I’d probably need to, everyone would. It would be a boon for therapists.
I told him about the army truck in my street. He did seem surprised about that.
‘I thought they were bringing more food, but they just went to a family up the street and took them away. I tried to ask them when they would bring more food but they ignored me, nearly ran me over.’
‘Which family?’
‘The Ketterleys. They live in that big-arse place.’
‘Why would the army take them?’
‘Dunno. The bloke’s some top-notch surgeon. Don’t know if that’s got anything to do with it.’
‘We’ve been left behind,’ Arnold said, matter-of-factly.
‘Do you really think they’re just going to let people starve to death? I mean, I know it’s starting to look that way, but . . .’
‘Think about it. The world has fallen into a nuclear winter. There is no sunlight, no food production. The radiation in the northern hemisphere would have wiped heaps of people out. There’s not going to be any more food imported. There is a finite amount left. The government, the authorities, would have a plan for this.’
‘Exactly.’
‘A plan that would involve preserving certain people and letting others perish. They can’t feed everyone.’
I sighed. ‘Do you have much left?’ I asked him.
He shook his head.
I had an overwhelming urge to consume a vast amount of alcohol again and looked around to see if the Wongs had a liquor cabinet. I never expected to spend my last days getting drunk with Arnold Wong.
I put my empty mug down. I saw Death come and sit in the room with us. Just like the dude from The Mighty Boosh : black robes, skeleton hands. How did it feel to starve to death? Did I already know?
‘I think me and my brother are going to leave, go to the city. My mum might still be there, she works with the government, disaster response management. I think she’ll know what to do . . . You should come with us . . . More people, more heat, more furniture to burn. There’s safety in numbers.’
‘There’s still the problem of food.’
I tilted my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes. Then the idea came to me.
‘I know where we can get some.’
Twenty-one
Max wasn’t moving. The house was in near-darkness with only the smoulder of cinders lighting the room. There was a smell, a sweet chemical sort of smell a little like when I was ten and tried to bake Mum a cake using a Tupperware container instead of a tin. Mum had to scrape the blue goop off the bottom of the oven with a butter knife while I stood behind her and watched because I felt too guilty to do anything else.
Max was curled up next to the remains of the fire. I closed the front door and expected him to look up but he didn’t move. I said his name. He didn’t move. I said it louder, traversing the sea of bedding that filled the living room.
‘Maximum.’ I crouched down next to him and shook his shoulder. I noticed there was a pile of clothes next to the fire.
‘Max.’ Tightness gripped my throat and spread into my chest. No, no, no, no.
‘Max wake up ,’ I instructed him. I put my fingers to his throat without much of an idea where his pulse would be anyway. My fingers must have been cold. He flinched, whimpered a little.
‘Max, wake up, buddy. It’s me. We gotta get moving.’
He whimpered again and opened his eyes, just a slit. I put my hand on his forehead. It was cool, too cool.
‘Max did you throw up?’
He shook is head. I sat him up, holding him by his narrow shoulders. He tried to open his eyes more.
‘Dude, you need to eat.’
He let out a short breath as if to say derr .
‘Have you been drinking water?’
He shook his head.
‘Man, I told you, there’s a whole cup there for today, you’ve got to.’
Another slight shake of the head. I sighed. I pulled a can of spaghetti from my pocket, opened it and scooped some out with my fingers. He ate it from my hand. I scooped out more and he soon finished the can. Max flopped
I told him about the army truck in my street. He did seem surprised about that.
‘I thought they were bringing more food, but they just went to a family up the street and took them away. I tried to ask them when they would bring more food but they ignored me, nearly ran me over.’
‘Which family?’
‘The Ketterleys. They live in that big-arse place.’
‘Why would the army take them?’
‘Dunno. The bloke’s some top-notch surgeon. Don’t know if that’s got anything to do with it.’
‘We’ve been left behind,’ Arnold said, matter-of-factly.
‘Do you really think they’re just going to let people starve to death? I mean, I know it’s starting to look that way, but . . .’
‘Think about it. The world has fallen into a nuclear winter. There is no sunlight, no food production. The radiation in the northern hemisphere would have wiped heaps of people out. There’s not going to be any more food imported. There is a finite amount left. The government, the authorities, would have a plan for this.’
‘Exactly.’
‘A plan that would involve preserving certain people and letting others perish. They can’t feed everyone.’
I sighed. ‘Do you have much left?’ I asked him.
He shook his head.
I had an overwhelming urge to consume a vast amount of alcohol again and looked around to see if the Wongs had a liquor cabinet. I never expected to spend my last days getting drunk with Arnold Wong.
I put my empty mug down. I saw Death come and sit in the room with us. Just like the dude from The Mighty Boosh : black robes, skeleton hands. How did it feel to starve to death? Did I already know?
‘I think me and my brother are going to leave, go to the city. My mum might still be there, she works with the government, disaster response management. I think she’ll know what to do . . . You should come with us . . . More people, more heat, more furniture to burn. There’s safety in numbers.’
‘There’s still the problem of food.’
I tilted my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes. Then the idea came to me.
‘I know where we can get some.’
Twenty-one
Max wasn’t moving. The house was in near-darkness with only the smoulder of cinders lighting the room. There was a smell, a sweet chemical sort of smell a little like when I was ten and tried to bake Mum a cake using a Tupperware container instead of a tin. Mum had to scrape the blue goop off the bottom of the oven with a butter knife while I stood behind her and watched because I felt too guilty to do anything else.
Max was curled up next to the remains of the fire. I closed the front door and expected him to look up but he didn’t move. I said his name. He didn’t move. I said it louder, traversing the sea of bedding that filled the living room.
‘Maximum.’ I crouched down next to him and shook his shoulder. I noticed there was a pile of clothes next to the fire.
‘Max.’ Tightness gripped my throat and spread into my chest. No, no, no, no.
‘Max wake up ,’ I instructed him. I put my fingers to his throat without much of an idea where his pulse would be anyway. My fingers must have been cold. He flinched, whimpered a little.
‘Max, wake up, buddy. It’s me. We gotta get moving.’
He whimpered again and opened his eyes, just a slit. I put my hand on his forehead. It was cool, too cool.
‘Max did you throw up?’
He shook is head. I sat him up, holding him by his narrow shoulders. He tried to open his eyes more.
‘Dude, you need to eat.’
He let out a short breath as if to say derr .
‘Have you been drinking water?’
He shook his head.
‘Man, I told you, there’s a whole cup there for today, you’ve got to.’
Another slight shake of the head. I sighed. I pulled a can of spaghetti from my pocket, opened it and scooped some out with my fingers. He ate it from my hand. I scooped out more and he soon finished the can. Max flopped
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