HOPE

We live in a cosey log cabin, high in the Brindabella Mountains. My husband Michael crafted our home from the ground up. He cut each log and drove in every nail (made of bone) himself. I watched him work thinking there is nothing this man cannot do. After all we have experienced and endured, he still surprises me and will always be my hero.

I grow all our vegetables and fruits, tending to our assortment of livestock, and close to the cabin I have planted flowers. Two different species. Sunflowers to remind me that even in the darkest of times the sun will shine again and Marigolds, specifically orange in colour. They remind me that when all else is lost, there is still hope. To me they are sentimental.

I scribbled this in my journal yesterday, in the sun, on our porch.

Buzzing bees,

Bird songs carried by the breeze,

Surrounded by ancient trees,

Sunlight, blue skies, please,

Into old age we ease.

By the brook I wish to die,

Return to the father in the sky,

Don’t be sad, please don’t cry,

For waiting for you shall be I.

It has not always been this way…

We survived the bombs, we survived life underground in the nuclear bunker below what was formerly Parliament House. Now finally, after two years of darkness the day has come for us to emerge from underground. The huge lead bunker doors groaned and growled as they began to slowly roll open. They created a thunderous noise.

We were now free, able to walk out of this place to enter a new world, a world that we once knew but one we knew no more. Free to leave this place we called Hell after the nightmares and demons that had lived within. The two of us are, for all we knew, were the last humans alive in Australia, possibly the world.

I for one was terrified, cynical, and doubtful that survival would be easier above ground. If the bunker had not become a mass tomb for nearly fifty thousand people, I would have argued to stay. Michael however, wanted to leave so I followed. I was not going to be left alone, I knew I would not survive, not without him.

With hesitance Mick and I took our first few steps out into the rain. Nothing looked the same, not even the fundamental landscape and topography. Where there were hills there were large flat plains, the lake was gone, rendered into a barren crater, with only a fast-moving creek cutting through it. It really did feel as though we were standing on the face of a different planet. Lightning cracked and thunder rumbled in the clouds of the storm raging above. It was more heavy and violent than the old storms of Canberra. I was not very hopeful, but we had to explore, find out exactly how things had changed and adjust to them for survival's sake. Mick kept reminding me ‘we have to try’.

The first 250 meters of ground we covered had an eerie feeling about it. This ground was the grave site for thousands and thousands of people who did not make it into the underground city, vaporised by the nukes (the victims included Mick’s former family).

After a week of travelling in the mud, fog, and never-ending rain boredom set in. My mind started to wander. I could not help but think of the people that were crushed between the doors of Hell during the stampede to get underground and the people that did not. Did they suffer when they died? I also thought of Michael and my feelings for him. Firstly, sadness for the way he blamed himself and lived in guilt after losing his family. Secondly my affection for him was growing to be more than infatuation. I was in love with him. I kept my feelings hidden. I would not destroy our companionship. His friendship was all I had left.

It was almost impossible sleeping in the non stop rain, but we worked out a way. Mick and I would pile up the sloppy ground to make a mound to pitch our tent on. Of course, we both got filthy in the process, but the rain did have advantages. We would strip off, wash our clothes, lather up, and get as clean as possible. After washing ourselves, we would both lay with our feet sticking out of the tent to let the rain wash the mud off them, before crawling under the one damp blanket we had. We kept each other warm, comforted and protected.

We walked for weeks before we ran into two peculiar survivors. They appeared from the fog, we heard them well before we saw them.

The old male wore a black hooded cape which was his only garment. It was tied around him with a rotting piece of rope. His face and hands were covered in sores and what appeared to be skin cancers. Adding to his appearance were long yellow finger and toenails (he was barefoot) and a few strands of long grey hair grew from his otherwise bald head. Mick and I were a little surprised by this wanderer’s appearance who introduced himself as Ziggy. His companion’s appearance was shocking.

A horse, it was fifty percent larger, at least, than a regular equine species. Unbelievably the creature stood nearly as tall an elephant in its youth. It had teeth, long and sharp like a carnivore, blood red eyes with the pupils of a cat, clawed hooves, red stripes in its coat and main. Instead of hair the monster’s tail was club-like, similar to the extinct Ankylosaurus. It also had an aggressive growl. That horse was fierce.

We could not take our eyes from the beast. Ziggy laughed at us. He breathed heavily and uncontrollably coughed after he finished laughing.

“Yes, yes she is a fine specimen of radiation evolution wouldn’t you both agree?” He was proud of his mutated horse.

“Evolution?” I muttered disapprovingly under my breath. Ziggy heard me.

“Yes evolution.” The wanderer was not smiling anymore. “The bombs have brought many new forms of biological life to our world. Wait until you witness them yourself.” His answer made my skin crawl.

“Other forms of life?” I sarcastically questioned. “All I see is mud, puddles and storm clouds!” I thought Ziggy had gone a little mad.

Mick gave me a look that conveyed a request to be silent.

“So where do you come from?” Mick enquired diplomatically. He had a better chance of getting answers.

“Earth” Ziggy burst into another round of hysterical laughter at his own joke. Neither Michael nor I were impressed. It was hard to watch him as when his dried cracked lips pulled back to laugh and smile, they split and began to bleed. Combined with the puss oozing from the sores on his skin, he looked like a living corpse. He also smelt like one too!

“Ok.” Mick paused. “I will ask again, where do you come from?” Mick sounded sterner.

“The mountains” Ziggy smiled.

“Which mountains?” I butted in.

Ziggy gazed down at me from on top of his unnatural mutated horse. “The Brindies”. Again, he answered with a smile, condescending, like we knew nothing.

“What’s it like in the mountains? I asked before Mick had a chance.

“There’s a settlement of survivors. A village, a safe zone.” Ziggy replied.

“Safe zone?” Mick probed. “Safe from what?” Mick sounded and looked concerned.

“The mutants, the radioactively deformed, the real monsters.” He paused. “There are monsters in the fog that you will never comprehend.” Ziggy put his head down and more goosebumps rose on my skin.

“It is Mid-January, Summer. Why does it feel like winter?” I asked the wanderer.

“That’s because the South Pole is now the North Pole. The North is now the South. This has reversed the seasons. It was the bombs. The magnetic energy was enough to shift nature around.” He sighed.

“How do we get there, to the safe zone?” I asked.

“Keep walking in the direction you are going” Ziggy sighed and just as quickly as he had appeared from the fog, he and his horse disappeared back into it. We never saw them again.

At least Mick was armed, but from the wanderers tone I came to think a handgun would not be enough to keep us safe. Michael had taken a gun from the hands of a dead member of the military police when disease swept through the bunker, killing most.

“What now?” I asked.

“We keep walking.” And we did for three more weeks.

Anxiously we travelled through the fog with Ziggy’s warning of mutants and monsters in mind. We heard their demonic, ghoulish screams often in the distance, but we never ran into any.

I eventually lost all expectations that we would ever find the others we had been told about by Ziggy. We had been walking in circles in the mud and rain for months. What was the point of taking one more step? I was losing my sanity, the rain felt like water torture. Every drop that hit my head reduced my desire to survive.

I stopped walking and admitted defeat. I had had enough of the cold and wet mud of a never changing landscape.

“I can’t do it Mick. I want to go back,” I knew he would be at least disappointed. “I’m done.” I could not look at him.

“What, back to Hell?” he sounded and looked hurt. Like I was rejecting all the help he had ever given me.

“Why not?” My tears blended with the rain.

“Why?” Mick screamed as he approached, grabbing the front of my T-shirt. He was angry. “You have always told me that because of me you have survived Hell. I have heard you say it. Have you stopped once, just for a second, think about me! Have you ever considered that I need you too?” I was shocked. “I guess Matt it is your choice in the end. I cannot stop you, but I will not go back to Hell with you.” He too had to look away when he said this. The truth was neither of us wanted to lose each other.

He really was pissed as he let me go and trudged back into the mud, it was thicker than most of the mud we have walked in and grabbed at his feet. A sucking noise was created as he pulled one foot after the other out of the sludgy ground.

Nothing was said as Mick walked away, vanishing into the thick mist. I stood there trying to think about my next move. I only had one. To chase Michael and continue walking in the direction he was walking. Besides I would never find my way back to the bunker, nor survive.

By the time I caught up with him he had calmed and was joyful that I had chosen to stick with him even though I thought our actions now were futile.

It was at that moment a bright orange colour caught my attention. It was the first bright colour I had seen since before the war began. I walked closer to it to inspect. Immediately tears streamed down the dirty checks of my face. Standing only inches tall, with a total of four leaves stood the brightest orange Marigold. Breathtaking and simply beautiful, against the grey and brown landscape. I could not divert my gaze from its magnificent inflorescence. How strong it was growing in such harsh, awful, almost impossible conditions.

I smiled as I realised there was true hope after all. The hope I needed to survive.And this hope gave me courage. I looked at Mick and smiled as I took his hand in mine. He gave my cold hand a squeeze which made me realise that, like the marigold, even love can germinate and grow in the worst conditions.

As we continued on our way we saw more colour more flowers, more hope. Eventually there were fields of flowers, including sunflowers and the tall saplings of trees. They led us to the mountains, they led us home.

The End.