‘There’s still the Colony government,’ said Callum.
‘They’re not a government,’ said Mollie scathingly. ‘They’re a bunch of psychopathic wackos.’
Callum slumped into angry silence. While Bo chatted with Mollie, Callum sat pensively beside her, looking out the window at the green hills and scuffing his bare feet on the pressed-earth floor. As the days slipped past, Callum spoke less and less.
One night, as they were returning to their hut after dinner, he grabbed Bo by the hand and gestured for her to follow him away from the central compound. He put his finger to his lips to indicate he needed her silence and led her into the orchard. When the lights of Mollie’s hut were only a distant flicker, Callum turned to her.
‘When are we going to leave?’
‘What’s the hurry? It’s easy being here. We don’t have to hide from Outstationers, there’s plenty of food, and Mollie seems to like us.’
‘He likes you,’ said Callum. ‘Not me.’
‘But he’s not mean to you,’ said Bo.
‘I don’t trust him. You know, he listens to us at night, when we’re in our room. He has little devices all over the place. They don’t work in the orchard because the cicadas drown them out. He watches every move we make and listens to every word we speak.’
‘He’s taking care of us, Cal,’ said Bo, but her voice betrayed her uncertainty.
‘You said you didn’t need anyone to take care of you, and I don’t want Mollie Green taking care of me. He’s nothing to do with me. If we go to Vulture’s Gate and find my dads, then we’ll be with family.’
‘Your family,’ said Bo.
‘They’ll be yours too. I’ve told you that before. Come on, Bo. Every day that we spend with Mollie is another day away from my dads. I don’t want them thinking I’m dead or lost forever.’
Bo pulled up a strand of grass and chewed on the end of it, her brow furrowed with concentration.
‘Soon,’ she said. ‘We’ll go soon.’
One afternoon, when they were near the end of their third week in the valley, Mollie Green started preparing dinner early. Callum stood by the window looking longingly at the distant horizon. Bo sat on a stool, picking luscious, ripe cherry tomatoes out of a bowl and watching as Mollie prepared all the different vegetables they’d harvested from his gardens.
Bo put her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands, sighing with pleasure. ‘This is simply lovely,’ she said, as Mollie sliced a mango into a fan shape and arranged it on a platter.
‘I felt like giving you kids a treat,’ said Mollie. ‘I’m making special things for both of you.’
‘I don’t need anything special,’ said Callum.
Bo glared at him. ‘Don’t mind Callum, Mollie,’ she said. ‘He’s only a bit restless, he doesn’t mean to be rude.’
‘Yes I do,’ said Callum. ‘Tell him, Bo. Tell him that we’re leaving.’
Bo twisted her hands in her lap and drew a deep breath. ‘You’ve been so good to us, Mollie, but Callum wants to go and find his dads. I think we might leave soon.’
Mollie put his knife down. ‘Vulture’s Gate is a dangerous place, Bo. Especially for you. Hell’s Gate would be more fitting. As the women started to die off, the city tore itself apart. It’s a cesspit of disease and unrest. You can’t go there, Bo. It’s not safe.’
‘But you said I wouldn’t get sick. That I’ve probably got resistance to bird flu.’
‘There are worse things than disease in that city. The people, the men, they’re sick at heart. It’s not a safe place for a little girl.’
‘My fathers are there. Bo will be safe with them,’ interjected Callum.
‘I’m not a little girl, Mollie, and I’m bigger than you, Callum. I’m almost a grown-up.’
Mollie looked down and concentrated on slicing the vegetables. ‘I’ve got cooking to do. Dinner will be ready after sunset. We’ll talk about this later.’
Callum and Bo walked down to the dam, in the heart of the valley, and spent an hour swimming in the warm, tea-brown water. Callum was almost too angry to talk to Bo. He floated on his back, staring at the high blue sky and wondering if he should run away by himself. By the time they returned to the kitchen, Mollie had changed his clothes and was setting the table.
‘You look different,’ said Bo.
Mollie turned to face them, grinning. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and a checked gingham shirt.
‘What’s that thing you’ve got tied around your neck?’ asked Callum.
‘It’s called a tie,’ said Mollie, flicking the piece of brightly coloured fabric out from inside his jacket. ‘Very old-fashioned but I like them. Folk used to wear ’em for special occasions. Pretty colours, eh?’
‘But it’s not a special occasion, is it?’ asked Bo.
‘Could be, could be,’ said Mollie, nodding seriously as he shook out a once-white but now yellowed tablecloth. Then he set his best, chipped white-and-gold crockery in place. Next, he positioned a battered silver candelabrum in the middle of the table and jammed homemade candles into it. Bo and Callum sat opposite each other while Mollie straightened his tie and drew a deep breath, as if to make an announcement.
‘I’ve been thinking about our conversation, thinking about what the future might hold for you kids.’ He looked Callum in the eye. ‘Boy, I know you want to go to Vulture’s Gate and find your dads but I’ve got another proposal for you. I’ve been thinking about it a lot these past few days and I want you to seriously consider what I’m about to offer.’
Callum stared at Mollie warily.
‘So, what I was thinking, boy, is, if you give me a chance, I could be a father to you. Teach you ’bout permaculture. How to make this place work, how to take care of yourself and Bo.’ For a moment, Callum softened towards the old man. ‘Thanks, Mollie. But I’ve already got a father. Two fathers. I don’t need another one.’
‘You’re not listening to me. I can offer you a safe home. Not something you’ll find in Vulture’s Gate. You can’t take that girl there. She needs looking after.’
‘Mollie, I do not need looking after,’ said Bo.
‘Now I know you’re a proud young missy,’ said Mollie. ‘And that’s something I like about you. My own mother and my wife were proud women. It’s a lovely thing in a gal. Which is why I’ve got something to propose to you too, Bo. Something important.’
Clumsily, Mollie stretched across the table and took Bo’s hand. He held it tightly as he began to speak, though he kept his eyes closed, as if what he was saying required every ounce of his concentration.
‘I know I’m an old coot and you’re still a strip of a girl. But in a year or less, you’ll start changing, filling out, turning into a woman.’
Bo tried to pull her hand free but Mollie wouldn’t let go. He looked up at her now, his blue eyes watery, his gaze determined.
‘A woman is better off having a man to protect her, Bo. Be a long while before Callum is a real man. So you and me, we should get married. I’ll treat you right, take care of you. You’ll be safe here with me. That’s what a husband is for – to safe-keep his wife. I’ll husband you, be a father to Callum and then, when my time is over, Callum will still be young enough to take my place. Be your husband in my stead. Maybe follow on as a father to those sons you and I will make together one day.’
Bo wrenched her hand free and jumped up from the table, catching the tablecloth by its edge and bringing all the crockery to the floor with a crash. ‘I don’t want to be your wife!’ she shouted.
‘You’re crazy, old man,’ yelled Callum, kicking his chair aside and snatching a knife from the scattered cutlery. Brandishing the weapon, Callum backed away from the table with Bo beside him. But Mollie moved quickly, stepping between them and the doorway, slamming the door shut and barring their escape.
‘Nature’s way, kiddies. This is Nature’s way. The ancients, they gave the young girls to the old men, ’cause they were the ones that knew how to care for
them. I can help you both. Save you. It’s only natural that you should be my wife, Bo.’
‘Keep away from her, you filthy old man,’ shouted Callum.
‘Listen here, runt . . .’ said Mollie, knocking the knife from Callum’s hand and twisting his arm behind his back.
Bo stuck both her fingers in her ears and shut her eyes. ‘Stop it! Stop it! ’ she cried, her voice a piercing wail of misery.
In the silence that followed, they heard Mr Pinkwhistle at the door, scrabbling at the timber.
Mollie released Callum, as if he’d finally realised the full import of what had happened.
‘Settle down, settle down,’ he muttered, raising his two hands in the air in a sign of surrender. ‘No need to make a decision right away. Plenty of time. You two have a think about everything I’ve proposed and we’ll talk about it in the morning.’
Back in their hut, Callum turned on Bo. ‘See, I told you. Tomorrow, we’re out of here.’
Bo nodded but she lay down on her bed and covered her face with her arms. That’s when they heard the bolt slide across.
Callum ran to the door and tried to push it open but it was secured on the outside.
‘Hey,’ he yelled, pounding on the wood with his fists. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Keeping you safe,’ yelled Mollie Green. Callum raced to the window and watched in disbelief as Mollie fixed a sheet of black metal against the glass. Then he circled the hut, hammering covers over every possible exit, sealing the two children inside.
16
FITCHER’S BIRD
‘Great,’ said Callum. ‘Now we’re trapped.’
‘He can’t mean to hurt us,’ said Bo.
‘Didn’t you hear what he said? He wants you to be his wife! He’s the bad guy, Bo. Like in those stories you told me about Bluebeard and Fitcher. He wants to keep you forever.’
Callum threw himself down beside Bo and pressed his face against the pillow.
‘“Fitcher’s Bird”,’ said Bo thoughtfully.
She put one arm across Callum and whispered in his ear.
‘In “Fitcher’s Bird”, the girl runs away. Remember? She tricks the old wizard by rolling in honey and then covering herself with feathers so he passes her on the road and doesn’t recognise her.’
Callum turned to face her. They were so close he could feel her breath against his cheek. He nuzzled his mouth closer to her ear in case Mollie was listening to their conversation.
‘I don’t think honey and feathers will work but we could still run away,’ he whispered. ‘You know we have to run away, don’t you?’
Bo nodded and Callum felt a flood of relief rush through him. The last few days, when he had toyed with the idea of running away alone and getting to Vulture’s Gate by himself without Bo’s help, had left him feeling cold and lonely. Now, everything had shifted again. Bo wanted to be with him.
‘We need to think of a plan,’ she whispered.
At that moment, Callum couldn’t think of anything but how good it felt to be close to Bo again. In the desert they had slept side by side, but since arriving in the valley Callum had stayed on his mattress on the floor. He realised how much he’d missed lying close to her. He shut his eyes and rested his forehead against her neck. Her long hair tickled his cheek but he didn’t mind. He simply wanted to breathe in the smell of her for a little longer.
Callum woke with a start. Mollie was dragging him off the bed and across the floor.
‘Fine kettle of fish!’ he shouted. ‘Finding you two in bed together. Should never have started that conversation with you around, boyo. Should have known it would give you ideas.’
‘What?’ yelled Callum, trying to shake himself free of Mollie’s iron grip.
‘Mollie!’ shouted Bo. ‘What are you doing? You’re hurting him.’
But Mollie slammed the door shut in Bo’s face.
Callum kicked and screamed as Mollie twisted his wrists and dragged him across the compound to the edge of the circle of huts. He wrenched open the door of the cockatoo aviary and threw Callum inside.
‘You need to think about what it means to betray your father. You can spend tonight in here. Tomorrow, I’ll fix up another hut,’ said Mollie gruffly as he chained the aviary door shut. ‘No more of this two-in-a-bed business. It’s time we got serious about our future, son.’
‘I’m not your son!’ shouted Callum. ‘I don’t want a future with you!’
Above him, the cockatoos squawked and fluttered on their perches. Callum covered his head with his hands, waiting for them to attack. When he looked up, Mollie was gone and the birds were settling down, their sulphur crests flat and their eyes blinking sleepily. He wrapped his arms around himself and sank lower into the mess of bird droppings on the aviary floor as the moon crept up over the valley.
Hours later, Callum lay crumpled in the corner of the aviary, trying to sleep, when he saw a ripple of movement in the shadows across the yard. For a moment he thought it was a wild animal, but when it crossed into a patch of moonlight he realised it was Mr Pinkwhistle. The roboraptor moved swiftly along the edge of the buildings, circling the yard, keeping in the shadows until he reached the aviary.
‘Hey Mr Pinkwhistle,’ whispered Callum. For the first time, he was glad to see the roboraptor staring at him with beady red eyes.
Mr Pinkwhistle bobbed his head and then lunged forward, snapping his jaw shut on a mouthful of wire. Callum managed to get his fingers out of the way just in time. Mr Pinkwhistle’s teeth tore through the mesh as if it was fairy floss. In less than a minute, he’d gouged a hole in the cage big enough for Callum to climb through. He scurried along the edge of the buildings in the shadows and Callum followed. When they reached the door of Bo’s hut, he was relieved to find it was simply bolted. He unlocked the door as quietly as he could and pushed it open.
He was about to whisper Bo’s name when a hand slid across his face, clamping his mouth shut. He nodded to signal he understood. Moving as quickly and quietly as possible, they hurried into the orchards. It was only when they were in the dappled moonlight among the trees that Callum realised what Bo had done.
‘Your hair,’ he said. ‘What did you do to your hair?’
Bo raised one hand to the bare skin on the nape of her neck. ‘I cut it off and spread it across my pillow. I used your bedding to shape a body under my blankets and then I gave it my hair.’ Callum stared at her. She looked much younger without her long dark mane. She had hacked her hair off unevenly and jagged tendrils framed her face. He touched her cheek.
‘Why?’ he said.
‘Because Mollie came back to my hut after he locked you in the aviary.’
‘Did he hurt you?’
‘No. He told me what he’d done with you and said we all needed to work out how to live together. We talked for a long time and I asked him all about the cameras and how he watches us.’
‘And he turned them off?’
‘No,’ said Bo. ‘But I found out he doesn’t record anything, so he has to be watching us to see what’s going on. After he locked me in I took Mr Pinkwhistle under the covers with me and watched his sensors. I could tell when Mollie had gone to bed so I knew he wasn’t watching me. Then I hacked off my hair and spread it across the pillow. If Mollie does look, he’ll think I’m asleep.’
‘But how did Mr Pinkwhistle get out?’
‘Up the stovepipe of the old wood stove. He fitted perfectly.’
‘Mollie will see I’ve escaped,’ said Callum. ‘It won’t take him long to figure that out. He knows where the Daisy-May is too. He’ll follow us.’
‘Not until dawn.’ She took Callum’s hand and they ran through the night orchard. Mr Pinkwhistle loped ahead of them, his head swivelling back to check they were keeping up. They avoided the main pathways, weaving their way through the vineyards and orchards, past the dam and the water tanks until they reached the thick stands of bamboo.
They had nearly beaten their way through the dense foliage
that rose like a black wall on either side of them when they heard cockatoos screeching. Above them the sky was tinged with dawn light. Bo stopped in her tracks and looked around for somewhere to hide, her eyes wide with terror.
‘We can’t outrun them,’ she said. ‘And they’ll have woken Mollie.’
‘Don’t stop,’ said Callum, dragging her in his wake, forcing her to keep moving.
Minutes later, the first cockatoo attacked, tearing out a handful of Callum’s hair, while the others circled above, signalling to Mollie the location of the runaways. Bo fell back into a stand of bamboo, trying to bend the long green stalks over her body for protection while Mr Pinkwhistle lunged at the air, snapping at the birds.
‘ “Fitcher’s Bird”,’ muttered Callum, suddenly realising what he had to do. Next time the biggest cockatoo swooped over him, he snatched at its feet and wings, dragging it to the ground. It flapped and shrieked but Callum kept it pinned down.
‘Bo, quick, give me your jacket,’ he called.
Bo crawled out of the bamboo. She was shivering as she knelt down in the dirt and stripped off her catskin coat. Callum covered the bird and it immediately stopped struggling. Then he gestured for Bo to help.
‘Hold him down.’
‘I can’t,’ said Bo, backing away.
‘You have to – just for a minute – while I do something, ’ he shouted, above the screeches of the birds. He forced her hands onto the jacket, pinning down the cocky.
The other birds continued to dive-bomb while Callum tore his shirt into strips and swiftly knotted a makeshift rope.
‘Okay, this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to tie this cocky to Mr Pinkwhistle,’ he said, fastening a loop of cloth to the bird’s leg, while still keeping its head covered. ‘You need to program him to run around the top of the valley, in the opposite direction to us. If you can program him to lead the cockies away, to give us time to reach the Daisy-May, then Mr P can bite through the rope and run across the hilltop to meet us. It might buy us just enough time.’
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