The Sky So Heavy by Claire Zorn Page B

was madness. No power. The back-up generator had died.’ He paused.
    ‘Were there doctors there?’
    ‘Some. They were doing their best to help people. They found beds for them, they helped Zac, they had medication for him. But Ellen . . . they couldn’t . . . they couldn’t do anything.’ He looked to the ground. ‘Dehydration,’ he said quietly. ‘She couldn’t keep anything down and there weren’t enough fluids for a drip. Dehydration got her.’
    ‘I’m so sorry.’
    His tears came in a silent stream. He rubbed his palms over his face. ‘Apparently people from the country are more at risk of radiation poisoning. Something about less exposure meaning less tolerance to radiation. What the hell is happening, Fin? I mean.’ He looked around, gestured outside. ‘This is insane. I keep on expecting to wake up, my wife will be next to me, I’ll swear at the alarm, drag myself out of bed and go to work . . .’
    ‘I know.’
    We both gazed out the window at the soft, grey picture of our backyard, the tops of the trees melting into the sky, the axe leaning against the half-demolished outdoor setting.
    ‘Do you have any food?’ I asked.
    ‘No, not really.’
    ‘We’ve got a little bit, I met a guy up the street. A guy I went to school with, he gave me a bit more . . . I was hoping the army would have come back.’
    ‘Fin, I didn’t see any sign of them the whole time I was out.’
    ‘They said they’d come back,’ said Max.
    ‘I know, but I’m telling you, I didn’t see any trace of them. A couple of SES blokes, that’s it. They didn’t have any food, either.’
    ‘Take some of our cans,’ I said.
    Mick looked at me with a steady gaze. He munched his lips a little. He wanted to say no, I could see it. But he needed the food.
    ‘Thanks, mate,’ he said quietly.
    I put two cans of beans in Zadie’s bag. Mick picked Zadie up with one arm and took her bag with the other. Zadie gripped her pony by its fuzzy pink neck. We watched them walk up the driveway.
    Silence found a new space in our house.

Eighteen
    We saw the cop walking down the driveway, didn’t hear the car pull up. It was CSI. I was at the door before he had time to knock.
    ‘Hi there,’ he said in a voice that was more Play School host than cop. He looked like he could do with a shave and his shirt was crumpled. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a name badge. I opened the screen door a little, meaning to come out and talk to him, but instead he pushed past me, striding into the kitchen. He gave Max a little salute.
    ‘So, how you guys doing?’
    ‘Okay, did you confirm it was Dad?’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘Did you confirm it was Dad? Are you bringing him back?’
    ‘Oh, no. Ah, no movement on that as yet.’
    ‘But you said it was probably him. And he was on the highway, I mean, that’s not heaps far away – it’d be easy to check and bring him back here.’
    CSI straightened his back a bit as if he was trying to make himself bigger. He reminded me of the footy dickheads at school. ‘Like I got nothing better to do! We are pretty busy, buddy.’ He sniggered.
    He walked around with his hands on the bulky holster on his hips. He couldn’t seem to keep still. I noticed he didn’t have a gun.
    ‘Look buddy – what’s your name again?’
    ‘Fin.’
    ‘Yeah, Fin, I’ll tell you what we’re doing: we’re going around to every house and collecting all the food people have got. We’re going to redistribute it equally so that everyone will have enough.’
    I frowned. ‘We don’t have much left.’
    ‘That’s why we’re doing it. You’ll get a lot more.’ He started walking toward the pantry.
    I cut in front of him. ‘I don’t think we want to do that. We’ll just hang onto what we’ve got.’ The thought of some system – a plan, someone making decisions somewhere – was comforting. But something had changed in me. Maybe it was the way my whole world had closed down, had become simpler. I was sharper somehow. Instincts