The cheers and happy shouts were grating after spending so long enveloped by the silence of the road. I squinted and resisted the urge to cover my ears as the cacophony swirled around us. Nev shouted too close to me, something about how great this was, and I calculated how long I could bear the noise and the masses of people.

It was odd because city volume had never bothered me before; I'd lived in cities my whole life, and the sounds and smells and crowds had been nothing but background noise, a mild inconvenience that could be solved with a decent pair of headphones. Somewhere between Sydney and Melbourne, that had changed. I'd changed.

The night before, we'd still been on the road, the blissful, silent road. After leaving the place where we'd laid Simon to rest, we'd pedalled for hours, stopping only when Mischa was almost asleep at the handlebars. The road had been mostly flat and monotonous, the only sounds the bird calls that punctuated the hum of our wheels on the asphalt.

As we rode, I found myself not-unpleasantly numb. Whenever my brain decided it wanted to relive the sight of the knife protruding from Simon's chest, or visualise Lachie standing over me, or imagine how his mother would react when she saw his body, I simply said no. One by one, I pinned the memories down like butterflies on a display board, then shoved everything into a box in my mind. That box went inside of another, bigger box made of steel, and then I dropped the whole thing off a mental cliff into a dark ocean. I could search for it and open it one day, but not today.

We'd made camp at a curve in the road; we'd dragged the bikes up a verge and behind a thicket of trees, hidden from view, plenty of exit points. No fire; Simon had been in charge of the fire-lighting every night, a duty he'd taken seriously, and doing it with his loss so recent felt like sacrilege.

Without even needing to discuss why, the four remaining adults divided up the night into shifts. After a colourless meal of cold baked beans and tuna, we crawled into our tents and left Bailey to the first shift.

"Do you want the gun?" I asked them quietly.

Bailey shook their head, eyes blank. "No. No more weapons. Never again."

I wanted to argue, to say that weapons were for defence, not attack, that if we'd been better armed before, none of this would have gone so wrong, but my lips refused to move as fatigue rolled through me like a dense soundwave, sucking the energy from my marrow. I collapsed face-first into the tent, and passed the hours in a dreamless state.

"Karla. Karla!"

I bolted awake, my hand on the gun inside my bag before I'd even reached full consciousness. "What?"

Nev crouched at my tent opening. "It's your watch."

In an instant, I'd gone from asleep to wired. I rolled out of the tent, saying to Nev, "Thanks. You can go get some shut-eye."

Moonlight reflected off the low cloud cover, and I could see the shadows on her face as she replied, "Nah. I'm not tired. I just didn't want to sit here on my own anymore."

"Okay."

We sat in silence. I think she cried a few times, but I kept my face to the sky, watching the slow passing of the dark clouds, unable to soothe her pain without stirring up my own. When she fell asleep in her chair, I covered her with a blanket, hoping that Simon could see Nev was looked after.

As dawn lazily lightened the dark grey to light silver, Rueben emerged from his tent, yawning and rubbing his head. "How did you go?"

"Fine."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Karla, you don't have to be fine." He pulled me to my feet and cupped my chin softly. "You probably shouldn't be fine after everything you've gone through."

I wanted his kindness, his softness. I wanted to fall into his arms and shatter like an ice sculpture, pieces skittering everywhere. I also knew that if I broke down now, I'd be completely useless for the foreseeable future. "I'm fine," I repeated. "Don't shrink me."

He blinked, then backed off. "I'm here if you want to talk."

"I think I've rehashed enough of my trauma-filled youth for one road trip," I said, ignoring the issue he was actually referring to. Annoyed, I pulled at my tee shirt, which had ridden up on my belly, exposing a fat roll to the cool morning air, and the vulnerability of my ugly parts caused shame and anger to pulse in my chest.

My eyes flipped to Nev, slumbering in her chair, and more misplaced ire flickered inside me like a rattlesnake tail. She was stunning in the monochrome dawn light, as if even nature couldn't help but place a perfect filter on her as she slept. Her long dark hair curled around her face and shoulders, her slender form evident through the shape of the blanket. She looked like art, something worthy of a gallery: Girl in Camping Chair, 2019, oil on canvas.

What had happened to all the great works of art around the world, now there were no guards or alarms to keep them safe? Were there DaVinci's and Van Gough's hanging in people's living rooms or stashed in basements? In a few generations, without electronic historical documentation, would we forget why they were even important in the first place?

"Karla?" said Rueben.

I'd forgotten he was even there, and I started as he spoke. "I'm fine. Come on. We need to get to the city."

Dread had begun to build steadily in my chest as we packed and started the final ride of this leg of our odyssey. We hadn't even been near a major town and we'd ben brutally attacked. Now, we were riding straight into one of the largest cities in the country; who knew what kind of anarchy awaited us.

Bailey cruised next to me. "What's up?"

So many things. We'd lost a friend, the world was ending, I was still fat, we had so far to go. I focused on the most pressing issue. "We have no idea how screwed up the city will be. We need to be on guard in Melbourne. We'd been blundering around like idiots out here, thinking that everyone was really a nice person once you got past the fear, and we were wrong. The world is changed, and we have to change to survive."

"Karla... I know you're going through something I can't understand, but I've lost Simon too, and I know he wouldn't want-"

"He would want us to be safe," I said, my voice a little too loud.

"Okay. What do you want us to do?"

"Just..." That was the worst part. There wasn't anything we could truly do to fight off a dedicated attack. Four adults, none of us trained in combat, a child, a Pomeranian and a chicken. We might as well stride into Melbourne holding placards that said, Mostly harmless. I sighed. "Just keep your eyes open."

The city crept up on us with surprising swiftness. One minute, we were surrounded by trees which gave way to open fields and industrial buildings, then pockets of new housing estates appeared, fingers of urbanisation stretched ever northward.

"People," commented Mischa, her big eyes focused on a dozen people in a park ahead of us.

The group were armed with tools, and instinctively my fingers tightened on my handlebars. Wait. Not armed. They were attacking the ground. Half the people were dragging picks and shovels through the neat grass, while others carried seedlings and buckets of water as children played in the shade.

"They're farming," said Nev in wonder.

Laughter rolled towards us on the wind, and the sound was as foreign as hearing death metal in a nursing home. As we drew closer, some of the children spotted us and waved in delight. Two of them sprinted close to the road, a girl and a boy, and they followed us excitedly. "Hey, you guys! We like your bikes!"

"Thanks!" said Mischa, nearly riding off the road in delight.

The outer suburbs unfurled in a similar fashion; every few hundred metres, we encountered groups working collaboratively to transform grassy spare blocks and park areas into market gardens. Nothing was burning, no one was screaming or fighting. I'd been expecting a scene from a Western with people suspiciously eying off the strangers and reaching for their guns; instead the locals seemed largely uninterested in us as they industriously laboured away.

Bailey couldn't help themself. "I don't see any villagers with pitchforks..."

"Just because this suburb is working nicely, doesn't mean they all are," I retorted.

But apparently, they were. The further we travelled, the more we found human systems whirring like clockwork. In the carpark of a shopping centre, we saw a makeshift market, with people trading food and supplies. A gathering of several hundred people on a footy oval listened intently to a woman who called over the crowd, and a school group were busy making candles in the warm sunshine, using wax heated over a well-maintained fire pit.

The abandoned cars, which had been infrequent on the freeway, were denser the father we rode towards the city centre, but they'd all been pushed off neatly to the sides of the road. Once, we'd had the smooth bitumen to ourselves; now, we had to share it with others. Cluster of people carrying supplies or towing trailers of food by hand, dogs that trotted merrily along with kids and teens, and at one stage we had to swerve to avoid two horses with riders who politely nodded at us before cantering past.

As we powered over a final ridge, the city revealed itself finally in the distance. Melbourne was a dusky silhouette of skyscrapers hugging the edge of a blue bay. This had once been my town, my home, and even now, she still took my breath away. I hoped the historical buildings clustered around the city centre were still standing, built in the age of the gold rush, ornate and glorious. Hope reared its tiny head in my heart, that maybe the rest of Melbourne was coping as well as the north.

When we paused for lunch, it was at a split in the freeway where a large service station stood. The shop shelves were empty, but it didn't look raided; it appeared to have been deliberately emptied. Rueben twisted a tap by the side of the building without much enthusiasm. We'd tried every water source we found on the road, and it was probably an 80/20 chance that the tap would do nothing more exciting than groan, gurgle and emit a puff of dust.

But the tap bubbled happily, pouring clean water onto the ground. Rueben shouted in delight, and the rest of us gathered around to refill bottles and wash our dusty faces.

"If they have water, it explains why it's not total anarchy here," I said to Bailey.

"Or maybe you need to give people more credit," they replied.

"Youse guys," said Nev, flapping a map around. "We're only about, like, this far from my house!" She indicated the distance with her fingers, which after spending so long analysing the Google print outs, I was pretty confident was only a few hours away.

We made good time, slinking down the western flank of city. As we rode, we found ourselves having to give way to more bikes, horses and foot traffic. I even saw a hipster riding a penny-farthing bicycle, seated high above the world, his long beard fluttering in the wind. There were more markets, people chatting and trading, and each home with a yard was being converted into some kind of garden, propagating veggies, fruit, chickens, even a few goats.

We passed a town square in Parkville, where a massive board had been raised. It was covered in signs, and a crowd was gathered around. People spilled onto the road, so we dismounted and edged our way through.

A woman stood in front of the board with a makeshift megaphone at her mouth, a curled-up piece of carboard in a cone-shape. "So, any of youse with plumbing skills, the clinic needs so help with their drains. Jurisdiction A is asking for volunteers to take on people who can't go home because they live in high rises, so if you have an extra room, let us know. Thank you to the runners, you've been doing a bloody brilliant job of getting messages out to the other jurisdictions and getting them back – thanks to you, we're staying connected, even if it might not be as fast as Twitter."

The crowd laughed easily, and I squinted at the speaker. There was something familiar about her voice, a certain way her words twanged. "Hey, do you guys think she sounds like-"

"OMG!" shrieked Nev, loud enough that I flinched. "Liana?"

Her voice carried over the crowd, and the speaker dropped her megaphone, her mouth a perfect o-shape. "Neveah? Is that you?"

"It's me! It's totally me!"

"Omg!" Liana launched herself off the small stage she'd been standing upon and the crowd parted for her as she sprinted towards Nev, her long hair fluttering behind her. "Oh my god!"

The two women clashed together, hugging and crying, and a spontaneous round of applause broke out.

"I can't believe you're here!"

"I can't believe I'm here either! Is Mum okay?"

"She's fine! Nonna's fine, the girls are fine, we're all fine. We never thought we'd see you again!"

The rest of us stood with our bikes, waiting them out, too tired to hurry things along or interrupt. Without trying to attract attention, I wheeled over to where Nev had dropped her bike, guarding it by placing a foot between the struts so it couldn't be lifted or ridden off.

Nev doesn't need her bike anymore. She's home. I ignored the thought, and anchored my foot on the ground more solidly.

The two women were talking rapid fire; Liana was older by a few years, maybe in her thirties, and her hair was brassy with gold highlights, but the resemblance was unmistakable. She clutched at Nev's hands. "This is crazy."

"So crazy! Why were you up on stage?"

"I'm the jurisdiction Crier," she announced proudly. "Like the old-timey town criers, the ones who used to yell stuff. Once a day, I get to make all the announcements, so people know the plan."

"I always said you were the loudest chick in the family."

"Don't be rude, little sis! I'm super-important, don't you know?" She finally appeared to spot us. "Who're youse?"

"This is my clan," said Nev.

We introduced ourselves. The very-loud Liana said, "I'm Neveah's sister. I bet she talks about me all the time, yeah?"

"Uh, yeah," I said, even though I wasn't entirely sure I'd ever heard Nev mention her. Nev's family were like a singular organism, 'the fam,' with only her Nonna ever really getting a shout out. "Of course."

"So, where are youse staying?" asked Liana, flicking her dyed blonde hair from her shoulders, only a tiny black line of regrowth at her scalp giving away her secret. The world could end, and people would still be vain.

"With us," said Nev.

"Uh, no they aren't. We're full up. You can sleep in with me, Nicco can have the floor, but Jazz has the twins on the couch, and Clementine and Matilda are sharing the spare room. Nonna's 'friend' Joseph is staying in your old room, but god, they've been dating for twenty years, surely it's time for him to just share a bed with her..."

Rueben spoke. "We've got tents. We can set up in your yard."

"No go, bro." Liana shook her head and her large gold hoops wavered dangerously. "The backyard is covered in seedlings. We're growing pumpkins, and they're going gangbusters."

"The garage?" asked Nev, her voice starting to shake. Vicarious mortification thrummed in my head for her. She'd been yammering on for weeks about her family's legendary hospitality, and now she was practically begging for on oily patch of floor space in their carport for us.

Liana shot her down anyway. "We're hosting supplies in there – it's canned peaches and pears to the ceiling.

"It's fine," I interrupted. "I know a place we can go." Actually, I wasn't sure if the place in question would be free, but I was getting pissed listening to Liana list off the reasons that her sister, who'd travelled a thousand kilometres to be here, couldn't even bring home a couple of friends. "It's not far. Let's go."

Liana must have caught the tone in my voice, and she shot me a savage look. She addressed Nev. "Babes, I'm sorry your mates can't stay. It's been crazy here, and we had no idea you were coming with a whole crew of hangers-ons."

For a beat, I was glad Simon wasn't here; I could imagine him bristling, puffing up his chest and delivering a sermon to Liana about the noble art of hosting and generally not being an asshole.

I gave Nev the address. "You go spend some time with your family. Come and find us later."

"Okay," said Nev uncertainly. I felt her nerves; we'd been a unit for so long under such intense circumstances. Sending her off felt like farewelling a limb for an indeterminate period of time.

Bailey said, "Do you... do you want me to go with you?"

"No, no," said Nev, just a touch too fast. "You go and get set up. I'll come find youse later."

She gave each of us a quick hug, grabbed her bike and Bella, then disappeared with her sister, the two of them loud and animated.

"Right," I said with a confidence I didn't feel. "Come on."

In silence, we pushed the bikes along the narrow streets; this neighbourhood was established in more than a hundred years ago, and renovated workers cottages and adorable terrace houses lined the footpath. People were everywhere, washing clothing in vats near kempt fires, carrying food and gear, hauling wood. If it weren't for the abandoned cars and scooters, we could have been transported back to colonial days.

"So, where are we going?" asked Rueben.

This question. I steeled myself. "My ex's house. Dean. He has a townhouse not far from here, and he said I could use it when I spoke to him just before the phones went down."

"Ah." Rueben's voice was tight. "This is the Dean that's waiting for you in Tassie? The one who wants you back?"

"That's right."

"Well, how very generous of him," said Rueben, wheeling ahead slightly faster. "I'm sure this will make a great story to tell your grandkids one day."

I wasn't used to him being petty. "Rueben..." I called out, but didn't have anything to say as a follow up.

Bailey said, "When are you going to tell him?"

I knew what they were asking, but I was too emotionally wrung out to answer properly. "I don't owe Rueben any answers."

"Karla, the dude is clearly into you. He'd about to sail you across the Tasman. I think the least you can do is tell him-"

"Bailey, said with love, but if you don't shut your mouth, you can sleep in the garage in your tent tonight." Burning with something dark and bitter, I mounted my bike. "Come on."

Despite my tough talk, my stomach churned as I led everyone around the oh-so-familiar streets. When I saw Dean's place, I experienced an awful moment when I thought I might actually vomit. Why? I'm going to Dean. I love Dean. There's nothing wrong with being here.

Except there was. I was bringing the man I was sort-of sleeping with and his daughter to my ex's home, an ex I planned to reconcile with in the near future. Obviously I wouldn't share a bed with Rueben here, but it was seedy in a way that made me cringe. It also raised some very pertinent questions about what the dynamic of our group would be like when we finally arrived at my brother's farm.