INFINITE: Island of the Immortals

10. J - O - B

Three hundred metres above the surface of the earth and rising, sixty metres per second. Your own eyes stare back at you in the reflection off the glass. Rounding the top of the sheer tower, you land on the roof already walking.

A vast array of satellite dishes and antennae stand before you but you know which one you need. In your pockets, you find a prickly object – the small electronic device – and the cold metal tools. Your hands work fast on the panel at the base of the largest dish, knowing what you'll find inside, how to patch into the circuitry. It is exactly how they said it would be.

On departure, you pause much longer than you expect on the edge of the rooftop. Your unblinking eyes pass over the city in a quick sweep, then wander back to linger on the squares of light, although you cannot say why. Rooms lit from within. Hundreds of them. A patchwork over the tall buildings. Framing people, standing, sitting. Living.

You're blinking. Curious...

The curiosity is gone.

You step from the edge

Into the night.

... 

Michael had left both flip-flops outside the night before but there was only one flop remaining in the morning. He stood for a long moment staring at the little teeth marks along the edge of the rubber sole. Shelly the possum was the prime suspect in the flip's disappearance but for now, Michael had to go barefoot.

That morning they were assigned their Jobs. All the kids, meaning everyone who did not have to take part in the meetings, were allocated work to keep the island running smoothly. This didn't include the very youngest but did include the eldest, such as Amanda.

"I want to start doing the meetings just so I don't have to wash dishes."

Uncle Michael immediately assigned her kitchen duty. Most of the work was in the kitchen, preparing food and washing up. The others did housekeeping, cleaning. Work was only for an hour or two each day, enough to keep everybody fed and happy.

Michael, however, had a different job.

"We'll find something for you to do." Uncle Michael left through the silver doors by the kitchen and came back, chatting with two men, who were almost matching. Colourful silk shirts, worn open over white singlets. Gold sparkled from their necks, watches and rings squeezed around lumpy knuckles.

"–but what you do in your spare time Mikey," joked the men as they approached the table.

"Mikey?" Jill giggled.

"Can we call you Mikey too?" chirped Amanda.

"No. Only they can," Uncle Michael slapped the men on the back. "Because they're the only people round here that are even older than me."

"Woah. We're standing right here."

"Boogie, Cheech, I'd like you to meet Jill. And her son Michael."

Michael's hand disappeared inside Cheech's, like shaking hands with a bear. His brow hung heavily over kind brown eyes. Square shoulders matched his jaw.

Then Boogie leant in, took his hand – a pointed, meaner face, devilish grin.

"We got two Mikeys now?" he snapped, a nasal New York accent. "We had two Mikeys in Florida 'memba? Got effin confusing, I'm sorry, I mean bloody confusing." He tried an Australian accent. "Don't know why you Aussies think saying bloody is not as bad as effin. I'd much rather be effin than bloody any day."