayed with me. All of it rolled together into a montage of thought – a perfect storm of recollection and realisation. I howled. Seriously, why am I so emotional? There must be something seriously wrong with me.

  I felt like I needed to embrace the pain. It was like when I cleaned the bullet wound in my shoulder and every
pang of agony was my badge of honour to Fi. The difference here was the hurt was the unresolved memories; the flashbacks were me gritting my teeth, dowsing it in alcohol and scrubbing the wound clean. The result was the same too, no immediate improvement, I just hoped that it’s something that’ll help in the long run. I think it will, whatever the long run really means for me.

  After forever on the couch, I stood up, took one last look over the place then headed back downstairs. I was about to head off when I had the idea that if the Jamesons did survive long enough to leave on their own terms then surely they would’ve left a message somewhere – a note of their intentions. It’s what I would’ve done. The only problem was the entire place was caked in ash. I found a loose cushion, punched as much dust out of it as I could, then used it as a giant ash smearing machine on every surface I could see. I started at the kitchen benchtop that overlooked the dining area, before attacking the dining table then the book shelf area. Nothing. Then a little zephyr of breeze shot in through the broken window and the remaining ash on the table danced across the surface. But, it did it in such a strange way it drew my attention to a particular spot. I dusted back the ash a little further (and more carefully) and there it was. For the next few minutes I felt like a palaeontologist, delicately releasing dinosaur bones from their rocky jail until I had my prize.

  I love those little problem-solving high-five moments.

  The message read.

  With heavy hearts we leave this place. We are down to the last of our supplies and with Steve’s passing in recent weeks we feel our best hope is part of a larger group. We are headed to Tea Tree Plaza as we’ve heard of survivors congregating there. If you know us and you’re reading this, and your situation is similar, feel free to join us, we’d love to see a familiar face. If you’re a stranger seeking supplies, nothing significant remains here, but you can use the house for shelter for as long as you like.

  J, A + S Jameson.

  So much to take in. Mr Jameson is dead, for a start. What happened? Steve’s passing. The words sound as if there was a naturalness to it. Or maybe I’m reading too much into things. On the massive positive side the others are alive! Three people I know are still alive, well at least they were at some point well after rock night. As for Tea Tree Plaza, I’m not sure if that’s good news. Assuming they got there, I wonder if they’re actually on the inside. What if they’re stuck on the far side of the wall I saw? What if they were among the people I passed on my way to the hills a few weeks back, risking their lives to get on the inside?