by P. J. Sky
In the confines of her skull, Keshia’s brain began to swell. Had she ever felt so hot as she did now by these silent tracks, or so alone? Despite the heat, her body continued to shiver. She could feel the icy spectre of death twisting around her gut and pulling her down.
Keshia’s eyes fell to the path ahead. Red dust rolled across an empty world baked flat and hard under the endless sun. Two dead straight lines shimmered in a hot haze, and where they melted into one, the tower of grey smoke grew like a demonic monolith, ominous and reaching for the heavens as if to challenge even the sun. Already the air smelt burnt.
It’s like I’m stumbling into Hell.
Keshia remembered the priest in her church talk of the temptation of the devil.
“Beware, for the devil will masquerade as an angel of the light. Put on the full armour of the Lord, so that you can stand against the devil’s schemes.”
The full armour of the Lord, thought Keshia.
She felt the heavy sack over her shoulder. But was it enough? Was anything ever enough? For if your soul wasn’t strong enough, would all the armour in the world come to nothing?
Something drew her towards her pocket. She reached inside and pulled out the silver cross on its torn leather cord.
Her heart leapt.
Ari gave it back to me.
She rubbed her thumb against the smooth metal surface of the cross.
Why does this mean so much to me? Is it because I believe? Or just because it’s all I have of that other time in the orphanage?
Somehow, the question of whether she did or didn’t believe in God had never been one she remembered asking. God was there, that was that, though whether he cared about her, or she cared about him, was a matter of contention.
But what does God think of thieves? When you’re starving, is it so wrong to steal a loaf of bread?
When she’d finally reached Bo, she’d quickly embraced all the possibilities a life on the streets could offer, primarily through thieving. Pickpocketing, clothing from washing lines, a hand through a kitchen window, the sleight-of-hand at a market stall, and finally, the warehouses of the syndicate and all those stupid little brown pictures the pilgrims wanted to buy, and that was when she really got into trouble.
But this is why you stopped praying, isn’t it Keshia.
The thought caught Keshia off-guard.
You stopped because you stole, and after that all the sermons you’d listened to in the church, under that cross, no longer applied, because you’d sinned and nothing had happened.
But that’s not why I stopped praying. I stopped because bad things happened and no one ever did anything about it. I stopped because the Black Mulga marched into the convent and no one stopped them. I stopped because I watched the mother superior bleeding out and yet was never moved to help her.
“But God helps those that help themselves.”
Keshia saw the soft, canine eyes of the priest smile at her. His ancient face, long and deeply creased, like an old sack, his bottom lip bouncing each time he spoke.
“God speaks through our actions.”
Then, asked Keshia, before I do this, before I walk into the mouth of Hell to save Ari, should I be asking for God’s help?
It was worth a try, at least.
Keshia interlocked her fingers, dipped her head and closed her eyes.
“God,” she whispered, “I haven’t really been your best disciple. I never really took much time to pray to you. Maybe that was okay, because I wasn’t wasting your time, I was taking care of things myself. But now I think maybe I need your help, and I think maybe Ari does too. I don’t know much about Ari, or whether or not she believes in you, but I know that she is good. I know she wants to do the right thing. And somehow, I know she’s in trouble.
“I’ve sinned, God. I was hungry but I knew it was wrong. I’d forsaken you. I was so angry, and I didn’t even realise it until now.”
Keshia felt the tears slide down her cheeks.
“But if you help me now, I promise I won’t sin again. I’ll pray every day, or as often as I can, and be thankful for every meal. So please, help me now.”
Keshia tasted salty tears, then something metallic, like blood.
∆∆∆
Ari’s mouth went dry and her skin began to crawl. She spread her arms and backed towards the edges of her cell.
“Easy now, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
Crowned in a mane of thick, golden hair, the lion’s great, round head followed her, its large, amber eyes like flaming torches. It stretched the wide pads of its feet, black claws extending like talons through the sandy fur, and took one step forwards.
Ari pressed up against the rough cave wall. Breathing in shallow bursts, she could feel her heart thumping against her ribcage and hear it throbbing in her ears.
It’s just an animal; just a big cat.
Ari had never seen a lion before, but it was like a giant version of the kind of smaller cats she’d seen on the streets of towns like Bo or Cooper. She even remembered seeing them in the Angu village. And they weren’t so dangerous, were they? Not as dangerous as one of the giant dingoes that roamed the wasteland and Ari had faced up to those.
Not like this though. Not trapped in a cage with it.
The animal let out a low grumble.
Ari flinched and tried to push herself further into the wall. Sweat trickled down her forehead and traced its way along the bridge of her nose.
It’s just an animal; an animal like any other. It just needs taming, see. It needs to know who’s boss.
Ari swallowed dryly.
You can do this, you can show it who’s boss. It’ll be more scared of you than you are of it.
Ari stepped forwards, pushed back her shoulders, tried to stand as tall as possible, and summoned all the authority she could muster.
“Down, boy.”
The animal opened up its jaw and roared. The guttural sound filled the cell. Ari sprang back against the wall.
“Okay, take it easy, I get the message.”
Ari sucked at the corner of her bottom lip. You know, she thought, I ain’t sure it’s that scared of me. Okay, new plan, I just have to stay calm and not upset it. That can’t be so hard, right?
Steadily, Ari breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth.
The lion grumbled and took another step forwards, closer than Ari really wanted it to be. Arms outstretched, she slipped along the cell walls. The lion’s big eyes followed her. It turned on its paws and waved its brush-like tail, twisting it like a frightened snake ready to pounce.
“Dag it,” said Ari, “We don’t ‘ave to fight.”
The lion slid its pink tongue along its furry lips.
“Ya know, there ain’t much of me, I wouldn't make ya much of a meal.”
The lion’s tail twisted back and forth and the bulging muscles around its shoulders tightened. The lion drew back, head tucked down, and pounced.
Ari gasped and ran back across the cell to the barred door. She turned. On the other side of the cell, the lion was rubbing its muscular body against the wall. It turned its fiery eyes on her, head dipped, its black gums exposed; a strand of saliva dripped from its partially open mouth.
Ari pressed up to the bars. “Okay, so maybe we do need to fight.”
Ari scanned the cell for anything that might form a weapon. Her captors had left her with very little; no bowl, no blanket. There was the tin cup that had contained a ladle of water but what good would that do her?
The lion stepped towards her.
Ari held her arm in front of her as if this might somehow ward it off. “Now come on, we don’t ‘ave to do this, do we? We’re both prisoners, we’re both doin’ time. Can’t we get along?”
The lion shook its head and grumbled.
“Was that a yeah or no?”
Ari, he’s a wild animal. Either you fight him or you need to calm him down somehow.
Ari started to feel dizzy. Her chest heaved up and down and
her heart pounded. She took a step towards the lion, her hand out.
“Now come on, let’s be friends.”
The lion pulled its head back, stretched its mouth wide exposing its four dagger-like canines, and roared.
Ari shrieked and ran to the opposite wall, back where she’d started.
The lion slunk along the edge of the bars, the lumps of its shoulder blades rolling back and forth, its wild tail knocking each bar one by one.
“Dag it,” said Ari, under her breath. “Maka, this ain’t no way to go.”
The big animal kept its eyes on Ari.
“I mean, where do ya even find a lion in the middle of the wasteland anyway?”
The lion lifted its paw towards Ari. Ari stumbled back along the cell wall.
“So this is what folks mean when they talk about a race of cat an’ mouse?”
The lion twisted its brush like tail and circled back towards Ari, mouth hung open.
Ari picked up the tin cup and held it towards the lion.
“Now chill, all right, or I’m gonna ‘ave to use this.”
The lion padded forwards, unconcerned.
Ari threw the cup. It bounced off the lion’s giant head and the animal didn’t even flinch. The cup clattered on the floor.
The animal licked its lips.
“Hey, I had to try.”
The lion pulled back, front legs taut like a spring.
Ari’s eyes widened.
The animal leaped. Big, round paws dragged Ari onto the floor. Claws scraped down her arms. And Ari saw the Bone Pointer, his lips parted; a round hole ringed with lines of razor teeth; and in her gut, it was like a furnace was exploding. She clawed at his clammy skin. Slime dripped from his open mouth, his breath acidic. Bile bubbled up her throat. She looked into his hollow eye sockets; those black holes that went on forever into the infinite pit of space and time, to the emptiness at the end of all things.
“You killed my Dad, you killed my Mum.”
The Bone Pointer pressed his cold hands against her temples and hissed. It was like she heard his voice in her head. “The world made me, with all its hate and all its greed, it balled it up and squeezed it out and now it cannot be put back. There is no going back and all of you have only yourselves to blame.”
Ari screamed. She reached up and tore her fingers over the Bone Pointer’s face.
“But ya won’t get Starla.”
“You cannot stop me.”
In her fingers, the thin, pale skin split apart, and the snout of the vicious animal bore down on her. Between her fingers she clutched clumps of golden hair. She could smell the lion’s breath, meaty and warm. A wad of saliva dripped onto her face. The lion opened its jaws wide; a huge, pink tongue between four dagger-like canines.
“Ya won’t get Starla,” Ari repeated, salty tears streaming down her cheeks.
The animal lowered its jaws. She tried to kick it away, her leg thumping against solid muscle. She turned away and flinched. She closed her eyes.
“Maka, please…”
Ari felt something rough and wet slide up her cheek.
The animal was lowering its body beside her, legs over her like a lover’s embrace. With its big, pink tongue, it proceeded to lick her.
Chapter 27
Tall blades of yellow grass grew close to the railway tracks. Ahead, poking up from behind a stepped terrace, Keshia could see the open frame of the lift tower, segmented into triangles. The ground ran upwards and beyond hung the ever-present column of grey smoke.
In the dry grass, Keshia heard something rustle. She froze. She imagined the footsteps of a soldier, making their way through the grass, one leather boot at a time. She remembered the soldiers outside Freehaven, and the soldiers as they entered the convent.
Her heart started to thump and a red heat formed in the base of her stomach and began working its way upwards.
Do I dive into the grass or raise my hands? He must have seen me by now?
Sweat trickled down her brow.
Ru-ssss-le.
Keshia shot a glance to her left, across the heads of dry grass. She saw a group of stems waver. Something was moving among them. As she watched, a line of stems disappeared below the others as if something had dragged them down.
Keshia wished she had some sort of weapon, but back at the compound the closest she’d found to one had been the pickaxe, and it’d been too heavy to drag all the way here. She wouldn’t know how to use it anyway. But now she felt naked.
The blades of grass moved again.
Perhaps it was a lizard or a snake? Or something bigger? A kangaroo joey maybe, or a wallaby?
And then she heard something; it was almost like a giggle.
Keshia narrowed her eyes, her heart beating in her ears.
What was this?
The blades of grass shuddered, and there was the giggle again, almost human. Keshia could swear it was a woman’s laugh.
She dared a look either way down the tracks, but for whatever was hiding in the grass, she seemed to be alone.
Keshia stepped carefully between the dry blades.
What you going to do, Keshia? You’ve no weapon. You should just walk on.
But curiosity had now got the better of her. From under her shawl, she drew out the round form of the metal canteen. There was still a little water left in it. She cradled it in her palm, like a metal ball. It’d have to do.
The blades of dry grass pressed around her ankles. She crept towards the patch of broken stems, careful not to make a sound. She barely dared to breathe. Closer, poking up over the dry blades, she saw something white; a discarded robe. Keshia explored it with her foot, then leant down and picked it up. Bina had described these robes; the followers at the mine all wore them.
Keshia rubbed her thumb against the smooth material.
Bina had only one, and she’d given it to Ari.
Closer now, she heard the giggle again.
Taking the robe, she crept deeper into the tall grass. The blades parted to reveal the tanned forms of a man and a woman, seemingly too wrapped up in each other’s embrace to notice Keshia looking over them.
Keshia’s heart froze. She turned away, her cheeks burning. She felt a laugh bubble up her throat, desperate to escape.
That was more person than she was expecting to see today.
Robe in hand, she bounced back across the grass and tripped over the railway lines. She landed on her backside and the laugh burst from her chest. She clapped a hand over her mouth and grinned.
Whatever, she thought, now I have a robe.
∆∆∆
The silent railway cars formed long, metal corridors. On either side of the cars, the dark ground stepped upwards in large terraces, like the earthworks of some extinct civilisation. Keshia slipped between the couplings of two cars and passed by a series of pens, the inside of which was stained a dusty black.
This must have been where they put the coal, she thought, back when the mine still operated.
A yellow crane rusted; its arm suspended over the cars. Next to it, a truck sat on red rocks, its wheels removed, as if these were the only items left of use.
This industrial part of the mine seemed entirely abandoned. Down here among the railway cars, hidden behind the stepped terraces, the stagnant air sat thick and heavy and smelt of oil and dust.
With her eyes, Keshia followed the terraces upwards, one step at a time. At the top of these shelves, she spotted a white-robed figure drifting in the breeze.
She froze.
The figure paused and Keshia could have sworn they were looking right at her. She held her breath, not daring to move. Then the figure moved on.
Keshia sighed, then remembered the robe she wore over her clothing. They must have assumed she was meant to be down here.
Keshia moved on, following the lines of railway cars towards the mine’s most obvious landmark, the tower; a rectangular web of steel scaffold, within which, high up at its top, sat a giant spoked wheel. She crinkl
ed her nose as she passed a metal vent spewing noxious yellow smoke. Further on, she inspected a thin crack through the ground that seemed to run right beneath the railway tracks, from which more thick smoke vented. She knelt and felt the ground with her palm and it was warm. It was as if the very ground beneath her feet was burning, as if she truly were standing on the mouth of Hell.
She shuddered and once again remembered the words of the priest. She stood and she wondered if the ground might collapse beneath her feet and swallow her up. She thought of the contents of her rucksack. This was no place to stick around.
Further on, she passed a small hut that might have been a shrine. Great, colourful flowers adorned its entrance, in yellows and blues and reds. These flowers burst with lush plumage like Keshia had never seen before. The velvet petals peeled open around delicate yellow pods. In the centre of this onslaught of colour, the dark entrance beckoned. It seemed to be calling to her, daring her to take a peek.
As Keshia approached the entrance, the air seemed to grow cooler. She dipped her head inside. In the faint light of the doorway, a figure lay sleeping.
But not sleeping, not moving at all; not even breathing. From his neck, coloured flowers hung in chains. His lips were white, his open eyes like empty glass. A large, black fly tiptoed across his eyeball.
The sweet stench filled her nostrils. She looked away and covered her mouth.
His robe was soaked in red.
A fly buzzed around her head.
Keshia backed away from the hut, her heart racing. She felt the bile seep up her throat. She could still smell the thick, acrid stench, as if it was trapped in her nostrils. She spat onto the ground then reached under her robe, drew out her canteen and rinsed her mouth with the metallic water. She spat again and stumbled away from the hut.
Dag it, she thought. I wish Ari were here. Ari, where are you?
She looked back and forth, down the corridors of cars, then up to the stepped terraces and beyond to the rising column of smoke. Hand over foot, Keshia scrambled up the first terrace and leant against one of the four legs of the lift tower. She looked upwards, to the top of the vast, naked structure. The sight of its static peak against the rolling movements of the smoke left her giddy, as if at any moment the forsaken tower might topple, crushing the former miners beneath it in some final act of arbitrary vengeance.