Wicked Bindup

by Paul Jennings

  Eileen stared at it. ‘Yuck,’ she said, and dropped it.

  Okay, it was dirty and mildewy, but what did she expect from a shoe that had been to the bottom of a river and then in a wrecked bus for five years?

  I picked it up and tucked it inside Eileen’s sling. ‘It’ll protect you,’ I explained. ‘The sheep don’t like it.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ said Eileen, thrusting it back at me.

  I saw in her face what she really meant. ‘I don’t like your mum,’ was what she meant. ‘I don’t like her because she was a drunk or a mental case or both and she crashed a school bus with my son on it.’

  I took the shoe back. ‘One day,’ I said, my eyes pricking with tears, ‘when we’ve sorted out all this weird stuff, I’ll find out the truth about my mum’s death and then you’ll have to apologise.’

  We trudged towards town, not speaking.

  Two things happened on the way.

  After about ten minutes I noticed some piles of brown powder on the road. Five of them. Each pile was about the size of a sheep, except for one which was much smaller.

  I bent closer.

  It was rust.

  I struggled to make sense of what I was seeing. Could Mum’s shoe have done that? Turned the sheep into rust?

  The second thing happened close to the house. I’d just noticed that Eileen’s neck seemed red and swollen where the lamb had scratched her.

  Eileen suddenly turned to me, wide-eyed and scared.

  ‘What’s this?’ she said, pointing to her sling.

  At first I didn’t understand what she meant.

  ‘What is it?’ she shouted.

  ‘It’s a sling,’ I said, suddenly scared myself. ‘You and Dad had a car crash and you hurt your arm and made a sling out of one of Dad’s shirts.’

  Eileen stared at the shirt. Then she gave a relieved sigh. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘I remember.’

  Poor thing, I thought. She must have concussion. At least we’ll be home soon.

  To calm myself down I thought of our place, just over the next rise. At the top of the hill I stopped to gaze down at the familiar cosy house nestled among the trees.

  Instead I stared in horror.

  The last time I’d seen the house it had been white. Now it was green. Green walls, green roof, green guttering, green windows.

  And even at that distance I could see that the green was alive.

  THREE

  It was awful. Disgusting really. To see those frogs swarming over Mum’s clothes. The foul green plague filled sleeves and legs and pockets. The frogs filled out flat jackets and jumpers and made them ripple and flow with a dreadful life of their own.

  ‘The mongrels,’ yelled Gramps. ‘They’ve got us out-numbered.’

  He wasn’t wrong there. I started kicking and jumping and squashing the frogs under my shoes. But it was useless. There were just too many. The green tide grew higher as the frogs climbed on each other’s backs to get at Mum’s outfits.

  Gramps tugged at my shoulder. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We need to talk.’

  We waded out to the kitchen where there were fewer frogs.

  ‘The first question is,’ said Gramps, ‘are they really there? Or am I getting confused again?’

  ‘You see them,’ I said. ‘And I see them. So they must be there.’

  ‘Well, the next question is,’ said Gramps. ‘What do they want?’

  ‘Mum,’ I said. ‘They are all over her clothes. It’s her they want.’

  Gramps looked terribly upset. And I was scared. For some reason it was worse now that Mum was in danger and not me. Scared for yourself is one thing. But scared for someone you love. That’s different altogether.

  By now almost all of the frogs had swarmed into the bedroom. We could see them from the kitchen. They were piled up in one huge seething mass that reached to the ceiling. They reminded me of a heap of tiny green sumo wrestlers struggling for prizes.

  I started to tremble and shake all over. Like someone who has malaria. It was all too much. I just couldn’t take any more. I needed someone to wake me up. And hold me in their arms. I was only a kid. Mums and dads are supposed to fix things up. To look after you. To make the nasty things go away.

  But how could they help me? I had driven them all away. Suddenly I felt all alone in the world. Everything seemed to be my fault.

  Dad had gone away and left me years ago. Why didn’t he come back? Was it because my leg was twisted and I couldn’t walk or run properly any more? Was he disappointed because I’d never play football for Essendon like he wanted me to?

  And Dawn’s mum. Dead. Drowned in a bus. I couldn’t remember what had happened but I probably caused that too. No wonder Jack and Dawn didn’t like me.

  But that wasn’t all. No – I had to go and put some slobberers in the stew and cause Jack and Mum’s car to run off the road. They were probably dead as well.

  Was there anyone I hadn’t hurt? I had run out on Dawn. Left her to be chased off into the night by the slobberers. She was probably nothing but a sucked-out scruffy doormat by now. All because of me.

  I was no good to anyone. No one wanted me. And I didn’t blame them. Right then I wished I was the one who was dead.

  Without warning two arms grabbed me. It was Gramps. He hugged me close to his chest. Tears ran down my cheeks and soaked into the wool of his jumper. I could smell that musty odour that all gramps seem to have. We just stood there hugging each other without speaking.

  A hug doesn’t need words.

  Finally I stopped shaking. I opened my eyes and wiped my damp cheeks. ‘Look,’ I shouted. ‘Look.’ I saw something wonderful. Fantastic. Better than winning the Lotto. Better than a Ferrari. Better than anything. I was so happy.

  I could see two figures walking down the track towards the house.

  So could the frogs. They started to pour out of the bedroom and into the hall.

  I was filled with joy and terror. It was Mum. And Dawn. They weren’t dead.

  ‘We have to keep the frogs in the house,’ I shrieked. ‘We have to. They’ll kill Mum. It’s her they want.’

  I ran through the frogs to the back door and slammed it. Then I ran back to the window. ‘Stay away,’ I yelled desperately at the distant figures. ‘The frogs are after you.’

  The frogs surged towards the windows and doors. Gramps started kicking at them. He slipped and slid around on the greasy floor. His legs were tottery but he stomped and stamped like crazy. ‘We need reinforcements,’ he yelled in a horrified voice. ‘I can’t hold the line. The scumbags are breaking out.’

  But he was wrong. We didn’t need help. Even through the mist of my terror I could see that something was happening. The frogs were not their old selves. The fight seemed to be going out of them. I noticed that some were already dead, while others waved their legs at the ceiling like huge green beetles turned on their backs. The fittest of them were hopping half-heartedly towards the door.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ gasped Gramps. ‘They’re giving up. Just when they had us beaten.’

  I tried to work out what was happening to the frogs. It was almost as if they had lost interest in Mum.

  By the time Mum and Dawn reached the garden gate every frog was dead.

  I rushed out of the door and threw myself into Mum’s arms. ‘You’re alive,’ I screamed. ‘You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive.’

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ Dawn shrieked at me. ‘Is he with you?’

  I wished I could tell her that Jack was alive, but I didn’t know where he was. And anyway, I couldn’t speak. Mum was kissing the top of my head and pushing my face into her soft body.

  Gramps started hugging Dawn. ‘He’ll turn up,’ he said. ‘He’s missing in action. Probably a prisoner of war.’

  ‘Slobberers don’t take prisoners,’ said Dawn. ‘Neither do killer sheep.’

  ‘Killer sheep? Killer frogs, you mean,’ I said.

  Mum frowned at me. ‘Don’t you start on th
at nonsense too,’ she said. Then she turned to Gramps and hugged him. That was really nice to see but I couldn’t really enjoy it. It is a terrible feeling when something wonderful happens at exactly the same time as something awful. I was so happy to see Mum. She was thrilled to see me. Dawn was pleased that Gramps was okay. And I was rapt that Dawn had not been slurped up by slobberers. Dawn even looked as if she might be glad that I was still alive.

  But none of us could be really happy while Jack was missing.

  We all walked slowly towards the house, Mum hanging on to me. And Gramps hugging Dawn. We stared at the goo that dripped from the eaves and gutters. It looked as if a furious green snowstorm had attacked our home. In amongst the slime you could make out an occasional bit of frog – an eye or leg or a bit of rotting curled tongue. But mostly it was just slimy gunk draped over everything.

  ‘What happened?’ whispered Dawn.

  ‘Rommel’s green panzers,’ said Gramps. ‘But we licked ’em. Me and Rory and the other Rats of Tobruk.’

  ‘Frogs,’ I said. ‘They were after Mum.’

  ‘Like the sheep,’ said Dawn. ‘They were too.’

  ‘Don’t you start on that,’ said Mum angrily. ‘I’ve heard enough about slobberers and killer sheep and … other nonsense for one lifetime.’

  At that very moment I saw something that made my heart fill with fear. As Mum grew angry, a purple bruise started to wash up her neck.

  Mum sat down in a slimy green chair.

  ‘Oh, yuck,’ said Dawn.

  Mum didn’t seem too worried about the goo. ‘Where’s Jack?’ she mumbled. ‘My head feels funny. I can’t remember things.’

  I felt a hand in mine. A soft warm girl’s hand that sent a pleasant little shiver up my spine. I looked up at Dawn. It was funny. If you sort of half closed your eyelids and squinted at her from the side, she really was quite pretty.

  ‘Come on,’ said Dawn. ‘We have to talk, Worm Boy.’

  Worm Boy? I pulled my hand away and stomped outside after her.

  We went into the garage and Dawn sat on the wood pile and glared at me. ‘My dad’s missing,’ she said. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’

  ‘Okay,’ I yelled. ‘Okay, okay. I know it was my fault. But he still might be alive. We have to do something. We’re the only ones who know the truth. No one will believe us.’

  ‘What is the truth?’ she said.

  ‘Slobberers,’ I said. ‘And frogs and maggots. And a dead goat come back to life. And …’

  Dawn’s eyes grew wide as I told her everything that had happened. Well, almost everything. I couldn’t tell her that I had seen her mother in the old bus. That couldn’t have been real. We all knew she was dead. That bit must just have been my sick mind.

  Then Dawn told me about the giant slobberer. And the killer sheep. And everything else she had gone through. Her story was worse than mine. She was pretty brave was Dawn. You had to give her that.

  What had happened was awful. But she left the worst till last. ‘Your mum can’t remember about the sheep,’ she said. ‘Even though she saw them. And she doesn’t believe me about the slobberers. Or you about the frogs. She’s sick.’ Dawn pointed at my hand. ‘And so are you.’

  I gave my head a shake and tried to clear my muddled brain. ‘We have to stick together on this,’ I said. ‘Mum’s in trouble. Jack must be too. We have to stop fighting each other and start thinking.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dawn slowly. ‘We have to piece the bits together. Where did the sickness begin?’

  I held up my aching arm. ‘The slobberers licked me,’ I told her. ‘I’ve got slobberer’s disease.’

  Dawn looked at me carefully. Did she shuffle back a bit? Was she scared of catching something? Or was that just my imagination?

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’ve got an infection all right. But what about the sheep? The slobberers licked you. And …’

  ‘I could have infected the sheep. I stuck my cut finger up a sheep’s nose. Then other sheep might have been infected.’

  ‘And gone off hunting for Eileen.’

  ‘Like the frogs,’ I yelled. ‘A frog licked my cut hand. Then infected frogs came searching for Mum.’

  ‘The lamb,’ shouted Dawn. ‘The lamb pricked Eileen. That’s how she got infected. The disease goes from person to creature. And creature to person. The slobberers infected you. You infected the sheep.’

  Suddenly Dawn grabbed a stick and started scratching in the dust on the garage floor.

  ‘What are –?’

  ‘Quiet,’ she said. ‘This is complicated.’

  I bit my tongue and watched her as she drew.

  ‘The worms infected you,’ she said. ‘And you infected sheep and frogs. And now the sheep have infected Eileen. And now she’ll infect other animals. Maybe cats or dogs or …’

  I couldn’t take it in. I didn’t like the sound of it. I didn’t want to believe it. ‘Why are the infected animals all dying?’ I said.

  ‘It’s like sperm,’ Dawn blurted out.

  I blushed. Even in the middle of all that trouble I blushed. Jeez, she had a big mouth.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I said.

  Dawn drew again in the dust. Just like a sex-education teacher at the blackboard. ‘Thousands of sperm go for an egg,’ she said. ‘But only one gets through.’

  ‘I know all that stuff,’ I said gruffly. I did too. In fact I’d been thinking about it a fair bit lately.

  ‘And,’ said Dawn. ‘Once the egg is fertilised all the other sperm just die.’

  ‘So?’ I said.

  ‘So it’s the same with slobberer’s disease. Once the person they are after has been infected, the germs have no target and the creatures all die. Their job is done.’

  I thought about it. She could be right.

  ‘Then the infected person passes it on to another creature,’ I said slowly. ‘And a whole lot more of them catch it. And they go looking for …’

  ‘Someone else in your family,’ said Dawn, sounding a bit relieved.

  A shiver ran through me. My family? Who else could that mean?

  Dad, that’s who. Was I going to kill him too? With my germs?

  I held up my bruised arm. ‘Do you think I will keep passing it on?’ I said. ‘Can I still infect animals that will go searching for my relatives?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Dawn slowly.

  Suddenly I had an idea. I ran over to Jack’s tool shelf and picked up an old plastic box. I ran outside and searched around in the bushes. ‘Got you,’ I yelled.

  ‘A snail?’ said Dawn. ‘What do you want that for?’

  I put the snail under the tap and watched it as it stuck out its little eye stalks. I rubbed the snail’s face into my wound so that it would catch the germs. Then I placed it in the box and put on the lid. We could see what the snail was up to because the lid was made of clear plastic.

  We both peered down at the snail. It moved around for a bit and then pulled its eyes back into its shell.

  ‘We’ll watch it,’ I said. ‘If I’m infectious and can still pass on the disease …’

  I didn’t finish the sentence so Dawn did it for me.

  ‘The snail will start to change,’ she said.

  FOUR

  I felt a bit better, knowing Dad couldn’t be infected.

  But only a bit.

  He could still have had his bones sucked out by a slobberer or his skin scraped off by a mean-minded sheep. I was aching with worry. Where was he? Why wasn’t he here?

  I did what Dad always did when he was worried sick. Kept myself busy.

  Rory and I went back to the kitchen and I made everyone their second hot drink in a row and tried to occupy my mind by wondering what exactly the infection was and whether Eileen would turn into a slobberer.

  I could see Gramps was worried too. He kept looking at Eileen and Rory, his face crumpled with concern. But he didn’t want to alarm them, so he tried to stay cheery.

  ‘Top tea,’ he sai
d after a couple of sips. ‘Better than the pot I made.’

  ‘Thanks, Gramps,’ I said. He was right, mostly because he’d used gravy powder.

  ‘Goes right through you,’ he said, ‘tea. ’Scuse me.’ He shuffled off to the bathroom.

  I was in the middle of wondering which I should do first, ring the police or make Eileen and Rory have a lie-down, when a familiar voice filled the kitchen.

  ‘Jeez, am I glad to see you lot.’

  I spun round.

  Dad was leaning against the door frame, face streaked with dirt, shirt torn, jeans filthy, smiling wearily. He opened his arms wide.

  ‘Dad,’ I screamed, and rushed at him. But it wasn’t me he wrapped his arms round, it was Eileen. I stood waiting, grinning, heart thumping with joy, desperate for my turn.

  ‘Where have you been?’ asked Eileen tearfully.

  That’s exactly what I would have asked.

  ‘Twisted my leg,’ said Dad. ‘Tried to take a short cut back to town along the old fire break. I was that ropeable with myself for pranging the car I didn’t watch where I was going. Stepped in a wombat hole. I’ve done more crawling in the last sixteen hours than all the pollies in Canberra put together.’

  I grinned even wider. Good old Dad. Now he was here everything would be okay.

  Eileen stepped back and anxiously checked Dad over and I slid in for my turn. I put my arms round him and hugged. He ponged of B.O. but I didn’t care. My eyes were watering anyway.

  ‘Oh, Dad,’ I whispered. ‘I thought you were a goner’

  He didn’t reply. I looked up at him. He was staring at Eileen, concerned. She did look pretty crook. Her neck was red and blotchy and her face was sort of grey.

  There was so much to tell him, I hardly knew where to start.

  ‘Something weird and terrible’s happening, Dad,’ I began. ‘There’s an infection and Rory and Eileen have got it and it turns grubs into monsters and sheep into killers.’

  I realised he wasn’t even listening. He was still staring at Eileen. ‘Jeez, love,’ he was saying to her. ‘We’ve got to get you to a doctor.’