Apocalypse 2 Read online

  But there was no going back now.

  As I closed ground on those outside the wall, something changed. No going back. I was here. I put myself here for a purpose. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen. There was no point making a ballsy move like this then apologising about it. No, forget the doubts, I was that guy, I was the mysterious loner.

  I readjusted the hood down over my head looked at the watched person I was nearly in front of. It was a guy, in his early 40s perhaps – tall, gaunt and a disturbing deadness in his eyes. He stared at me. When I was within a couple of metres he lifted his shoulders back, posing bigger.

  He felt threatened, I told myself.

  I stopped and studied him for a moment. Behind him, I knew the others were watching on too. Then I broke the silence with, ‘I’m looking for someone’.

  His expression didn’t change. I went to reach into my jacket pocket for the photo but as I made my move, all the watched people went into defensive mode and raised bats and clubs and other makeshift weapons at me.

  I froze, for a moment at least, then put my hands out in a non-threatening manner. I told them I was fishing out a photo, then waited for them to relax, exchanged nods of approval with the closest guy, then made a slow, steady move for the photo. I handed it to him, and he studied the faces.

  “The dad, Steve, is dead. Jodie and her kids, Scott and Alyce, left a note to say they were heading this way.”

  I watched him look at the picture. His dead eyes rolled from one face to the next.

  “I’m not sure how long ago,” I added, hoping to see some glimmer of recognition from him.

  He looked back up at me and offered back my picture. “I haven’t seen ‘em,” was all he said.

  Meanwhile the others held their ground behind dead eyes. What world do we live in, I thought to myself, that these people couldn’t even wander close to have a look at the picture? I mean, what else were they doing with their time? When the mysterious stranger puts himself in danger just to seek answers for a personal quest, well, wouldn’t you just move a couple of metres out of your way to see if you could help?

  I nodded to dead eyes again then made my way to the wall.

  He whispered careful to me as I shuffled past. My path to the guards on the wall took me past a couple of the other watched people. I offered them both the picture, they both studied it and shook their heads. They shared the same dead eyes as the first man. That look – it just seared itself into my memory. It just screamed ‘no hope’ or ‘existing, not living’. The scariest realisation is that had been me. These last few months I must’ve looked like that - a living zombie. Instantly, I knew these people had nothing, quite literally nothing and they were slaves to those on guard. Not only did they have nothing, they didn’t even possess the power to change it.

  It’s funny what stays with you in crazy situations. For me, it was the helpless eyes and being so damn pleased with myself that I can make my own decisions. It confirmed so many things to me that moment, not least of which was that no matter where it all led, for this moment in time I was happy being the mysterious loner on a mission. Because the mission gave me direction, the direction gave me hope that I can change this world in some small way.

  The dead eyes shook their heads to my photo and I strengthened my mysterious stranger persona then approached the wall. I got within a few metres and stopped and held out the photo to the guards. It felt like the right thing to do – being respectful of their authority, keeping a safe distance for everyone involved.

  The two exchanged glances, then looked back at me, weapons still raised. I knew I’d have to give a little more ground. I needed to show them I had nothing to hide. What does the stranger have to give to show trust? I removed my hood, and took the cloth from off my mouth and nose. Then I stood and looked back at them, unmasked, a mystery no more, at least to the two guards. I offered the photo up again then the guy with the gun summoned me forward.

  I reached the foot of the wall. The top looked far higher when I did. It was three, maybe four, metres high, ash piled on ash. And that was what sat above the general ground ash – it probably went down another metre. It was sloped backwards at an angle and was packed in hard. They must’ve used some heavy machinery to make it, like a front-end loader or something.

  That’s when I realised the logistics of actually transferring the picture to the guards was not going to be easy. I went to climb the wall, but it was packed so tight I couldn’t get the purchase I needed. So, I leaned forward and into the wall as far as I could, then stretched out my hand towards the guard with the gun. He reached over the edge from his perch and leaned down, but even with both of us extended as far as was comfortable, there was still a gap between us.

  I moved back, then searched the area around where I stood. The ash on the ground was covered in all sorts of objects – the ghosts of battles past. Most of the stuff was useless to me but I did see a broken pole – probably a broom handle or something – sticking out from the ground. When I pulled it free I saw a knife strapped to the end.

  I thought about how best to use my new tool to pass the picture up. I decided against stabbing it onto the knife, I though that’d be pushing the boundaries of my new relationship with the guard. Instead I tied the pic with my facemask to the broken end of handle, then returned to the wall, gripped the homemade weapon around the blade and pushed it up. This time, the guard reached it with ease. He looked at the picture and the other guard came to join him. I couldn’t help but see a different expression in their eyes to the watched folk. While they were stern and alert, they had emotion; they were still alive behind there. That was the difference between the haves and the have-nots in this world, I guess.

  There was also another expression I noted – recognition. I was sure the pair exchanged a glance, I absolutely know they did. I was sure they were going to answer in the affirmative right up until the point the male guard shook his head, said ‘sorry’ and dropped the picture back down to me.

  He followed it up by locking eyes with me. It felt like a game of bluff over a poker hand or something. In the end I knew I wasn’t getting any further, so I grabbed the photo and my scarf, nodded my appreciation, donned my hood and walked out of there, the mysterious stranger once more.

  I took the long walk back to Phoenix, turning every now and then to make sure I wasn’t being followed. The entire time I couldn’t shake the thought that I had been lied to and the Jamesons were actually in the TTP hub. Even if that was true, what could I even do about it? Now, or ever?

  I did cross three other sets of footprints in the ash on my way back, but none which followed mine. When I returned to the tree near the fence the coast was clear. Sure, my heart skipped a beat or two in the moments before I poked my head over the back, but when I did, I saw tarp, ash and Phoenix.

  I smiled, then was on my way.

  *

  It’s funny how I process information. I need to let it run around in my head and ferment for a while. Then I can start to connect the dots I couldn’t see at the time. Maybe it’s true insight… or maybe I just start running on tangents… taking small pieces of information and playing them out to the nth degree.

  Whatever the case, my mind has started racing, that’s for sure.

  That, and I’m still coming down from the excitement of all the people interactions I experienced today. People – other actual human beings! I’m still so impressed I managed to keep my cool, while I was secretly so excited.

  I guess that excitement was soon tarnished by the reality of the situation, the hopelessness in the eyes of the watched and total power of the guards.

  Now that I think back on it, the watched offered me nothing, apart from the insight that I never want to be them, reliant on the judgments of others in positions of power. Not being in charge of my own destiny is definitely not for me.

  It was the two on the wall… they told me everything – they gave me insight…. Or tangents. They lied, I know that much. But, at t
he time, I assumed that lie meant the Jamesons were inside the compound. That’s what I felt the flash of guilt in their expression was telling me – we have your friends but we’re not telling you because we don’t want anyone else coming in.

  It was all perfectly plausible, especially if the Jamesons had made the trip early on in the post-rock days (I really wished they’d dated the letter). I mean, a mother, two teens – probably the sort of people you’d let into a community. Makes sense, as does not telling me about it. The gates are clearly now shut and all I represent is another mouth to feed.

  And that’s where it all sat in my mind for some time. Until I thought about how desperate the watched were and how much power the wall gave those behind it. Then my mind went back to the Norwood HUB, at how their need to keep the food supplies coming made them do bad things, made them kill.

  I started imagining the TTPers under the same resource pressure as the Norwood folk – not a stretch. Maybe they had food stashed for another week… or month, but what about after that. Then I thought about the watched, sometimes fighting them, trying to get in, sometimes waiting around in hope, I assume. Why would they do that? Just wait? Unless they’ve seen people get in.

  What possible reason would the TTP hub have to let them in? Unless, well, food. As soon as I’d made those connections, I couldn’t unthink them. Then I started rethinking the events by the wall in that headspace. The hopeless look in the eyes of the watched, knowing their one chance in this world was to get inside that wall, but probably knowing there was a chance things would not end well. But with no alternatives, what choice did they really have?

  Then the guards; the guilty look – the lie. Was it a lie telling me the Jamesons were inside but I couldn’t know that, or was it a lie hiding something far worse? Was that look telling me, yes, I recognise those people, they helped keep me alive?

  And so the connection is made, the tangent explodes and my mind races.

  I know I must go back out to TTP. I have more questions now than when I went there in the first place.

  But next I’ve got to do a supplies run to the city. Stock runs low and I like to have some bank saved up as everything else is secondary. If not I could soon become like the watched.

  *

  I’m thinking about the watched again – the lost souls of the apocalypse. Are they lost forever? Or is there still hope? I wonder what people like that would be like if they were offered that hope again – food, shelter… a future. Would they come back from the brink? Would they turn into the most loyal people, indebted forever? Or would they be too broken, too dehumanised for salvation, happy to bite the hand that feeds them, knowing how bad powerful hands can treat them?

  Forget it Jack! Why do I feel the need to save people? At least worry about saving yourself first.

  *

  September 28, 2014

  A nothing day today. Still hung up on the thoughts of TTP… I’ve now officially decided they’re cannibals! I need to plan my next move but I think I need a bit of distance first.

  I cleaned Phoenix and prepped her for the trip to the city. I’m hoping to go tomorrow if the weather’s kind.

  *

  September 29, 2014

  Scored well with the weather today… absolutely ideal day for looting. I took Phoenix through the streets of Evandale to Stepney Rd to avoid Norwood by as much as I could. I was really in the mood today. There’s something about being just me, Phoenix and the ash. Especially when I get below the tsunami line and the chances of spotting anyone are just about zero.

  Just cruisin’.

  I love Phoenix. I love the freedom that she brings me. I mean, who in the entire world has the sort of ride that I do? I know there must be random pockets of the world where the tsunamis didn’t decimate the low-lying areas, so maybe, just maybe, there are some boats working somewhere. And maybe those places had the capabilities to clear the ash from the streets to let the cars run… let’s skip past the food shortages and social unrest. Actually, no, let’s not. Me alone, floating across the ocean of ash over a broken city, with the entire place to myself, that’s as good as it gets.

  I went down North Tce on the city fringe. When I hit Pulteney St, I should’ve turned left to the mall and Adelaide Central Plaza, but this was cruising time, I wanted to look around.

  I continued down North Tce, past the shopping centres, library and museum. I stopped when I reached the foot of Parliament House on King Williams St. It’s colour had been tainted by the ash, it was almost camouflaged in a way, making it hard to work out where the building started and the ash ground ended. Eerie.

  I just sat there and stared. The entire stretch of North Tce beyond was equally ghostly, the hotels, casino and pubs – some damaged, some not – a wash of grey shapes fading into foggy atmosphere further down the tram line.

  It reminded me of a life, or lifestyle, lost, or altered perhaps. But not in a sad way, just matter-of-factly – nothing was going to kill my cruisin’ mood.

  It did make me want to do some more sightseeing before I headed back up the mall to the ACP. I decided to head up King William St towards North Adelaide. I went past the festival centre and stopped when I reached the River Torrens. To my surprise there was actually water to be seen. Somehow I thought it’d be covered in ash and debris, but it seems the months of slow water flow had cleared the worst of it. Sure, towards the bank there was piled-up nastiness on both sides, but in the middle there was water.

  It was a nasty looking colour and I certainly wouldn’t drink it unless I’d filtered it several times, but it was water nonetheless. When I think about it, probably not much different to the water in there before the rock hit!

  Beyond the river, the Adelaide Oval towered, the riverbank stand dominating the view. It looked in pretty good condition, given the power of the water that must’ve ploughed through when the tsunami came. I just felt compelled to go over and have a look.

  I headed over to the riverbank stand entrance, the statue of Barry Robran still standing guard. It was strange seeing this image of a footballer, reaching out of the ash, grabbing a football in both hands, frozen in time. I wondered what people in the future might make of it all. Would they understand the significance of it? Would any future culture take with it the ways of the past? Or, should we actually survive as a species, are we destined to break so far that we rebuild from scratch, with new rituals, where this stadium, this colosseum so much a part of our former way of life, would be nothing more than a tourist destination? And the strange statue of the man leaping in the air catching a ball just an oddity. Just a couple relics of the past, plonked into a new real world, like the sphinx and pyramids.

  I found a way into the arena between the riverbank and members stands. It was an eerie passage actually, evidence of the tsunami waters was everywhere as cars and trees and all sorts of debris pressed up between the two stands. Ash covered most of it, but it was clear the flow of water through here must’ve been immense.

  As I eased Phoenix over the worst of it, the inner stadium came into view. The stands were remarkably intact. My best guess is the water had enough places to run through that the pressure never built up enough to claim them. The scoreboards at the northern end weren’t so lucky; they were just an empty space behind the hill now. The surface was a sea of browny-grey ash – smooth, save for the odd lump of ash-entombed car carcass or similar. There was one large exemption. The light tower, the one from the entrance I came through, had fallen victim to the waves. Most of the base had been claimed by the ash, but the head of lights still rose out over the surface.

  While I was staring at the lights, the sun shimmered through the clouds. It wasn’t full sun and it wasn’t for very long, but it was beautiful while it lasted.

  Even now, in this condition, the oval was an impressive sight. It still had that feel about it – something amazing was going to happen here. It’s like the space itself creates a buzz, a combination of the angled stands, the sheers size of the playing surface and
the history of deeds past.

  I decided to take Phoenix on a lap of the arena, just for fun. When I got to the far end of the ground, down by the hill and missing scoreboard, I saw a set of footprints, then another and another. They were faint, but not too old, I guessed. Crisscrossing here and there and only ever one set. I was pretty sure they were made by one person. I stopped Phoenix and had another look around the ground, a sudden paranoia I was being watched. I looked everywhere but couldn’t see a soul.

  It was enough to freak me out though and refocus me on the mission at hand – supplies. That was enough joy-riding for one day.

  I was soon out the stadium the same way I came. When I returned to the statue, I paused once again, this time studying the city from the across the river. I could make out the first row or two of city skyline before the visibility got too low. I always liked the view from this spot, it made Adelaide look a little taller than it really was. Connecting my position at the stadium to the buildings beyond the river was a footbridge. At least what remained of it, since it looked like the tsunami had taken several sections further down river. Actually, that’s probably up-river.

  I laughed – the stadium, the footbridge – upgraded and new additions to the city in its last months before demise – promises of a hope and a future that never came. I laughed harder at the pure evil genius of life post-rock. It’s getting to be a running gag between the two of us. He’s such a prankster.

  I retraced my tracks up King William St to Parliament House then continued on another block until I reached Rundle Mall.

  When I began up the mall I noticed more walking tracks, again, not fresh, but not old, and, again, seemingly one set. I wondered if it was the same person or not. I had my mind set on Adelaide Central Plaza, knowing there’d be more food there, but as I passed the Coles and Woolworths, I knew there were more trips city-side to be had.

  I pulled Phoenix into the front entrance of the plaza and was able to manoeuvre her behind the escalators on the ground floor. It was as out of sight as I could get her. I didn’t see any footprints near so felt fairly confident she’d be safe.