Copyright © 2017 by Daniel Findlay
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Arcade Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.
First North American Edition 2019
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Originally published in Australia in 2017 by Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Findlay, Daniel, author.
Title: Year of the orphan : a novel / Daniel Findlay.
Description: New York : Arcade, 2019.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018055716 (print) | LCCN 2018057803 (ebook) | ISBN 9781628729948 (ebook) | ISBN 9781628729924 (hardback)
Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION / Coming of Age. | FICTION / Science Fiction / Adventure. | FICTION / Contemporary Women. | GSAFD: Science fiction.
Classification: LCC PR9619.4.F575 (ebook) | LCC PR9619.4.F575 Y43 2019 (print) | DDC 823/.92—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018055716
Jacket design by Erin Seaward-Hiatt.
Jacket photograph courtesy of iStockphoto.
Printed in the United States of America
For Mum, who has always encouraged me to write
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Acknowledgements
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There were a heat. Air hotter’n blud. Baked her skin as she moved. Dint carry much. Evrythin she had weighed against how far itd have to go. Count it. No ship, that were gone down a hole. No swag bar sum rounds that might help her get it back, the rest of it cast off an down the same hole. A bottle, drymeat, tea and a billy, four heavy rounds, scope, watercatcher, skully and wrap. Coat, boots, shirt an strides, more dust than cloth, woulda stood up on their own if she let em. Flint. Long knife. The shimmer come off the top of the cracked clay in the gully, always ahead, never gettin any closer. No seasons in the desert no more. Blud weight, blud money. It were a dead mans jacket she wore but that werent sayin much. Once and soon enough her boots was gunna be on sumwun elses feet. If they ever found her that was. She dint need no talent for seein the signs nor the scope to tell her that soon enough she was gunna be with the dust and dead and gone and on the wind. The System were near, she could feel the colour of it comin closer, but she figgered she werent gunna make it this time. On her heels were the Reckoner, she were near enough certain. Day after day walkin bad ground that she shoulda been sailin, waitin for a dust storm to hit that never come. Small mercies. Now this. The heat risin up outta the ground and cookin her boots. Nights of the clearest starstruck cold she’d ever seen. All the time, he’d been trackin her across the sand. All the way from the Glows an the Spirals an up out the earth. Past the bones of them Ghostet whatd come before her. Scavs an scouts an who knew. Along the flat snow roads where cotton bloom caught against the twisted bushes. Heard tell they was once tended careful, gone wild now. A score of days walkin back an that mara, that scaretale pickin up her tracks sumthin like the day after that. She’d hit the staked castouts on the sand late yesterday. They never put em out nearer than three days walk which meant she were gettin close. She eyed their dried up bodies but the rope an wood werent worth the takin. Dint have time for no scavvin now anyways. The fella followin her kept his distance in the heat of the day and closed the gap at night. Trailin her an wouldnt get shook. Makin up ground over the cracked an parched earth, never close enough to see clear through the scope but it was him sure enough. Whatever kinda thing he were. Loped steady, leaned left, carried weight on his right hip though sling, spear or blade was all rumour. Who knew? Years of hearin his name an she’d never believed he were a real thing. All them scaretales they talked at the System said he et them he kilt. She’d seen plenny of bones down the Glows that mighta borne the truth of that out. Scavs strung from roof an bough an still more disappeared an never come back.
He were taller than her. A coat that mighta been near enough the colour of the soil or just covered in enough of it not to matter anyway. A soft slouch on his head, she could tell by the shape but maybe it were the heat haze and maybe it were dust but drawin a bead on him dint come easy an it never lasted. He were smoke, mixin with the sheoaks an bluebush, faded in an out of wadis until she felt the fear in her belly, sweat on her palms an kept movin. By her own reckonin it wouldnt be long now that she woke in the night with him standin over her or never woke again. All she could do was keep gunnin to the System and pray the fellas who watched the sand saw her comin and cared enough to get the gate open. Pray for once she ran into another scav or hunters bringin in a load of roos an coneys.
He might not take her if she made the walls. Sum protection, for what it was worth, spillin from the trash and noise an firelight of other souls. Then again, there was rumours he were wun of them, that he walked among em in the circles of the System without care before fadin through the iron an disappearin into the red dust that clogged yer lungs an made ya spit up blud an weep forever, ya breathed it long enough. He were sumthin outta dust, outta whirlies an willie willies, and sumtimes she thought she were makin him all up. He were the boogeyman,
takin kids an old alike, eatin up scavs that crossed him out Painter way, or Olympic way, or anywhichway the tale got spun. They was stupid stories to keep the brainless shook and yungens scared. She’d never believed em but when she tried to focus the scope on him an couldnt she knew what it was. Never seen nuthin like it in all her years on the sand.
The aird been cold an clear the last few nights and she’d no need of her wrap, shipless as she were. Still, she’d slept with it stuffed in her mouth in case she cried out, though she reckoned she’d beat that habit a long time. All them stories but it dint change there were a fella trackin her an she dint like bein hunted. Dint sit right at all. There werent nuthin certain but wun thing, the Reckoner were coming.
1
Before
Were a day. Were just a day. Up at dawn an the three of em headed to the gully. Check the traps, see if any lizards or coneys had forgot their lernins an got strung up. Walkin always walkin. Mum an Jon with damp cloth over their mouths an she got the proper mask bein the little wun. Kept dust out sum but she still spat pale red. Out to the soaks and rockholes takin the plastic bottles. Check the traps, dig for roots and grubs, set up the sun stills lest the soaks come up dry. Then she an Jon set to scav an scav an scav. The near hulks had been stripped long ago an what mighta once been shacks was just shapes on the ground that came an went in the storms, old things lost to dust. Evry now an then though they found a spring or sum bit of plastic that were worth sumthin to the traders headed to the big camp. Screws were good, bolts better. They was buildin things thattaway. Walls an such the scavs said. Had a powerful need for things dug up an found. They was thirstin for bits of the old, whatever them fellas could get their hands on. Copper an steel were worth plenny. Salt an grub. They picked an picked. Were the ruin of an old farmhouse still standin a mile distant but it were a bad place an stripped clean anyways. More hulks out in the dunes, plenny of treasure left to find. Rust were slow in the long dry. Them sand scarred monsters from the old times still looked alright on the inside sumtimes. Now an then they still had fellas inside but most often they was stripped bare. Bones was good for carvin. Bone handles an bone knives. Leg bones the strongest. She an him knew where the good wuns was. Dint tell Mum evrythin he dint. Jon always made sure she brought home sumthin even when she dint find it herself. Out there an fetch me back what ya find. Make yerself useful. Evrywun’s gotta have a reason her mum said but she knew she were alright. Mum, thin as a whip, bones standin stark against the sundarked skin. Only pretend hard. Lean, muscle like braided wire an the same dark blue, opalchip eyes she got told she had herself.
Mum found soaks an water for the scavs an told em what was comin in their days ahead. Told the futures of them what came tradin through on their way to the big camp, the place where they was puttin a system in place. Told em good enough that plenny come back, askin what the next season held, where they might comb the sand an cracked salt lakes for fortune. Plenny to be made outta things from the old before. Sum of them scavs had been comin their way for years, droppin little presents for their mum an her brood when the haul was good. Only pretend hard her mum was, she still stroked her hair till she slept when the night terrors and whirrwhirrs were on her. She listened in on what the scavs told her mum. Gettin harder they reckoned, hadta go ever deeper, ever darker for them things from the before. Sum went out an never come back. Down the deep dark they said, things you din wanna wake. Fear comin off em like stink as they told their tellins over the fire.
They was just comin back in from the hills, the mallee standin stark and black at their backs. Heatstained sky spite the droppin sun. Sweat beadin on her lip inside the mask. Pockets fulla wire an a coupla long black rubber strips that werent cracked too bad. She went in with water an Jon put the billy over flame an went to get their mum. She int emptied her pockets fore he were back comin in the door at a run. The sun low in the west an the shadows cast long. No mistakin what he was sayin, breathless an pale, eyes standin out sharp against his skin, hair the red of dust. It were their hour, wun of their hours.
Theyre comin, theyre almost here.
Werent no need to ask who. He’d come barrelin through the skin hangin across the entrance, an Mum were on his heels. Eyes wide, the whites bigger than she’d ever seen, sumthin stuck in her head she always wished she’d forget. There was only wun big space inside, no way out, no place to go. Mum pulled aside the mat on the hard packed floor, an openin in the dust that might be big enough for wun small kid, but only wun. She picked her up, lookin her hard in the eyes. The same eyes she got told she had. Her mums lips was pressed together in a white line, the cords in her skinny neck standin out an her fingers leavin bruises that was gunna outlive her. Her ma let go of her arm for a second, held her finger over her lips and and then laid her in the shallow hole, holdin her eye all the way down. Coverin her with rags, hands movin fast then pushin her down deeper.
Wun hope, they only seen the two of us. Wun hope.
Now the light went dim, the mat pulled back over her an her mum flingin handfuls of dust over it, buryin her in the floor, tryna cover evry trace. Mums last words in her ears fadin, just the sound of her own hammerin chest. She lay like a dead thing in the dark, an she figgered she was, knees drawn up to her chin, wun balled fist in her mouth, tryin not to shake. All too fast to follow. There were no heavy footfall, if stories was true them that was comin moved on bare feet an claw, teeth like long knives. Or mayhap were it boots of skin, bark and leather, movin like shadows over the floor of the desert, silent in the arvo haze with blades drawn, nuthin needin to be spoke.
Ghostmen. Out the dark men. Blademen, badmen, bludthings. Reckoner. All them names.
Whisperin names. Why? Shut up. Teeth chatterin. Could hear her brother an ma had gone out back into the open, both shoutin from a ways off, nuthin she could unnerstand. Her ma cryin out an noises of struggle, her brother’s screamin wail that turned her blud cold. She lay still in the hole, she closed her eyes an ears.
When she woke she couldnt move a long time. She was cold with her own water that she’d let go all over herself. She dint remember doin it. Her knees was stuck an she pushed the rags aside an lifted a corner of the mat slow, dust drainin in onto her. There were no light, it were long dark. She couldnt hear anythin and pushed her way through the cloth, through the ache in her head behind her eye. She sat up painful from the shallow grave that werent wun an she could see starlight through the door. The skin were gone an the stark sand stared back at her through the empty frame. It were cold like it never were and dead quiet. She climbed out of the hole further, crawlin towards the outside, her fingers stickin to sumthin pooled on the sand. She knew not to cry out. By the stars she saw the shack was wrecked but not stripped. Them what had come barely cared for the dry snakemeat and hoarded oil an wood. The saved water was gone but the watercatcher were in wun piece and the dust were littered with bones barely cleaned. Sheaves of grass still restin in the corner like they always was. When she looked at em it were like nuthin had changed. From the door she could see the plain. There was no firelight, no camp close by. They come outta dust an went back to it. On the sand she saw more dark patches reflected in the starlight, sticky to touch. On small legs she tripped out into the dirt, feet bare, the silence louder than the noise in her head. She walked a ways into the sand an then lay down on her side facin the shack, seein the night clear through it, straight through the broken walls. Whisperin, the fear on her. Thinkin they were out there watchin, knowin they’d missed her, turnin around right now an comin back for seconds.
Mum? Jon?
She knew blud, she knew the Ghosts had come, the maras and sleep terrors had told her they would come. Mum hadnt kept the fear from her neither. The longer she lay there starin out into the dark the more she thought there was nuthin real strange about this except that she was still breathin an her ma an brother werent. Ghostet they was. Et by them things from the dark. Breath caught in her chest an she forced it back down so she dint let a howl go an give herself a
way. Her eyes dropped to the stuff that had been dragged out of the shack. Skins an jars thatd held bolts an screws, both empty. Scraps of steel an the rubber they’d brought back that afternoon. She looked through the shack at the frozen dunes an nuthin moved.
2
Before
He were in a foul mood this mornin. Another wun dead. Another wun taken out to the big burn pits where the waste turned into smoke. Smell of flesh an garbage crowdin him. Shoulda been used to it by now. Where did they find em? In this bludy place where there werent hardly any kids anyway they still managed to find a few an he was always buyin the weak wuns, a knack for pickin up yungens what was on their last legs. This fucken land. Dint have no name he knew of. Had been a desert since theyd started makin memories. Fucken Glows an fucken scavs an fucken cornerboys. He picked up the pace towards the middle, the boss was gunna come soon. The circles was quiet this time of day, that was sum small blessing, an the heat was workin its way up, sun still low enough to just be drawin a faint sweat. His feet scuffed over the dusty concrete, sendin up small red clouds. The shacks an sheds he passed was cobbled outta sheet iron and hessian. Scraps of wood an bits of hulk stitched together with tarp an rope into blind monsters. Heads of sleepers an drinkers an sniffers an smokers wakin bleary an sum not wakin at all. Sum what couldnt be bothered walkin to the well or the nearest soak was stumblin out back of their camps, he could see em. Collectin the water from under plastic scraps, pissin in the ash of last nights fire. Rubbish of bleached plastic and bone heaped around the doorways. Charms an icons, wheels an knives, all small and brittle. Precious few yungens an even less old. He passed em, roundin the curve of the big Circle. The System. He spat on the ground. Down the cuts he could see halfway across the ring road that looped all around the inside the wall, breakin only at the tyres built around the old water tower an pickin up again on the other side of them grim dusty stacks. They was the only things that stood taller than the leftovers, the fibro barracks half fallen in and ironroofed sheds in the middle. Stripped hulks an old concrete channels leadin nowhere. Leavebehinds that werent doin nowun no good. He turned down the hook, headin straight through the circles now on the new cut, seein the first of the hungry cornerboys wakin but they all knew who his boss was an better than to try anythin. Yeah keep yerselves to yerselves, he eyed them off an they kept his gaze, hands in their short pockets, sum of em swingin a careless verse back an forth between themselves, wakin slow. He were startin to sweat now, had been walkin a hot minute or so. His hands was damp an he patted his pocket again, feelin the shavings of gold wrapped in a plastic scrap through the cloth, wonderin if anywun would take em or if it was back to the Old Mans place for barter. Medicine, gold, clear wine, never knew what the scavs took these days. Whatever they could get their hands on the thick bastards, thinkin they was sumthin special. Werent nuthin to him, fools takin chances outside the walls, but he knew the Old Man kept em close. He cleared dust out of his throat, hackin hard. All the time wonderin what was gunna get brought in, if there was gunna be anythin up on the block that the Old Man would wanna take a look at. He hoped not. Was done choosin bad cattle.
Year of the Orphan Page 1