The comfort of dreams

I awoke with a start. Heart pounding, covered in sweat, not quite sure of where I was. It was a dream. The one I've had every night since it happened. Transporting me back to a simpler life - where we were happy, we didn't have to worry about survival, there was joy and laughter. And family. And hope. I never want to wake from these dreams. I long to go back to sleep where I can return to a happier time, visit my loved ones, and let myself hope for a future.

The morning is filled with the same silence that has become the new normal. How I long for the sound of children playing, or birds chirping, or music playing, or even the steady buzz of traffic noise. Any noise would be a sweet relief to the constant sound of silence. Any sound, that is, except for the sound of the patrols, looking for survivors.

*

The dream always begins the same way. The smell of lamb roasting in the oven with a hint of rosemary, mixed with anticipation of roast potatoes that are crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, juicy minted peas, and thick, delicious gravy. The children are playing in the fields, making tree forts, and chasing the animals, with their giggling and laughter filling the air. The sun is high in the sky and shining through the trees, creating patterned shadows across the verandah. There is a light cool breeze, just enough to keep the heat of the sun at bay and keep us all comfortable on this late spring day. Galahs and cockatoos swoop through the air in packs, back and forth through the trees, into the open air, back to the trees, repeating this again and again and screeching as they go. I take a deep breath and soak in the sights, the sounds, and the smells, thinking how lucky we are to enjoy this day together.

*

I'm hungry. I'm always hungry now. Since it happened nothing grows and what has survived could kill you. There are rumours that the New Order has had some initial success in growing small crops, but nobody can be sure if they will be contaminated. That's why we hide from the patrols, to avoid becoming a test case for the new crops being developed. Some food supplies have survived in the old homes, and we scout deserted homes under the cover of darkness to refill our stocks with whatever we can find. Our imaginations have become essential to our survival.

Our last mission provided a bounty of tinned food with no labels. Every meal is a surprise but unfortunately, it is rarely anything that you would willingly feast on if you were given a choice. This morning's breakfast is a succulent tin of cannellini beans. Again. I close my eyes and peg my nose, and imagine that I am feasting on a delicious bowl of crunchy cereal and fresh milk, chased down with a glass of orange juice and a hot, steaming coffee. In reality, I will be lucky to source just enough water from the reserves to ensure that I don't choke on my beans.

The day is already scorching hot, making our little hidey-hole uncomfortably stuffy. Opening a window is not an option. There is still a high risk of contamination from the air, and the risk that a patrol may notice a change on their path is too great a risk to take. Instead, I lie back and imagine that I am lying in the fields on our family farm, with the cool breeze floating over me and the light drops of a mid-summer sun shower. I tell myself a story to pass the time, and convince myself that I can escape to the past for a brief moment in time. This is how I spend all of my days now, hiding from patrols during daylight hours, drifting into my imagination to ease the pain of my reality. I wish away the time until nightfall when I can leave my hidey-hole in search of survival. When I return, I know that I can escape to the comfort of my recurring dream, where I am surrounded by my friends and family.

*

The dinner bell rings and everyone makes their way to the verandah. The adults joyfully chat among themselves and the children race each other back to the house, everyone anticipating the decadent meal that has been teasing us all morning with its aroma. Mum yells out to the children to wash their faces and hands before sitting at the table, while Dad is busily carving the roast.

Mum and Dad are in their element. They love providing for everyone, and they love nothing more than being surrounded by all of their friends and family. I marvel at how refreshed Mum looks. Even after working hard in the past few hours to prepare lunch, she always manages to pull off a look of natural and effortless, yet sophisticated, beauty. She is dressed in a white, flowing, summer dress, which is partially covered by her trademark, bright sage green apron to protect from the spills and splashes of cooking. Her long brown hair, with a growing number of grey highlights, is tied into a loose pony, while whisps of hair fall tenderly around her face. As she takes her seat at the table, her golden, heart-shaped locket hangs delicately around her neck, glinting in the sun and sending flecks of reflection across her face, which only enhances her youthful glow. The locket was a gift from Dad for their 50th wedding anniversary, and Mum hasn't taken it off since he gave it to her. Dad looks a little more weathered (or rugged, as he would describe it), thanks to many years of labour-intensive work on the farm. But, his joy at carving this roast for everyone to enjoy is written all over his face. He is positively beaming with pride.

After stuffing ourselves with lunch we all retreat to the outdoor lounge to watch the children play and recover from our food comas. The sound of a plane breaks through the serenity and we can hear it approaching us. We all comment on how unusual it is for a plane to fly over but think nothing more of it. We all wander out into the field to have a look; it is a small Cessna heading toward the hills. After it has passed, we start heading back to the lounge. It starts to drizzle, and we all excitedly turn back to the field to dance in the rain. It was beautiful - everyone dancing and laughing and playing, relishing the refreshing coolness of the rain in the warmth of the afternoon. The drizzle didn't last long, and before long we all headed back to the lounge to relax for the rest of the evening.

*

This is where I wake with a start each night. Jolting myself out of my blissful dream, knowing that it is about to turn deadly, wishing that if I scream loud enough, that I can make everyone stay under the verandah and not go out in the rain. It wasn't rain. It was a deadly chemical sprayed by the leaders of the New Order to eradicate the weak, ill and elderly, with the plan to build a super-civilisation for the future. What they hadn't expected was that they would actually wipe out almost all of the population.

Within minutes of retreating back to the lounge everyone started to feel unwell. Mum, Dad, my sister Lydia and her husband Max were the first to fall very ill, quickly followed by all of the children, and my husband, Brett. This chemical first robbed its victims of their sight, then their cognitive function, followed by loss of use of their muscles, causing them to stop breathing and die a painful, heartbreaking death. I called the emergency services to get help, and I was told that someone would be sent to help, but they were receiving hundreds of calls so they didn't know how long it would take. This all happened very quickly. After a few excruciating hours of watching my loved ones suffer, helpless, we still had not received any emergency assistance. Of all of my friends and family that were at our farm that day, I was the only survivor.

Grieving the loss of all of my loved ones, and struggling to comprehend what was happening, I was at first very happy to see the patrol coming. "Finally, someone to help," I thought. It didn't take me long to realise that they were not there to help at all, and in fact, they were there to capture any survivors, tipped off by my call to the emergency services. I looked around to see what I could quickly grab to keep anything of my loved ones with me, as well as anything around me that could help me escape. The patrol was approaching quickly and I didn't have much time. I remembered that we had a bunker under the shearing shed in the field, so I grabbed a couple of photos, as well as my mother's heart-shaped locket, and made a run for the bunker. That is where I have lived ever since.

There are rumours that there are some parts of the country that are not under the control of the New Order. Each night, while scouting the old houses for food and supplies, I search for any clues that other survivors are also hiding out and that together, we can all escape to a friendly part of the country where we can try to rebuild some resemblance of a normal and happy life.

Until then, I continue to live in my imagination and treasure my mother's heart-shaped locket.