Split Infinity (15 page)

My mouth shuts. Of course. That was the whole reason Boc talked Mason into disabling the safety sensors. The way he justified the risks in his mind.

‘You know I have no way to refuse. So this stuff …’ Boc waves a hand in the air behind his head. ‘I need this. We all do.’

I lick my lips. Suddenly sick of being here. It’s messing with my mind. If I was about to be called up to the war zone, I’d want to be as good at skipping as ever. But I don’t want to see this from Boc’s side. All I want is to get revenge for what he did. My heart just wants to shout at him,
My mother died while I was gone, do you realise that?

I mumble something like, ‘I’ll think about it,’ and head out the door.

It’s dark by the time I ride out of Boc’s driveway. The streets are emptier than I’ve seen for ages. Everyone seems to have made it home or decided to stay put and ride out the blackout where they are. Emergency lighting is dotted around, but the dark doesn’t bother me. Right now, the city is mine in a way that it can never be when the power is on.

I wonder about heading over to Mason’s place, but his folks would be home by now. The night I was planning, the time we shared together on his roof in the other reality, we’ve lost that. But there will be other nights, I tell myself.

At least I’m taking care of Boc.

I’m nearing the T-intersection at the Maribyrnong Canal when movement in a side street makes me turn my head just in time to catch a figure passing something to another. It’s just the briefest of glimpses before the momentum of the bike carries me past, but even so it sparks a series of fireworks in my mind. What are they doing? Why aren’t they inside?

By the time I reach the turnoff to the canal, curiosity has completely taken hold. I roll off the path into a gap between bushes and pull out my compad to check the grid. I know the flashy bakery on the corner of that alley really well, I used to stare for ages at the 3D-printed cakes and slices in the window when I was younger, so I scroll across in real time to where I saw the figures and find it empty. No dots, no-one there.

I track backwards to a few minutes ago, when I would have been passing. It couldn’t have been as long as five, but even when I track back as far as seven minutes, I find no dots.

Ten minutes, still nothing. According to the grid they weren’t there, even though I saw them. They’re invisible people.

Illegals.

It’s something I’ve suspected forever. Whenever I find news reports about illegal raids I always make a point to watch them, partly because they’re about people doing something that I’ve always feared I might have to do one day: surviving with no access to rations. But it’s more than research. Truth is, I have a warped kind of fascination with them. These people are surviving on scraps, right? Scrounging for water. Some of them have never been to school, had a job. The media always portrays illegals like they’re stray cats or something: filthy and malnourished. Even toothless sometimes. But I’ve never come across any illegals in real life before.

I never really felt like one of them. I’ve always had access to rations, even if they were Mum’s for most of my life. And I can hack, so I can find my way around most things in the city pretty normally.

It takes about three seconds to decide what I’m doing next. I turn the bike back the way I came. My foot is already on the pedal when I stop. If my guess is right, those people might have managed a manual override of the lock on the compost skip in that alley and they’re currently raiding it for food scraps. They might be sharper than I gave them credit for. Normally they wouldn’t be able to get in, but maybe they’ve worked out how to do it during a blackout.

That’s my theory, at least. It’s the sort of idea I might come up with.

If I’m right, and if the raid gets reported to the police tomorrow, I don’t want my chip to be anywhere nearby. But even so, I’m desperate to see what they’re doing. Desperate to see them for real.

The chip is still safely tucked inside a slip of paper in my shirt pocket, so I pull it out and stash it deep in my backpack. Then I hide the whole bag under a bush. No-one would know it was there, unless they looked on the grid. It’ll be safe for a while.

Instead of riding back up Maribyrnong Road, I turn down another street and track around so that I can approach from the other side. I stash the bike near the entrance of the laneway, careful to position it facing out for a quick getaway. Just in case.

I’m hoping to have a decent view from this distance, and I would if not for one of those slow, old solar-powered trucks parked facing this way and blocking the action. As I tiptoe along the alley, staying in the shadows, I catch the crunch of footsteps from the rear of the truck and every now and then a hushed word, but not much else.

Holding my breath, I sneak close to the truck door and peer in. Just darkness, no-one in the cabin.

I end up with my back pressed into a doorway, part-hidden by a doorframe that’s as fat as my arm. I’m not entirely out of sight. Silent and staying in the shadows.

I can see only a narrow strip between this wall and the door at back of the truck. In the light of a couple of torches, each figure in turn lugs a small garbage bag into the back of the truck, then returns empty-handed as they head back the other way.

Their clothes have patches in places, and some look homemade, but they all seem pretty clean to me. Just a small detail, but so different from the snatching and bickering that I expected after hearing the news reports. There’s a calm strength in their movements, not wild desperation.

I’m still watching minutes later when I hear something from the far end of the lane. It’s just the faintest hint of voices, but it’s enough to make my blood whoosh to my head.

I’m scared to even look. Slowly I turn just enough for a view of the other end of the alley. The people I heard aren’t as close as I thought, only now passing my bike hidden at the far end: two figures in dark clothes and long hair pulled back. One of them is even holding a compad. Stolen? It has to be.

Even though my heart is going insane, I try to slow my breathing. I’ve seen reports of police being shot by illegals. Once they even took a citizen hostage. What will they do if they find me spying on them?

I press my back into the door, praying they can’t see me. If I jump now I’ll have to wait hours before I return to make sure they’re all gone, and I’m nervous about leaving the chip hidden under a bush for that long. It’s safer, I decide, to wait for them to pass before slipping away.

They’re almost at the truck when their pace slows, and light from the compad illuminates the ground right in front of me.

‘Who is that?’ It’s a smooth voice.

I’m only partly hidden by the frame of the doorway, but now I’m so totally trapped that I just close my eyes, praying for invisibility as panic prickles my scalp.

‘Can you see?’ another voice says.

Shuffles reach me from the left, before another guy says, ‘There’s someone …’ Their voices are strained like they’re having trouble seeing past the truck and not sure about coming close.

I open my eyes. I’m trapped. Should I skip now? I still don’t want to leave the chip for so long. I can’t see any guns, so I decide to run for it instead. I shuffle sideways, out to where the two men are standing. They’re full-on shining the light of the compad at me when I emerge so I lift a hand to shield my face from the glare. There’s a split second where we just stare at each other. Not that I can see much.

‘Man, she’s young,’ one of them mutters.

I turn and bolt. I’ve only made it a few steps when one of them calls out from behind me: ‘Wait! Do you need water?’

It’s so much the opposite of what I expected that I find myself slowing, turning to look back at these people. People don’t just offer each other water. What are they playing at?

‘Are you okay?’ the first one calls. They’re not shining the light in my eyes anymore. ‘Do you have somewhere to sleep?’

It’s only as he asks that I realise: they know I’m illegal. They must have worked out how to access the grid, same as me. They must have seen me half-hiding in the doorway earlier than I realised, and checked the grid.

Dumbly, I nod my head. But the other one calls, ‘We have food, if you’re hungry?’

‘No. Thanks,’ I manage. ‘I’m okay.’ My words seem faint, incomplete somehow.

All of our eyes must be adjusting to the new level of darkness out this side of the truck because the guy on the right steps forwards as if he can actually see my face.

‘You know the Maribyrnong Canal?’ he calls. When I nod, he keeps going. ‘Follow that upstream, right? Just this side of Macedon. If you need help, that’s how you’ll find us. Got that?’

Again, more awkward nodding. ‘Yeah, okay.’ Feeling self-conscious, I turn and jog towards my bike. Not sure what else to do. These people are complete strangers, right? Except, I’m more like them than I realised.

I can feel them watching as I make it to the skip where my bike is hidden. I swing it out, ride onto the main bikepath.

When I glance back, they’re still staring my way.

Mum’s dozing in an armchair when I come home, her head flopped to one side. It can’t be comfortable. The curtain lifts slightly with cool air from outside but the rest of the room is stuffy, the heat still trapped.

I kneel in front of her and rest a hand on her knee. ‘Mum.’ She’ll end up with a stiff neck sleeping like that. ‘You should go to bed.’

She does this slurpy sort of inhale, and her eyes twitch before opening. She rubs her cheek. ‘Hi, sweetheart. What time is it?’

‘Bit after midnight.’

A single torch sits upright on the table. ‘Is the power back on?’

‘Not yet.’

A clear water bottle sits on the table beside her, still a quarter full even though the juice has been out for hours, and I get this pang at her saving it for me when I had access to the underground spring. She needs those rations more than I do.

She shifts in the chair and sits a bit straighter. Her forehead pinches. ‘Thought I told you to stay put.’

My hand pulls back from her knee. ‘The streets were really empty.’ Her lips are dry and flaky, and the pang swirls into something new. Why didn’t she just drink the water? ‘And I know what I’m doing.’ The words come out sharper than I meant.

I rummage in my backpack, pull out the water bottle and hold it out to her. ‘Here.’

It’s meant to be proof that she didn’t need to save her water for me, but when she takes the bottle my tone softens. ‘You look thirsty, is all.’

She swallows and shifts in her seat, but she takes the water. Her hands tremble as she drinks.

She finishes a quarter of the bottle in one long draught. As she flips the cap back on, she clears her throat. ‘Wonder how long this one will last.’

Another hour or so, but I don’t tell her that. Instead I say, ‘Doesn’t matter. We have vac packs already stored. See what I’ve been saying? And I can get water whenever we need.’

It makes me think of Alistair, and the Richardsons in the front room, Kessa and her family up the street. I wonder if they have any water left.

Mum nods and I see her eyes travel over to the swiper near the sink. She gets jumpy during a blackout. All citizens do.

‘Do you want me to go back for more water?’ I ask.

‘Wait till morning,’ Mum says before a yawn. A stiff hand covers her mouth. ‘The power might be back on by then.’

‘Mind if I stay up?’ Even though it’s late I’m not sure I’ll sleep, the room is so warm. ‘I’ll keep my compad dimmed.’

‘Of course. Don’t think I’ll notice. I’m bushed.’

With slow, heavy movements, Mum gets ready for bed while I settle into one of the armchairs. I shuffle my butt around in the chair so that the screen is turned away from her, then message Mason:
Sorry I ran out. Can I see you? I need to tell you something.

I wait for a while, staring at the empty screen. No reply. At least he’ll see it when he wakes up.

Biting my lip, I track across to the Federal Police’s homepage and flick on the tab labelled
Anonymous citizen report
.

For ages I stare at the form. Now that Boc knows how to skip, I could turn the Feds onto him. All it would mean is clearing the gaps from Mason’s grid, and my fake ones. Then it’s a simple matter of filling out this form. He’s already climbed a bunch of buildings that he’s not meant to climb, so I could turn him in for that. And then at the same time, I could mention his strange obsession with time travel …