"Goodbye, Audrey. I hate to leave you this way." The marauder groans. I'm inside a sound cocoon and Audrey's grief vibrates my rib cage. It's a wrench for both of us. How will she cope without my guidance, my determination, reason and passion? How long will it take me to adjust to life outside, without her umbilical vincula sending nourishment directly into my stomach, ducting oxygen down my trachea, refreshing my circulation, removing my carbon dioxide, urine and shit? Our identities have been plugged into each other for a long time now - maybe twenty years.
She says, "It's twenty-two, Del."
Now the tubes are withering and I have to get out fast. "You'll be ok, Audrey. They'll come and get you. The Reps never leave marauders lying around to be taken over by the Crack. Don't worry. They'll maybe do a refit, a few organ transplants. I'll come looking for you." I can hear her voice in my head. She says she knows she'll be fine, but I can tell she doesn't believe any of it.
"Better go, Del." The surrounding sounds of respiration and heartbeat that I've taken for granted for most of my adult life are weakening. She's right. If I don't go now, it'll be too late. Whether I can acclimatise to life outside is another matter.
