Dead Lemons

by Finn Bell

  I’ve never been involved in anything like this so I don’t know if this is normal, but it looks like he’s actually smoking, and I mean him, not his clothes, because he’s standing there without his shirt.

  And even at this distance I can see that here is somebody worse off than me today.

  The entire side of him closest to the explosion is just blown apart.

  His one arm ends below the elbow in a blackened mess, still rhythmically spurting bright-red blood as he holds it up in front of his face. I can make out several deep cuts across his chest and his one leg is a red, smoking mess that looks too thin, like most of the flesh is gone.

  And as he turns his head, I see most of his hair is burnt away.

  Obscenely, he’s still got hold of a leash, which leads down to one of the dogs lying next to him, looking completely undamaged—both parts of it.

  Something has cleanly sheared through its chest just behind the front legs. I can’t see the other dog. “Sean,” Archie says in a ridiculously calm, steady voice I can just make out as he slowly falls to his knees.

  Then he starts to fall sideways, and I cringe as he instinctively tries to brace himself with a hand that’s no longer there. His forearm just sinks into the soil until he’s settled flat on his stomach.

  And even though I was planning to kill them all moments ago, I can’t help but cringe because this is too much, too much.

  I really want to, but I can’t look away as Sean walks over slowly and kneels by Archie, then carefully reaches out and turns him over onto his back, cradling his head in his lap.

  It looks like they are talking, but I can’t make it out. Archie must still be alive because I can make out his entire body trembling.

  Though I honestly don’t know how it’s possible, as already Archie is literally lying in an entire pool of his own blood.

  Then I hear the singing, and if it weren’t for the utter satirical craziness of this day, I probably would have thought it strange. But I’m so numb now I don’t think I’ve got any emotions left.

  It’s Sean singing. He’s got a good voice, and here and there it sounds like Archie is actually joining in.

  It’s not English. I don’t know what it is. But the melody is sad and sweet and simple, and I can make out some of the words clearly as they drift in the breeze.

  “Numi, Numi k’tanati . . . Abba halach la’avoda . . .” and already Archie’s trembling is lessening, his one remaining hand up stroking the side of Sean’s face.

  And then I’m startled again as, still singing gently, Sean leans forward more and there’s a sudden jerk in Archie’s entire body, which then goes completely still.

  Sean just broke Archie’s neck.

  Then he gets up and picks up his rifle and checks it over, clearing the mechanism before slinging it over his shoulder and walking back around the side of the shed without a backward glance in my direction.

  Now what?

  I honestly don’t know what to do next.

  I can’t stay, as I’m sure I’ll die from my injuries at some point.

  I can’t leave either, I don’t know where Sean’s gone.

  Where did that explosion come from?

  Was that Sean?

  Is there someone else out here?

  What the hell is going on?

  Curiosity feels good my ass, Betty. I don’t like having any of these questions, and I doubt I’ll like the answers.

  Then, because I’ve actually lost count and because I just don’t have enough shock and fear left to cover everything that’s happened today, I merely jerk and drop the gun when a voice right by my ear whispers, “Hello, Mr Bell.”

  I’m so startled and frantically scrambling for the gun that I hear but don’t register what the rest of the words mean until I get hold of the gun the right way and two skinny, tattoo-covered arms stop me from bringing it around.

  It’s Tui, sweet, Hot-Water Tui.

  “Steady now, Mr Bell, steady,” Tui whispers.

  “Tui . . . how?!” I ask, and immediately get shushed by Tui again.

  “Gotta keep quiet, Mr Bell. Don’t know where that bugger’s gone,” he says as he hunkers down further next to me and scans across the opening through the scope on his rifle.

  “You, that explosion was you,” I whisper, also scanning around.

  “Yes, sir, and Good Lord I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean for that,” says Tui, and I can see his eyes tearing up and hear his voice breaking.

  “I was out checking the lines over that way when I saw your car parked down here by the Zoyl place. And Tai’s told me what’s been happening, and I thought that’s not good, that. So I walked down to the beach, took my possum rifle from the van, because I didn’t want no trouble with the Zoyls. And thought I could just check in on you like and say I’ve been possum shooting round here, innocent like, you know. But then when I came up the trail I saw the blood, and then I saw the body, and there was your wheelchair, Mr Bell, and I thought you was dead too. But then I followed the trail back and I thought it was from where the Zoyls must have dragged you away, so I followed, slow like, because I’m scared of the Zoyls. And then I saw you lying here and I see you’re still alive, and I was coming up when that one bugger started yelling about making you pay and I saw them with the dogs and I didn’t know what else to do, Mr Bell. I was only planning a warning shot to scare the buggers. I wasn’t aiming for him, honest, and then everything just went up. And I’m so sorry,” he finishes, and this time it’s me trying to keep him quiet. But once Tui got going it was like everything just came out in a rush. I can tell that he’s still shaking and as I look him over, I register the faint smell and realise that at some point, Tui’s actually peed in his pants.

  Then a guilty part of me, which I suspect may be my shrivelled-up little conscience, thinks, See, Finn? This is the way normal people respond when they kill people by accident. You did it on purpose and you felt nothing.

  “What are we gonna do, Mr Bell?” Tui whispers, and there’s an edge of hysteria in his voice.

  “I don’t know, Tui, but under the circumstances, I think it’s okay if you call me Finn,” I respond. I know it’s selfish, but I feel so much better for having another person here with me, despite knowing that his life is now in as much danger as mine is, and despite knowing that it’s because of me that he’s here. I’m not proud of it, but I can’t hide from my own sense of overwhelming relief.

  Then we hear a loud engine start up somewhere on the other side of the buildings, shortly after which we see an old truck with a rusting diesel tank mounted on the back come trundling round the far side of the house and drive across to the edge of the grass further up the hill. I begin to get that now familiar bad feeling. The time for caution and half-measures are clearly over now. The time for everything is over now.

  “They never saw you, did they, Tui?” I whisper.

  “I don’t think so,” he answers.

  “And you don’t have a cell phone on you, do you?” I ask.

  “No, sir, got a radio back in the van, though,” he answers.

  And as he speaks, I look back over at him just to reassure myself of what I unfortunately already knew. The truth is that brave, well-meaning Tui is in his sixties, short and skinny, almost bone-thin in some places, and my elation at seeing him turns to deflation at knowing what needs to be done.

  “Tui, I need you to listen to me carefully. You’re going to need to run for help without me,” I say.

  “But Mr—” Tui begins his protest when I cut him off, talking fast.

  “No, Tui, you know you can’t carry me. And if you try he’ll spot you and then he’ll kill us both. And he doesn’t know you’re here. You see that diesel truck? He’s going to burn this whole section of bush down to get to me. And if you stay you’re dead, too, and then you’ve helped nothing,” I say urgently.

  “Tui, the Zoyls, they’re killers. I’ve found the bones, there’s proof now. Somebody’s got to get out of here and tell people. Yo
u have to go. I’ll try to hide, and you get back to the van and call for help, okay?” He looks doubtful.

  “Please, Tui! It’s the only way. If you don’t, then nobody will ever know, and they can just keep doing these things. Taking people’s kids. Killing people. Please. Go now, just go!” I say as I push at him. For a moment I think he’s going to resist because he’s shaking his head vigorously, but then he sticks out his hand, grabs mine, and gives it a firm shake.

  “I’m gonna come back, Mr Bell, I am. This isn’t right. I am,” he says earnestly, tears rolling down his face. Then he releases and immediately starts moving off down the hill, disappearing back into the undergrowth in seconds.

  I take a slow breath to steady myself.

  Why are we built this way?

  I’ve just done the right thing.

  It was ridiculously hard to do, but I feel really good about having done it.

  When I think back on all the wrong things I’ve done, they were all so easy, but I still feel bad about them even now.

  The noise from the truck changes slightly and realise Sean must have just started the fuel pump. From this angle I see a thick, dark jet of diesel curve into the bush from behind the truck. Then I see Sean walk back around and get into the front, leaving the driver door wide open as he very slowly sets it rolling along towards me.

  And he’s got me now, I think.

  The section of bush I’m hiding in is about quarter-moon shaped and hugs the small beach, then quickly tapers off on both sides where the grass of Zoyl farm again hugs the rocks of the coast on both sides, maybe 600 or so paces in length. Nowhere for me to go but back out into the open. He’s going to drown it all in diesel and then set it alight.

  And I’m going to have to choose to either burn in here or make a break for it and drag myself into the clear.

  So it’s death by flames or death by Sean.

  It’s a tough call.

  I briefly consider trying to shoot at the truck as he passes by but it’s a big truck, and the driver’s side is facing away from me. The only thing I would achieve is to pinpoint my location faster.

  And I think that’s actually what Sean would prefer.

  He wants me to crawl out. He doesn’t want the fire to take me, he wants me for himself.

  Another chance for him to do something truly horrific in the world, to fill himself up with sick, dark joy and steal another orgasm full of insanity.

  Well fuck you, Sean Zoyl.

  I’m not giving you satisfaction.

  Both your brothers are dead, and Tui’s getting the police so your sad, wicked existence here is over either way. And you’re going to go out hungry and angry.

  Because you’re not the only bastard out here, Sean, I decide right there and then: No matter how bad it gets, I’m going to burn. I’ve got enough sins of my own, I may as well get started a little early.

  CHAPTER 27

  March 16, THREE MONTHS AGO . . .

  Kissing Patricia for the second time tonight wakes up parts of me I didn’t know had been asleep, and I remember how good it can be to actually feel naked.

  Not in the sense of clothes, because we are both still fully clothed, and again back in my car parked out by Howell’s Point. The heavy rain is dulling the rock music on the radio as we make out like teenagers in a Zombie apocalypse.

  No, naked in the sense of being vulnerable and open.

  I guess it’s not too different from how you feel in the beginning of a relationship, when you actually take your clothes off in front of someone you have feelings for, that period of euphoric happiness where you can still feel both kinds of naked with them.

  Where does that go? How did Anna and I lose it? How do you grow blind? How do you slowly stop seeing the person you love, when they are right there in front of you the whole time?

  I can’t help thinking of Anna now because even though it’s completely different, it’s also very familiar as I get here, unlooked for and beyond my hopes, to taste again something undeservedly beautiful.

  It’s when Bush’s classic song “Glycerine” comes on the radio that we finally pull away from each other again and quite literally return to ourselves.

  “Finn? The other night, when we came to your house . . . And now you’re living with Tai. What’s happening?” Patricia asks. I feel bad for letting things progress this far without drawing some attention to the small matter of the family of lunatics who may be looking to kill me.

  I don’t see the point in any further dishonesty because in this town she’s going to find out sooner or later, most likely from me because I still can’t let things go. Even worse, I actually now have backup, as Pruitt is right in it with me.

  So I tell Patricia everything, from the first meeting out at Zoyl farm to the last dire predictions of Father Ress. Patricia takes the hearing of it in surprisingly good stride.

  “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’ve got the Zoyls after you, and maybe they are going to kill you to keep their secret that they’re sick, or maybe simply because they are sick in the first place?” she asks in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Erm, yes, that’s about the gist of it,” I say as I watch her carefully for any further reaction.

  “Well, I’d suggest you get that sorted out, hey?” she replies in a surprisingly calm voice, then continues when she sees my expression, “Sorry, Finn. It’s not that I don’t care. But I used to be married to a career criminal, and my son became deaf at the age of two—I’ve just about used up all the anxiety and fear I have already. What’s left I reserve for actual death and the future cancelation of Sex and the City reruns,” she says with a kind smile.

  I can’t help feel I’ve hit the potential-serial-killer-victim lottery for partners.

  “But we’ve got to be realistic about this, too,” she adds. “It’s the same as what I had to do with my ex-husband. You can’t bring this stuff to my house. I’m Kieran’s mother before anything else, so officially you can’t be in my life or in any way risk him or me until you’re safe to be with. And I’m not going to be your booty call, either. So sort things out and then, if we both still want, we can see where this goes.”

  So there’s another reason.

  CHAPTER 28

  June 4, PRESENT DAY . . .

  This kind of thing just doesn’t happen to people in real life, I think.

  I hunker down lower, not meaning to drag myself out of the bush entirely, but at least to try and get as far down towards the beach as possible. I’ve positioned myself still inside but closest to the widest part of the bush in the small hope of avoiding the fastest part of the fire.

  I don’t want the diesel to get sprayed directly on me, and I know, once he sets it all alight, that it’s not going to matter much, but still.

  So I’ve moved down close to the lower edge of the bush near the sand, but it hardly matters as the truck idles by and it seems as if absolutely everything is drenched in diesel.

  And while none of it directly hits me, several little trickles run down and soak me from below in any case. It glistens on every rock and leaf, the stink of it hanging heavy in the air.

  I know enough about diesel to know that there’s not going to be an explosion. You need compression to make diesel explode, but it will still burn fine.

  It’s probably going to start with only slow flames, but once it gets going it will be hard to stop and the smoke will be thick, oily, black, and choking.

  Sean must be beyond caring about secrecy now because people will be able to see the smoke for miles and the Fire Service and Police will come out for certain, he must know. Even if he doesn’t know that Tui’s already gone for help, doing this will bring everyone out here.

  And they’ll find it all then.

  The bones and all the old ugly secrets of Zoyl Farm finally laid bare.

  He’ll have to run then. Maybe he’s got a plan for that. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe killing me right now is all that matters. I don’t know if I should feel flattered. />
  As the truck finally reaches the far end of the bush, the stream of diesel shuts off and I can make out the truck reversing away.

  At first I think Sean is pulling it out of the way, but then the noise of the engine suddenly gets much louder and the next thing I know, the nose of the truck slowly pushes through bushes directly above me.

  It’s too late to move.

  I realise Sean’s going to drive that truck down the hill into the bush.

  Maybe he’s spotted me, I think, because it’s seems like it’s coming right for me. None of the plants are slowing it at all.

  I’m frantically trying to get myself turned around to move out of the way, reversing not being something I can do without working legs. Suddenly the truck crashes right by me. Big wheels bouncing and metal creaking as it settles with its front axles stuck on a clump of small Manuka saplings. The engine finally sputters to a raggedy halt.

  When I pull my head from under my arms, everything is too quiet. Even the birds and bugs have fallen silent. I look up to see that I’m actually within the shadow of the big truck.

  I don’t dare move.

  At first I’m certain Sean is right there, but when nothing happens and nothing moves, I realise that he’s not in the truck. Why take the risk?

  He must have just started it up and jumped off as it trundled down.

  He may have guessed, but he doesn’t know this is where I’m hiding.

  He probably chose this deepest, densest part of the bush for practicality’s sake, just like me.

  And if you’re Sean Zoyl then of course, why not?

  Now I’ll have to revise my earlier estimation about the diesel.

  It only explodes if you can heat it up under pressure. Now we’ll have a nice, slow, hot bush fire to provide the heat and a big tank to provide the pressure.

  It’s when I try to move again that I realise, now with the slow rise of a near-hysterical anger that almost makes me want to laugh that I am again, for the second time today, stuck.

  At first I think it’s a continuation of my astronomically bad luck and the truck has somehow managed to park itself with one of its wheels on my dead legs.