Cargo Page 4

  Chapter Four

  I fall back into step with Tomas, thinking about Gerla’s comment that Karther felt he was part of something important. I never really think like that, if anything I’ve been critical and skeptical the whole time, expecting to die. That little spark of hope I hold for The Refuge being the place to save us is either so small as to be insignificant or has disappeared completely.

  “Do you think The Refuge has something to save us?” I surprise myself by asking Tomas.

  “I believe we’ll find the answers we need there”, he replies eyeing me with interest.

  “How can you be so sure? Do you believe it or just hope it?” I’m intrigued.

  “What’s the difference? If you hope something will happen isn’t that implying belief that it can?”

  “That’s just words, you know what I mean, if you really believe it has the answers then you should see yourself as a pioneer, a saviour for all people, ‘volunteering’ for this quest. But if you just hope it, there is room for doubt”, I argue, trying to get Tomas to see the distinction.

  “Don’t you think people who believe something have room for doubt?” he responds with raised eyebrows.

  “I guess so, but people give up everything if they believe so strongly that something will happen, like the Pro-Sickness campaigners, their belief lost them their homes, their community”, I argue.

  “It’s easy to give up everything if you have nothing”, Tomas replies with a shrug of his shoulder.

  I think about this last comment. How much have I missed being away from home? Not much at all, I barely think about it. Is Tomas implying that to believe something whole-heartedly or make a statement against the majority is easy if you feel you have nothing to lose? It wasn’t that long ago I made a statement to get Max to come along and didn’t care if I lost everything. This all makes sense to an extent but I still can’t equate being officially and violently outcast from my community like the Pro-Sickness campaigners to nothing to lose. Maybe I’ve missed the point. I can’t help but think Tomas is referring to himself. Does he believe that his life won’t be a sacrifice because there is no family at home for him? Does he really believe The Refuge is the place to save us or is it much of the same for him wherever he is? For some reason this thought makes me sad for Tomas and I find myself studying his profile. He looks young and vulnerable to me. I don’t know if that’s because I feel like I just had an insight into his life or if it is his thick brown hair falling over his eyes like Max’s does. I suddenly have an urge to brush it away from his face. I link my hands together in case they betray me in that action.

   His eyelashes are really long and thick,. His nose has a sharp angle to it that gives him an inherently masculine look and his lips are full and red. It is his jaw line that is most striking from this view though. It is a defined line with a stark curve towards his ears that has a pulsing beat where his top and bottom jaw meet, as if he is grinding his teeth. I notice his ears are a little big and that makes his vulnerability all the more apparent. He has olive skin, much the same as mine that scars easily, with one short line that looks like it was once a deep cut.

  Tomas turns to me and I’m caught staring at him intently, I look away embarrassed and stare out towards Max who has made his way back to the side of the ship where he continues his observation of sea birds. As if he feels my gaze, Max turns around and smiles at me. My answering smile is big and true. Max is what I can’t lose, no matter how much I believe in something. He starts to walk towards us much to my relief as I’m not sure how to recover from being caught staring at Tomas.

  “Hi, Max”, Tomas greets him before I can.

  “Hi”.

  “I’ve got something to show you”, Tomas takes out his journal from the back of his waist belt. It occurs to me that he keeps his sketching journal in the same place I keep my knife, what an apt metaphor that is for our personalities.

  He flips to one of the back pages of the journal and hands it to Max. Max stares at the page for a long time. I can’t see what it is but I can tell that Max really likes it in the way his brow furrows in concentration.

  “Can you teach me to do this?” Max asks without looking at Tomas.

  I’m shocked that Max would ask for something from someone else, especially someone he doesn’t know very well. For as long as I can remember he has never even asked me for anything, I usually pre-empt what he wants or needs. I look at Tomas to gauge what his response will be. Can you even teach that type of talent? Tomas looks fleetingly at me and back down at Max.

  “Sure”, he replies simply.

  The rest of sentry duty is taken up by Max asking question after question about sketching and Tomas giving detailed responses. I’ve never heard Tomas talk so willingly and passionately before, not to mention Max asking so many intricate questions. I reach across to take the journal from Max’s hand to see the sketch that provoked such a response in him. It is almost an exact replica of the scene that played out that morning with the sea bird. The ocean is still but there’s the hint of a breeze in the shape of the bird’s wings, the sky is cloudless and the sun shines almost blindingly behind the soaring bird. It is amazing how Tomas captured so much without colour. He can make a single lead pencil create so many shades of grey as if there are infinite possibilities in the one colour. The sea bird itself is so intricately detailed that you can see individual feathers as the breeze brushes passed them. It is not hard to see why Max was so inspired by the sketch. Perhaps it’s Tomas’ obvious appreciation of something Max finds so appealing that compelled Max to step outside of the usual barriers he set up for himself.

  Tomas agrees to sit with Max after sentry and show him a few techniques. I’m not sure why, but I feel a little uneasy about this. I feel like I should be there to help Max in his interactions, just in case he’s uncomfortable or something. Just as I’m about to suggest I tag along an ear-splitting noise cuts through the air, reverberating through my chest cavity. I instinctually push my hands over my ears and look up to see everyone on deck doing the same. It hits me then what the noise is - an alarm coming from the ship.

  I reach for my knife and automatically turn towards the side of the ship where Karther was pulled overboard. I see Gerla, Linton and Merva bent over double in what looks like an attempt to make themselves as small as possible. Tomas and Max are in a similar position next to me. Only Renka has responded to the alarm by running the perimeter of the ship. They really train them well in Commune C. It makes me wonder what horrors they are expecting.

  I see movement in the control room from the corner of my eye. I take one more look at Max and see that Tomas is looking at me in confusion and panic. He has seen what I have and makes to move with me. I shake my head trying to indicate he stay with Max. I hold up my knife to show him I have a weapon and motion for him to stay. I hope he understands all my attempts at mime. He seems to settle back down with Max but doesn’t look happy about it.

  Just as I get to the control room Diego runs out frantically waving his hands and yelling something at me. I can’t make out what it is but assume there is some sort of problem so I step up on the shelf. I hold the knife out in front of me viewing the whole room from the entrance. The stool in front of the control board is rapidly spinning in circles as if someone has jumped out of it quickly, but everything else looks normal. It’s a bare room with two stools and the long complicated-looking control board. Vonteuse is hurriedly tapping buttons on a panel looking frustrated and excited at the same time. A bright red light is flashing across the laminate shield in time with the excruciatingly loud alarm.

  Suddenly the alarm stops. My ears are ringing with the echo of the noise. I can’t make sense of Vonteuse’s face. He looks elated and it’s a direct contrast to the physical response of my body. I have sweat dripping down my forehead into my eyes and I’m gripping my knife so hard my fingers are stiff and white at the knuckles. He looks up at me with a big smile and mouths something that I can’t hear. I wonder if I have perman
ently lost my hearing and frantically push my fingers in my ear rubbing around to clear the ringing sound.

  Diego joins Vonteuse, clapping him on the back and pointing at the panel with the buttons. I see their excitement and realise what has happened. They have discovered the ships defence mechanism and it just happens to be an annoyingly loud alarm.

  After all the commotion, Diego and Vonteuse explain to everyone what has happened. Isabella has a fit of hysterics after the alarm stops and surprisingly it’s mousy Linton who calms her down by suggesting Diego and Vonteuse show her how they can turn the alarm on and off. My ears protest against the repetitive assault and I wish Isabella would just get over it. She seems to understand she isn’t going to get attacked and starts rambling about some fairy story she once heard. Much to my relief Linton leads her below deck.

  Max is standing close by my side. He left Tomas and started yelling my name with his head turning frantically looking for me after the alarm stopped. I was deaf to his yelling but saw his panicked expression and my name in the movement of his lips. He couldn’t hear my attempts at calling out to him so I ran towards him until he saw me. Then relief washed over his features and he caught me in an embrace. He hasn’t left my side since.

  “We’ll have to work out how to set the alarm so that it goes off when something tries to board or attack the ship”, Diego is saying. I’m concerned at his use of the word, ‘when’ instead of ‘if’. Is it just assumed more attacks will come?

  “We think there are invisible light rays that cover the ship in a dome shape starting from the top of the ship’s walls and meeting at about four metres above our head. If something larger than a seabird penetrates this barrier the alarm sounds, but we aren’t sure how to set it yet”.

  “So how long do you think it will take to work it out?” Renka asks.

  “I don’t know but we’ll probably have to set the alarm off a few times before we get it”, Vonteuse responds with a creased brow.

  The thought of that ear splitting noise penetrating the ship over and over is awful, but well worth the level of security an alarm to alert us to intruders would provide. The idea that an invisible barrier will surround us is both disconcerting and awe inspiring. I have seen and heard of many BAS devices that can do almost anything. But most of them have fallen out of use, becoming redundant when fuel sources diminished and the select few who knew their inner workings died. The ruins are literally littered with gadgets, vehicles, appliances and various apparatuses that are worthless. The fact that someone has figured out how to power and control the ship, and we are lucky enough to have two among our group who hold some of this knowledge, is miraculous. Even more so considering the criteria to be a volunteer was simply being the eldest in your commune and had nothing to do with your knowledge base. It seems a little too convenient to me and I wonder if any of the other volunteers have questioned it. In the circumstances, having two among our number who have knowledge of BAS technology is priceless. I decide to mention it in my next journal entry so that by the off chance anyone from the Committee do get to read it they will know it was questioned.

   I don’t think my ears will ever stop ringing and I can see most of the others are suffering the same fate as they continually have their fingers rubbing around their ear holes. I’m secretly glad I’ve finished my sentry duty, maybe the noise isn’t as loud below deck.

  Renka asks a few more questions of Diego and Vonteuse while everyone else disperses. I lead Max down to our cabin where I intend on having a long hot shower to wash away the sweat and ease my tense muscles. When I walk past the common cabin Max stops and begins to push open the door.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m meeting Tomas in here”, he responds creasing his brow.

  After the chaos with the alarm I have completely forgotten about Tomas and Max’s plans.

  “Oh, okay, I’ll see you later then. I’ll just go and have a shower and meet you back here”, I say in as casual a voice as I can muster.

  “Okay, you don’t have to though, Tomas is just going to show me different ways to shade, it might be boring for you”, Max replies as he puts his hand on the door handle.

  “Oh, alright, I might try and catch up on my journal entries then”.

  Max says goodbye and walks through the door. I have a glimpse of Tomas sitting away from the others in a corner bent over a scattering of papers, before the door flaps closed.

  My shower does nothing in the way of making me feel better about Max. I can’t believe he could feel so comfortable in the common cabin surrounded by everyone. I worry that the others will crowd around trying to look on as Tomas shows him different techniques. I imagine Max freaking out and running off. I try to write in my journal, for once there is quite a bit I can write that may have some significant impact for the Committee but I can’t get into it. My mind is with Max and Tomas in the common cabin.

  After I write a short entry in my journal and tidy up the few belongings we I decided to bring with us I go down and check on Max, just in case. In case of what, I don’t really know but I can’t shake the feeling of unease.

  When I open the door to the common cabin the first thing I notice is Mickael and Mayther playing with the miniature chess figurines much to the pleasure of Merva and Isabella who are watching on. I scan the room looking for Tomas and Max and find them huddled in the corner. Max is watching Tomas’s hand move across a paper, then copies the movement on his own paper. The scene is surreal to me. Max is so deep in concentration it’s hard not to see his enthusiasm for this newfound medium of expression. Maybe it will be beneficial for Max to use the skill as a means to rid himself of his demons. Ironically this thought isn’t as satisfying as it should be. I have always envisioned myself being the one who can help Max out of his night terrors. I shake away this selfish thought and walk towards them.

  “Hi, Pia, came to join us, hey? Have a look at this, Mayther and I’ve found a way to use the chess figurines”, Mickael calls out to me when he notices I’ve entered the very room I try so earnestly to avoid.

  “Maybe later”, I respond with no intention of ever sitting around watching them play kids games.

  “Hi, how’s it coming along?” I ask as I sit down next to Max.

  “It’s really great. Tomas has shown me how to get dark and light definitions using angled strokes and different pressure on the pencil. Look, it’s an eye”, Max smiles broadly and turns his paper to face me. I am impressed at his progress in such a short time. The eye is fairly amateur in appearance, it doesn’t come to life like Tomas’ sketches do, but the variance in colour is pretty amazing, given he only used a lead pencil. I notice that their fingers are stained with lead and Tomas has a big smear across his cheek. I can’t help but smile and again have to restrain myself from reaching out my traitorous hand to wipe away the smudge.

  “You’ve got lead on your cheek”, I say to Tomas when his eyes meet mine.

  “Oh. Do I?” he mumbles embarrassed.

  He starts rubbing the wrong cheek. I shake my head and point to my cheek on the opposite side, my smile growing wider. He becomes a little flustered as he attempts two other spots and still misses it. I eventually take pity on him and wipe away the smudge with my thumb while I laugh at his his discomfort. My laughter dies away and is quickly replaced with embarrassment when I realise I’m touching Tomas’ cheek and he’s staring at me. Even though I have olive skin, red flushes of emotion, like embarrassment and anger still show through. I hate having my emotions on display. It seems like a weakness to me. I quickly look down at Max’s sketch again and pat him on the shoulder in recognition of a good job.

  “You’ve done a great job, Max. I really like the length of the eyelashes and how half of the eye looks like it’s in shadow”, I comment brushing my finger over the areas of the eye as I mention them.

  “Yeah, it’s Tomas’ eye. See how long his eye lashes are and how they curve, and see how the left side is in shadow because it’s facing aw
ay from the window”, Max points at the features of the eye in question.

  I’m forced to look up and examine Tomas’ eyes, his discomfort at my scrutiny is obvious. He looks down, making his eyelashes seem ridiculously long.

  “Yeah, I do see that. Look at your fingers, they’re covered in lead. I’m surprised it’s not all over your face too”, I quip in an attempt to ease the tension between Tomas and I.

  Before Max can respond, the ship’s alarm sounds blasting through small boxes that line the ceiling, red flashing lights accompanying it in perfect unison. Everyone’s hands fly to their ears. Obviously the alarm is just as loud down here as up on deck, probably a good thing, given that most of us are down here at any given time. Even though I’m sure the alarm is just a test for Diego and Vonteuse my body reacts to the noise and prepares to pounce on any danger that comes my way. The noise stops pretty quickly and I vaguely worry that we’re training ourselves to ignore it. Maybe we should be working out a system for when it goes off for real. If the response from everyone on deck this morning is anything to go by, having an early warning won’t be helpful if we all curl into a ball and block out the world. I think about suggesting this to Renka, he seems to be the best person for the job, given his reaction to the alarm and his military-like approach to everything. I dread starting a conversation with him. I’ll have to listen to hours of how the structured regiment he set up for his siblings would be running smoothly in his absence. Unfortunately, in this case I think he’s right. I’ll just have to deal with his blatant self-congratulations.

  I leave Max and Tomas to their sketching, I no longer feel uneasy about the situation. I’ve long held anger against my parents for their apathy in relation to teaching me their skills. Mum was an outstanding seamstress, she could take old rags or clothes that were too small for anybody and make them into practical durable items of clothing. She also collected herbs and other plants that were useful in healing, but she never explicitly taught me these things. I was nine when she killed herself and anything I knew in the way of sewing or healing plants was what I had picked up by secretly observing my mother. As for Dad, he taught me to read but never showed me how to hunt for big game or skin the animals he caught. His unmarked pelts were renowned throughout our commune and he was able to use them in trading. Even though Max was too young to have been taught these skills when our parents died, I could have passed them on to him if I knew them. Even better, my parents could have chosen life with pain and more time with their children rather than death. If Max can be taught a skill, even if I think its value in survival is fairly useless, I’m happy about it. Seeing how enthusiastic he is about the one lesson he’s had is more than enough for me to forget my reluctance in the matter. If I’m honest with myself, the sense of unease was probably more of a reflection of my feelings of protectiveness for Max rather than his social discomfort. Having Tomas be his mentor in the skill is unexpected but Max is comfortable with him and that is enough.

   I make my way up on deck in search of Renka. It’s a waste to spend such a nice day below deck and now is as good a time as any to get my idea out there. Mayther and Merva are doing sentry, although it doesn’t seem like much of a ‘duty’ to walk around the dome at midday enjoying the sun. I turn in a full circle to see if I can see Renka on deck, if not I’ll grab one of the fishing lines from the ship’s stock and try my hand at fishing.

  Unfortunately, I spot Renka’s blurred outline through the laminate of the control room. He’s pretty hard to mistake with his bulky size and unusual height. When I enter I notice that Fiona is there as well, apparently she and Renka want to learn how to operate the control board. Diego and Vonteuse are demonstrating how to input information into the panel to get something to happen. It seems pretty straightforward to me: use the keys to write an instruction and be as explicit as possible. The problems arise when instructions can’t be followed because codes are needed to unblock certain functions.

  “This input style was only intended in an emergency. The whole system was supposed to activate with voice recognition, but that voice was someone’s from BAS and finding the code to change it is near impossible. If we can work out how to check the alarm setting we’ve changed we’ll be sure it’s working”, Vonteuse is saying as he taps away at the keys.

  “We need to penetrate it at different areas to be sure it works?”, Renka asks.

  “That shouldn’t be necessary, it’s one connected barrier, although we can’t see it, if something activates it at one point we can assume the whole defence mechanism works”, responds Diego whose pacing the small area.

  “We need to consider what we use to penetrate the barrier. It has to be something that can reach the four metre height and preferably not something thrown so we can see exactly when the barrier is hit”, adds Renka, completely dismissing Diego’s comment.

  It seems an obvious thing to me to get one of the cylinder transports to hold a cylinder over the side of the ship, or even straight up into the air. The transport holding a cylinder would reach four metres easily and because we’d be in complete control of its movements we’d be able to identify the exact time the barrier is breached. I suggest this to the group at risk of offending Diego. There’s no doubt he knows more than most of us about invisible barriers from BAS, but it can’t hurt to check all avenues even if it is just peace of mind for those of us who are technologically deficient.

  “Fine, we’ll do that. I’ll go and organise it now”, Diego huffs in frustration. As he turns to leave I remember the cylinder transport disasters he instigated at training. I quickly suggest that I go and test it, Renka is obviously of the same opinion because he too has jumped up at Diego’s suggestion.   

  “I’ll come too, I want to see if there’s any visible sign of the barrier when it’s breached”, Renka calls after me.

  I decide to use the opportunity to bring up the idea about creating some sort of system for when the alarm goes off, but Renka beats me to it.

  “What do you think about the alarm?” he asks.

  “I think it’s not much use if we can’t react in a way to defend ourselves when it goes off”, I look at at him out of the corner of my eye.

  “That’s what I was thinking. I saw the knife you pulled when the alarm went off the first time, is that the only one you have?” he probes.

  “No, it’s the biggest one though. I have two more that I use for skinning pelts, filleting fish and small jobs”, I respond while speculating why he’s asking about my knives.

  He appraises me intently for a few seconds, making me feel exposed in some way, like he’s evaluating my potential for something. I feel angry at his scrutiny and decide to tell him so but he leans in closer to whisper in my ear.

  “I’ll show you something after we do this”.

  The whole time I’m operating the transport I’m wondering what Renka wants to show me and why he’s secretive about it. Why has he decided to let me in on the secret after I told him about my knives? He’s obviously noticed my reaction to the alarm just like I noted his, but what does that have to do with my knives? I hope he doesn’t think I can train anyone on how to use them. I only have the three and two of them are so small as to be useless against… what, an underwater machine? Who knows? When I thought about organising a system for when the alarm goes off I didn’t mean a fighting and attacking one. I had protection and safety on my mind, maybe deciding on a place to meet to be sure everyone is accounted for. What is it about these Commune C people? Do they have some enemy that keeps them on guard all the time? The only enemy we’re concerned about in G is Age-Sickness and if there’s anything to be done about that, it’s being done on this mission.

  I move the lever and feel the transport jerk as the cylinder rises above my head. I hope I’ve estimated the height correctly because we’d have to come up with another way to penetrate the top of this invisible barrier and that would mean I’d have to wait longer to be let in on Renka’s secret. The lever hits the extent of its movement
and to my relief the alarm sounds. I have to fight every instinct to keep my hands on the lever and accelerator and not cover my ears. I’ll pay for it later, this is the second time I’ve heard the alarm without the shield of my hands in half an hour. The first time I nearly dropped the cylinder I had suspended over the side of the ship when I automatically reached for my ears. It runs through my mind that the alarm is all we need to protect us from any intruders; we can deafen them into submission.

  I get the signal from Renka who can see Diego just outside of the control room to lower the cylinder to the deck. I stack it next to the other cyclinders, hoping that whoever packed the supplies in there did it with heaps of padding. Renka waits for me to dismount the transport and nodds for me to follow him. We pass the control room and congratulate a proud Diego and Vonteuse on their handy work with the alarm. They’re already fiddling with the control panel when we leave with Fiona watching on intently. I hope the next thing they work out is some sort of machine that makes fresh hot dinners.

  Renka leads me across the deck and down the stairs. I have the thought that we’re on the way to the common cabin to look over some military-style strategy he’s worked out using the chess figurines and inwardly groan. I’m not about to listen to him in all seriousness as he manoeuvres little toys around. To my relief he walks straight passed the common cabin and down the narrow stairs at the fish tail end of the ship. I’ve only been down there once before and that was when we first boarded. At that time I had investigated every part of the ship with Max to see what we were spending the next couple of months on. Max had found this bottom level very dull. It’s empty room after empty room. I assume they were used for BAS supplies and wonder why we don’t just put our supplies down here but then we’d have to carry them all up on deck and load the cylinders anyway.

  Apparently, Max and I are not the only ones who have done a little investigating, Renka leads me with purpose to a room that looks completely deserted. I get a strange feeling that maybe I’ve walked into a dangerous trap. There are many stories of rape among the communes. Fear of contracting Age-Sickness before being intimate leads many young men to take what hasn’t been freely given. The decreasing life expectancy only increased the number of these stories among the communes.  Flashbacks to the guards at the Communication Office flood my mind. Just like then I’d be no match for Renka’s bulky form. I’ve got my knife on me and could probably cause a bit of damage before he overpowered me but I’ve lost the element of surprise. He saw me draw the knife on deck and knows where I keep it.

  He had stepped aside and allowed me to enter the empty room first so now he blocks the doorway behind me. I feel so stupid. Every part of my body pulses with energy. I turn to face him, I’m not sure if he’d attack me from behind like a coward and I want to gain any advantage I can.

  While I consider my options for attack, Renka’s waving his hand in front of a clear tile on the far wall from where I’m standing. I would’ve found the sight funny if my body wasn’t shaking with tension. What is he doing? The image of him as a vicious villain who lures his prey into a trap is so contrary to the guy in front of me slowly rotating his hand in purposeful movements in front of the wall. I consider the possibility that’s gone insane, but quickly quash the idea when the wall suddenly slides across and reveals a hidden room.

  I gasp in astonishment. All I can see is floor to ceiling of shiny new weapons. I step into the room without consciously willing myself to do so. The shelf closest to where I stand holds ferocious looking knives. The whole room seems to ooze violence. While there’s no doubt these objects are dangerous weapons they are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. We have bows and arrows, sling shots, knives and other tools that can be used as weapons, like axes, back home, but they don’t compare to the sight in front of me. Massive bow-like weapons that’re made of some sort of steel material with arrows that look lethal line the walls. Other arrow-like things that are clearly not meant to be shot out of a bow shine under the piercing lights of the room. They’re at least fifty centimetres in diameter and over two metres long and are attached to a reel of thick wire mesh. I have no idea how they could be fired off, only that it’s not human hands that could do it, but some sort of mechanical device. There are rows and rows of knives of all sizes, some with serrated edges and others with nasty hooks on the end that would make it near impossible to remove from the poor victim who receives its jab.

  I turn to the back wall. It holds something I do recognise, anyone would, not that they are useful for us given the lack of ammunition. Guns of every size and shape, some with ridiculously long nozzles, others that are so small you could hide them in your hand glare down at me. I turn a full circle to get the big picture of what we’re dealing with and glance at Renka who seems to be enjoying my dumbstruck look.

  “Amazing isn’t it?” He says proudly.

  “That’s an understatement. How did you find this?”

  “I knew where to look”, he replies with a cocky smirk.

  “What do you mean you knew where to look, behind a wall in an empty room?” I narrow my eyes at him.

  “Let’s just say I have some experience with these BAS structures”, Renka boasts infuriatingly.

  “No, let’s not just say that, how did you know and why did you choose to show me?” I demand through gritted teeth.

  “Look, I can’t tell you exactly how, I just wanted to show you we aren’t completely defenceless on this ship”. Obviously not expecting me to focus on this aspect of his discovery, Renka becomes agitated.

  “No, you look, I have no reason to trust you or your discretion in telling me only half of what you know. I don’t know anything about you and everything you’ve shown me here is more likely to ring alarm bells rather than acceptance of a half-arse explanation”, I argue, equally as agitated.

   His face turns an angry shade of red and I can see he wishes he hadn’t shown me. I wait for him to come to some conclusion. He turns away and groans in frustration, he’s obviously trying to find a way out of telling me something important.

  Renka spins around to face me and spits angrily, “I’ll tell you, but only because I think your chances of ever getting back are slim to none and if something happens to me maybe one of us should know this, it could be helpful if…when we get to The Refuge”.

  I’m intrigued to say the least and amazed at how quickly he seems to relent. It makes me a little suspicious but I want to let him speak before I decide whether he’s lying.

  “A few years ago, one of my neighbours’ houses burnt down in an accident”, he begins.

  “All except one child got out alive. When the people of my commune went in to clean up the mess they found a trap door of sorts. It was more of a hole in the ground that opened into a tunnel. Of course they went in to check it out and they found the tunnel just kept going and going”, he starts pacing and running his hand through his hair as he explains.

  “It eventually ended in what appeared to be a solid thick door that had ‘Quarantine’ written on it. They knew they had found a BAS structure and some of them just freaked out and left, but my Dad went down with three others. They were able to open the door and found room after room filled with beds and built-in cabinets with personal belongings, photos, identification cards, jewellery, that sort of thing. The problem was that none of the rooms looked like they had been abandoned, they were lived in”, Renka pauses and looks at me with raised eyebrows satisfying himself that what he said is sinking in.

  “My Dad decides to go back up and find a few others to come down, thinking the four of them was not enough. When he came down with a bigger group they found the three he had left behind dead, all shot down by guns. Someone was alive and living down there”, I draw in a quick breath at this revelation and Renka stops again with a slight nod of his head as if to reassure me that I heard correctly.

  “My Dad and the others were armed with the knives, axes and batons, basic stuff, no match for firearms, but they went further in anywa
y, not wanting to let their friends’ death be for nothing. Dad didn’t tell me all of the details of how it unfolded, being so young as I was when he died, but it’s well known in our commune that many were killed that day by the hands of BAS survivors. It’s said that the survivors were old, I mean really old and had no chance at face-to-face combat. Their strength was in their firearms, but they needed to be reloaded and the survivors were slow, plus there were not enough of them”, again Renka pauses, this time with a slight slump of his shoulders as if he still feels the pain of losing so many members of his commune.

  “After the encounter, the bodies were taken up and burnt and everyone voted to close the thick steel door and fill in the tunnel, but not before investigations were carried out. When they were down there my Dad and his friends saw the survivors getting a door to slide open by waving their hand in front of it. Of course, the most important thing they looked for was some sort of medicine for Age-Sickness, but all they found was a group of old people running and hiding from it, with just as much knowledge of how to stop it as us apparently”, Renka concludes with a touch of bitterness.

  I thought I was dumbstruck before, but that does not even come close to describing what my reaction to this information is. The first thing I think is why don’t I know about this? Why weren’t the Committee members told and the incident shared among the communes? Renka must see the question written on my face, or it’s just the most logical thing to ask after hearing about a secret subterranean home with old people in it!

  “Our Committee member told the Committee but it was decided to keep it quiet because it was right at the height of the Pro-Sickness campaigner’s riots and they feared there would be a complete loss of order. If everyone knew it at that time especially that the BAS survivors fought back, who knew what could happen? People might have began randomly digging up whole areas of land looking for hideouts, pouring into our commune, the Campaigners might have fought their way back in to have a piece of the action. It was too unstable. We’ve all sworn to keep the secret, our parents tell us before, well you know how it goes”.

  What am I to make of this? I never really thought of the Committee as a body who makes really important decisions. The member from my commune seems like such an insignificant person, not someone who is privy to information withheld from the people, assuming the knowledge still remains in the Committee. I realise that it’s the Committee who organised this ‘quest’, but that was strongly backed-up by the public, it was well known that someone had to make the trip to The Refuge. It’s nothing like what Renka’s talking about, withholding information that could potentially help us know more about Age-Sickness. How many of these places are there? The irony of us travelling on an obviously dangerous voyage to get to a place we call The Refuge when there could be one at home under our feet is not lost to me. Then I realise the implications of this, why didn’t Commune C move into the BAS refuge? They could have saved their own lives.

  “Why did they block up the tunnel? Why not move down there and live?” I ask in exasperation.

  “Don’t you get it? It was quarantined; their first reaction was to kill us. They were scared of being infected and once the place was opened it couldn’t be a safe house from Age-Sickness anymore”, Renka replies in anger.

  The information strikes with such force that I literally take a step back. Is he saying that Commune C have known all this time that Age-Sickness is air born, or passes between people who share the same environment somehow, not something that exists inside of us, ready to be activated at a certain age? How could they keep that information from everyone? All this time we could have been moving away from home, from each other. But aren’t we doing just that? Leaving our home to find a place where the Sickness can’t follow? Is that possible? Are we already infected? But there is hope isn’t there? It isn’t born into us, lying dormant waiting to pounce, is it something we can evade? Maybe the Committee is far more knowledgeable and powerful with that knowledge. If they know all that Renka has told me then maybe they’ve been manipulating things for years, trying to get this mission underway. Despite the newfound hope I’m feeling I’m angry, angry that I was denied all of the information.

  “How dare you make agreements to keep such important information secret! Do you know we could have saved lives? We could have moved away from each other, moved to new places far away, maybe someone could have broken the age barrier”, I yell angrily at him.

   I know he’s not to blame, the decisions were made before he was old enough to have a say, but I remember his cocky statement before ‘let’s just say I have some experience with BAS structures’ and it infuriates me.

  “Okay, calm down. You have a right to be frustrated but not at me, the decision was out of my hands and besides we’re doing exactly that now aren’t we, moving to a different place, moving away from the people?” Renka asks as he raises his hands in surrender.

  “Yeah, but what about everyone we left behind? What about Karther’s sisters or Isabella’s brothers? We all have family and now it will probably be too late for most of them”, I argue, refusing to be calmed.

  “It would be stupid to bring everyone, you said it yourself, we need to move away from each other, having just one from each commune – I mean except for you and Max, is the best chance we have”, Renka responds.

  My first instinct is to agree with him, I said that myself, then I think about the people involved, the loved ones who have been left behind and I feel awful. First because I’m flooded with relief that Max is with me and secondly because Renka is right. We couldn’t just bring everyone along. Not much has changed really. We’re still checking out this place for its potential as a refuge from Age-Sickness, we’re still going to have to travel across some dangerous ground and don’t know exactly what we’ll find on the other side. The earlier scouts have information about the environment and potential food sources but little is known about whether Age-Sickness will exist there. Then it hits me, this knowledge makes a huge difference, The Refuge has never been occupied before, BAS or now, it is fresh, new, innocent, if we know for certain that Age-Sickness isn’t living in us from birth, then environment is the answer. If we don’t have it yet and it isn’t at The Refuge then maybe we won’t come in contact with it at all. Hope rushes through me, is it really possible? Can we really find a way to evade Age-Sickness?

  I look up at Renka with a ridiculous smile on my face and he smirks back knowingly. This quest means so much more to him. If there’s a distinction between belief and hope, I can tell that Renka is on the belief side of things.

  “Wow. This changes everything”, I whisper dumbstruck.

  I take stock of where I am for the first time since hearing Renka’s confession. The weapons stare at me with expectation, that they are dangerous, there is no question.

  “So what do you intend to do with these?” I ask trying to push away the giddy feeling of hope that swims through my veins.

  “I want to arm all volunteers and drill them in their use in case of another attack”, Renka states as he straightens his shoulders and raises his chin.

  I can’t say that I’m surprised by his answer but I still look at him in shock.

  “Arm everyone with these, are you kidding? We’re more likely to kill each other than cause injury to an opponent. We don’t even know the name of half of these things, let alone how they operate”, I respond in disbelief.

  “I’ve been coming down here regularly since we’ve been on board and I think I have a working knowledge of most of the weapons in here that can be lifted without strain. With practice and a degree of discipline we could set up a system of armament where we’ll be impenetrable when the invisible barrier is breached”, Renka disputes.

  I have to smirk at his statement of being impenetrable after our defences had been penetrated, but it seems lost on him. I suddenly have an insight into his life; a commune who had experienced the killing of many of their people from BAS survivors may become slightly more ‘careful’ t
han the rest of us. The drills and general order of that commune make far more sense, they’re always expecting something, or someone and who’s to say they’re wrong? There could be plenty of underground safe houses that could be on the verge of running out of resources. Would they break through and attack us? I’m becoming paranoid thinking about it. I feel a new found affinity to Renka, his prior ramblings about regiment and structure don’t seem so annoying now. Even so, there’s no way I’m going to agree to giving everyone onboard a weapon. Before we know it Isabella would shoot off her foot and Linton would amputate his mousy ear with a knife. Not to mention Max, he’s handled knives plenty of times of course, most of us probably have, but it’s one thing to skin an immobile animal or gut a dead fish and something completely different to knife an attacking opponent.

  “No. You don’t know what their life experience is, they’ve more than likely handled weapons, but not in combat, we don’t all come from ‘C’. It’ll bring more disaster than it’s worth”, I argue staring Renka directly in the eyes.

  “Don’t you see the advantage these weapons give us? We could outdo any opponent with this stuff. I thought of everyone you would see the benefit of what I’m talking about. Wasn’t that what you were saying earlier?” Renka beseeches.

  What does he mean ‘of everyone’, why did he target me as being different? I guess I’m the one who pulled the knife when I thought we were being attacked but that doesn’t do much for the self-esteem. He’s implying I’m different from everyone else because I don’t have the reactions they have. What does it matter what Renka thinks? When did I start caring?

  “I disagree, any advantage you see will be turned into disadvantage if we’re up against anyone who has a weapon, even a basic weapon, that they know how to handle”.

  “That’s not true, what about the old people in the safe house? They took out heaps of our people before they were overrun”, he counters.

  “And you said yourself that they were no good in face to face combat, that the weapons needed to be reloaded. There would be nothing but face-to-face combat on this ship. Look I disagree, okay, if you want we could let the others in on this and decide together”, I try to end the discussion.

  He thinks about it for a second. Why does he think it’s his right to keep this to himself and decide who is be allowed to know about it? Before I can further my argument, he nods in agreement, well I assume it’s agreement because he turns and walks out without shutting the door to the secret weapons room. I’m not sure how to shut it so I just follow him. As soon as I step out of the room the door slides across and once again it looks like a simple wall. I’m extremely thankful it didn’t do that when I was in it, I imagine being stuck in there and feel immediately claustrophobic. I quickly follow Renka down the hall and up the stairs. The stairs are a weird shape because they’re set up against the fish tail end of the ship, so they narrow excessively at one point and I find the sense of claustrophobia coming on again. By the time I reach the top I’m flushed and hot, it isn’t entirely the climb, I’m still experiencing the glow of newfound hope. This mission means something different to me now too.

  I enter the hall leading to the common cabin a second after Renka to see Tomas leaving with Max. He looks in our direction and freezes when he sees us. I can’t interpret the look on his face, only to say he looks disappointed or maybe hurt in some way. I smile broadly at him, I feel really happy to see them both. I now see possibilities for Max, and that’s exhilarating. Tomas just gives a tentative smile in return says something to Max and walks away in the opposite direction. It confuses me, what have I done?

  “Hey, Tomas, come back, we have something to ask everyone”, Renka calls after him.

  Tomas flinches at the word ‘we’ and I realise what he saw when he came out of the common cabin; Renka and I, flushed and excited coming up from the deserted lower level of the ship. I’m shocked he would think I would be doing something with Renka that would require us to hide. Of course, that is exactly what we were doing, secretly meeting in a hidden room, but not for the reasons Tomas’s look implies. I’m disgusted that he would think so low of me. What is it to him anyway? Who is he to judge me? More importantly, why do I care so much?

  Tomas turns around to face us but doesn’t look me in the eye; he just nods Renka’s way and walks back into the common cabin. Max heads towards me with humoured confusion on his face.

  “Where have you been?” he asks.

  I ignore his question and try to redirect him by asking about his lesson with Tomas and to my utter surprise it distracts him. Usually he’s impossible to distract, this enthusiasm for sketching could come in handy if it lasts.

  When we’re in the common cabin Renka announces to those who’re there that we have something important to say. We wait until the others who are scattered about the ship are gathered up, except for Linton and Gerla who’re on sentry; they’ll have to be told about it later.

  Not one for flowery speeches, Renka gets right in and tells them what he’s found. He leaves out how he knew where to look and I wonder if it’s my responsibility to tell the others about it. I was angry about not knowing so how can I justify keeping it from them? I was told in confidence but I didn’t enter into any agreement or sworn oath. I settle for leaving it at the moment and thinking about it later.

  Of course, Renka goes on about his role in his commune and how structured training and regimented living will enable everyone to learn the basics of the weapons to protect themselves against an attack. I realise he’s convincing everyone that it’s a good idea when heads nod in approval and people start suggesting which weapons they’re familiar with. The mention of axes, batons and knives tells me that they have no more idea of what this secret weapons stash really holds than I did. Damn Renka, from what he’s told me, he’s had about two weeks to work out those weapons, even if there are guns in ‘C’ taken from the BAS safe house that are used in drills, I’m not about to trust him with free reign of the weapon’s facility.

  “I disagree with Renka. I’ve seen the weapons in this room and you can’t even imagine what they’re like. They bear no resemblance to the weapons you’ve just mentioned and are absolutely lethal. Even the knives are vicious replicas of what you probably use. They’d easily become more of a hazard in our inexperienced hands than an advantage over an opponent”, I raise my voice to get over the hum of agreement in Renka’s favour that’s emanating from the group.

  “But I’ve spent time working out these weapons, and I have a lot of experience training people for combat”, Renka counters confidently.

  “And why is that?” I can’t help myself. Renka looks at me with such loathing that I almost regret saying it, almost.

  “My commune uses combat techniques as a sort of sport, everyone learns it once they turn four”, he answers through gritted teeth.

  He’s very good; except I can’t imagine anyone in any of the other communes thinking sport is a priority. Most of us are struggling to keep fed and warm; the others don’t seem to question it though, not verbally anyway.

  “Can you make us proficient enough with a gun in six weeks so that we don’t shoot off our own foot or someone else’s? And who’s to say the alarm won’t be triggered tomorrow or the next day, or even a week from now? Are we to have weapons we don’t understand on us then? We’re more likely to give whomever or whatever it is after us an advantage because if they have weapons they intend to use on us we can be certain they know how to use them well. Do you remember what happened to Karther?” I question looking each person in the eye.

  It’s a low blow, but I’m passionate about this. Can he really be serious? Just imagine little Isabella with a long bladed knife, or macho Mickael with a loaded firearm, it’s a disaster waiting to happen.

  “You assume no one here knows how to use a weapon”, Renka responds waving his arm to encompass everyone in the group.

  “No I don’t, I’m sure everyone here has used a knife or bow and arrow to bring down an an
imal, an animal running away from them not at them. I bet they have skinned and gutted all sorts of animals with a variety of implements. But has anyone here ever used a weapon against a person, someone trying to attack or kill them?” I ask.

  I let the question hang there. Renka does too, I’m unsure if I’ve said something to convince him or whether he’s coming up with a counter argument. Much to my surprise it’s Tomas who breaks the silence in support of me.

  “Pia is right about us all having weapons we’re not confident in using. They will endanger us more than protect us. But Renka is not wrong, we need to organise ourselves to prepare for when the alarm goes off, we can’t sit around with our fingers in our ears waiting for it to go away anymore. We need to be more regimented”, Tomas addresses the whole group in a commanding voice.

  He doesn’t say much publicly but when he does, Tomas obviously knows just what’s needed to keep everyone on side. He effectively took away the Pia versus Renka element with his speech and made it seem like we’re saying close to the same thing.

  We end up having a vote about the weapons after we all go down to have a look, with Renka making up some story about accidentally discovering the secret door. It’s decided we shouldn’t hand out the weapons. They all pretty much have my response on seeing the extent of weaponry, the weapons are way out of our league. But a few modest looking knives are considered not much of a threat to us and are chosen to be kept in a cabinet in the common cabin, which is to be our meeting place if the alarm alerts us to an intruder.

  Renka is clearly disappointed, but mollified when it’s suggested he show us some of the combat drills he does back home. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing we draw up a roster for drill practice. Mickael and Fiona are going to train with Renka to instruct as well, that way Renka doesn’t have to be at every practice. I reflect on having so much of my time accounted for now, with the extra sentry duties and now drills practice I’ll probably have to cut back on my three shower a day habit.

  After the long negotiation process involved in organising the group rosters, almost everyone moves to leave the common cabin. Renka goes to talk to Linton and Gerla about the roster. We’d arranged runners to give them information throughout the whole process so they are pretty well informed as it is. I decide to go in search of Tomas. I want to thank him for supporting me in there.  Max left a bit earlier to practice his sketching back in our cabin and I told him I’d be there soon.

  Tomas is on deck looking out over the water that by now has the reflection of the moon glistening on it in a wavy line. I look at his peaceful form and question whether I should interrupt him. Maybe he’s sick of company. I know I am after having spent more time interacting with the others over the last twenty-four hours than I ever imagined I would. I decid to approach him and read his response at seeing me, I’m pretty certain I can distinguish between a ‘not you again look’ and a ‘great, you again’ one.

  He hears my approaching steps and turns his head to see who it is. I can’t see his expression; his face is in total darkness with the moon glowing behind him. I have no choice but to join him at the wall, turning around and walking away is a bit rude. He doesn’t say anything to me, just goes back to his gazing into the night. It gives me time to think about what to say and why I’ve come in search of him. I could have waited for our next sentry duty together tomorrow instead of invading his alone time. I have to admit that I’m feeling a bit distressed about the assumptions I saw all over Tomas’ face when he saw Renka and I together. I want to clear it up somehow, the fact that we took everyone to the weapons room didn’t seem enough to convince Tomas I amin no way involved with Renka.

  Why do I care about what Tomas thinks of me? I never would have made the effort to thank him now if it wasn’t for that look I saw on his face. I’m suddenly really angry with myself for caring about this stupid situation. Of all the things I’ve learnt today, this is not what I want to focus on. I’m not going to address the assumptions Tomas made about me, if he wants to discuss it he can bring it up, I’m not going to explain myself to a virtual stranger.

  “I just wanted to thank you for stepping in and supporting me before. I’m not sure the others would have agreed with me, Renka was quite convincing”, I say with detached formality.

  Tomas looks side-ways at me and I can see he finds me amusing again. His lips are curled up on one side. This seem to direct my anger away from myself and towards him.

  “What’s so funny?” I almost growl.

  “I just think you should say what you want to say when you think it. Why did you come and find me tonight? You could have waited till tomorrow”, Tomas asks still looking at me sideways.

  “And how do you know what I’m thinking? I came to say thank you and I just did”, I respond curtly.

  “Well, you’re very welcome, then”, he says after a short pause with that infuriating half smile of his.

  “For your information I was reflecting on your obvious assumptions about Renka and me this afternoon”, I say tilting my chin up, daring him to deny it.

  That seems to sober him a little, at least he’s no longer smiling.

  “Oh, you noticed that did you? I guess I owe you an apology then. I shouldn’t make assumptions about people, or at least not show them so clearly on my face”, he mumbles turning his body to face me.

  I’m not sure this wis a real apology; the word ‘sorry’ never actually came out of his mouth. It doesn’t make me feel better about the situation at all and he didn’t say that he believed I didn’t do anything with Renka.

  “Thank you for your apology, you’re right, you shouldn’t assume things, you don’t know me and in fact I am not the type of person to steal away to the depths of a ship with a virtual stranger to have some sort of interlude”, I respond with stilted formality and a further rise of my chin.

  He stares at me for a second and we both start laughing. The very nature of our meeting in the dark on the ship just proves my statement wrong and the word interlude makes me sound like some ancient prude. The tension between us evaporates, Tomas seems to have a way of doing that. I feel the weightlessness of hope run through me again after the day’s events and relax against the ship’s wall.

  “Max has shown some real potential, I’ll feel like a fraud taking any credit for what he can do in a few weeks, he’s a natural”, Tomas comments lightly.

  “That’s really great. I’m happy that he’ll have something to occupy him on board for the next six weeks. When I got him out of sentry I hadn’t thought about how his sanity would suffer having so much free time.”

  I mean it light-heartedly but my reference to Max’s sanity brings his night terrors to mind and I can tell Tomas wants to talk about it.

  “How is Max going?” he asks tentatively.

  “If you mean sleep wise, he’s much better onboard than at home. Maybe he just needed a change of scenery”, I think it’s a lot more complicated than that but I don’t want to discuss it with Tomas.

  “He told me he dreams about your parent’s death”, Tomas states matter-of-factly.

  Max has never spoken to anyone about our parents except me. I don’t know what to make of it, is it a good thing that he’s talking to Tomas?

  “He’s never spoken to anyone about it before, what did he tell you?” I ask.

  “Just that he dreams about your parents faces. I think it’s a good thing he’s talking about it, maybe it’s a step closer to dealing with it outside of his subconscious in dreams”, Tomas responds thoughtfully.

  I can tell Max has told Tomas a bit more, probably a few more gory details, he is skirting around it, likely to avoid upsetting me. He obviously doesn’t know what I think about my parents. I think he’s right about it being a good thing for Max and I’m surprised I don’t feel affronted by his offering an opinion on the matter.

  “I hope so, it’s been too long. His enthusiasm for sketching can only help too, thanks for taking the time to teach him”, I say looking away from his face.
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  “Yeah because I have so little free time on this ship”, Tomas quips sarcastically.

  “Well, with our extra duties and now drills practice you’ll have your plate full”.

  “I’ll manage. Max is great, I like spending time with him. He has a very straightforward manner. It’s refreshing to know someone who is what they seem to be”, Tomas says as he turns his attention back to the water.

  I’m not sure if that last comment was a dig at me or not, but I choose to ignore it. I don’t want to ruin the easy conversation. This new feeling of hope relaxes me allowing insinuations that would usually anger me to roll right off my back.

  “Talking about sentry duty, I better go, I’ve got another one later tonight and I want to have a shower and a nap first”, I say turning away.

  “I’ll walk you back, I’ve got to do some work in my journal, with the way it is now who knows what earth shattering event will happen tomorrow”, Tomas smirks in reply.

  I smile at his sarcasm; he has a dry humour that I find really funny. Sometimes the only clue he’s joking is the small curve of the corner of his mouth.

  We start walking back across the deck, it’s such a beautiful night, the stars are so bright and there’re so many out here on the ocean. It’s hard not to feel insignificant in the scheme of things. My problems and I are so miniscule in a universe filled with billions of fireballs, planets and whatever else is out there. It is a comforting thought to know there is more than what is happening in my life.

  “It’s really beautiful isn’t it?” Tomas interrupts my thoughts.

  I look at him and see what I assume is a replica of the look on my face, absolute awe and a sense of peace. I wonder if he feels put in his place like I do.

  “Yeah, it really is”, I mumble softly.

  We walk in silence until we get to the stairs where I ask how long it takes him to sketch an entry in his journal.

  “It depends on how detailed I want to make it”, he says. “Sometimes I get carried away with some small detail and it becomes really intricate and time consuming. I often rub out what I’m not happy with and start again, or sometimes I use the eraser to add a more textured look, that can take a while to get right. Usually, I get so absorbed in it that I lose track of time. It’s difficult to find a place here where I won’t be interrupted unless I want to spend heaps of time in my cabin”.

  He’s so passionate about his sketching and I envy his passion, it seems to consume him and give him a different view of the world, as if he alone can see things that others are blind to.

  We stand outside of my cabin for a few minutes before I even realise we are here. I enjoy talking to Tomas, which is more than I expected after the initial anger I felt towards him and his assumptions.

  “How do you choose what to draw? It’s hard for me to know what to write sometimes, what to put in or leave out and I think writing is a more expressive medium in terms of content”, I ask.

  “No way, I disagree, drawing is very expressive, you can capture so much in one scene, just look at the sketch of the sea bird, what Max got from that. He looked at that and felt all the same things he did when he was watching the sea bird in real life and it gave him a passion for sketching as a form of expression. Or the sketch of Karther and the chess piece, it told the story of his personality, just like the one of Isabella and the fairies. I think writing encourages people to get bogged down in details that are not meaningful. Writers think they need to spell everything out –excuse the pun – for the reader, whereas I can draw something I see and another person can look at it and see something completely different”, Tomas argues enthusiastically.

  I think about this for a second and remember all the times I tediously described events that occurred on the ship. Tomas has a point, there is a freedom in his chosen medium, it offers everyone something different, it is more creative and meaningful. I no longer see the skill as useless, it brings something to people that is important, something I never considered important before.

  “You really love it, don’t you?” I look up at Tomas and ask.

  Without consciously realising it, Tomas and I had leant in closer to each other while we talked. Now that Tomas stopped and is looking directly at me I notice he’s close enough for me to feel the warmth of his skin. Tomas is leaning his shoulder against the wall and I’m mere centimeters away from him. I immediately flush with embarrassment but I can’t break our eye contact. He must realise at the same time I do that we are so close because I see the pulse in the hollow of his neck quicken in my peripheral vision. He too holds our eye contact, as if reading something in my eyes. His penetrating stare and proximity bring a stirring deep in my belly that I’ve never felt before. It washes over me with a force that makes my cheeks flame brighter and my breath come in small gasps. I turn my body a fraction to face him without willing myself to do so, it’s as if my body is making decisions I don’t consciously think about. I see Tomas’s pupils widen as he leans in closer, I want him to kiss me. I want to feel his full lips on mine. He seems to read my body because he reaches out and gently places his hand on the small of my back. He moves me closer and I tilt my head in anticipation, the feeling in my belly is excruciatingly wonderful. Then Max opens the cabin door and we both jump out of our skin.

  I plaster a ridiculous smile on my face and imagine Tomas looks the same because Max glances back and forth between us a few times with a quizzical look on his face. I hope with all of my being that he won’t ask the obvious question as he always does and embarrass me further. Whether he’s somehow developed some telepathic powers or just a little social awareness since the last time I saw him I don’t know but he seems to dismiss what is going to be his initial question and asks Tomas to come in and see his shading attempts so far. Tomas gracefully declines saying he has to get back to his cabin and murmurs goodnight before he turns to leave.

  I have the biggest anti-climatic feeling course through my body. Only minutes ago my whole being was set for Tomas to kiss me, the stirring in my lower belly is slowly subsiding leaving behind an awful emptiness in its wake. I tell Max I’m going to have a shower and gather the things I need. I want to be alone for a while to think about what just happened.

  As the water beats down on my head I realise I’m not unhappy about what almost happened. I’ve never felt those feelings before, there is no one in my commune who I could have any feelings for. Well, that’s not entirely true, there are guys who’re my age and pretty good looking too but I never had time to think about them in that way. I was always looking after Max and the kids next door with Sadie, making sure we had enough food, fuel for fire and generally keeping the run of the house in order. Any time I had left outside of that I was hunting, trading. It’s not a lifestyle conducive to late night trysts even if I wanted one. And always at the back of my mind was the question, what is the point? How much longer would they or I have? Why get close to someone, start something when we all knew what’s going to happen in the end. There are a few people my age who have married only to have to nurse each other to their deaths after a couple of months together. Why put someone through that?

  But after today, with what Renka told me I feel different, I feel like I might have a chance, that if I haven’t shown any signs yet maybe I’m not infected and because I’m moving away I never will be. I have always just waited for it to start, thinking that I had the Sickness inside of me, laying dormant, getting ready to invade my body, cell by cell. Now I no longer believe that, I might be able to leave the Sickness behind. If none of us have ever shown signs of Age-Sickness and we’re moving to a new place away from everyone maybe we really do have a chance. It is more than hope, it’s a belief that I can live.

  I feel wonderful. The afterglow of what happened with Tomas flows through me and I imagine what I’ll say to him tomorrow. I’m so excited about having three hours of sentry duty with him and wonder what we’ll talk about.

  I squeeze the flower-scented liquid soap out of a dispenser on the w
all and lather up my body, revelling in the feel of the foam against my skin. I notice a sensitive spot just above my hip and feel a bit of a bump when I wash my hand over it. I look down and see it. It’s round and red, with crustiness on the edge. It is an Age-Sickness sore.