The Swiss Family RobinZOM (Book 2) (5 page)

As the night waded in and the light lost its resolve, small points of fuzzy yellow light floated up. First one, then a dozen, then hundreds, until the jungle was alive with fireflies. A fairy tale of glowing lights.

Bill stood at the tree stump the family used as a table with the pink radio laid in pieces before him like he was carrying out an autopsy. The pocket torch hung from a vine above the table, swaying lightly and making the shadows move like dancers around a May pole.

Bill picked up the radio’s outer casing and blew into it. He wiped the dust away with a rag. Content it was clean, he began reassembling the radio piece by piece.

“Any luck fixing the radio?” Liz said, drifting over from the treehouse.

“Not yet,” Bill said. “The boys?”

“Fast asleep,” Liz said. “It’s been a long day for them.”

Bill never took his eyes off the radio, concentrating all his effort on the exercise.

“Wonder what we’ll hear when the radio does work,” Liz said. “Maybe they’ll say it’s all clear and we can go home.”

“Maybe,” Bill said.

“But you don’t think it’s likely,” Liz said.

“At this point, no,” Bill said. “There was too much on the radio before. Too many warnings for it to be anything but a worldwide disaster.”

“It’s strange to be disconnected from the world for so long, don’t you think?” Liz said. “I don’t think I’ve ever gone so long without hearing the news. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t even exist anymore.”

Bill stopped assembling the radio.

“Would you prefer for the radio not to work?” he said. “For us to stay here forever? We could, you know. We don’t have to listen.”

“No,” Liz said. “I want to return home one day, if we can.”

Bill nodded, and then continued with the reassembly.

“Don’t you want to know what’s going on out there?” Liz said.

“I’m rebuilding the radio,” Bill said. “I would have thought my intentions were pretty clear.”

“Some people do all the hard work and decide not to take the final step,” Liz said.

“I’m not one of those people,” Bill said.

“I know,” Liz said. “Being disconnected affects people in different ways, don’t you think? Some people, when they’re on an island, they pull together and get closer, form close bonds they might never have otherwise have made. Others drift away, becoming their own little island. An island within an island. They never return to the person they once were, to the family that loves them. They do things, experience things, that change them forever.”

Bill sighed and turned to Liz.

“What do you want to say to me, Liz?” Bill said. “Don’t tell me it’s to speak in riddles and vagaries. Tell me what you want to say.”

“Fritz told me what happened today in the shipwreck,” Liz said.

Bill dropped the screwdriver. It clattered to the floor.

“Damn it,” he said. “It was nothing.”

“You almost drowned,” Liz said. “I wouldn’t call that nothing.”

“I didn’t almost drown,” Bill said. “The boys were exaggerating. I just got stuck under the water for a little while.”

“That’s what drowning is, isn’t it?” Liz said.

Bill continued to turn the screws.

“Take Fritz with you next time,” Liz said.

“No,” Bill said. “He’ll only get in the way.”

“Get in the way of danger, yes,” Liz said. “That’s what working together means.”

“No.”

Bill buried his eyes in the radio.

“Put the radio down and look at me, Bill,” Liz said.

Bill continued to prod at the radio, not raising his eyes.

“What, Liz?” he said.

“Look at me!” Liz said.

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it resonated, brimming with anguish and concern. Bill turned to her. Liz placed her hands on either side of his face.

“Do you know what we’d be without you in our family?” she said. “We wouldn’t be a family. You’re the glue that holds us together. I refuse to let you go back into that wreckage again. Not without Fritz.”

“I’m going back,” Bill said, turning to the radio and breaking contact with Liz. “There’s a lot to salvage.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Liz said. “I don’t want you going back into that ship by yourself again.”

“There’s no other way,” Bill said.

“Then you’re not going in there,” Liz said.

“Liz-”

“I’m serious, Bill,” Liz said. “You’re not going in there without the boys to back you up.”

“You’re being unreasonable,” Bill said.

“
I’m
the one being unreasonable?” Liz said. “Listen to yourself, Bill. You’re on a suicide mission. What you don’t seem to understand is that we need you every bit as much as you need us. You’re going to get yourself killed. You do realise you can’t do everything by yourself, don’t you?”

“Right now I need to keep you all safe,” Bill said. “And if that means putting myself in a little more danger, then so be it. I do it gladly.”

Bill put the screwdriver down and placed the radio upright. He pressed the power button and turned the tuner. The radio hissed and crackled with static.

“If good news comes through on this radio maybe you won’t need to,” Liz said.

Static answered them.

“Please, Bill,” Liz said. “Listen to me. Listen to your wife.”

Bill turned the tuner, ignoring her.

“This island plays tricks on you,” Liz said. “It makes you believe you’re all that’s left in the world. I assure you, we’re not. There’s more out there. We can’t be controlled or governed by this island.”

“We’re all that’s left,” Bill said. “And if we’re not, we soon will be. We must prepare to live here for the rest of our lives. It’s the only way we’ll survive.”

Liz opened her mouth to argue, but it would have been a pointless exercise. She shook her head, turned, and walked away.

She crossed the clearing spread out before the treehouse. She looked up at the sky. A billion points of light went about their business, uninterested in the tiny blue planet around a dwarf star on the outer reaches of the Milky Way.

Maybe we are all alone
, Liz thought.
Maybe we really are the last survivors.
And suddenly she felt cold. The old world felt like a dream, like it had never really happened. Already the memories she had of her early life were fading to mist – like an old photograph left in the sun. Faces of old friends and family already disappearing.

Liz looked back at Bill, at him hunched over the tiny pink radio, searching for some sign the old world was still out there, and yet certain there was none. The radio hissed louder, and then undulated like a rising tide.

Liz paused, her hands on the makeshift ladder struts nailed to the tree trunk. The static rose and fell again, in a short one-two incantation. The radio fuzzed and the words became less fuzzy.

“…come in, over,” the voice said.

Liz joined Bill.

“Reply to them,” Liz said.

“I can’t,” Bill said. “This radio can only receive.”

“Turn it up,” Liz said.

“It’s at full volume,” Bill said.

Liz rested her hand on Bill’s arm. His muscles were tense.

“…come in, over,” the voice on the radio said.

“This is Golden Eagle, over,” an American voice said.

“Requesting confirmation on target, over,” the first voice said.

“Approaching target now,” the American voice said. “ETA five minutes.”

The radio began to hiss again. Bill turned the tuner but couldn’t find the signal again.

“Where did they go?” Liz said.

“I don’t know,” Bill said.

“What do you think they were doing?” Liz said. “What do you think they meant by ‘the target’?”

Panic gripped Liz’s heart.

“You don’t think they know we’re here, do you?” Liz said.

“Even if they did why would they consider us a target?” Bill said.

Bill’s hand moved toward the tuner again, but this time the radio edged backward, as if loathing his touch. Bill shared a disconcerted look with Liz. The radio jittered across the tree stump table, falling over the edge and striking the soft earth on the other side. The ground shook, rising up their legs.

“What’s going on?” Liz said, words fuzzy with fear.

Fritz and Ernest stood on the edge of the treehouse landing, rubbing their tired eyes.

“What is it?” Fritz said. “An earthquake?”

“I doubt we’re near a fault line,” Ernest said.

“What is it, then?” Fritz said.

A deep rumbling rolled overhead, quickly followed by another. As it grew, dark shadows blocked out the bright dots in the sky, drawing like a blanket. In the glimmering light of the moon, the silhouettes of dozens of bomber aircraft passed overhead.

“Hey!” Fritz shouted, waving his arms. “We’re down here! Hey!”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Bill said. “They can’t hear you.”

“We could start a fire,” Fritz said.

“It would only give them something else to aim at,” Bill said. “We’re the least of their concerns right now.”

“What do you mean?” Fritz said.

The ground stopped shaking as the aircraft drifted over the horizon. For a long moment there was silence. But the air was thick with anticipation, and the family watched, entranced, frozen to the spot.

A flash in the distance, blink and you would miss it, followed by a soft pop sound like a muffled party popper. And then another flash, and another pop, and then groups of flashes, one immediately after the other, with pops so frequent they sounded like the retort from a machine gun.

Then a deafening roar raged overhead at high speed. The Robinsons covered their ears, but by then it was already fading. The treetops reacted with a two-second delay, blowing over at an angle by the passing of the aircraft.

The roar shrunk into the distance. A loud boom followed, and a light ten times larger and brighter than all the others combined mushroomed into the sky. The trees made jerking motions to and fro, unnatural, like they were in pain, leaves raining down like the trees were crying.

And then the world turned silent once again, the creatures continuing their nightly vigil.

“Do you think they’re doing the same thing in Europe?” Liz said.

“Maybe,” Bill said. “If they’re destroying the towns and cities in Asia can you imagine what they’re doing to the cities in the rest of the world? There’ll be nothing left. What you heard weren’t bombs but the swish of a broom across the face of the planet, wiping clean everything we once were.”

“Where are Jack and Francis?” Liz said to Fritz.

Ernest turned his head to the side, looking at the floor of the treehouse.

“Somehow, fast asleep,” he said.

“We’re never returning home,” Ernest said in the tone of one learning a bitter truth. “Are we?”

“No,” Bill said. “We’re not.”

Bill slipped the length of wood up under the panel and pulled. The muscles in his arms tensed. The wood shrieked as the panel came free from its pegs and Bill fell back onto the floor with sudden release.

He got up and checked the panel for damage, but it appeared to be fine. He inserted his makeshift crowbar into the top of the panel and pulled. It fell to the floor, splashing in the ankle-deep water.

He bent down and picked up one end. His knees shook and the blood rushed to his head. He hefted it onto his knees and dragged it along the floor. He angled it sideways so he could manoeuvre it through the door.

Bill passed through the door, having to head in the opposite direction to the one he wanted. He swept the torchlight over the shadows. Satisfied they were empty, he pulled the panel deeper into the darkness. He came to an abrupt stop. He pulled on the panel but it wouldn’t budge.

The panel was stuck fast between the doorframes on either side. He hit the panel with his palm and shook it to vent his frustration.

“Damn!” he said.

Ernest sat with a metal box between his legs. Beside him was a small pot over a fire that issued foul-smelling smoke. His face was black with soot. He picked the pot up in a gloved hand and poured a few drops of the molten metal onto the join between two wires. He blew on it. The metal turned a dull grey as it cooled and hardened.

The foliage shook. Ernest froze, holding his breath. He got to his feet and picked up a thick wedge of wood. Fritz poked his head around the corner. Ernest sighed and relaxed.

“Why didn’t you say the password?” Ernest said. “I almost had a heart attack.”

“What’s the password, again?” Fritz said.

“Cytosine,” Ernest said.

“Right,” Fritz said. “Next time try using a word I actually know.”

“How come I’m the one who always gets to make these things?” Ernest said.

“You’re better at it than me,” Fritz said.

“I doubt that,” Ernest said.

“Plus, you agreed to it, remember?” Fritz said.

“Look, Fritz,” Ernest said, scratching his head with a black thumb. “I have to tell you, I’m not all that comfortable doing this without telling Father.”

“You wouldn’t be doing it if we told Father,” Fritz said.

“Exactly,” Ernest said. “Do we have to do this?”

“Do you want to eat berries and coconuts for the next fifty years?” Fritz said.

“Don’t exaggerate,” Ernest said.

“Ten years, then,” Fritz said.

“I’m beginning to develop a taste for it, actually,” Ernest said.

“Really?” Fritz said.

“No,” Ernest said.

“Well then,” Fritz said. “How’s it coming along?”

“Not bad,” Ernest said. “I finished the prototype. It would be easier if we had a better way to join the wire frame together.”

“There is no easier way,” Fritz said.

Ernest stretched his back. His spine popped.

“Let’s go set it up,” he said.

They concealed it beneath vegetation so as not to be seen. Concerned they wouldn’t be able to find it again, Ernest made markings on nearby trees.

“Done,” Ernest said. “Quick, let’s get out of here.”

“Wait,” Fritz said. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Ernest said. “Don’t scare me.”

“Sh.”

Cheep!

“That,” Fritz said.

Fritz headed deeper into the jungle.

“I’m not sure we should be following random noises we hear in the jungle,” Ernest said.

Cheep!

“Sounds like it’s coming from this way,” Fritz said.

Ernest looked in every direction but the one they were going, head swivelling on his neck.

Something small and fuzzy hopped from between a nest of tree roots. A little chick, brown with black stripes over its head and wings, flapped amongst the foliage, tripping and falling over more often than it was on its feet.
Cheep!

“He must have fallen from his nest,” Fritz said.

Ernest looked up at the immense height of the sequoia tree before them.

“Hell of a long way to fall,” he said.

Fritz bent down and reached for the chick.

“Don’t pick it up!” Ernest said.

“Why not?” Fritz said.

“Didn’t you pay attention during any of your classes?” Ernest said. “If he smells like you his parents might disown him.”

“How’s he going to get back up into his nest, then?” Fritz said.

“He’s not,” Ernest said.

“We can’t just leave him to die,” Fritz said.

“Survival of the fittest,” Ernest said. “He’s not fit.”

“He probably just fell,” Fritz said. “We’re all allowed one mistake.”

“Not in the wild you’re not,” Ernest said.

Fritz bent down and picked the chick up.

“That’s done it,” Ernest said, throwing up his hands. “What are you going to do with him now?”

“I’ll raise him,” Fritz said.

Ernest snorted.

“Yeah, right,” he said.

“What?” Fritz said. “Think I can’t?”

“Oh, I
know
you can’t,” Ernest said. “The idea of you taking responsibility for something brings me out in hives. You might as well leave the chick here. At least it’ll die quicker.”

“He’s not going to die,” Fritz said. “I’m going to raise him.”

“I suppose we can always eat him when you get bored of him,” Ernest said.

“I’m not going to get bored of him- Eugh!’ Fritz said.

A pale yellow liquid dribbled from between Fritz’s fingers.

“Beautiful,” Fritz said.

“You can look forward to a lot more of that over the next few weeks,” Ernest said. “What are you going to call it?”

Fritz thought for a moment.

“Beauty,” he said. “I’m going to call him Beauty.” He frowned. “Maybe it’s not such an appropriate name for a boy bird.”

“You’re in luck,” Ernest said, peering close at the chick. “I don’t think he’s a him. He’s a she.”

“How do you know that?” Fritz said.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Ernest said. “Now, let’s get out of here.”

“Beauty will protect us if anything happens,” Fritz said.

“Sure,” Ernest said. “She can cute our enemies to death.”