Artificial Heart

28

No water. No supplies. No shelter. No safety. Utterly screwed. She should just give herself up now.

She walked on.

For a good twenty minutes there was only more trees. Her shoes crunched through the leaf litter. Low hanging leaves brushed agains her head. There was no path and it was difficult the further she walked. She hoped for a creek or even a puddle—no luck. She clicked her tongue against her thirst.

And then the trees pulled back and she suddenly found herself in someone's backyard. A rather large backyard. Green, nicely mowed grass that sloped up towards are large Queenslander. There were chairs and tables cluttered around the balcony. Wind chimes sang. She couldn't see anyone. No movement inside.

Quickly, she hurried up the slope, keeping low to the ground. She reached the steps. Beneath the house was an old rusted car with no wheels and a whole bunch of broken furniture. But there was a bicycle in decent repair. Prisha tucked it away into her mind as she quietly made her way up the steps. She paused, listening. Nothing. She crossed the balcony to the back door and peered inside. The place seemed empty.

Please be open. Please be open. Please be open!

Prisha turned the handle and the door opened with a small creak. She stepped inside, eyes darting everywhere, heart thudding so hard she could feel her pulse beating in the side of her throat.

To her right was the kitchen. She hurried over, turned on the tap and stuck her mouth under the rushing water. She coughed and spluttered as she gulped it down. When she pulled away, her hair and the neckline of her shirt were wet. Water dripped from her hands onto the floor.

Next, she went over to the fridge, found a packet of ham and ate the whole lot. Then she found a loaf of fresh bread sitting covered on the counter and began eating that too.

'Hi.'

Prisha turned with a muffled yelp, mouth filled with bread. Prisha swallowed and wiped her mouth. A little girl stood in the doorway of the kitchen, gripping onto her pillow. Her cheeks were flushed and she was dressed in her pyjamas. Her blond hair was all mussed up. Her nose was snotty.

'Hi,' Prisha said. 'Your—your bread is yummy.'

'Mummy likes to make it.' She wiped at her nose with the back of her arm and yawned.

'I'm sorry. I have to go.' Prisha sidled carefully past her, then rushed down the hall. She raced back downstairs, ducking back under the house at the thud of more helicopter blades. This time she could see, peering up at it as it passed over the house.

There were no sirens. Should she hide back in the bush? She couldn't stay here forever. Where else could she go? She needed a car. She needed to drive away.

She looked over at the bike.

She found an old hat and bunched up her hair under it. She took hold of the handles and kicked away the stand. She paused. This was all so stupid. A bike wasn't going to get her anywhere. Dumb! Dismissing it, she yanked off the hat. Folding her arms, she paced, her shoes scuffing through the dirt.

Prisha froze, suddenly realising—she wasn't alone. Not completely. Didn't one of her university friends live here? Cecilia—yes. She knew her on Facebook. She lived somewhere on the Sunshine Coast. But they didn't really talk. Prisha hardly knew her anymore. She'd hardly known her then, either. And Scott had her bloody phone.

Prisha turned towards the steps, heart pounding. She needed a computer. She needed a phone. Trembling, she quietly climbed the stairs a second time. It was doubtful the child would be any help, but she was her only option.