Nature of Ash, The (21 page)

THE NURSES TAKE CHARGE
of Erich’s body, doing their best not to wake Mikey or Jiao. I roam the empty corridors, so tired I’m way past sleep. My brain’s a whirring cuckoo clock.
Cuckoo, cuckoo, your mother’s mad and so are you.
This cheery little rhyme loops on and on, my feet treading in time. What if it’s true? What if I go as mad as her? Who the hell would look after Mikey then?

By the time I get back to the ward, they’ve taken Erich’s body to the morgue. I sit down on the edge of his stripped bed and let the tears I’ve been holding in wash clear. I’m still perched there when the night nurse does her rounds at 3 a.m.

‘Is there any other family you should phone?’

I’m about to shake my head.
Hang on. What the hell.

‘My aunt is with my cousin up in Hawera hospital. Could I ring there?’

‘Now or in the morning?’

‘Now,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure when she’s going home. I’d hate to miss her — I’m sure she’ll want to know about Erich anyway … he was her mother’s bro—’ I mentally cross my fingers to deflect the lie.

‘Come on then,’ she says. ‘I’ll see what I can do. But only a couple of minutes, mind, or my manager will kill me.’

I follow her out to the nurses’ station and write down Jeannie’s and Trav’s names. She calls through and, after a bit of a run-around, hands me the phone. She walks away.

‘Hello?’

‘Ashley? Is that you?’ Jeannie sounds bleary and dazed. It’s obvious I’ve woken her.

There’s a horrible pause. ‘Yeah, it’s me. Is Trav okay?’

‘Where the hell are you?’

‘At Whanganui hospital.’

‘Good lord. Who else has been hurt?’

‘It’s okay. We’re all fine. This old guy called Erich died. He’s been really good to us. We came to see him.’

‘Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?’

‘It’s not exactly been all roses here.’ My face is burning. ‘Please, how is Trav?’

‘He’s fine.’ Her voice relaxes slightly. ‘He’s recovering well and they should be able to transfer him down to Wellington later today. I haven’t had a proper chance to talk to him yet — he’s still too groggy to make any sense.’

I have to smile. She thinks he’s off in la-la land when what he’s probably told her is the truth.

The nurse sticks her head around the door and taps her watch. ‘I’ve gotta go,’ I say. ‘We’re heading home
later too. I’ll see you when you get back.’

‘Ashley, wait! I need to—’

‘Sorry, Jeannie. I really have to go.’ I hang up quickly, glad of the excuse. It’s going to take a whole lot more than one quick phone call to fill in the gaps — and bets are on she’ll have a load of angry shit to dump on me.
Whoop-de-do.

I thank the nurse, return to the others and curl up on the bed. Close my eyes to rest them, and don’t wake up until the cleaners start their shift at 6 a.m.

Jiao’s staring at me from her recliner chair as I roll over and sit up. ‘I take it he’s gone.’

‘Yeah, about midnight. I sat with him. Saw him go. It was pretty peaceful — not nearly as scary as you might think.’

She stretches, winces and quickly lowers her arms. ‘Damn.’ She takes her painkillers with one big swig of water. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yeah. I’m glad I was with him. And I talked to Jeannie, conned a nurse into thinking she’s a concerned rellie. She says Trav’s okay.’

‘Was she wild?’

I snort. ‘Just a tad!’ She smiles, but it’s clearly an effort. ‘The good news is that Erich left us his car — absolutely insisted we take it. Now at least I can get you home and we can ask Lucinda to help your parents.’

She shrugs her shoulders. Winces again. ‘Thanks.’ Blinks out one creeping tear.

It hurts to watch her struggle to pull herself together. She’s brave, that’s for sure — she must know that I’m as unconvinced as her about whether there’s still time to save her folks.

I rummage in the bedside drawer for Erich’s keys, then shake Mikey awake. ‘Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s get you some breakfast and then we’ll hit the road.’

‘Where’s Erk?’ His bottom jaw is on the move. Looks like the sleep has put him back in business.

‘They’ve taken him downstairs.’ I signal Jiao. This is one drama I’d rather avoid. ‘He said to send you his love.’

‘Where’s breakfast?’

‘Dunno, mate. Let’s go see.’

By mid-morning we’re back at the camp, surveying Erich’s car. We sort through his belongings and donate anything useful to the various onlookers. Then we retrieve our own gear and stow it in the back, beside the one remaining container of recycled oil. I climb into the driver’s seat. Check out the position of the gears and all the gauges. I feel sick. I’ve lost my nerve. All I can do is stare down at the bloody key.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Jiao says. ‘Just take it nice and slow. We’re not in any rush.’

I can guess how much this costs her, especially when she’s probably got a panicked ticking in her head like I have. I pick up Erich’s houndstooth driving cap and slap it on my head, hoping some of his experience will rub off on me. Shove the key into the ignition and turn it. The engine stutters once and dies. I try again. And again. On the fourth attempt, it fires. I ease the car into gear and bunny-hop us down the driveway to the road. Cruise along beside the river until we reach the bridge and cross, following the road signs heading south.

About two kilometres along, we’re flagged down for a checkpoint. Two armed cops circle the car while a third
peers in the window, eyeing us. God knows what they make of Erich’s hippie signs.

‘ID check.’

I press my hand to the portable screen, praying he won’t insist on seeing a licence too. The machine beeps when it’s logged my prints. I drop my hand.

‘What’s your number?’

My heart is pumping in my throat. What if Jeannie put out some kind of alert? ‘107-6332-9055AMC.’

He nods, then peers past me to the others, his eyes narrowing as he studies Jiao. I hold my breath. ‘Where are you heading?’ he asks.

‘Home. To Wellington.’

This guy’s about my father’s age. His brow crinkles in concern. ‘You sure that’s wise?’

I know I should ask him to explain what he means. But it’s better not to know. I can’t let Jiao down again. My only faint hope of helping is to get her straight to Lucinda. ‘Yeah, we’re cool.’

Now the ID reader beeps again. He stares down at the screen, one eyebrow rising. ‘You’re Shaun McCarthy’s son?’

‘Yeah.’ My forehead’s starting to pop with sweat. If he can see I’m unlicensed, I’m really in the shit.

‘Sorry to hear that, kid. You take it easy, eh? And stay away from the city centre, okay?’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’ I’m so bloody relieved when he flags us through, I stall the car. Have to start it up again while the younger cops stand around and smirk.

Once we’re rolling again, Jiao fiddles with the radio. The pips come on, signalling the start of the news.

‘After the unprecedented rioting and looting last
night, the government has met with Australian and Western Alliance defence chiefs to discuss further security measures. Dusk till dawn curfews have been extended to cover a ten-kilometre radius around each of the main centres, and important strategic buildings will be …’

It sounds like it’s been a shit-fight downtown, with some people reacting against the growing presence of the WA and others furious about the actions of the UPR. But there’s also a whole load of other cocks looting whatever they can get. It’s hardly rocket science to figure out why: most of us have no way in hell of ever buying that shit. It’s no wonder some people help themselves. All that’s bad enough, but what’s way sicker is that homes and businesses are being torched — and their UPR owners attacked. Last night seven people lost their lives in Wellington alone. I reach over to turn the radio off so Jiao can’t hear. She blocks my hand.

‘Wait,’ she says, ‘I want to know if there’s any news about the farm.’

There’s been a skirmish in the hills just north of Auckland, a blast in Invercargill and another stand-off out at sea. Meanwhile, with no way to transport goods, the New Zealand dollar’s dropping to an all-time low. On the good side, the UPR have asked for the UN to intervene. No mention at all of the farms.

Jiao switches the radio off and sinks into a moody silence. I’m stuck playing I Spy with Mikey, but it’s hard to concentrate on driving at the same time. In the end I throw a little tanty of my own and order him to shut his trap. He glowers from the back seat like a brewing storm, and at Foxton I call a halt.

The only place that’s open is a truck stop. I load us up with pies and drink, top up the car and buy Mikey a couple of cheap manga comics to shut him up. I should be more careful with Erich’s money — make it last — but all I want is peace and quiet so I can get us safely home.

We hit another road block north of Levin and go through the whole bloody ID rigmarole again. By the next one, just shy of Porirua, I’m starting to wonder what the hell comes up when they scan my prints. I’ve not been asked for my driver’s licence once and, as soon as they see my name, they wave me through. Has Jeannie somehow engineered us safe passage? By the time we’re stopped just out of Johnsonville I only have to wave my hand. It’s weird, but who am I to question it? I’m nearly home.

The only possible good thing to say about driving down Ngauranga Gorge is that it gives me a first glimpse of Wellington — though even that’s an emotional
tug-of-war.
Part of me’s so damned relieved to be here; the other part’s already smarting at the absence of Dad. He’s always been here when I’ve come home.

The harbour’s clogged with ships — the warship and two enormous aircraft carriers taking pride of place. The wharves are stacked with containers, but the cranes are idle and there’s no sign of normal activity. Yet it’s only when I drive past the old stadium that the reality of what’s happened to the city in these past few days really hits. One huge section of the structure’s completely gone. A gaping hole reveals collapsed seating and twisted steel. Mikey pokes me in the back and points. ‘All gone.’

‘Yeah, mate, I see.’

‘How?’

‘A bomb, I guess.’

I glance over at Jiao. She’s so locked up inside herself, she doesn’t look at me or speak. I know that feeling far too well.

Mikey’s the only one energised by our return. As soon as I pull up outside our apartment block, he flings the car door open and starts galloping up the steps.

‘Oi! Get back here!’ He turns around and stares at me. ‘I’m not your bloody pack horse. Take your gear up for yourself. And take one of Jiao’s.’

‘Sorry!’ He bounces back as I pop the boot, and wrestles out his share. High-tails it up the steps and disappears.

‘Well, at least someone’s happy.’ I turn to Jiao. Open my arms. She rests her head on my shoulder and has a tired cry. She’s probably due for more painkillers too. ‘Let’s get our gear upstairs, then you have a shower while I ring Lucinda, eh?’

She sniffs loudly, then straightens up. ‘Thanks for getting us home in one piece.’

‘Yeah right. I get Trav shot and then I nearly kill you and Mikey.’

‘Are you always this hard on yourself?’ she asks, opening her door.

I shrug. Don’t know. Don’t care. Just want the people I’m responsible for to stay safe.

The building feels deserted: gritty dust collecting in the corners, no friendly faces at the doors. Our apartment smells stale too — the sense of emptiness so strong it’s like a haze. I wander from room to room, opening windows to let in air, and try to locate the comfort I’ve been holding out for — but without Dad the place is just a shabby shell. All it does is underline the fact he’s gone.

Mikey simply seems glad to be home. He’s already sprawled out on the sofa, watching kids’ cartoons, his gear dumped in the middle of the floor. I ask him to shift it to his room, and am rewarded with a hissy fit before he flounces off.

The answerphone is full again. I go through all the messages, chuffed to hear a couple from the guys down south. I’m not surprised to cop a pair of really shitty rants from Jeannie. Or a worried one from Lucinda, freaking out because Jeannie’s been in touch. The final message is from Grandma’s rest home: Steve from accounts asking me to call. I ring Lucinda’s number and ask her answer service to tell her I’m home. That’s all I can manage — my bones have turned to lead. I flop down beside Mikey. Watch a stupid little fluffy chicken beat up a fox for laughs.
No wonder we’re all fucked
. I know I should be sorting food and drink and should have a wash, but now I seriously can’t move.

I can hear Jiao come in after her shower and put the kettle on. Can see Mikey sit on his big fat arse and watch her work. Jiao puts a cup of tea in front of me but I can’t touch it. Tells me they’re going down to pick up Winston the frog and see what veges they can get. I can’t even rouse myself to nod. Instead I picture the blood bloom on Trav’s shoulder as the bullet bites. See Mikey hog-tied in a kennel. Watch Erich’s dying breath. See Dad’s battered face. Search for his feet. And if I close my eyes I see Mum smile as she kisses my nose. Hear Grandma’s voice:
She’s somewhere very
dark. It’s not like her at all
. Then watch it all shatter in an instant as the vest explodes.
Erich to earth. Ash to ashes. Dad to dust.

The whine of sirens rides in through the open window.
Don’t care.
I tried my best and failed. Whatever our personal losses, the world is turning inside out. Dozens of lives gone in a flash. And dozens more affected just like Mikey and me — and Jiao. We have no power to stop this game. They’ll ratchet up the stakes until there is no option but to call each other’s bluff.
Blind men’s bluff. Stupid arrogant point-scoring blind men’s bluff.
What started out last week as argy-bargy is now well down the road to wholesale disaster.

When Jiao and Mikey return I try to show some interest in their haul. I nod as Mikey displays each crooked carrot and bean, again when Jiao produces a bag of plums. I even welcome back google-eyed old Winston Churchill. But inside I’m dead. This engine has run out of steam. The man who used to stoke the fire is gone.