Keeper of the Sleeping Minds

Option: Exodus

Option: Exodus

We traveled by plane. That was more or less the only difference between our situation and the one of the prisoners of her majesty shipped to the convict colony of Australia some three hundred years ago. I remember reading colonial history of the fifth continent with feelings between fascination and disgust back in school. At least there was no scurvy in our case. Nevertheless, some of us died, mostly the old ones, not of the plague but of malnutrition. By this time food was getting scarce and the suited always took first pick of what was left of imperishable goods. We left the bodies in a deserted airport hall where we spent endless time waiting for our plane to refuel.

Early on, some of us talked about revolution and taking our destiny in our own hands. But such endeavours were quelled quickly and brutally. Very soon, talk stopped. There was no chance of success, they were too well organised from the start. They had the weapons, the money, the resources. We, on the contrary, were just a bunch of unorganised kids, wide-eyed and innocent compared to them. Nobody chose to become a survivor, it just happened. Most of us had seen the worst and been through hell. Those still sporting enough energy to care were well aware that it's hard to overthrow the majority of human population barehanded. Especially if they have all the planning, professional expertise and advanced technology on their side. To protect oneself against infection had been a privilege of the wealthy and powerful. And they played their cards well.

The afternoon we arrived over the Australian east cost, I was lucky enough to have a window seat. So I marvelled while the plane banked into a turn over Botany Bay during final approach to Sidney airport. The sea was sparkling blue and silver, sunlit in the evening light. The city seemed to sprawl endlessly around the bay. At first glance, everything looked as if the plague never existed in this magic place. I looked out for Sidney opera house, feeling like a tourist for one precious moment. It had always been my dream to visit Australia, one day. But I wasn't able to spot the signature building of historical Sydney and my enthusiasm was quickly dampened down.

During landing, it became clear the airport showed major signs of neglect. The set down was bumpy and some younger kids started to cry. It was getting dark quickly as we left the plane over a simple ladder and trekked to the arrival hall, dust and forgotten shreds of papers swirling in a cold wind sweeping over the tarmac. We were promised food inside the building by our herders, five suited with dangerous looking guns. I wondered where Daryl was, if he stayed back home or was on his way to the praised land, New Zealand. I never found out.

Most of us were beyond caring at this point, exhausted, starved and dehydrated. The building was mostly intact. In utter shock I stared at the still functioning display over the arrival gate. Was it possible that more than a year had passed since my mother's death? I blinked several times, but the date stayed the same: 5th August 2097. It was my fifteenth birthday.