Wicked Bindup

by Paul Jennings

  Then things got worse. Thinking about Dad made me think of Mum. I had a silent cry. I often thought about her at night, wondering if she really had been the wonderful loving Mum I remembered, or whether she’d just been faking it and had actually been a miserable suicidal drinker like some people said.

  I could hear Gramps snoring softly on one side of me. On the other Rory’s shape was still and silent.

  ‘Rory,’ I whispered, ‘are you asleep?’

  ‘I would be,’ he hissed, ‘if you weren’t yakking.’

  ‘I was just wondering,’ I said, ‘if you’ll be seeing any visions of Mum tonight.’

  ‘How do I know?’ he replied crossly. ‘I’m not a telly. These things aren’t scheduled. I can’t look at a listing in the paper and see “9.30: Rory’s infection gives him more hallucinations and he discovers why Dawn’s mum crashed the school bus and died.” ’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. Even though I felt very disappointed, I felt a bit guilty as well. It was amazing how quickly you could forget that another person was suffering an awful infection when you weren’t.

  I must have gone to sleep soon after that because the next thing I knew I’d snapped awake.

  There was movement nearby. Twigs crunching.

  I froze.

  In the faint moonlight I could just make out two large figures. They were bigger than sheep. They were even bigger than slobberers.

  A horrible thought hit me. What if the frogs weren’t all dead? What if they’d come back for a second attack? Rory and Gramps had defeated one giant frog. Maybe this time the frogs had sent two.

  Trembling, I groped around in the darkness for a weapon. A stick, Rory’s smelly socks, anything. I’d have given all the curried-egg sandwiches in the world for my steel fence post.

  Nothing.

  Then one of the figures spoke. ‘Sorry,’ it muttered. ‘When your bladder’s as old as mine it needs a regular empty.’

  ‘That’s okay, Gramps,’ mumbled the other figure. ‘I could do with one too.’

  My body went limp with relief as I watched Rory lead Gramps into the bushes for a pee.

  Three seconds later I was tense again. What if Eileen had infected something else? What if the hospital had cockroaches? They could get in and out of Eileen’s room even if the door was sealed with silicon grouting. I shuddered as I thought of giant cockroaches scuttling towards us through the bush, huge eyes bloodshot with hatred.

  Or bedbugs. The hospital could have bedbugs, which would escape when the sheets were changed. I didn’t even know what a bedbug looked like, but my blood still ran cold when I thought of one twenty metres tall with Howard in its mouth.

  Or spiders. Or snakes. Or the hospital caretaker’s cat.

  Suddenly I realised the bush noises had got much louder. What was that? It sounded like something doing horrible things with its own saliva. I couldn’t hear properly because my heartbeat was thudding in my ears. I peered frantically into the darkness. All I could see were the black shapes of trees.

  Then I realised something else. Rory and Gramps hadn’t come back. I opened my mouth to call to them, then closed it. Better keep quiet. I couldn’t remember if cockroaches had ears or not.

  Trembling, I stood up and fought off a powerful urge to go to the car and wake Howard. It wouldn’t be fair, he was more at risk than any of us. Instead I started taking terrified steps in the direction Rory and Gramps had gone. Soon I was among the trees.

  I heard the saliva sound again and remembered Rory’s description of the giant frog’s long slimy tongue.

  ‘Oh no,’ I sobbed under my breath, ‘the frogs are back.’

  Things rustled. Shrill noises rang out and I couldn’t tell if they came from tiny throats or huge hungry ones. Wet things brushed against my face and I didn’t know if they were dewy creepers or strings of frog saliva.

  I panicked and ran. Struggling through tangled undergrowth and branches that clawed at me. Then I burst out of a clump of bushes and froze. Silhouetted against the moonlit sky were several massive shapes. I prayed they were trees. Almost fainting, I waited for the sound of a huge tongue moving at speed.

  Suddenly something long and dark shot out in front of me. I stifled a scream.

  ‘That’s the Southern Cross,’ said Gramps’ voice. ‘My favourite.’

  It was an arm. Gramps’ arm, pointing.

  ‘Wow,’ said Rory’s voice.

  I couldn’t believe it. They were star-gazing. While I was losing years off my life with fear and stress, they were star-gazing.

  Anger cleared my vision. I saw that the massive shapes were trees, not frogs. Trembling, I leant against one.

  Stifling the scream had been hard, but it took even more effort to stifle the urge to strangle Rory. I didn’t know what made me angrier, that he thought star-gazing was more important than finding out the truth about my mum’s death, or that he was doing it with my Gramps.

  I was about to inform him of the ancient belief that stars are actually the souls of selfish and thoughtless step-brothers glowing with embarrassment. Then something happened which completely distracted me.

  Frantic, fearful shouts came from the direction of the car.

  ‘Howard,’ I yelled. Rory and Gramps stared, startled to see me. Then we tore back to the car.

  I pulled open the rear door. Howard was clutching his blanket around him, white-faced even in the yellow car light. He was sweaty and panting.

  ‘My parents …’ he sobbed. ‘They’re all dead.’

  I held his hand. ‘It was just a dream,’ I said, hoping desperately I was right.

  ‘Nightmare,’ said Gramps. ‘I often get ’em if I have a warm drink just before I go to bed.’

  I told Rory and Gramps to go back to sleep. No point in us all being awake.

  ‘Come on, Gramps,’ said Rory sulkily, ‘I think they want some privacy.’

  Howard squeezed himself across the back seat and I sat in the front and talked to him. I told him about his mum and what a good person she was despite her temper and messy bathroom habits. Then I surprised myself and asked him if he had a girlfriend. He said there was a girl at the home he’d quite liked but he didn’t think he’d ever see her again.

  ‘What about you?’ he asked sleepily. ‘Have you got a boyfriend?’

  I was glad it was dark and he couldn’t see me blush. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I haven’t really had time.’

  Howard didn’t say anything, but I sensed he knew I wasn’t telling him the whole story. So I told him the whole story. I don’t know why. Stuff I’d never told anyone, not even Dad. How I was waiting desperately to grow out of being an ugly tomboy. How I feared that I was doomed to be one forever. How if what people said about Mum was true, I was probably being punished in some way for having an evil mother.

  When I finally shut up I saw that Howard was asleep. I didn’t mind. I hadn’t meant to blab so much anyway.

  With his eyes closed and his face scrunched up he looked almost as young as Rory. I wondered if we’d be able to save him from being infected. I hoped we would. He looked so hurt and he’d had such a tragic life that I wished I could make myself the target of the infection instead of him.

  At least that would give me a better chance of finding out the truth about my mother’s death.

  FIVE

  Camping out is all well and good. But when all you have is an old blanket on the ground and no pillow it’s the pits.

  The sound of kookaburras told me that dawn was approaching. I stood up and shivered and tried to shake the pain out of my stiff neck. Gramps was snoring softly and sleeping just as if he was at home in his own warm bed.

  Mist crept through the gum trees and joined a long, soft cloud that floated just above the ground. Nearby my apple-man stood to attention and seemed to watch silently like a small, stiff sentry at the end of his night shift.

  Peace. Absolute perfect peace. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice,’ I thought to myself, ‘if we could just stay here and live. Catch rabbits and
listen to the birds. No germs. No slobberers. No worry.’

  Then my heart felt heavy. No Mum – and no Dad either.

  The peaceful thoughts drained away. We had to get going. We had to see this through. We had to move Howard to a safe place before some creature infected him. And we had to find Dad – if he was still alive. We had to discover what it was all about. I walked over to the Morris Minor and looked inside.

  Dawn was sleeping softly. Her face seemed gentle and happy. She was even prettier when she was asleep than when she was awake.

  A painful thought made me frown. I felt the germs stirring and coming to life inside me. My arm ached and throbbed. The world seemed a dark and unhappy place.

  What was happening to me?

  Jealousy. That’s what. Dawn had spent the whole night in the car with Howard.

  She had fallen asleep with one arm draped over the seat. Her hand was resting on Howard’s knee. And I didn’t like it. Not one little bit. She was my step-sister first. She should have been resting her hand on me. Not him. She probably thought he was more mature than me. I grew more and more angry.

  ‘Hey, you two,’ I yelled. ‘Wake up. We have to get going.’ I banged on the roof of the car so hard that it shook. Dawn and Howard sat up and stared around in fright.

  ‘What is it?’ yelled Howard.

  ‘Time to go,’ I said grumpily.

  ‘Keep your shirt on,’ said Dawn. ‘It’s only just got light. It’s still early.’

  I stared around the clearing and tried to control my jealous thoughts. After all, Howard was my brother. And who cared about Dawn anyway? She was just a bossy step-sister with a cute turned-up nose.

  ‘What’s for breakfast?’ said Dawn, smiling at Howard.

  ‘What about snails?’ he said.

  Dawn shook her head and laughed as if it was the funniest joke in the world.

  ‘How about chocolate-coated almonds?’ I asked.

  ‘Very funny,’ said Dawn.

  No one laughed.

  I walked away in embarrassment. My little apple-man was still standing to attention. But he was different.

  His fingers had grown. In fact they were so long that they touched the ground.

  ‘Hey,’ I yelled.

  ‘What?’ said Dawn.

  I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. I couldn’t tell them. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. It was as if a battle was going on inside my head. I wanted to scream out and say, ‘The apple-man’s fingers are growing. The snail must have infected him when I was in the tree. The germs can infect plants too.’

  But instead I said nothing.

  I could almost feel the disease inside my head. Trying to take over my brain. Trying to make me do its will. Feeding on my jealousy and anger.

  Terrible thoughts filled my head. Dawn and Howard were ganging up on me. All she wanted was for me to remember what happened to her mother on the bus. After that she would probably try to get rid of me. Dawn hated my apple-man. If I told her about his fingers she would make me destroy him so she could be alone with Howard. And she didn’t like my dad. She didn’t care that he could get infected.

  Dad gave me that apple-man. He was my friend. Standing there in his blue refinery uniform. So what if he was growing fingers? It was probably going to help us.

  That’s the way my mind was working. The stupid thoughts rushing around inside my head seemed perfectly normal.

  So I didn’t say anything. I just watched as the index finger on the apple-man’s right hand grew out like a moving piece of rope.

  I said nothing as it slowly and steadily wormed across the ground towards the sleeping figure of Gramps.

  Closer, closer, closer.

  Still I kept quiet. Still the words of warning that I wanted to shout would not form in my mouth.

  The finger – no, it wasn’t a finger. It was a sucker. Or a creeper. Something like that. Whatever it was it had almost reached Gramps. It wormed its way up to the little cup that he had put his false teeth into. It climbed up the cup and crept inside. It was drinking the water.

  Gramps snored. Dawn and Howard looked at each other with big smiles. They hadn’t seen it.

  I struggled. Oh, I really struggled with the terrible germs that were fighting a battle for my mind.

  The root crept towards Gramps. Was it going to put its terrible finger into his ear? Or his mouth? Was it going to drink him?

  I tried to say something but I couldn’t. The words just wouldn’t come out. In the end I managed to point. ‘Aagh,’ was all I could get out. A sort of strangled cry. ‘Aagh.’

  Dawn and Howard stared. And stared. And stared. Not at the apple-man. But at me. What was wrong? Suddenly I realised. My face must be twisted and ugly. Changing with the black thoughts that were swirling inside my skull.

  I forced my feet forward. I staggered towards Gramps like a drunken man. ‘Aagh,’ I gurgled. ‘Aagh …’

  Suddenly Gramps sat up. He reached into his pocket and took out the little silver pocket knife that he used to peel apples and pears. He flicked open the blade and with one swift slash, cut off the end of the creeping root.

  ‘Gotcha,’ he shouted. ‘A Finnigan doesn’t sleep on guard duty. I’ve been watching you for a while.’

  Dawn screamed as the cut root started to whip and curl around like a worm that had been chopped in half.

  ‘Into the car,’ yelled Gramps.

  I threw a look at the apple-man. Some of his other fingers had reached the ground by now. They disappeared into the soil. They were sucking up moisture. One of the fingers of the other hand was writhing its way towards the car. Faster and faster.

  Dawn grabbed Gramps by the shoulder and started to pull him towards the car. But he broke away and hurried back to the cup. ‘I’m not going anywhere without my teeth,’ he yelled. He grabbed his teeth and shoved them into his wrinkled mouth. Then he tottered to the car and fell into the driver’s seat.

  I just stood there watching it all. I wanted to help Dawn and Howard and Gramps. And I also wanted to help my apple-man tear them to pieces. Oh, terrible, horrible thoughts. What could I do?

  Think. Think peace. Think beauty. Think love.

  I stared at the whispering trees and the morning’s blanket of mist. I heard the happy call of the waking kookaburras. I thought of my mother’s smile as she read me a story in bed. I thought of Dawn and her funny laugh and her soft hands.

  Then I turned my back on my old companion the apple-man and ran to the car and jumped inside with my friends. It was a huge wrench but panic drove the sadness from me.

  ‘Go,’ I screamed to Gramps. ‘Go, go, go.’

  Gramps started the engine and put the car into gear. He let out the clutch and the back wheels spun.

  ‘Faster,’ yelled Dawn. ‘Faster.’

  Faster? Didn’t Dawn know anything? It wouldn’t be hard to go faster. We weren’t moving at all.

  I threw a glance out of the back window. Thick smoke filled the air. A sharp smell of burning rubber stung my nostrils.

  ‘What’s up? said Howard. ‘Is the engine on fire?’

  ‘No,’ I screamed. ‘The wheels are spinning. The tyres are burning. Stop, Gramps. Stop.’

  It was just as if the back of the car had been tied to a tree with a rope. Except the rope wasn’t a rope. It was a finger. A root. A horrible curling creeper sent out by the apple-man. It was wrapped around the back bumper.

  There was no way that the Morris Minor was going anywhere.

  Howard was in the front with Gramps. And I was in the back with Dawn. I could feel that my face was going back to normal. What was happening? Was it because I’d done the right thing and sacrificed my apple-man? Was that like having calm thoughts?

  I took Dawn’s hand and gave it a squeeze but she didn’t seem to notice. Maybe she was just too occupied with the plant tendril that was hanging on to the back bumper.

  ‘This car’s got holes in it,’ she shrieked.

  ‘Like this
one,’ said Howard calmly. He sure was a cool customer. He was pointing at a green tendril snaking its way through a rusty gap in the door. He took Dawn’s mother’s shoe and started hitting at the horrible root. No panic. Just calm action. The tendril took no notice. It kept on coming. A bit like a cobra rearing its head out of a basket when a snake charmer plays his flute.

  ‘Give me that,’ yelled Dawn.

  She grabbed the shoe and shoved it at the tendril. Straight away the writhing finger started to retreat. It squirmed back out of the hole as if it had been stung.

  My mouth just fell open. In Dawn’s hand the shoe seemed to have a power all of its own.

  The shoe had scared the tendril. But my apple-man was busy in other directions. One long shoot was wriggling down into the ground. Plants need water. And it wanted some. Badly.

  ‘Right,’ said Gramps. ‘We’re getting out of here.’

  He put the car into reverse and backed up towards the place where my apple-man was growing. The tendril that had attached itself to the car fell slack. Gramps shoved the Morris into first gear and let her rip.

  ‘Racing start,’ I screamed.

  The Morris Minor leapt foward like a Ferrari off the starting line.

  ‘Way to go,’ I yelled as the Morris rocketed forward in a shower of stones and smoke.

  The tendril suddenly tightened as the car took up the slack.

  Twang. The bumper bar was ripped straight off the car. It bounced up into the air with the tendril still grabbing on to it.

  We sped on to the road and raced away like a bat out of hell. Gramps grinned. ‘Yahoo,’ he shouted.

  But he was too early. I looked back in disbelief. There was only one word to say and I said it.

  ‘Shoot.’

  Out of the back window I could see the tendril following. It was growing in fast-time. Streaking along behind us like a skinny piece of living rope.

  ‘Faster,’ I yelled. ‘Faster.’