by Mark Smith
I know Rose is my way through to him. His eyes meet mine.
‘She told me she hated you more than anyone on Earth. She ran away because she loathed you and she didn’t want her baby to be a slave. You drove her to her death.’
He tries to act as though this doesn’t affect him but his twitching lip gives him away. The tension returns to his shoulders and he squares himself in the chair. I see his move before he’s even thought of it. His hand slips below the table and he lurches out of his chair gripping a knife. He’s slow though. I spring back as he throws his body at me, the knife in his right hand just missing me. I’m so much quicker than him, even with one arm in a sling. I knock the knife away and grab him by the hair, forcing his face into the tabletop. He groans and pushes back.
Dowling and the guards storm into the room. Ramage swings his arms wildly as he tries to fend them off. But, whatever strength he once had, it’s deserted him now. His arm is wrenched up his back and he’s forced upright.
‘I heard about Tusker,’ he yells, spit flying from his mouth. ‘I know what you did. We’re the same, you and me.’
From the ridge, Angowrie looks exactly as I left it: the houses hunkered down in the tea trees and moonah, the river snaking its way out to the beach, the rocky point and the deep blue of the ocean beyond. Inside the bay, the sea sparkles in the morning light, and I inhale the smell of home. The first, faint sign of autumn is on the breeze, a coolness that means the winds will soon begin to push in from the west. The currents will shift, bringing colder water from down south and early storms will brew in the bight.
Today has been such a rush. We were woken before dawn and hustled out into the courtyard where a truck was idling. I assume our blood tests came back negative and that’s why we were free to go.
Harry, Stella and Willow were in the yard, waiting for us. Harry was holding Hope.
‘It seems we’re always saying goodbye to you two,’ Stella said. The air was cold enough for steam to form as we breathed. She kissed us quickly and Harry passed Hope to us. She was still sleepy and as soon as she felt the warmth of Kas’s body she rested her head into her shoulder. Kas whispered in her ear, then reluctantly handed her back to Stella.
‘Come and visit us in the valley,’ Harry said quietly.
The rules of our release don’t allow for travel outside the quarantine zone, but one day we’d make it happen. ‘We will,’ I said.
Seeing Willow with her parents reminded me of how young she is. She seemed so much older when she’d been travelling with us. She hugged Kas and me long and hard. ‘Don’t forget me,’ she said, hanging onto us until the last minute.
‘How could I forget my sister,’ I said.
Winston hurried us into the back of the truck. It was stacked with boxes and bags of seed. Some of this was for us but most was going to Longley. We slid into a small gap between the cargo and the cabin and pulled a tarp over the top. Our last glimpse of Harry, Stella, Willow and Hope was of them pressed together against the cold. Willow broke away as we passed through the gates and ran behind us, her arms waving wildly in the air.
The morning chill found its way under the tarp, but with five of us in there, body heat kept us warm. I’m sure we all had the same look in our eyes—disbelief that this was actually happening. Three checkpoints stood between us and freedom and none of us would relax until we were through them.
The first checkpoint was at the wire fence. The truck pulled to a halt and we heard Winston declare a delivery of farm supplies to Longley. The flap was lifted for a few seconds then dropped again. The gates scraped open and we passed through slowly. Winston zigzagged through the bollards protecting the gate, then we picked up speed.
Having been allowed through this gate, we were waved through the second one. The last checkpoint was at the fence where we first met Ash. This time the motor was turned off and someone heaved themselves into the tray. We huddled together, not daring to breathe. We could hear someone poking at the seed bags and boxes.
Winston must have climbed up with the guard.
‘This is a lot of stuff for Longley,’ the guard said. I could hear the suspicion in his voice.
‘Payment for the last load of Sileys,’ Winston said.
‘Do you know anything about the escapees?’ the guard asked.
‘At the abattoir, you mean? All rounded up.’ Winston was trying to sound casual.
Footsteps moved closer and something hit a box close to our heads. ‘What’s behind here?’ the guard asked.
Kas tensed next to me. We were ready to fight if we had to.
‘I told you, it’s supplies for Longley,’ Winston said, his voice sharp. ‘You want to tell General Dowling you held up his shipment?’
‘Dowling? Why didn’t you say so?’
The next sound was of boots hitting the asphalt road and the guard calling, ‘All good here.’
As we moved away from the gate and the truck slowly climbed the hill, we crawled out of our hiding spot and began to relax. Once we were out of sight of the guards, we lifted the flap and allowed the morning sun to shine in under the canopy.
A pack of mangy dogs appeared, barking wildly and snapping at the tyres. One by one they dropped off until only a single dog tried to keep up the pretense of a chase. Soon it was lost in the dust thrown up from the road.
After ten minutes we pulled over next to a line of pine trees and Winston appeared at the back. ‘Everyone okay?’ he asked.
We took the chance to spread out and have a piss. When I walked back to the truck Kas was standing in the middle of the road, her hands on her head and her eyes closed. She was breathing deeply.
‘What’s up?’ I asked.
There were tears in her eyes. ‘Hope won’t remember me,’ she said. ‘She’ll grow up thinking Stella and Harry are her parents.’
I put my arms around her. ‘We’ll get to the valley somehow. I promised Harry.’
Winston climbed back into the cabin. ‘Come on, we’ve gotta get going,’ he called. ‘We’ll turn off for the coast soon. Stick to the back roads.’
‘Wait!’ Kas yelled. She’d been climbing the tailgate but now she hurried to the front of the tray and banged on the cabin. She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me to the open flap. We were looking directly into the sun but I could hear barking.
A lone dog appeared out of the morning glare, the last one from the pack that tried to chase us.
It was Rowdy. I jumped onto the road and he ran into me like he hadn’t seen me. He was limping badly and his coat was a mess of cuts and sores. It looked like he had been in a fight. I hugged him and lifted him into Kas’s arms. Winston was already on the move, the truck lurching as he picked up speed. I scrambled aboard. We found a hessian bag and wrapped Rowdy in it. His body was shaking but he settled once he felt me there with him. I held him close and he licked at my arm.
We followed the highway for another ten minutes before turning south along a dirt track, leaving the flat of the plain and entering the stringybark woodland. We had to stop a dozen times to move branches and debris out of our way, but eventually we swung back to the coast road that had been cleared by the truck Tusker took to Angowrie. Flashes of abandoned houses and farms triggered memories of bus trips to school before the virus. That seemed a lifetime ago.
Eventually the land levelled out as we drove west, parallel to the coast. As we passed the top of the Addiscot Valley, I tried to make out the track down to Ray’s old place, but everything was different, the bush had closed in on any open space. We slowed at the intersection with the road to Pinchgut Junction and I could sense home. A couple of minutes later, we thumped on the cabin and got Winston to pull over. We were on the ridge, overlooking town.
‘So, this is Angowrie,’ Ash says. He holds Daymu’s hand and I’m sure they are thinking the same as me—that it’s beautiful, but isolated. With all the excitement of coming home, I haven’t forgotten we’ll need to work hard to survive here. The virus will always be a threat. We
can protect ourselves against drifters, No-landers and even rogue Wilders if it comes to that, but the virus can arrive at any time, invisible and deadly.
We descend the hill to the bridge, cross without stopping and pull up on the riverbank where the Wilders camped two years ago. I climb onto the roof and whistle as loud as I can, followed by the wattlebird call. I stop and listen but all that comes to me is the sound of the wind and the background roar of the surf.
‘If Ray’s in the house on the hill, he might not hear you,’ Kas says. She reaches into the cabin and leans on the horn. The blast echoes up the valley.
‘Let’s drive there,’ JT says but he barely gets the words out before we see a figure moving under the trees in the house opposite. We take cover behind the truck as Winston draws the gun from his belt.
‘Who are you?’ It’s a girl’s voice, wary and scared.
Kas gives a little squeal and takes off across the road, hurdling the fence and launching herself at the girl. She calls over her shoulder, ‘It’s Danka!’
Danka breaks away from Kas and greets Daymu, JT and me with big hugs. She has a bandage around her left hand.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Danka says. There are tears running down her cheeks. ‘How—?’
‘It’s a long story,’ I say. ‘But what about you? How did you get here?’
‘That’s another long story,’ she says.
‘Where’s Ray?’
She drops her eyes and the smile leaves her face. ‘In your old place,’ she says, quietly. ‘He’s not good.’
‘We have to unload,’ Winston interrupts. ‘I’ve got to get to Longley by midday or it’ll look suspicious.’
‘I’ll direct him up the street,’ Danka says. ‘You go see Ray.’
All the familiarity of home reaches out to me as we walk up the street from the river. The trees seem to have closed in over the road, and weeds have almost covered the bitumen. We move quickly down the driveway and into the backyard. Rowdy limps along next to us.
Ray is in bed with his head propped on a couple of pillows. His hair is thinner and greyer than I remember, almost white, and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in weeks. His body seems to have sunk under the weight of the blankets. He opens his eyes when he hears us, taking time to focus. ‘That you, Danka?’ he says, his voice soft and croaky.
Kas and I sit on the bed, either side of him. She gently pushes the hair off his face. ‘It’s Kas and Finn, Ray. We’ve come home.’
He takes a moment to process this. ‘Finn?’ he says. His chest wheezes as he speaks. ‘And Kas? Ah, it’s so good to see you.’ He lifts both his hands and we take them in ours. His skin is thin and dry like paper. ‘I’ve been a bit crook,’ he says.
‘You’ll be fine,’ Kas says. ‘We’re all here to help. JT and Daymu, Danka—we’ll get you well.’
He forces a smile and his thumb rubs the top of my hand. ‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he says, his voice a whisper now. ‘Thought those bastards had caught you again.’
‘We’ll tell you everything later,’ I say.
‘It doesn’t matter, son. None of it matters. You’re home.’ His eyes close and his breath deepens. ‘Bit tired,’ he murmurs.
We slip out of the room and find the others in the kitchen. Daymu and JT sit at the table with Ash, and Danka stands by the door.
‘How long’s he been like this?’ I ask Danka.
‘Since I got here, about a week ago,’ she says. ‘I was going door to door, trying to find this place. He’d had a fall in the backyard. It took me ages to get him cleaned up and into bed. He hasn’t eaten.’
Kas hugs her. ‘You did well,’ she says.
‘Have his eyes been sore at all?’ I ask Danka.
‘No. Why?’
I explain the symptoms of the new strain of the virus.
‘It’s not the virus, Finn,’ she says. ‘It’s old age and a tough life.’
‘Has he spoken much to you?’ I ask.
‘Only bits and pieces,’ Danka says. ‘He said he saw a truck pass through the day after you left. Then the decontamination squad came. He hid in a place up on the hill until they left. Then he tried to get back down here.’
We’re interrupted by the sound of the truck backing into the driveway. ‘Come on,’ JT says, ‘we need to get this stuff stored away.’
There’s tinned food, powdered milk, vegetable seeds, medical supplies and even some tea. And there’s a rifle and ammo.
Ash has been quiet since we arrived, taking everything in, trying to figure out where Ray and Danka fit into our story. His eyes widen at the sight of the gas bottles and supplies in the garage.
By the time we’ve unloaded, the shelves are almost full. Winston is ready to leave but we’ve got a decision to make. I go into Ray’s room and touch his arm to wake him. He seems confused, but gradually focuses on my face. He forces a smile. ‘What now?’ he says.
I explain about the truck—how he could get to a doctor in Longley. He’s shaking his head before I even finish.
‘No, Finn,’ he says. ‘Everything I need is here.’
‘But we can’t make you better,’ I argue.
‘No one can, son.’
My heart’s not in the argument, but I press on. ‘You’d be more comfortable in a hospital,’ I say.
Now he takes my hand and squeezes it. ‘I don’t want to die in a hospital, Finn. I’m content here—with my family.’
That word breaks me up. We are a family and we need to look after each other.
I nod and his eyes close again. The conversation has exhausted him.
We say our goodbyes to Winston and walk out to the riverbank to watch the truck labour up the hill and out of town. The smell of diesel hovers in the air for a while then disappears on the breeze.
The days roll into each other and we establish a routine of looking after Ray, hunting, fishing and tending the vegetable gardens we’ve planted with the seed Dowling gave us. It’s late in the season, but we hope to get some lettuce, rhubarb and onions growing before the autumn gets too cold. Rowdy is recovering and has put some meat back on his bones. My shoulder is improving but I’m still wearing the sling so I’m pretty limited in what I can do. JT and Daymu have proved good hunters with the rifle. There are plenty of kangaroos and wallabies around. My stomach is readjusting to regular meals and we’re all starting to look healthier. Each day we split the chores and decide who’ll be on sentry duty. For the time being we have the town to ourselves, but we keep watch anyway—we don’t know who might be surviving outside the fences.
Ray is wasting away before our eyes—he goes days without speaking or eating. Danka is his main carer—they became close when they were here on their own. She helps out with other chores when she can, but mostly she spends her time looking after him. She tries to spoonfeed him and keep him hydrated, but it’s like he’s willing himself to let go.
Kas and I sit with Ray most evenings, talking and reading to him, even though he’s usually asleep.
Later, we crawl into bed exhausted from the day’s work. Our bodies fall into each other and I drift off with her breath on my neck.
I sleep differently at home. I don’t start awake, thinking there’ll be someone with a knife at my throat. I don’t dream of the thrum of a trailbike or the metallic sound of the bolt being shifted on a rifle. If I wake before Kas, I lie and look at her. She moves her lips in her sleep, like she’s having a conversation with someone in her dreams. Somehow, she always senses me watching and her eyes open, focus slowly and crease at the edges knowing she’s landed somewhere permanent at last—or as permanent as anything can be in this new version of the world.
Days pass and Ray drifts in and out of consciousness. Last night was like any other. We sat on his bed, and talked about the weather changing, the shift in the winds and the progress of our vegetables. Outside, the cypress branches brushed against the guttering and the sheoaks moaned. Rowdy snored loudly in the kitchen. I like to think these were the last things he
heard, the comfortable and familiar sounds of home. I hope he didn’t wake in the night, afraid. I hope he was thinking about Harriet and the life they had on the farm before the virus.
When the candle flickered and spluttered out, throwing us into darkness, Kas and I made our way to our room, thinking he’d still be there in the morning. I wish now I had stayed longer, held his hand and told him I loved him. I wish I’d been there when he took his last breath. But that only happens in the movies—it’s not the way death arrives at all. It comes in the night, hopefully in the depths of sleep when a dream melts into something else, something quiet and peaceful, and that last breath is an easy one to let go of. That’s how I like to think of Ray passing.
After the tears, the hugs and the stories, we all agree Ray should be buried on his own land. Danka offers to prepare him for the trip while the rest of us go about making a cart we can carry him on.
Two days later, our little procession sets out. Ray’s body is wrapped in a sheet and we secure him to the flatbed top of the cart. Ash has volunteered to stay in Angowrie with Rowdy to watch the house and supplies.
The breeze has picked up off the strait but the sun is out and the last of the fruit trees around town are dropping their leaves. It must be May. I remember it being like this, the warmth holding on through the day and the winter reaching out at night. We take it in turns to push Ray on his last journey out to the farm. I wonder how many times he drove this road, heading into Angowrie with Harriet to do the shopping and fill the car with petrol. Maybe he stopped off at the hardware and chatted to the bloke that ran it. Maybe I brushed past him when I was working there on a Saturday morning. Maybe he tousled my hair and asked me how school was going.
It takes us a couple of hours to reach the top of the valley. It’s my first day out of the sling, but I’m determined to play my part in giving Ray the send-off he deserves. The going gets tough when we turn down the rough track towards the farm. It’s overgrown with hakea and prickly mimosa and we have to lift the cart over fallen branches. Finally we reach the gate to the home paddock, where the valley opens out and gives us a clear view down to Red Rocks and the ocean.