War/Peace. Matthew Vandenberg
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Название: War/Peace

Автор: Matthew Vandenberg

Издательство: Ingram

Жанр: Историческая фантастика

Серия:

isbn: 9781649695628

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ about your homes?'

      'We lived in the church. That's where everyone's living.'

      'Please, come into the house,' I say. 'It's safe in here.'

      'You're a north-sider!'

      'I've got a south-sider here,' I say. 'I'll get her.' - I take the speaker from my mouth – 'Shelly! They're not hostile.'

      Shelly climbs up onto the roof and I hand the speaker to her.

      'Hello,' Shelly says. 'Listen: this is a safe-house. It doesn't matter which side you're from. It's a Big Brother house. The Americans, the British, they're watching our every move. We're on television in the states and in several other countries. They're watching over us. I am a south-sider and I came here because I used to live in the north. I have friends who are north-siders. I know that they're not as bad as the pastor's are saying. In here, all we do is speak to one another, and to the public. We want the war to end.'

      'Does your pastor know you're here?' the other woman asks. 'He must be worried.'

      'No,' Shelly says. 'He gave me permission to travel back into the north but he does not know I'm here. But I can assure you that this house is safe. All the people here are my friends. There's another south-sider also.'

      I put out my hand and Shelly hands the speaker back: 'We have exercise equipment,' I say. 'Um . . . it may seem silly but perhaps the best thing anyone can do right now is exercise in the safety of a house like this. Build our muscles, so that we can run when we need to. It could spell the difference between life and death. Did you see the bomb fall just before?'

      'Of course we did! It's you lot – you Americans! You dropped the bomb.'

      'Well, it wasn't me,' I say. 'The extremists, not me.'

      'Why are you using the loudspeaker?' Shelly says. 'There's no need.'

      I nod and hand the loudspeaker back to Shelly.

      'You'll . . . you'll protect us?' the first woman asks, strolling towards the house. 'From the north-siders, the bad ones?'

      'Of course,' I say. 'This is a safe-house.'

      'We're only 17,' the second woman states. 'We can't fight. We're not as strong as the men.'

      'I can't fight either,' I say. 'We don't fight. That's why this safe-house exists.'

      'How can any side hope to win the war if no one fights?'

      'That's what we're trying to figure out!' I say. 'Please, come inside. The people of America will love you. Here we can teach you how to hone your skills, and to forget about the war. Please. Because you both deserve a home, you deserve to be safe. They have chucked you out onto the streets as though you are worth nothing, left you to wander through the war-torn southern plains. How can they just not care? If you stay out here you might die. Please. Your lives are worth something. Let us show you that.'

      The girls look at one another, then up at Shelly and I.

      'How many are inside?' the first one asks.

      'You'll make it eight,' Shelly says. 'Half south, half north.'

      They nod and make their way towards the front of the bunker.

      ******

      References

      1 Recapturing The Vibe – Hilltop Hoods

      2 Arndt, J., Schimel, J., & Goldenberg, J. L. (2003). Death Can Be Good for Your Health: Fitness Intentions as a Proximal and Distal Defense Against Mortality Salience. Journal of Applied Social Psychology, 33, 1726-1746.

      AMIEL DeANGELO - 12:00pm - December 12 - 2011

      'Look how dark it is!' I yell. I stand up on the front seat. 'This is bat country. We in Baker or something?'

      'We ain't in America,' Elise says. 'And you ain't seein' bats like Thompson.'

      'But it's midday and the sky is almost black,' I say. 'What the fuck is going on!?'

      Elise turns the steering wheel left a little, then right. I fall back into the seat. We're in a cream convertible, more than 350 kilometres west of the Sydney CBD. We're probably through, probably in the southern district. But we can't be sure. The streetlights are down, the sky is almost black: dead, seemingly devoid of atmosphere. We ride - like - 90 or 95 but on the desert streets we might as well be cruisin' at the pace of a snail: so weak, like we're stray cats wandering dead streets, and all we can hear is the car's feet as they drag along the ground.

      'Turn the volume up!' I say. 'The speakers are dope and we ain't gettin' high!'

      'The guards, though.'

      'Do you see any guards?' I ask. 'I don't see any! We're miles from the CBD. The war's still raw, they ain't had time to put a fuckin' Berlin wall up yet. So we're in the south, we're safe, we might as well turn up the volume.'

      Elise looks left and then right. She shakes her head and turns the volume dial.

      'It's cool,' I say. 'We're dressed for the part. We look like we've walked straight out of a Catholic convent. We can even wear the hijabs if you want, pretend we're Muslims.'

      'Maybe,' Elise says. 'If it's a cool night. But isn't there a way they can tell? Surely they'll know we're north-siders: they'll hear what we're playing for one thing.'

      'We obviously not gonna be singing along to Britney Spears when they find us,' I say. 'But for now: "I'm not a girl! not yet a woman! All I need is time, and more than that is mine . . ." '

      Elise laughs: 'Bitch, you can't sing!'

      ' "You will see it in my eyes. This girl will always find her way." '

      ' "I'm not a girl." '

      ' "I'm not a girl, don't tell me what to believe." '

      'Look,' Elise says. 'You're lookout, right? You see something, say something.'

      'Relax,' I say. 'You and I, we're south-siders now, through and through. They'll never know we came from the north. We can even say we we're trying to escape to the north. Then they'll probably take us to a cathedral and show us pictures of our Lord and savoir or something. Then we can pretend we've seen the light, act all happy and shit and then they'll be happy. Fuck it, I don't know how things work. Did you ever go to church?'

      'Fuck off!'

      'Then who cares? We're dressed the part. Fuckin' stupid really, when you think about it. What the south-sider babes don't realize is that they appear more attractive than north-side sluts to men during times of war.'

      'How do you figure that?'

      'They got the wholesome image. And we got it now. Like it's a style or somethin' you purchase at Jay Jays. Ha ha. And you see: when men are made aware of their mortality - for instance, every time a bomb falls - and then are distracted, they'll suddenly find a more promiscuous women less attractive than ordinary gals. It's coz they're trying desperately to keep thoughts of dying repressed. They're trying not to think of death. Should СКАЧАТЬ