Skyquakers (18 page)

People like us
.

‘But why us?
’
she asked him.

‘I don
’
t know. There must have been
some selection process, I
’
m sure. Maybe some sort of
personality test, to make sure to weed out the unstable or unfavourable
subjects.
’

‘Personality test? I was two!
’

Psycho shrugged.
‘
One of many theories. How is
your study going?
’

He was able to switch from conspiracy to casual small talk
so flawlessly; it was as though the former was of no enormous concern to him.
Perhaps that was the predominant difference between them: denial versus
acceptance. Psycho was so comfortable with himself and with the belief that he
had been beamed into the sky by hyper-intelligent beings, and yet Lara was
losing sleep and struggling to concentrate at work.

She watched his smiling, kind face for a moment and said,
‘
It
’
s
fine.
’
She looked at her watch.
‘
And I should
be getting back.
’

‘Well, maybe we should do this again soon.
’

‘Maybe, yeah.
’
She reached for her bag, but
then paused again.
‘
One more question.
’

‘Shoot.
’

‘What would you do if they came?
’

He arched his eyebrows over his rectangular glasses.
‘
If
they came? Down to here? Publically?
’

She nodded.

Psycho grinned.
‘
I
’
d welcome
them with open arms.
’

‘Really? Why?
’

‘I
’
ve always wanted to meet them.
I want to know them, know where they came from and how, and I want to
communicate with them and hear their secrets and tell them mine. I want them to
take me away from this boring, mundane life. This whole planet bores me! I’d
rather go with them.
’
He brushed away his scraggly
fringe, which was constantly hanging in his eyes.
‘
I can
’
t
imagine where they
’
re hiding or how they
’
ve
escaped all our satellites and all that junk we have pointed upwards, but they
’
ll
show their faces soon. I suspect it
’
ll happen sometime in our
lives.
’

Lara smiled pityingly and said,
‘
They will
never make themselves known.
’

‘Why do you say that?
’

‘Name ten alien apocalypse movies in ten seconds.
’

‘Okay, so perhaps we wouldn
’
t welcome
them so openly, but it depends how they come and what for. If they want to
destroy us, then yes, there
’
ll be nuclear war, but perhaps
they want other things, simpler things. I
’
ve seen
enough Discovery Channel
docos
to be prepared for any
possible eventuality.
’

She arched an eyebrow at him.
‘
Really? You
’
re
prepared? We
’
ve never even seen these guys properly. You
’
d
probably wet yourself.
’

He laughed.
‘
Probably! Can
’
t
wait!
’

She pushed aside her chair and grabbed her bag. As she
turned to leave, Psycho asked,
‘
If you knew
…
if you knew they were coming, what
would you
do?
’

‘Is this one of those, ‘what would you do if you had a day
to live’
scenarios?
’

‘Do you think you
’
d have a day to live?
Interesting.
’

‘
Okay, so what would you do?
Tell your family and friends you loved them? Call the Federal Police? Start
screaming up and down the highways in your underwear about some sort of
end
being some degree of
nigh
?
’

Psycho leant forward and cheekily answered,
‘
I
’
d
do nothing.
And I
’
ll enjoy doing nothing.
’

She gave him thirty seconds to explain himself.

Psycho was angry, excited, nervous, all at once. He was
upset that she had taken sleeping pills, thus missing this crucial dream, and
he feared for her as though this one slip-up was going to cost her
her
life. He was excited and anxious about everything else.

Between the walls of the cramped stationary cupboard, he
described where he had been last night. Well, at least where his subconscious
had been last night. He dreamt of a black-tiled room, very dark and without
walls, where he was standing amongst dozens of other people, all ages, all
walks of life, focussing in one direction like an attentive army. A voice was
talking at them from above; he was not entirely sure if there was a physical
being there of if it was just a voice from a loudspeaker. The voice spoke in
more than one language, among them the language of the
mrauu
, which appeared to have
been universally taught
.
The voice
gave them what Psycho called the final instructions.

‘I met them. At last I met them and I saw them and
…’
He was too overwhelmed with joy. He clenched his fists in victory.
‘
Oh
god, I
’
m not crazy!
’

Lara was still not catching on.
‘
Okay, you
had a dream. We both have dreams every night. Why was this one different?
’

Psycho laughed, as though to be on the border of sanity.
With all his excitement and glee, he was very pleased to announce:
‘
They
’
re
coming.
’

Lara stared at him for a while. All she was able to stutter
was,
‘
The
…
aliens?
’

‘
No, the fucking
Whos
down in
Whoville
–
of course, the aliens! I was there! Last night! I
was there and they told me. They told all of us. They gave us the last
instructions, their last messages, and they
—’

‘
Instructions?
’

‘Yes, to prepare for
—’

‘Stop it.
’

‘This is
real
,
Lo
!
’

‘Don
’
t call me Lo!
’
She barged out. She needed air, desperately. She weaved through the
cubicles, abandoning her papers on a nearby table, and, ignoring the wayward
calls of concerned co-workers, she burst out of the community centre into its
rear quadrangle, where the fresh air and the sight of the uniformly blue sky
allowed her to breathe once more.

On a bench alongside the gardens, she sat herself down and
began tapping her foot. Her hands had become clammy. She took a few deep
breaths, but it didn’t help to ease the crushing sense of suffocation in her
lungs. Eventually, Psycho found her. He walked over calmly and joined her on
the bench. He looked up and admired the day. The sky was a beautiful, clear
blue. The air was warm and sweet in the spring. Around them, a couple of
distant social workers were taking a cigarette break, while another with
sipping tea and reading a gossip magazine. There was no imminent threat to
these people; they were blissfully unaware of what may be their final hours.

‘I
’
m sorry. I didn
’
t
mean to upset you, but this is a good thing. Aren
’
t you
excited? Isn’t this what we both wanted?
’

‘Why would I want to have my nightmares come alive?
’

He smiled and said,
‘
To meet
your Baba.
’

She held his stare.
‘
What? No. I
mean
…
This is a joke, right?
’

‘I don
’
t joke.
’

Lara kept her eyes locked on his, but he didn
’
t
flinch: he wasn
’
t making this up. She felt the
courtyard begin to spin a little. Psycho waited for her. He watched her mind
tick away, balancing out reasoning with this gut feeling inside her that something
big and ferocious was coming her way. He saw her push back the growing
headache. It was too much at once. After three more minutes of silence, Lara
muttered,
‘
It can
’
t be true.
’

‘It is. Do you get it now?
’

‘No.
’

He sighed and turned to her. He curled up his legs on the
park bench and sat like a schoolboy.
‘
Lo, we
’
re special.
When we were both very young, we experienced something not many others would
ever experience, and we spent our whole lives either trying to deny it or
trying to prove to ourselves that it couldn
’
t be true,
but the fact is, we have met beings from another planet.
’

Hesitantly, she nodded. That part was true.
‘
And
these dreams? What am I meant to make of them?
’

‘Those dreams were to help us remember our training; that
was their purpose. We were trained, long ago, to be prepared for them. We
learnt their language, their colours and numbers and we played with figurines
and trucks and
Barbies
with them so that
they
could learn from
us
. And it goes far beyond just you and me: I have a
feeling this has been in motion for decades.
’

‘
Training
? What for?
’

‘To be their ambassadors,
’
he said.
‘
You
can
’
t come to a new planet without a guide, right?
’

She blinked.
‘
But why are they here? What
’
s
the point?
’

Psycho sat back and bit his lip.
‘
I don
’
t
know that yet, which is what upsets me. It
’
s like they
still don
’
t trust us enough to tell us their full plans. But
I suppose we
’
ll soon find out.
’

‘How soon?
’
she asked cautiously.

He smiled and stared up at the sky.
‘
Tomorrow.
’

She collapsed into her hands again.
‘
No, no, no,
no, no
…’

She sat there for a long time, staring at the pavement, her
eyes darting back and forth. She looked to the sky, to the blue, limitless void
hanging over her. Somewhere up there, something was looking down at them from
an immeasurable distance. It terrified her. But not Psycho. He smiled at the
sky. He relished the warmth on the face, the soft breeze ruffling his hair. He
was so calm, completely unmoved by what may become a global event, one which
neither of them, nor any existing institution on Earth, had any ability to
stop. Psycho was like a child, eager for Christmas to come early, despite
everyone who had told him all his life that Santa didn
’
t exist.
Lara did not share his pleasure in knowing what others could not foresee; she
was still powerless, and had never been given a choice in the matter. If she
could erase these memories, she would, but it was too late now: Baba was coming
for her again. Perhaps things would make more sense once she was back in his
arms.

She asked Psycho, though with great caution,
‘
What
do they look like?
’

He looked back down and replied,
‘
Not like
us.
’

The Veteran
’
s Day parade took place on a
sunny November morning and tens of thousands were expected to flock to the
streets of Melbourne. It began with a dawn ceremony at the Shrine of
Remembrance, where hundreds stood to salute to the sound of a lowly trumpet
calling out to the rising sun. It followed with a series of commemorating
events: medals being presented to veterans and their families, a new statue
erected to memorialise the Unknown Soldiers lost in battle, and the celebration
of Australian art, poetry, and war stories which were inspired by that era long
passed but not forgotten. Being a significant anniversary, the city made quite
a spectacle of the day, preparing marching bands through the streets, lathering
the lampposts and Flinders Street station with enormous patriotic flags, and
even calling upon jets to paint the sky with streaks of green and gold. The
media were all over the ground and in the skies. Children with cotton candy
waved little flags and grandparents wore their badges proud and true. Food
stalls in Federation Square were selling carnival foods, and street performers
showed off their magic to the masses.

Lara watched a replay of the dawn service on TV. Dylan was
cooking scrambled eggs in the kitchen. Being a public holiday, they both had
the day to spend together for once.

Lara asked,
‘
Can we go to the parade?
’

‘Weren
’
t we going to watch
Game of
Thrones
today in our onesies?
’

‘We can do that
…
another time. Please?
’

‘Why?
’

‘It
’
s just down the road.
’

Dylan came by with a plate of eggs and toast and joined her
on the couch.
‘
After
breakie
.
’

She didn
’
t have a dream last night. She
slept well, Dylan said. This made her nervous.
Last night was the last dream
…
Psycho
’
s words resonated in her head
and for the rest of the day, she was horribly distracted. She sat all morning
on her laptop on the VVEE website, waiting to see the little green light where
his icon would pop up, but the prophetic boy was absent. There were no recently
uploaded pictures on Instagram of sunsets, no more Snapchats, nothing from any
corner of the extensive social media network. He had abandoned them all. He was
out somewhere, out living, or calling his family to tell them goodbye, or
shouting at people from the rooftops,
‘
I told
you so!
’

Actually, no. Psycho would only be doing what he claimed he
’
d
do: absolutely nothing. Right now, he would be sitting in a park somewhere,
dressed nice, showered and clean-shaven, and he would simply be doing and
saying nothing. He
’
d wait there all day, all week
if he had to, although he was adamant there would be no next week, no tomorrow
at all; everything was going to happen today, and none of these stupid, boring,
normal people knew except him.

She had to be at the parade today, even if it was nothing
but a hoax. If beings in the sky were planning and waiting for a perfect day to
strike, they
’
d choose a day when everyone was out in the open,
packing the streets in dense crowds, and blissfully celebrating. All the
soldiers were gone from their stations to be in marches. The air force men were
doing colourful loops in the clouds. The navy had their ships docked and their
guards down. It was so, so perfect.

And then Psycho texted her,
‘
Come
outside and watch, Lo.
’

She heard Baba
’
s voice in her head.

‘Baba, do you love me?
’

‘Yes, Lo.
’

‘Will I see you soon?
’

‘Very soon, Lo.
’

She weaved through the crowds as though to be searching for
something. Dylan was following by her hand, asking what she was rushing for.
She inched through children and old people as, in the centre of the fairway,
the parade went on through the streets of Melbourne. The beautiful spring day
brought warmth and sunshine. People covered their hand from the glare of the
sun and were all dressed in floral dresses and denim shorts. Music was playing
triumphantly as they marched. TV broadcasters had their cameras poised at all
angles and the Channel 9 chopper hovered in the sky directly overhead for an
aerial view.

‘What are you looking for?
’
Dylan
asked.
‘
Why are we even here?
’

She spun to him.
‘
Would you believe me if I knew
something bad was going to happen today?
’

Dylan blinked.
‘
Like
…
a bomb… or
something?
’

He didn
’
t get it. It wasn
’
t
worth explaining.

Her search turned up with nothing: no sign of trouble
brewing, nothing to suggest things were out of place; not even Psycho could be
found, although in tens of thousands, that was hard to determine. Then she
noticed the weather change. Most people did. Clouds rolled in from the bay
which weren
’
t there before. A cold wind picked up. The sun was
blocked out, bringing a shadow over the sky, turning it from a sunny, bright
celebration into a dark, miserable day. Odd, the people must have thought:
there was no such weather predicted on this beautiful morning. Should have
brought an umbrella, perhaps.

But the parade went on. The wind picked up more, enough to
become a hassle to those in dresses and skirts, and then papers began to blow,
people lost hold of their flags, and signs outside of cafés began to topple
over. Parade-watchers suggested it may be time to find shelter, while the
chopper in the sky appeared to be searching for a way to get out of the sudden
cold front.

Beside her, Dylan made the dumbest comment possible:
‘
It
’
s
getting a bit windy.
’

Lara felt a rock drop in her stomach. She looked up and saw
a strange cloud formation begin to take shape overhead: a swirling mass of
grey, spiralling, forming a pore through its vapour. Around this hollow there
was the sound of thunder, but no lightning, and the fluttering leaves in the
air appeared to be drawing
upwards
into the cloud, other than away.

She swore, and a moment later, the first beam struck.

It hit the ground
like a bomb, and at first, that was what they all thought it was. The force of
the beam as it landed rocked the ground and blinded them all with its column of
dazzling pink light. It thundered down from high within the clouds with the
force of rockets.
It struck a dense part of the city, vaporising
everyone, and leaving nothing behind but some inanimate objects which they may
have been holding: a coffee cup, a newspaper, or the leash of a dog
’
s
collar. The dog was gone too.

It was pointless to simply scream and run, but that was what
came to mind first. The beams struck one after another in twenty – thirty –
places, blasting their energy down in a condensed tunnel of light, through
which nothing living and breathing could escape. Within minutes, it was utter
chaos. The city was depleted of its inhabitants, street by street. Lara and
Dylan were two deer in headlights: they could do nothing but feel the living
current of people push and move around them while in every direction, beams
cast from the storm clouds struck the Earth in rapid succession. It was
horrific and mesmerising, both at once, and too far from reality for either of
them to comprehend. One beam hit the Eureka Tower, encapsulating the whole
thing in a single pillar, and when it vanished, the tower simply continued to
stand, now completely unoccupied, without a speck of structural damage. This
trend continued, beam by beam, block by block.

Cars served and crashed as their occupants were taken. Some
distance away, an enormous explosion underground rocked the city.
The
trains,
she thought. Lara felt the vibrations through her legs and saw
smoke and fire begin to gush from Flinders Street.

Jesus Christ.

No police, no sirens, and no army could stop this. Jets
turned and seemed to instantaneously switch to battle mode by some order over
the airwaves. They turned upon the clouds, but were vaporised just as easily
when they flew into the inanimate light. An unpiloted jet fell, nose-first out
of the sky, somewhere on the other side of the
Yarra
.
A second went head-on into the clouds themselves, fearless of a little water
vapour, but the jet exploded into a fireball on impact, as thought it had
struck an invisible concrete wall.

Those aren’t clouds
, she realised.
It’s them
.
She wondered, why clouds? Why not just show them all the big, thunderous
machine they were hovering in?

‘Come on!
’
Dylan pulled her away.

‘We need to get higher.
’
Lara
searched. She saw a car, abandoned in the middle of the street as a river of
people desperately ran. She pushed through the masses to the sedan and leapt up
onto the roof in two swift bounds.

‘Lara, we need to get inside!
’

‘It
’
s not going to make a
difference!
’
she cried, and she dragged him up with her. Then
she hugged him. He hugged her back, but then pulled away.

‘What the hell is happening?
’

At their feet, Melbournians were fleeing to every
conceivable corner of the city. Beams shot out from the astronomical
super-cell, sucking them up as glittery specks. Fires were burning. Children
were crying, alone and afraid. People were injured, lost, frightened, or simply
frozen. Some idiots were trying to capture the event on their mobiles or
cameras. The chopper still hovered, aiming its lenses at the event, but
suddenly it was struck by the light, and, like the jet, it no longer contained
anyone within to keep it airborne. The chopper crashed into the side of a
building, scraping all the way down the glass walls, tearing a hole and showering
debris everywhere.

‘Holy fucking Jesus,
’
Dylan
gaped.
‘
We need to go!
’

But Lara held his hand and didn
’
t budge.
‘
No.
’

‘You
have to
be
kidding me! Let
’
s go, now!
’

‘I
…
can
’
t go.
’

‘Why?
’

‘Because I
’
m meant to be here!
’

The bulk of the storm was drawing near, swirling like a
whirlpool as it slowly devoured mankind. From their post, Lara and Dylan saw
the light slowly nearing them. It blasted the street, engulfed some, switched
off,
then
blasted again a short way down. It went on
and off like a flickering light switch, controlled by the clouds as though it
was a sentient thing.

They
’
re sweeping the place clean.

‘What the hell is it?
’
He asked
her seriously, as though this was her doing somehow.

Lara didn
’
t respond because she honestly
did not know. She was just as terrified as he was, just as awestruck and
confused and desperately hoping this was just extreme global warming, the
Chinese, nuclear war
–
anything other than the resounding thought in her head telling her there
could only be one logical answer.

Defeated, she clasped hands with Dylan and they both stood
together. The people were running, panicking, and around them the city burned,
but they both stayed put on the car roof and watched as the vortex opened up
over them. They vanished.