Three Strikes

by Lucy Christopher

  Still don’t.

  But there was nothing to find then.

  Least not in our camp.

  ‘Do you think we’ll be in trouble for not doing the task?’ Annie had said.

  The first time I saw a gun I was about six years old. This was back when we still lived in the city with Dieter. Mum’d been sitting on their huge double bed, cleaning it, and I’d come in to find her. It was a shotgun, I think, still saved from when she grew up on the farm with Gran and Gramps – it’s probably still in her studio at our house now.

  I’d padded into the room in my red reindeer slippers and the look on her face stopped me in the doorway. I’d caught her before she’d seen me. Her eyes were half closed as she wiped down the gun, and she was humming something softly. She looked so calm – maybe that’s how I look when I use the knife on my skin. Perhaps it’s kind of the same thing?

  I watched her for a while, methodically snapping open the middle and working a bristly stick that looked like a mini toilet brush down the barrel. She polished until the lights of the room glinted in its wooden handle and bounced back onto her face. After a while she stopped humming, and held the clean gun out in front of her. She stayed like that for ages, just looking at it, turning it over in her hands. Then, quickly, she pressed something to make it click. It sounded so loud in the quiet of the bedroom it made me jump, but Mum didn’t see my movement. Instead she put the end of the barrel under her chin and held it there. Then she stared straight ahead at the mirror with the gun motionless against her jaw.

  I watched. I didn’t know what it meant, this movement. I didn’t know why she was staring so intently at her reflection, or why she sat there for so long. All I know is that when the doorbell went suddenly, she jumped as if she’d been punched. And there was this noise, louder than anything, crashing all around me, echoing off the walls. I slammed my hands over my ears and collapsed onto the floor.

  It took me ages to look up again. I saw Mum’s shoes first, on the carpet in front of me. Then I felt her fingers, brushing my hair. When I looked up at her, she was standing over me, shaking her head very slowly like she did when she didn’t want me to tell Dieter something. And there, behind her, was a jagged hole in the ceiling.

  Perhaps that’s when Dieter started plotting to leave us. Perhaps that’s when I should have started plotting to leave, too.

  I should write more about what’s happened today.

  There’s been so much, but somehow my head’s still stuck in the past, still wanting to get all that out first.

  Maybe Lily’s right about writing the past down, that it helps.

  Or maybe I just don’t want to cut myself. Or fuck Sam. And when I’m writing, I can’t do either.

  There! That’s a kind of progress at least – doing something positive with my fingers.

  Or maybe… Maybe I’m even starting to like this writing thing. Lily would really feel smug then.

  So, we found another track. That was the first thing.

  It’s a bigger track than the one that leads up to our camp, wide enough for vehicles. There were recent tyre marks on it too.

  ‘C’mon then, mountain girl,’ Pete said, glancing at me. ‘Which way are they going?’

  I glared at him. ‘How am I supposed to know?’

  He smiled, nastily. ‘Thought you knew things like that?’

  ‘Fuck off. They’re tracks on a bit of dirt. How’s anyone supposed to know?’

  I threw a glare at Sam. Only he could have told Pete about Mum’s mountain. I wondered what else he’d said. Sam just stepped out into the track and looked slowly in both directions.

  ‘Their camp can’t be far,’ Pete said. He made us take a vote, and we went left. We hadn’t walked for long before the tracks were more churned up.

  ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘Getting closer.’

  The forest was eerily quiet, and we walked slower. I knew it was just because it was getting to midday and things always seem to shut off around that time out here, but the sudden silence still creeped me out. Annie and Nyall walked as if they were practically glued to each other, glancing up at the trees as if something was going to drop on them. I found myself listening for shuffles and shrieks even more than usual.

  I remembered that black cat in the trees from two nights before, seen from the cabin while Sam slept. Had I seen it, really? Or was it just an overhanging dream? Perhaps I was going mad, hallucinating? Last night Sam had smoked some of the weed Lily and George had left lying about, perhaps some of it had got into my brain too … perhaps Pete stuck some in my food. Another reason not to eat.

  ‘Why’s it so muddy and still so hot?’ Annie said, leaping together with Nyall over the ruts.

  Pete shushed her.

  Then there were buildings up ahead.

  I saw their straight, solid edges through the trees. Pete stopped and turned back to us with two fingers on his lips. The way he did it was almost comical, like he was acting out an old war film, like the kind my gramps used to watch.

  ‘Think this is their camp?’ he whispered.

  Nyall nodded. ‘Has to be.’

  ‘Maybe we should circle it and approach from the back?’ Sam suggested.

  ‘I think we should just walk straight in,’ I said.

  Sam looked at me quickly. ‘But if something bad’s happened there, that’s not very smart. The gunshots, remember?’

  Even though I was still mad at Sam from what he must have told Pete, I still liked how he was asking me about what to do, asking me, not Pete. I pointed at the thick vegetation to our right. ‘We could go through there then, try and get a better look first?’

  Pete stepped towards the bushes immediately. ‘I was just thinking that.’

  Annie sighed. ‘I think we should go straight in. Lily and George are probably sitting in the middle, laughing at us all. Like Kasha said earlier, maybe it’s just another test.’

  I nodded. ‘It’s possible.’

  Pete scowled at us. ‘You know what George told us, there’s fighting near here – warring tribes. We need to be careful.’

  I stared back. ‘Do you really believe either of them about anything? And warring tribes, really?’

  Pete looked at me coolly. ‘Who else do we have to believe? Anyway, we heard the shots.’

  ‘We’re on an island, Pete,’ I reminded him. ‘No space for warring tribes.’

  He turned back to the bushes. Sam followed him straight into the undergrowth. Clearly Annie and I were the only ones willing to consider my idea of this all being a test because after a moment even Nyall ignored us and followed the other two. Annie shrugged and went after him. Again I came last.

  Pete moved excruciatingly slowly through the vegetation. Even so, we creaked and crushed branches, making enough noise to wake half the forest. I felt sweat running down my back in two lines either side of my spine, and I was glad for the second time that day that I hadn’t brought a big pack. The others’ packs kept getting caught in the branches, holding them up further.

  I kept glancing at the clearing where the camp was. There were three buildings, all made of wood and thatch, all raised up on stilts from the ground like the buildings in our camp. It was set up like our camp, too, with a bigger cabin in the centre and two smaller ones either side. The buildings looked newer than the ones in our camp, less run down. There were no cars anywhere, though I could see lots of tyre tracks in the mud so there’d been a vehicle there recently. I couldn’t see a generator, toilet, or shower, but they could be in the trees like ours are. And there was no movement anywhere. The camp was deserted. Unless of course there were soldiers, or warring tribes, lying in wait for us inside the buildings. It didn’t seem likely. Why would soldiers do that? Why would there even be soldiers?

  It didn’t look like the kind of place where George and Lily would live. Even for them it looked basic. I’d thought they’d have flags flying, statues of Che Guevara or some shit. I’d thought they’d have a veggie patch, somewhere to grow all that wee
d they smoked.

  I hadn’t let myself think seriously about Pete’s idea. He’d decided too quickly; soldiers had come and captured Lily and George. I’d laughed at first. But right then, pushing through the undergrowth, I wasn’t so sure. From the glimpses I could see of the camp, it didn’t look raided by soldiers or warring tribes. It just looked empty. But it didn’t look right.

  ‘This is about as far as we can go,’ Pete said.

  He turned back to us, tiny leaves stuck to the sweat on his face, twigs in his hair. There was a wall of thick green behind him, branches with small thorns and vines creeping everywhere, stopping him from investigating any further. We’d need a serious knife to get through it. Anyway, it looked like a snake pit.

  ‘There’s a bug on your cheek, Pete,’ I said.

  He flicked it off in my direction.

  We got down on our knees and crawled closer to the buildings, until we were barely in the trees anymore. I could hear Sam behind me, almost feel his hot breath on my neck. There was still no movement in the camp.

  ‘It’s got to be deserted,’ Nyall said.

  I agreed. ‘Let’s just walk in.’

  But Pete made us wait ages, watching.

  ‘Should some of us stay in the trees?’ Sam said. ‘Just in case, you know, someone really is in there? Like, backup?’

  ‘I told you,’ I said again. ‘They’re just fucking with us. This is just one of their tasks.’

  In the end we moved together, running quickly across the clearing to the buildings. As we left the shelter of the trees, I felt a sudden burst of nerves. What if there actually were soldiers or tribes here? What if, at any moment, gunfire ripped us apart?

  But we all made it to the wall of the closest building. We were all breathing hard, our eyes wide. So, perhaps I was a little scared. So, maybe I was starting to believe Pete. Maybe.

  We huddled at the side and looked at the wooden steps leading up to the entrance. We were all watching the windows of the other buildings in the camp, too, but nothing moved behind them.

  ‘There’s no one here,’ I said, as much to reassure me as everyone else.

  ‘Should we go up the steps?’ said Sam. ‘Check out what’s inside?’

  ‘Maybe we could shout as we do?’ Nyall whispered. ‘So we can scare them … y’know, have the advantage. Like they do in films.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘If anyone’s here they would have seen us by now. If they were going to kill us, they would have. I told you – it’s just them fucking with us.’

  I took the lead, bounding up the wooden steps to the door. It opened easily, swinging inwards. If it had been locked once, it wasn’t now. My eyes wouldn’t adjust to the gloom inside. Everything was shadowy. And there was a terrible smell like something rotten. I gagged immediately. Then I thought: what if there is something – someone – dead in here? What then?

  I took a step away, stumbled back towards the stairs. I heard a gasp behind me as Annie joined me and looked inside too.

  I don’t want to write about what we found inside yet. It makes me feel odd. I haven’t worked it out, what it means.

  Instead, I’m touching the filleting knife, pressing its tip into my finger pads. The bubbles of blood it makes look like berries.

  Here. I’ll smudge some.

  See it? The thing on the page that now just looks like dirt? Blood.

  If I die out here, perhaps you can identify me by testing this smear.

  I’ll cut harder, I think.

  There’s a saying on a piece of card pinned up in the cabin just behind me – a life lived in fear is a life half lived.

  And that makes me think.

  Maybe I’m half-lived. Half-told. I’m half of two people who lived in 8 Edgemount Road.

  I’m hunching away from what’s behind me, not looking at what’s in front either.

  Trees. Heat. Trees.

  Secrets.

  Trees. Heat. Trees.

  Darkness

    everywhere.

  There’s only one thing I want to write about, one thing I can work out.

  The night that started it. The rest of that story.

  I think I have to.

        So…

  That night Sam pressed the accelerator, made it roar in the silence of our street.

  ‘How old is this car anyway?’ he said.

  ‘Old as me.’

  He took the handbrake off, and pressed the accelerator again. For the first time Sam looked nervous.

  ‘Can you drive it?’ I asked.

  ‘Course.’

  He didn’t look certain. I wound down the window and checked the street both ways. ‘You’re clear.’

  He stalled as he pulled it away from the kerb. There was a horrible moment when we were gliding in the middle of the road; when the houses on the bottom end of the street where it joined ours could have seen us; when Mum could have seen us if she’d been walking there. Then Sam turned the key again, and we were off. He checked the rear-view mirror as he pulled away.

  ‘I told you I could do it,’ he said.

  He took a left into Cromwall Street, past the park, and headed on towards the ring road. No one was watching us, no one flagging us down. The night was clear and empty, the sky black as deep oceans. Suddenly, Sam was laughing. He thumped his hand against the steering wheel, and accelerated again. The lights from the strip of takeaways made a haze of orangey-red.

  ‘You’re going to get us in jail,’ I said.

  But I was laughing too. It felt amazing to be doing this: to be out in a stolen car with a boy without a licence, to be out there with Sam.

  ‘Since when did you get so good?’ I nodded at his hands on the wheel.

  ‘Since I knew we were doing this. Anyway, Dad’s always getting me to move cars around.’ He smiled, happy I’d noticed. ‘And Jake gives me lessons in the car park.’

  I thought of Sam and his older, gangly brother bombing it round behind his dad’s garage. I scrunched up the crisp packets on the seat and shoved them in the door.

  ‘You’re lucky to have a brother.’

  And a Dad – but I bit back those words.

  I watched the easy way he steered with only his right hand on the wheel, his quick constant checks in the mirror, and realised I trusted him completely.

  ‘You’re going to get me into trouble,’ I said.

  He looked at me, for as long as he dared keep his eyes away from the road. ‘I think it’s going to be the other way round.’

  He reached his left hand across and pinched me above the knee. I slapped him away and the car wavered. He glanced at me, but I was still smiling. At that moment I didn’t even care if the whole police force of Montford was after us.

  ‘How long ’til the quarry?’ I asked.

  ‘Not far.’

  Sam put both hands on the wheel after that. We weren’t going fast, but it felt like it. The whole journey felt like a trip on a speedway. Sam flicked the full beams on. We wouldn’t be on the ring road long, just enough to get us the other side of the woods below the mountain.

  I watched Sam’s profile in the moonlight; his sharpish nose and chin, his full lips, the way his hair bounced up and stuck to the roof of the car.

  ‘You’re too big for this car,’ I said.

  He reached out his arm and tried to pull me towards him. I shuffled across, but the gear stick was in the way again. In the end, I just leant over and rested my head down onto Sam’s shoulder, my forehead against his neck. I could smell that perfect Sam smell: the car oil and the Lynx deodorant. It felt so comfortable, like I’d been doing this all my life, like my head was made to sit in the crook between Sam’s neck and shoulder. It felt wrong we’d never kissed each other. It was weird, but it didn’t feel wrong that I’d never kissed anyone, just wrong that it had never been him.

  Sam moved his arm to change gear, then placed his warm hand back on my knee. It made the inside of me bubble and fizz. I didn’t say anything when he did that and neithe
r did he, but I was thinking: friends might steal cars together but they don’t put their hands on each other’s knees.

  I kept my eyes on the dashboard clock. 9.45. There’d be enough time? I’d told Mum the film finished at eleven. And I could get through the woods below the mountain in twenty minutes, maybe fifteen if I ran. But perhaps we wouldn’t be long out there, anyway. Perhaps we’d do exactly what we’d planned: we’d find the quarry, hide the car, and I’d traipse back one way and Sam another. Either way, I’d see Mum before midnight. I could stretch it ’til then; she’d be alright. And if she wasn’t?

  Sam was watching me, reading my mind again. ‘Your mum OK with you going out, then?’

  I shrugged, waiting to see if he’d say anything about Mum talking to him, warning him off. Surely he’d tell me if she had?

  ‘You know what she’s like,’ I said when Sam kept quiet.

  Sam was the only one who knew anything about how bad she’d got. But even he didn’t know that lately Mum had been spending whole evenings on the mountain, or that she ate dinner there too sometimes, or that sometimes dinner was what she’d caught in traps she’d set to snare the Black Cat.

  ‘What Mum doesn’t know’s not going to kill her,’ I said.