Skylight (Arcadium, #2) (4 page)

I slap my hand
to my chest and let out a huge sigh of relief. “Trouble, you scared
the crap out of me.”

Kean and I
share a glance and Trouble’s brow goes up.

“Well this
probably looks much worse than it is,” Kean says to Trouble.

Trouble lowers
his eyes to Kean’s weapon and looks back at me. “Well,” I say,
gesturing to myself and Kean, “we’re going to… talk to Jacob.” I
make my fingers walk in the air, then do a talking mouth sign with
my hand and end it by pointing towards Jacob’s house. “If you stay
here, we’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” I point to Trouble, then
point to the ground, flash ten and five fingers, then tap the space
on my wrist where a watch would be... if I still had one.

Trouble stares
at me long and hard, then he nods. He also flashes the fifteen
minute sign with his hands, raises an eyebrow, then points to
himself and finally to Jacob’s house.

“Nice to know
we’ve got back up,” I say, grabbing a gold club.

“That or he was
just stretching,” Kean says.

Trouble cuts
his light and stands guard with his bat as I unlock the front door.
We peer out the security door, and after a minute of no sound or
movement, I slip into the front yard. Kean follows.

The houses up
here are more spread out than in the suburbs. In the first few
weeks of arriving, we saw seven infected people, and Trouble killed
all of them easily. So I don’t mind being outside our safe zone
here. Plus there are plenty of places to hide and trees to
climb.

It’s perfectly
quiet outside and we pause at a conifer and I peer into the street.
The moon is bright tonight, almost full. We’re lucky. If it was
tucked behind clouds, we wouldn’t be able to make the journey. We
just couldn’t risk using a torch on the road unless it was an
emergency.

Kean holds his
crowbar at the ready and I tap his arm to give the all clear.

We move
swiftly, falling naturally into position. I lead, covering the
forward line of sight, and Kean walks backward, covering the
rear.

Being on the
streets takes me back to the times with Liss, before we met Kean
and Henry and Trouble. When it was just us and the road… and yeah,
the infected. Sleeping in bathtubs, huddling in dark foreign
spaces, moving from house to house, our entire lives carried in
backpacks.

“Seventeen,
right?” Kean whispers, interrupting my thoughts.

“We’re close,”
I reply. Number seventeen should be on our side of the street.

Kean is alert —
eyes darting, shoulders tense. Even though the coast seems clear,
we don’t dare let our guard down.

We cover the
rest of the distance in silence, and when we get to number
seventeen we pause in the middle of the road.

The house is a
single-story brick square with heavy brown security mesh over the
front door and windows. The garden is bare, with just skinny
withering trees stunted at head-height and swatches of dead yellow
grass encroaching on patches of overgrown crazy grass. There’s a
small bricked path leading right up to the front door.

Kean tightens
his grip on the crowbar. “Going to knock?”

“It’s only
fair.”

Kean stays at
the road, his back to me, keeping an eye on things while I approach
the house. The security door is locked so I have to knock on the
metal and it makes an awful loud rattling sound.

I listen but
there’s nothing. No footsteps, no movement, no sign of life at all.
Which isn’t strange since now is the time people should be
asleep.

For a moment I
think he might have moved on, but then the door pops opens, and I
shine my torch on my face so Jacob can see it’s me, just in case he
has a weapon pointed at my head. I can’t quite tell since he’s
shrouded in darkness.

“You took your
time. Come in,” Jacob says, and I don’t know how it’s possible, but
I swear I can
hear
him smiling.

He flicks the
lock on the security door and I wait for Kean to reach us before
stepping inside. I shine my torch around, checking the place out.
Jacob doesn’t have a torch or candle on him, I notice. He also
isn’t holding a weapon. He leads us through a hallway and into the
back room which has all the remnants of the past: shabby brown
couches, a diploma of tourism sitting proud in a gold frame, a wall
mounted TV collecting dust. Jacob is set up in the middle of the
tiled floor. Cushions surround his portable gas cooker, which is
firing away quietly. A few candles flicker around the room, casting
a gentle orange glow. He also has a mean spread of guns on the
floor. Well, when I say mean, I’m talking like three, which is a
lot to a person who hasn’t ever seen a gun in real life before.

They’re small
but offensive black lumps of cold hard metal just lying in wait to
rip the life out of someone. One is put-together and the other two
are in pieces, like he’s been cleaning them or something. I can’t
seem to look away.

Jacob watches
me for a moment. “Usually I put the guns away when I have
visitors.”

Sensing my
total and utter distraction, he gathers the parts and puts them
away in a side-table drawer. The full gun, though, he keeps
out.

“Do you mind?”
He says holding it up and then hooking it in the back of his
trousers, like they do in the movies. Which is kind of brave I
think, because what if it accidentally shoots your butt cheek off?
Not cool.

I shrug. Kean
says nothing.

“Can’t be too
careful these days.” Jacob covers the gun with his t-shirt.
“Coffee?”

Me and Kean
share a glance. You can’t just invite people into the home you took
over in the apocalypse and offer them refreshments. It’s just not
done.

“I have tea and
Milo, if that suits better.” Jacob waits patiently, observing our
surprise with great amusement.

“Everyone knows
Milo’s no good without milk,” Kean says. “Unless you have a cow in
the garden? And that wouldn’t surprise me.”

Jacob moves to
the kitchen. He comes back with a blue carton and raises his brow
at me as intent before tossing it over. I catch it and me and Kean
lean in to inspect. It’s a carton of long life milk, still five
months before its use by date. Sealed too.

I suck in a
small breath of excitement. Milo in milk is the drug of my
childhood. Kean shrugs at me, trying to control his yearning. There
is nothing like Milo, real Milo. No hot chocolate, no coffee, no
other drink can compete. I’d eat the granules straight from the jar
if it were mine.

I hand the milk
back slowly. “Where did you find this?”

“Cafe about ten
kays down the hill. Am I to assume by your expressions the answer
is a yes?”

“Well… sure,” I
try to say casually, but I’m pretty sure I lick my lips. “Why
not?”

“Why not?” Kean
nods. “It’s polite.”

“Yeah.” I
shrug. “And we’re nice people.”

How we’ve
survived the apocalypse so far is beyond me, when our defenses
lower for a drink.

Jacob brings a
small pot and a green tin of Milo from the kitchen and sits next to
his gas cooker and fills the pot with milk. “Why don’t you sit
down?”

I sit on one of
the couches, just outside his little camp circle, and Kean copies.
Jacob doesn’t look offended that we haven’t joined him,
cross-legged around his pretend campfire. Once he adjusts the
temperature, he grabs some mugs from the kitchen and returns to sit
cross-legged next to the boiling pot.

I breath
slowly, awkward in the silence. “So,” I say, “We’re not
interrupting anything?” I think it’s just one of those things you
had to say before, for the sake of politeness. And this whole
situation is very pre-apocalypse.

“No.” Jacob
pops open a tin. “One or two spoons?”

“Three or
four,” Kean says, quickly adding, “If you don’t mind.”

I nod.
“Same.”

Jacob’s eyes
gleam with amusement as he spoons ample quantities of Milo into the
cups. “Fact is I rather have difficulty sleeping now, with the
world the way it is.” Jacob looks up at me, his eyes turn hard.
“Seems I’m not the only one.”

“We have to
know why you’re here,” I say. “We don’t know you. We don’t know
what you want from us. And we can’t just pretend that nothing
happened.”

Jacob nods and
stirs the milk. “I see, I see.” A tea-light behind Jacob’s head
flickers into oblivion. “I suppose that I, too, would show up at
3AM and prove that there’s no time I couldn’t be ready. I’d ask the
whats and whys and hows also. Perhaps I’d keep my distance. But I
have one thing to say.” Jacob meets my eyes, his serious expression
radiates strength. “You do not need me to survive, and I definitely
do not need you. I assume you do not hate me, and I do not hate
you. So tell me, what is there left to fear about me? Are we so
uncivilised that we’ve forgotten how to exist with neighbours?”

I purse my
lips.

“We don’t trust
you,” Kean says.

“And I don’t
trust you. I don’t trust anyone, but it doesn’t stop me from
living.”

“What happened
to you in Arcadium?” I say, changing the topic from slightly vague
emotions to fact. “How did you get out?”

Jacob glances
away, reminiscing with a strange smile. “Ah, the elevator.”

My eyebrows go
skyward. “The elevator? That’s it. You just, pressed the button,
rode the elevator, and left through an infected minefield.”

“I set off a
self destruct sequence in a government facility… you think I
couldn’t override the elevator system and find a weapon?”

“And just how
did you know to do all that?” Kean says.

Jacob peers
into the pot and then switches off the gas. He pours the milk into
the three cups, taking his sweet time to answer, and when he
finally does he just says, “It’s not so important. I just do.”

“Okay, Sergeant
Secretive,” I say, letting my annoyance colour my tone. “We came
for answers, but if you haven’t got any we’ll leave.”

Kean nods.
“We’ll even leave the Milo.”

Jacob just
smiles, not in a creepy way, but in the tight-lipped sort of way a
person does when they’ve got loads to spill but aren’t willing to
take the risk.

It’s weird to
think that if you calculate the time we’ve spent with Jacob, it’d
only add up to a few hours in Arcadium. We really don’t know him at
all. He never spoke a word of his past, other than the fact he
visited another facility, and he probably blew that one up too. I
also understand that he thinks he helped us when he almost killed
us in the explosion. And I know he’s pretty darn accurate with a
gun. After that, everything’s a mystery. Motives, morals, his
five-year plan — all a black hole.

Now we’re
sitting in his living room, and he’s probably the only other living
soul for kilometres.

Finally Jacob
offers something. “I heard you yelling Kean’s name after the
explosion. That’s how I found you. And I followed you, set up here,
and decided to wait before contacting you again.” Jacob passes us
each a mug of hot swirling Milo and sits on the opposite couch.

“You’ve been
here the whole time? Just spying on us?” I say.

Kean’s eyes
dart between us as he sips his Milo.

Jacob casually
shakes his head. “I wasn’t watching you. I was simply… waiting.”
His eyes shift to my hands. “How are your fingers? Mending
well?”

I tighten my
grip on the cup and take a long sip. I’m kind of surprised he’d
remember a detail like that. “Yeah, they’re coming along. And wow,
this Milo…”

“I know,
right?” Kean finishes his.

“It’s a nice
little set up you have here.” Jacob says. “Hidden away in the
hills. So few infected, so few survivors, plentiful resources.
Smart.”

I stare back.
“I hope so.”

“Hard to tell
if running or hiding is the better strategy these days.”

I glance at
Kean. He drums his fingers on the couch arm and then gets up. “You
done?”

I hand him my
empty cup.

“Kitchen
through there?” he asks Jacob, switching on his torch.

Jacob nods, and
watches me, waiting for something.

“Whoa…” Kean’s
voice sails through the archway. “You going on a trip or just
redecorating?”

I jump up and
follow Kean. The small square kitchen is covered in torn out map
pages—taped to the cupboards, pinned to bare wall space, held with
magnets to the dead fridge. They’re even glued to the ceiling in a
style that screams obsessed. I shine my torch over a large map of
Melbourne, unfolded on the bench. A series of roads are
highlighted, with gold star stickers and black crosses dotted
beside them.

Jacob appears
quietly in the doorway. “You have your people, I have my
plans.”

“Plans for
what?” But I can see clearly what he’s marking out. “Are these all
different facilities?”

Jacob nods
once.

Kean traces a
finger along a highlighted route. “And you plan to blow them all
up?”

Jacob’s lips
tighten and he looks away.

“How many more
people are you going to kill?” I say.

“I can’t kill
people that are already dead. Everyone in those facilities will
become a test subject—a worthless piece of skin to infect, to
measure, to poke and prod and then discard.” He looks me dead in
the eye. “When did saving lives become murder?”

I have no
answers, no arguments. This is a time for blurry moral standings. I
can see his logic but I can’t agree with it.

“Where too
next?” Kean says. “And when?”

Jacob strides
forward and the paper crinkles as he leans his hands on the bench.
“The biggest of them all.” He jabs a gold star. “The only facility
in the city.”

Kean coughs
back his surprise. “Are you mad?”

Jacob smiles
sharply. “No reward without risk.”

“Geeze.”

“You didn’t say
when you’d be going,” I say.