Catherine Jinks TheRoad (90 page)

Alec shifted uncomfortably. ‘All I’m sayin is, it started when John showed up,’ he mumbled. ‘And it stopped when he left. You work it out.’

‘But that makes no sense,’ Noel objected. ‘How could he have done it?’

‘Maybe he’s evil.’ Peter felt highly qualified to make this deduction. He had read enough fantasy novels to know that there are dark powers which can be harnessed by shadowy souls. With a tight throat, he added: ‘Maybe he’s a spirit of darkness, or something. Someone who can call up the Other World.’

‘Oh,
Pete
r
,’ Linda protested. But Del, to Peter’s surprise, jumped in to defend him.

‘Boy might be right,’ she said. ‘How do we know? The Devil’s a wily enemy, and his works are everywhere.’ Peter felt, rather than saw, his parents exchange glances as Del finished. ‘God will protect us, though. We just have to pray, and have strength in the Lord.’

Then Louise spoke. In a small voice, she quavered: ‘What about the others? Will
they
be all right, if Mr Carr’s with them?’

Peter flinched. He didn’t want to hear that question. No one else did, either; Alec sucked in his breath, Del scowled, Linda murmured a protest. ‘We shouldn’t be talking like this in front of the kids,’ she said. ‘We’re scaring them.’

‘The others will be all right,’ Noel informed Louise. ‘They’ve gone to get help, and they’ll be fine.’

‘Oh,
Dad!
’ Peter couldn’t believe his ears. Was his father for
real?
‘We
know
that’s not true! They probably can’t even get anywhere! Something’s probably stopped them, like it always does!’

‘Peter –’ Noel warned.

‘We
know
we’re in trouble! We
know
that!’

‘All right, get in the car.’ Noel was firm. ‘Go on.’

‘But –’

‘Get in the car, Peter.’ Peter recognised the stiffness in his father’s tone. It was a rare and dangerous signal. ‘Off you go.’

With a dragging step, Peter obeyed. He climbed into the back seat of Del’s station wagon, but didn’t slam the door behind him. He would have liked to – a noise like that would have conveyed his anger very well – but he wanted to hear what the others were saying. Alec, particularly.

Whenever Alec talked, he was worth listening to.

‘The little girl’s right,’ Del was admitting. ‘If John Carr’s the problem . . . well, who knows what’s gunna happen to the others? I don’t reckon they’ll reach Oakdale, or anywhere else. Not with him on board.’

‘We can’t be
sure
of that,’ Linda protested, and Del replied: ‘No, we can’t. Wouldn’t wanna lay odds, but.’

‘Either way, we’d better get cracking.’ Since his outburst, Col seemed to have pulled himself together. ‘Build the fire. Cook the dinner. Find some water.’

‘That’s right,’ said Del. ‘Get plenty of green stuff too, as well as the wood. Stuff to make smoke. Good job I’ve got matches. Matches
and
kerosene.’

‘But isn’t there a fire ban?’ Linda wanted to know. ‘Because of the drought?’

‘Could be,’ Del retorted, in the manner of one who had never had much time for rules and regulations. ‘Personally, if they wanna come down here and fine me, I couldn’t be happier. Whaddaya reckon?’

Linda turned away. So did Noel. The group had started to break up, each person attending to his or her duty. Alec, however, remained where he was, apparently lost in thought. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the ground.

Del touched his elbow.

‘Let’s go, Alec. Time’s marchin on.’

Alec’s head jerked up. Del gave him a slap on the arm and began to follow the others. But Alec called her back.

‘Del!’

‘What?’ She spun around.

‘I was thinkin . . .’

‘What? Spit it out.’

Alec hesitated. Leaning forward, Peter strained to hear what he said. It came out slowly, haltingly, as Alec’s attention shifted from Del’s face to the distant skyline to the laces on his own boots.

‘If John was there for the road kill, and for the dead bird, and for the swarm...’

‘Yeah? What about it?’

‘Well...’ Alec took a deep breath. ‘Well, what if he was there for that other mess? At Thorndale?’

He and Del blinked at each other. Then they looked around, nervously, as if afraid that someone might have overheard. That was when Del spotted Peter, who was obviously listening.

She didn’t say anything, though. She just flashed him a crooked little half-smile.

‘Well,’ she sighed, and all the strength seemed to drain from her with that single word. Her shoulders drooped; her gun sagged.

‘What do you think?’ Alec murmured.

‘I dunno. What do
you
think?’

‘Could be a coincidence.’

‘I s’pose.’

‘Bit of a stretch, though.’

‘Bit.’

‘They were shot,’ said Alec. Peter could hardly hear him by now; he had lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘You saw’em. Shot and left. Where’d the gun go?’

‘In ’is car?’

‘Right. And he had to leave that because –’

‘His tank was empty.’

Their gazes locked. Del finally remarked: ‘
Veng
eance is mine
.
I will repay, saith the Lord
.’

‘What?’

‘It’s in the Bible. It makes sense.’ Her expression brightened, suddenly. ‘Think about Judas, and the way ’is bowels gushed out onto the field that he bought with them pieces of silver. And how Herod was eaten by worms. And the prophets of Baal – they were killed, too. It happens.
O wicked man, thou shalt surely die
.’

As Alec opened his mouth, Col called to them both. ‘
Hey!
’he yelled.
‘What are we doing, here? I thought we were on firewood duty, me and him!’

‘Uh – yeah. Yeah. That’s right,’ said Del. She seemed to shake herself, like a dog after a bath. ‘Sorry.’

‘Sorry,’ Alec echoed. He reached for the gun, which Del placed in his hands. Neither would look at the other.

‘You take care,’ Del instructed. ‘Don’t go too far.’

‘No.’

‘Watch your back.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And – Alec?’

‘What?’

With a lunge that made him start, Del grabbed a handful of Alec’s T-shirt. She gave it a tug, so that he was stooping, and shoved an admonitory finger into his face. ‘Just remember,’ she warned, ‘
The horse is prepared against the day of battle: but safety is of the Lord
.’

Alec was clearly taken aback – and completely at sea. ‘Ri-i-ght,’ he faltered.

He was still scratching his head when he joined Col.

A horse is prepared against the day of battle
. What was that supposed to mean? Alec was disappointed in Del; every so often she would demonstrate that she had half a brain in her head – that she had guts, and instinct, and a real grasp of the important issues. Then all at once she would turn around and start spouting gibberish.
A horse is prepared against the day of battle
. It worried Alec that Del had taken charge. It unnerved him that they’d placed their lives in the hands of a woman who obviously had a blown fuse somewhere.

She also had a gun though. That was the important thing. Now that he was back in possession of the .303, Alec wondered if he would ever be able to let it go. It felt so solid (five or six kilos at least), and its stock was so warm and glossy and reassuring. Beautiful finish on that stock. And six lead-tipped bullets in the magazine. Six lines of defence against whatever might jump out from behind a tree and go for him.

Not that Alec really expected anything like that to happen. More and more, as the hours passed, he had become convinced that he was right about the absence of a certain vehicle, and its connection with certain events. The idea that these events were actually associated with a particular
person
made even better sense, as far as Alec was concerned. When you thought about it, everything fitted together. And if John was responsible for the man of flies, and the Kamikaze crow, and the kilometres of mutilated flesh (for whatever reason), then he was probably responsible for the business at Thorndale as well. Why not? It was all part of the picture.

In the circumstances, Alec didn’t want to think about what might have happened to the Harwoods, or that stupid girl and her boyfriend. Every time his thoughts even touched on the subject, they veered away again. He would have liked to believe that they had reached Oakdale, or even the highway, but he had a nasty, sneaking suspicion that they hadn’t. After all – he checked his watch – it was nearly five, and they had left before two. Three hours ago. If the map had been right, they should have got to Oakdale by now, and sent someone back.

He congratulated himself for staying. It had been the right thing to do. The kids too – they were lucky. Though if
they
had left in the Harwoods’ car, then John would have remained at Pine Creek. With the rest of them.

Thank God, thought Alec. Thank
God
he’s not here.

‘Ahoy,’ Col suddenly observed. ‘I’m going to need some help here, son.’

Son. How Alec hated being called ‘son’. But he stopped scrutinising the nearby bush for a moment and glanced over to where Col was filling a gym bag with firewood. They had brought a gym bag and an esky with them on their firewood patrol; both receptacles had been filled and emptied three times already. They were now on their fourth sweep of the immediate area, collecting dry bark and some sprays of greenery, as well as sticks and broken boughs, which Alec would carry back under his arm if they were too large for the esky.

‘You’re not takin that?’ he said, for Col had located a bloody great log. ‘We can’t move that!’

‘We could break it up. It’s eaten by ants, look. It’s hollow.’

‘Yeah, that’s right. Some snake’s hideaway, probably.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Give it a few good whacks, we’ll scare ’em away.’

‘You reckon?’ Alec was doubtful. He had an almost pathological fear of snakes.

‘Yeah! Gorn. Few good thumps with the butt of that thing should do it.’

Alec looked around. The sky was blushing and the shadows were long. Birds called to each other in the treetops. Already the air had cooled, just a little, and the pale trunks of the eucalypts had taken on a warmer hue in preparation for their rapidly approaching plunge into darkness.

It would be evening soon, and then nightfall. Alec wasn’t looking forward to it. He knew, with a kind of glum resignation, that he’d be the very last to bag a place in the station wagon. The kids would take precedence, and their mum, and maybe their dad. Col was so old, you couldn’t make
him
sleep on the ground – he might break a hip. Del had her sleeping bag and Mongrel his basket.

Probably only poor Alec would find himself sleeping on a dog’s blanket under the stars. He’d never been much into camping at the best of times, and this wasn’t the best of times. If anything were to happen (and he repressed his mental images of what that ‘anything’ might be) it would happen to Alec first.

Unless he was on guard, of course. It occurred to him, suddenly, that he might cop the sleeping bag during Del’s watch, and maybe a place in the car during Col’s. That was a more cheerful prospect. He’d forgotten about the watch bill.

‘Hey! Dozy!’ Col was addressing him. ‘We going to do this, or not?’

‘Nah.’

‘Eh?’

‘It’s gettin late. I don’t wanna be takin the magazine outta this gun –’

‘Isn’t the safety on?’

Alec shot his companion a withering glance. As if you could bash a fully loaded, eighty-year-old rifle against a log and expect the safety to protect you! Besides, Alec objected to being called ‘dozy’ by someone who wasn’t a mate.

‘We’ve got enough,’ he said.

‘Del’s got an axe, hasn’t she? A hatchet? We could bring it back here.’

‘What’s the point? We’ve got enough.’

‘I dunno.’ Col shook his head. ‘It has to burn all night, son.’

‘Son’ again. Alec sighed. Clearly there was no point trying to argue with the stubborn old bastard. ‘All right,’ Alec said. ‘But I’ve gotta take a pee, first. Could you hold on to this while I do it?’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘Won’t be a second.’

Though he was reluctant to hand over his precious .303, Alec didn’t have a choice. He was bursting. But he chose his spot carefully, making sure that he could see over the screen of high grass around him, and that Col was watching his back. He was so intent on his surroundings, in fact, that at first he didn’t notice what was happening at his feet.

It was the noise that alerted him. Not the patter of fluid on dry sand but a hissing, spluttering sound that made him think of a frying pan. That was the image that popped into his head:

Janine frying bacon.

Frowning, he dropped his gaze.

And yelled.

‘Shit!’

The earth was steaming. It was actually
steaming
where his urine had hit it. Not only that, but there were bubbles of urine dancing on its surface, like butter fizzing on a griddle.

‘Shit!’
he cried again, stumbling backwards. He realised, then, that Col must have dropped the gun. The old man was bent over, retrieving it, as Alec fumbled with his fly.

‘What?’ said Col. ‘What?!’

‘Gimme that!’

‘What happened?’ Col was so shocked and confused that he surrendered the rifle without a single protest, though Alec snatched at it rudely.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Alec.

‘Why?’

‘Something happened.’

‘What?’

‘Let’s just
go
, okay?’ Alec’s heartbeat was racing. He
knew
,in his guts, that it was starting again. Okay, it hadn’t been much. Okay, it might have been some sort of peculiar natural phenomenon. But Alec didn’t think so. He had a feel for these things now. ‘Come on!’ he cried. ‘Let’s go, eh? Pick up the pace.’

‘I wish you’d explain . . .’

‘Later.’

Alec wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying to escape from. He could see nothing unusual, though it was hard to keep your eyes peeled when you were on the run. Bushes danced, the earth wheeled, branches slapped at his face. He was making too much noise – he realised that – but he couldn’t help himself. Only by slowing down would he stop kicking stones and crashing through dead sticks, and he didn’t want to slow down.