Dark Wind Blowing

by Jackie French

  Sarah shook her head stubbornly. ‘She’s my friend. I want to stay,’ she said.

  Mrs Trang hesitated, then she nodded. ‘Yes, then. You can stay,’ she said. ‘Emma, can you hear me? Can you speak?’

  Mike moved slowly down to the end of the hall. His feet felt frozen cold, even in the growing heat of the hall. For a moment he wondered if he too might be sickening with whatever it was, but it was only shock, he realised, shock or terror or pain, because Caitlin and Emma were his friends, and even Mr Simpson was part of his life, too.

  There was a commotion at the other end of the hall. Mrs Trang gave what sounded like a giggle, a slightly hysterical giggle, but still a giggle. She got to her feet and helped Emma up and they moved across the hall to the girls toilets.

  Sarah stood up too. ‘It’s alright,’ she called. ‘It was a false alarm.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ demanded Budgie.

  Sarah hesitated. ‘Just her period,’ she said shortly. ‘She had stomach cramps, that’s all.’ Suddenly she began to laugh. Her eyes filled up with tears. She laughed as though she didn’t know how to stop. ‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped through her tears. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m laughing. I could strangle her. I mean, she’s my friend and all that, but honestly.’ The laughter choked her again.

  Jazz shoved the phone, pen and notebook into her pocket and moved swiftly over to the drinks trolley. She fished out a can of lemonade, flicked it open and handed it to Sarah. ‘It’s shock. Relief,’ she said. ‘Here, drink this. Go on. You’ll feel better.’

  Sarah nodded. She took a sip and then another. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Jazz.’

  Jazz nodded without speaking. Mike watched as Budgie moved over to Sarah. They sat down together by the stage and began talking in low voices.

  Jazz walked back to Mike and sat down on the chair next to his. She seemed to remember something and fished out her phone again. The pen fell to the floor and she picked it up absently. ‘Mum, are you still there? No, I know you’re not going anywhere. It’s all okay. She’s got her period, that’s all. Is Dad back yet?’ She paused and listened. ‘Yes, Mum. Yes. Love you too, Mum. Give my love to Dad. Yes, I know I’ll be speaking to him soon, but … bye, Mum. Bye.’

  She leant back against her chair. ‘Mum was really stressing,’ she said. ‘I suppose it’s hard on her too.’

  Mike looked around the room. Just about everybody was sitting in groups of twos or threes now, as though there was more reassurance in a smaller group. Or maybe, he thought, deep in our hearts we’re waiting for the next person to get sick, and don’t want to be sitting next to them. At least we’re together, he thought. Loser was alone …

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Jazz.

  ‘What? Oh, nothing much. About Loser again. Wondering what’s happened to him.’

  ‘Why do you call him Loser?’

  Mike shrugged. ‘His surname, I suppose. Loosley, Loser. He’s always been Loser, as long as I can remember.’

  ‘It’s cruel,’ said Jazz.

  Mike blinked. ‘Well, I suppose … I mean he is a loser. He just can’t do things right, but he’s always pretending he’s better than everyone else. His dad’s like that too. Always saying how brilliant his son is, making him study all the time, but Loser’s never been much good at anything, no matter how hard he works. Mr Loosley says it’s all the school’s fault, and if Loser was at a better school he’d do really well, but it isn’t that … No one likes any of them much, but his dad is always pretending they’re really close friends with everyone. Like he always says, “Say hello to your mother for me”, but Mum can’t stand him.’

  ‘That’s even sadder,’ said Jazz.

  Mike was silent. He supposed to an outsider it would seem cruel. But Jazz didn’t know them like he did.

  ‘Maybe you can feel sorry for Loser,’ he said at last, ‘but not for Mr Loosley. I was at their place one time. I mean, they live next door so I used to go over sometimes. They’ve got a big yard, just like we have, but they’ve got chooks down the back of their yard …’

  ‘Chooks?’ asked Jazz.

  ‘Hens. You know, chickens. Well, this dog had got into the chook, I mean, the hen yard, and killed a couple of them. Loser and I heard all the noise and raced in and pulled it out. It was a cattle dog, grey and white and sort of stupid. It wagged its tail at us like it had done something really clever.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Jazz.

  ‘Well, Mr Loosley came out. He saw what the dog had done but he didn’t say anything. He just went into the shed and brought back this bottle of poison. He called out to Mrs Loosley to bring him a bit of meat, no please or anything. So she brought him out some mince and he poured a bit of this white stuff onto it and called out to the dog, “Here boy”, really gently. That’s how he always talks, sort of quietly.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘I let the dog go,’ said Mike. ‘I was only a little kid. I didn’t want to. I mean, I sort of knew what was going to happen. But he was a grown-up, so I let the dog go and it bounced up to him and ate the mince from his hand, all sort of happy like it was being given a treat,’ Mike stopped.

  ‘Yes?’ said Jazz softly.

  ‘It died,’ said Mike. ‘It didn’t take very long. Mr Loosley just stood there watching it, smiling all the time. Then he looked at me and said, “Well that should prevent it killing hens, shouldn’t it, Michael?” I didn’t ever go there again,’ he added.

  Jazz chewed the pen thoughtfully. ‘Do you think that because Mr Loosley killed a dog, Lance might kill people?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ said Mike. ‘No … no … yes, because it wasn’t just that he killed the dog. It was because he smiled, because he didn’t even feel sorry for the dog, or try to find its owner. It’s like nothing else matters to him, like he’s pretending so hard to be nice there’s no room to feel anything for other people. I don’t know,’ he added helplessly. ‘It’s just, you can’t trust them. They pretend.’

  ‘Maybe they wouldn’t pretend if people really liked them,’ said Jazz. She sounded annoyed, thought Mike.

  Mike snorted. ‘I bet they’d just pretend even more.’ He shook his head. ‘What really gets me, though — I mean, Mr Loosley’s nasty. Really bone-deep nasty. But Loser … well, he’s just a loser. All that stuff about the test tube … first he says it’s an explosive and then it’s filled with viruses. I mean, whoever those people out at Tenterfield are, they wouldn’t leave stuff like that lying around for people to pick up. I wonder if they’ve managed to get the test tube down to Sydney yet?’ he asked Jazz

  ‘I told you, Mum said it’s on its way,’ said Jazz impatiently.

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ said Mike.

  ‘Yes, I did. I’m sure I did.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ said Mike.

  ‘Look!’ began Jazz, then she stopped. ‘Maybe I didn’t. I’m sorry. I’ve … I’ve got a headache …’

  ‘Jazz?’ said Michael softly.

  ‘What?’ She met his eyes. ‘Mike … I’m scared,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve got a … a sort of headache. It’s getting worse. And my chest feels funny, like it hurts to breathe.’

  ‘Ring your mum,’ said Mike quietly.

  ‘No. Maybe it’s just a headache …’

  ‘Ring your mum,’ ordered Mike. ‘Or I will …’ He took out the mobile phone he’d been given and tried to remember how to work it. ‘What’s her number?’

  Jazz told him. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ she whispered.

  ‘Mrs Fallerton? I mean, Dr Fallerton, it’s Mike. I’m in the hall with Jazz. She’s not feeling well. No, I haven’t told Mrs Trang. Jazz doesn’t want to. Yes, I’ll put her on.’

  He handed the phone to Jazz. She fumbled for a moment, as though her hands were stiff, then held it up to her ear. ‘Mum? It can’t be the same thing. The others were screaming. They kept jerking around … No, it’s just a headache. A really bad one. Eve
rything looks sort of green. It’s just like I can’t be bothered to move or breathe, everything feels so stiff.’ She listened for a moment, her eyes wide and frightened in her mask. ‘Mum, no,’ she whispered. ‘Alright then. I’ll be there …’

  She handed the phone back to Mike. A tear rolled down her cheek, hit her nose, then dribbled invisibly onto the white mask. ‘Mum says to go and sit by the door,’ she whispered. ‘She says they’ll have a stretcher there in a couple of minutes. She says the ambulances aren’t back yet, but one of the SES men has offered … they’ve fixed up a station wagon.’ She stopped and gasped for air.

  ‘Come on,’ said Mike. ‘I’ll help you over.’

  ‘No! You shouldn’t get too close!’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Mike, near to tears. He put his arm around her waist and helped her up. It was funny, he thought absently. He had dreamed what it would be like to touch her, but not like this.

  He was vaguely aware of Mrs Trang’s phone ringing, of her answering it and ordering the others to stand back. She came over to them and put her arm around Jazz’s other side. She only came up to Jazz’s shoulder. ‘You should have said something,’ she said, but her voice sounded pained, not angry.

  ‘I didn’t realise … I was hoping …’ whispered Jazz. ‘Mike, Mike, my knees won’t work …’

  ‘It’s alright,’ said Mike. ‘We’ve got you. It’s alright. We’re nearly there.’

  Together they helped Jazz over to the door, then lowered her to the floor. Mike looked around uncertainly for something to use for a pillow, then sat next to her and put her head on his lap. Her hair was dry now, and tangled, but it still looked like silk.

  ‘I’m scared,’ whispered Jazz.

  ‘It’ll be alright,’ said Mike helplessly. ‘You’ll be fine.’

  ‘Jasmine!’

  Mike looked up. He had only ever seen Jazz’s mother in the distance before, but she was unmistakable, even taller than her daughter, with the same dark hair and eyes, but darker skin.

  Mike had thought she looked like a model the first time he saw her. Now she wore a too short SES orange boiler suit that she must have borrowed, and her eyes above her mask were scared.

  She was accompanied by a man in SES uniform. He, too, was masked, but Mike recognised him. It was Pete the tiler who’d redone their bathroom. He carried a stretcher. He nodded at Mike and Mrs Trang, then put the stretcher down.

  Dr Fallerton knelt down beside Jazz. ‘Jasmine! Jazz, darling, how are you? No, don’t try to talk. It seems to make whatever it is worse if you try to talk. Just lie still. We’re going to roll you over … as gently as you can, Peter … that’s right.’

  ‘Please,’ said Mike. ‘Can I carry the other end?’

  Dr Fallerton shook her head. ‘No. I can manage.’

  ‘But, please … let me come with her.’

  Dr Fallerton looked at him properly for the first time. Her tone grew more gentle. ‘No, I’m sorry … Mike, isn’t it? The risk of infection is too great.’

  ‘But I’ve caught it now if I’m going to!’ exclaimed Mike urgently. ‘Please! We’ve been together all day!’ He glanced down at Jazz, but her eyes were shut.

  Dr Fallerton hesitated, then shook her head.

  ‘But she’ll have to go all that way by herself!’

  ‘I’m going with her,’ said Dr Fallerton. ‘I’m sorry, Mike. I’ll ring you if there’s any news. I promise.’ She and Pete the tiler picked up the stretcher and began to move off.

  Mrs Trang touched Mike on the shoulder. He waited for her to say, ‘Jazz will be alright. Don’t worry.’ But she didn’t say anything.

  Mrs Trang knows things don’t always turn out alright, thought Mike vacantly. She knows that even if you love someone, it’s not enough to keep them safe.

  They watched the stretcher disappear behind the main office, then turned back into the hall. ‘You’re a good boy, Michael,’ said Mrs Trang unexpectedly.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Trang,’ said Mike.

  Chapter 15

  FRIDAY 3.25 P.M.

  Mike sat down in the corner furthest from the stage. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He didn’t want to see anyone. He wanted to run away, as far as he could, as fast as he could. He wanted to shut his eyes and when he opened them everything would be changed; he’d be back in yesterday …

  ‘Mike.’

  Mike opened his eyes. Budgie stood in front of him, his mask on crooked, his hands in his tracksuit pockets. ‘Mike, she’ll be okay,’ he said.

  Mike shook his head. How could she be okay, how could any of them be okay? He stared at Budgie. Suddenly he was angry. ‘It’s all your fault!’ he shouted. ‘If you hadn’t played that dumb trick on Loser, none of this would have happened!’

  He broke off. Everyone was looking at him. But no one came over. As soon as he stopped talking they huddled back in their own small worlds of fear.

  Mike looked up at Budgie, waiting for him to yell back, to say it wasn’t his fault or it was Mike’s fault too, or …

  But Budgie just thrust his hands deeper into his pockets and said, ‘I know.’

  Mike stared. ‘You know?’ he repeated dumbly.

  ‘Of course I know. How do you think that makes me feel?’ said Budgie flatly. He crossed the hall and stood by the doors, looking out.

  Mike sat there. Of course it was Budgie’s fault. But … but … when you really thought about it, it was everybody’s fault. His fault, for not stopping them, maybe everyone in the whole class’ fault for not being more understanding.

  If people treated him like they’d treated Loser, maybe he’d have done the same, thought Mike. Maybe, finally, he’d have been hurt so much that he would have just lashed out and tried to hurt as many people as he could, so they might feel an echo of the pain he felt inside, to hurt his tormentors …

  No, thought Mike suddenly. No matter how much he was hurt he wouldn’t do that. Look at Mrs Trang. She’d been hurt a million times more than Loser had. But she hadn’t tried to kill people in return. She’d volunteered to stay with them instead. Kids who weren’t even related to her, kids who laughed at her accent sometimes, or the way she got so upset if you weren’t super polite.

  When you really thought about it, you couldn’t blame other people for anything you did at all.

  Budgie was still standing by the door. Mike touched his shoulder.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, mate,’ he said.

  Budgie shrugged.

  ‘No, really,’ said Mike. ‘It …’ He stopped. It was Budgie’s fault, but in some way he couldn’t explain, it was everyone else’s fault too. He’d had it all clear in his mind, but there was no way he could put it into words. He was tired of thinking, tired of feeling. He’d had to think and feel too much …

  ‘Come and watch the video,’ he said instead. ‘Mrs Trang’s going to put another one on.’

  Budgie nodded. ‘Thanks,’ he said without turning round. He stood there silently for a moment and then he said, ‘I’m still going to hang his guts from a gum tree.’

  Chapter 16

  FRIDAY 3.45 P.M.

  It was impossible to watch the TV screen. Mike wasn’t even sure what the movie was about. Some chick who liked a guy …

  At least there were no car chases, thought Mike. At least there were no heroes chasing bad guys through the crowded streets, not caring how many died on either side, as long as they got their villain. ‘We’re the spear carriers now,’ said Jazz’s voice in his mind.

  Mike shut his eyes. There was no point watching the video. All he could see was Jazz’s face as they carried off the stretcher. He hadn’t known that brown skin could look so white, that Jazz’s bright face could look so blank …

  Terror gripped him. All at once he was sure that she was dead. She’d died on the ride to the hospital and he would never see her, never. Everything that was once Jazz was gone.

  Mike grasped his phone and tiptoed down the hall. He turned his back and dialled
.

  ‘Dr Fallerton, it’s me. It’s Mike.’

  ‘… Mike …’ said the tinny voice from the phone. The sound was broken up. It must be almost out of mobile phone reception range, thought Mike.

  ‘Please … how’s Jazz?’

  ‘… tremors … not as bad as the others yet …’ said the voice. Dr Fallerton was crying, Mike realised. It wasn’t just that the line was breaking up.

  ‘She’s still alive?’ he whispered, then wished he hadn’t, because Dr Fallerton began to sob into the phone. He tried not to imagine her, alone except for the driver with her daughter lying in the back of the station wagon, the strange empty paddocks all around her.

  ‘… not even any oxygen, nothing I can do … if only …’ Suddenly the line grew clearer. They must have come up on top of a hill, thought Mike. ‘… if only they knew what it was, we might have some idea how to treat …’

  ‘How long till they get the results on the stuff in the wastepaper basket?’ he asked.

  ‘… don’t know … all so far away …’ said the sobbing tinny voice. ‘Oh, if only we knew what it …’ The voice broke off. The line went dead.

  Mike dialled again frantically. The phone rang once, twice, and then was answered, ‘Hello, I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. If you’d like to leave your name and telephone number …’

  Mike put the phone down. Out of range, he thought. He looked at his watch. It would take them at least half-an-hour to get to Gunyabah. Half-an-hour before he could ring again …

  He sat with his head in his hands. If only they could get hold of Loser! But maybe Loser had sickened too … and even if they did get hold of him, he wouldn’t know what was in the test tube. Just that it killed people, and he’d used it.

  There had to be some way to find out what it was in the test tube. There had to be!

  He had to think! If he thought hard enough he’d find the answer; if he thought hard enough he wouldn’t think of Jazz lying on the stretcher, her legs twitching just like the dog that Mr Loosley killed …