How To Lose Weight And Survive The Apocalypse

Chapter 19

"Riding in a car."

"Riding in a glass elevator. Man, my old building used to have one, and riding up to the top floor was like magic."

"I'll miss being in an aeroplane, off somewhere faraway and fabulous. I'll even miss plane food!"

"Nev, the most exotic place you've ever been is the Gold Coast for a boozy weekend."

"Right! Like I said, fabulous."

"I'll miss just being able to call people. Not that I ever really did, lol, I'm a millennial, but the thought that I could, I'll miss that. Now if someone isn't with me, that's it. I have no idea how they're doing or if they're even still alive..."

I hadn't meant for things to get dark so quickly. We were sitting around yet another campfire, albeit in a truly idyllic location, and we were passing the time before bed by playing another round of 'stuff I'll miss in the post-apocalyptic world.'

But as everyone's faces fell, I realised I'd screwed up by mentioning phones and our general lack of communication with the people we loved. I could tell that Rueben was thinking about Alena and how there would never be any closure there, how Mischa would never receive an out-of-the-blue call from her mum. Nev and Bailey were watching each other, wary and longing, each clearly considering the ramifications of being separated by the Tasman Sea. Even Simon was stoic. For him, no phones meant no way ever to reconcile with his son and daughter, and the end of their story would dangle forever like a dropped call, mid-sentence.

It had been such a peaceful afternoon until that point, a welcome plateau on our laborious journey. The Lake Tyrell campsite was abandoned, seemingly in a hurry, with Eskys and camping gear dumped everywhere. "People must have hightailed it out when they heard the news about the nanobots," said Bailey.

"Lucky for us," said Simon, rescuing a six-pack of beer from beside a toppled tent and cracking one open.

When we'd searched the campsite thoroughly and found it empty, we claimed a set of small cabins on the south side of the lake. The accommodation was nothing fancy; the cabins were wooden, containing a room with a small couch and a double bed, but they felt like five-star luxury compared to our tents.

"Doors that lock," Rueben murmured in my ear as he passed, causing me to drop my water bottle mid-refill. The tanks thankfully worked, which meant we could relax on the hydration-front for a while, and we found a cold-water shower at the back of each cabin, so everyone managed to have a quick rinse to scrub away the road.

Refreshed, we'd lit the fire, made dinner, put Mischa to bed, and allowed ourselves some precious down time. It had almost felt like a holiday until I'd managed to depress the crap out of everyone.

I clapped my hands and tried to shake my friends out of their funks. "I have a different question. We can't go back to the way life was, so if we're stuck like this, what's your new dream? Like, picture yourself in a year – what does happy look like?"

Faces brightened as they considered the future. Bailey said, "I want to be around people who accept me. Maybe find an old typewriter somewhere, start writing poetry again."

"I didn't know you wrote poetry," said Nev, awed. "Can I read some, please?"

"Poetry is born in pain. You'll probably be written into their poems as some kind of hideous dragon, Neveah" warned Simon.

Nev's eyes grew round. "What? You wouldn't do that, would you, Bailey?"

Bailey had an impish glint as they said, "Of course not. I could never write you as a dragon, Nev."