Dying Embers

Stranger in my house

I wish it could all be a nightmare. That I can wake up and listen to the cars in relief. That I could go to school and whinge about mean teachers and difficult homework to my friends. I wish.

I’m almost certain that my parents are dead. They were so brave to risk their lives. They told me before they left that if they weren’t back before dark it would be for a reason. And the moon is bright in the sky. I feel scared to go outside, I don’t want to die. But I know that sooner or later, I’ll have to go.

It’s too dark right now. For the moment, I need to stay inside where it’s safe. Everything that was familiar to me has gone. I can feel tears threatening to come out, I can’t be vulnerable. I swallow, and wrap myself in my doona. I burrow deep down under the covers, willing my parents to walk in the door and apologise for being so late. But deep down in my heart, I know the truth.

I settle down in amongst the covers and lay my head against the pillow. It’s time to sleep, Sienna, I tell myself. I shut my eyes and try to block all thoughts from my mind. It’s impossible. My mind is whirring. Somehow I manage to drift off to sleep. It isn’t much later when I wake up from hearing a noise in the house. The loud bang startles me and I find myself shaking as I walk cautiously over to where it has come from.

I’m willing it to be my parents. I wrap my arms around myself as I walk, too nervous to call out. What if it isn’t my parents? I hear another noise coming from my parent’s bedroom now. I run over there. I am so certain that my parents are here.

I stop outside the closed door, my heart hammering. I stretch one trembling hand out in front of me and push. The heavy oak door opens with a creak. The electricity is off so I feel my way around the room. It is just as I remember it, king’s size bed, wooden bed side tables and a woven rug on the floor. Suddenly I feel something that is warmer than furniture. I can sense human presence.

“Mum?” I whisper, terrified now because there is definitely only one other person in this room. I can tell that there is someone crouching down in front of my parents open wardrobe. How can I tell if it is one of my parents? As I turn around, heading towards the door, a hand lunges out towards me and grabs my arm.

I start to scream because I can tell that the person isn’t either of my parents.

“No one’s going to hear you, girlie. They’re all dead,” says a deep, husky voice. I try to pull away from him but his grip is too strong.

“Let me go, or I’ll…” I demand. My voice begins to waver with nerves.

“What’ll you do, sweetie? No one is here to help you,” he laughs. I quickly swing around and punch him in the cheek.

“Get out of my house,” I order. As I step into the light of the moon, I am able to see him. His grey eyes glint with anger, his blond hair looks ratty and his clothes make him look tough.

“Sorry, okay. You’ll need me to survive outside,” he says as if he’s trying to reassure me that he isn’t a creep.

“What sort of sexist remark is that?” I ask him indignantly.

“Not a sexist remark but the truth,” he tells me. “I’m immune to the virus and there are so many bodies out there that you won’t survive long.”

One minute ago, this boy was attacking me and now he is trying to help me. His grey eyes stare down at my legs, shamelessly. He seems so untrustworthy and the eyes remind me of snakes.

I don’t know what to say.

“Who are you?” I whisper, shaking. “Why are you here?”

“Name’s Rory,” he says, his voice loud in the silent room. “And I’m here because you forgot to lock your windows, and I’m hungry.”