by Tony Davis
‘Lemon-what?’ asked Beeper.
‘For celebrating your birthday, George,’ she said. ‘Beeper told me no-one did that yet. Everyone deserves a treat on their birthday. But you should start calling me Emily, and including me in things.’
George glared angrily at his brother, then at her. ‘You can’t give someone a present with a condition attached!’
She ignored him. ‘You twist the top,’ she said to Beeper, picking up the bottle closest to him and giving the lid a sharp wrench. The bottle hissed. Beeper jolted with surprise.
‘Try some,’ she said, handing him the bottle.
Beeper took a gulp. The bubbles shot up his nose and his eyes watered. ‘Wow! It tickles … tickles my tongue.’ He grinned at George. ‘There’s no dirt in it. Have some.’
‘Well?’ she asked, opening the second bottle and sipping from it. ‘Aren’t you joining us, Mr Brave Rabbit Killer?’
George was silent. He read some of the words on the label yet again: Fresco, Pura, Limonada. He wanted so badly to drink it. Sweet, fizzy lemonade …
‘Well?’ she repeated.
George stretched out and grabbed the third bottle. He paused, then shoved it towards her. ‘I’m happy with water,’ he said, pushing his chair back and heading for the kitchen sink. He began noisily arranging the jars on the counter so he could begin straining.
The girl took another sip. ‘That’s a pity. But, Beeper, that means more for you and me. You see, I’ve been thinking that, since you’ve got no father …’
George thumped down the jar in his hand. ‘We do have a father!’ he yelled.
‘… and I kind of like that front room …’
‘We do have a father,’ echoed Beeper, finishing his lemonade and burping. ‘He’s a secret agent. That’s why he’s not …’
The girl cut him off. ‘It’s in everyone’s interests that we start sticking together. You know, people with different things to offer make a good team. I can protect you and there’s plenty more food where this came from. But I want you to invite me to stay. You and your brother.’
‘How could you protect us?’ George asked. He hadn’t filled a single jar. He was too angry. ‘You’re no stronger than me. And that food you brought was just paying us back for what you stole. Anyway, you didn’t really bring that food here for us. You had your reasons. You do everything for yourself.’
He marched out of the kitchen and stood at the edge of the table. ‘I’m not going to call you Emily.’ He leaned forward until his face was level with hers. ‘And I’m never going to invite you to stay. Never. The minute Dad gets back, he’ll toss you out.’
She sprang to her feet so suddenly, George lurched backwards. ‘I could still put Beeper in, but I’m trying to be nice.’
She pounded down her lemonade. Foam poured out, making a muddy circle in the dust on the tabletop. ‘Your dad’s been gone for, what, nearly a week. Start facing facts, George, he’s not coming back. People go missing all over town every day. He’s just another one of them.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’
‘Dad’s spying for the government,’ said Beeper. ‘He’s helping catch the Drought Barons.’
The girl swung around to face Beeper. ‘I’m sorry to be the one telling you, littl’un, but you can forget silly stories like that. If your dad isn’t dead or conscripted, then he’s found the money for getting onto one of those ships to the wet countries.’
She closed her fists tightly and muttered something else. It sounded like, ‘Just like my parents did.’
‘Pardon,’ George said. ‘What did you say about your mum and your dad?’
She turned away, scooped up the tins, containers, boxes and the unopened lemonade bottle and threw them into her bag. A tub of fruit slipped off the edge of the table and hit the ground but she didn’t pick it up. Instead, she swung the bag over her shoulder, walked to the front bedroom and slammed the door.
George slumped into a chair. ‘She’s lying about Dad, Beeper. Don’t listen to her.’
TWENTY-TWO
‘Come back! I said come back!’
Beeper ignored his brother. He scooted down the hall and opened the door to his old bedroom.
‘Don’t you go near her!’ George yelled. It made no difference. Beeper disappeared inside.
George was furious with everyone and everything. He had made it to the hospital and it was closed. He had built a secret hiding place and it was ruined. He had killed and cooked the rabbit, but she had arrived with better food. He had refused the lemonade, and it made no difference.
She was still here, still finding ways of making Beeper like her. For a moment, he realised, she had tried to be nice to him as well. To do something for his birthday.
Could she have changed? ‘No,’ George said to himself. ‘Just another one of her tricks.’
He walked around the table and picked up the dropped fruit tub. It was filled with Fresh Packed Pineapple Pieces.
If your dad isn’t dead or conscripted … Conscripted. He hadn’t heard the word for a long time. Why hadn’t he thought of that possibility? Dad once told him that every so often the police rounded up anyone doing business at illegal markets.
‘Illegal markets?’ George had replied. ‘Aren’t they all illegal?’
‘There are a few government markets,’ Dad had explained, ‘where you can get tins of fuel and things like that. But you need ration coupons. And normal people can only get ration coupons at the illegal markets.’
‘That doesn’t seem fair.’
‘There’s not much that’s fair these days.’
‘What do the police do, Dad, if they round you up?’
‘If you’re a fit man they usually conscript you to work at the mines up north. For maybe six or twelve months. But don’t worry, I always keep a careful eye out.’
George now tore the lid off the tub and sniffed the contents. Half a lifetime ago — that’s when George last tasted pineapple. The girl had stolen their food, even the special tin. So this tub of pineapple was really theirs, not hers. And George didn’t see why he should now share it with Beeper. How dare he!
It was lumpy, stringy and sugary. Strange on the tongue. Yet George wasn’t really tasting it. He was too angry. Too confused. Too worried. Maybe Dad hadn’t kept a careful eye out at the markets. How could two boys last six or twelve months?
The girl and Beeper were still talking in the front room. George’s face was burning, his head throbbing.
He slurped the last juice from the container. He didn’t have the backbone for another showdown with her. The showdowns never seemed to go the way he wanted them to. The only thing he could think to do was to go back to the straining.
The water from the kitchen tap was just a series of drips, and thick with dirt. As he held the jar, George imagined his father hitting the ground with a mattock in the hot sun. Digging for coal or gold, or whatever it was. Hundreds of kilometres away.
He could hear Beeper and the girl chatting rapid-fire. They were sometimes giggling, sometimes very quiet and serious. George kicked the cupboard below the sink.
It took half an hour to fill six jars. George put most of the water into the cistern. Then he held his breath and crept down the hall.
‘… one of those kids who’d be going to school just to get their bottle of filtered water,’ George heard her say. ‘If school was open, that is. I’d be drinking it down and leaving soon after. Other kids went for the films the schools were showing every Friday. Didn’t interest me. Didn’t worry me when all the schools started closing down.’
Her voice was relaxed. Gentle even. George wanted to hear more.
‘Is your name really Emily?’ asked Beeper.
‘It is now, Beeps.’
Beeps. She had no right to call him that. George’s rage and confusion began to build again. He found himself barging into the bedroom. ‘I told you, girl, don’t talk to him!’
He turned to face his brother. ‘We’re fa
mily, Beeper, not her. Don’t you understand that? Families don’t just come and go as they please, they’re always there to help each other. She’s an intruder. And she’s trying to pull you away from me.’
Beeper stayed where he was, and made no reply. George didn’t know what else he could say. Or do. He found himself tramping out of the room. Down the hall. Out the back door.
He sat on the patio. Stared at the back fence. Fumed, sulked, worried. He watched dust rising through the wire curling along the top.
He kicked his heels against the concrete edge as the light faded. Maybe, he thought, there were reasons for her behaviour: her parents had lied to her, had left her to fend for herself. But maybe she was making all that up. Anyway, he still had a brother to watch out for, a home to keep safe.
He needed a powerful threat. If she didn’t leave straight away he would go to the mall and talk to those policemen. Yes, that was it! He’d tell her he was going to report that she was a breaker-and-enterer, a food thief, a wanderer.
He took a deep breath and strode into the house. ‘Listen here,’ George said when he reached the bedroom door. ‘This is what I’m going to do!’
Beeper was alone, sitting on the bed base.
‘Where is she?’
‘Gone, Torgie. She just left.’
George went to the front door and squinted through the peephole. The front yard was empty and so was the street beyond. Beeper stood in the hall, punching his palms.
‘What about the curfew?’ George asked.
‘I don’t know. She said she had some thinking to do.’
‘What does that mean?’
Beeper shrugged his shoulders. ‘She grabbed her bag and emptied some things …’ His voice trailed away.
‘And?’
‘She said, “Bye Beeper, you probably won’t be seeing me again.” Torgie, I’m scared.’
George looked around the room. Most things of hers had been cleared out. But, placed neatly at the end of the bed were two large tins of Braised Steak with Farm Fresh Vegetables and a plastic tub of apricot halves.
George glanced across to the window. Their mother’s dress was on a coat hanger hooked over the curtain rail.
The boys sat in the day room. The light flickered. Beeper blinked at the half-full bottle of lemonade left on the table.
‘It’s all yours,’ said George. A minute later it was gone.
Beeper stared out into the back yard. He put his head on his arms and fell asleep. George had too many worries to close his eyes.
A couple of hours later, Beeper awoke, hungry. George shared out one of the tins of meat and vegetables. He picked up the plastic tub and divided the apricot halves. George let the thick, sweet juice coat his tongue, but it gave him little joy.
Later there was a loud clicking noise from the fuse box in the hall. It was followed by darkness.
‘Damn, electricity’s out again,’ George said.
A few seconds later, flashes of static lit the room. Then a blaster hit the house like a runaway truck. There had been no siren, no warning. A deafening roar drowned out all other sounds and the air in the room swirled with dust.
George spat, hacked and tried to clear his airways of muck. He dragged his T-shirt over his head to filter the air and inched along towards the bathroom. All he could see or feel was flying dirt, but he sensed Beeper was with him. They made it to the bathroom, where the air was calmer.
‘Are you hurt, Beeper?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
There was another long bolt of static, then a crash against the side of the house. George’s ears popped as the air seemed to be sucked out of the bathroom. Then the air rushed back in with such force it blew the towel from under the door.
‘Why?’ Beeper yelled.
‘Why what?’
‘Why does everyone leave us?’
George said nothing. The blaster quickly lost its fury. George took the candle and the water jar from the bathroom cabinet. The draughts were still powerful enough to blow out the first two matches. He waited for a lull then lit the candle with his third match.
In the red glow, George thought about how the girl had battled to be part of their lives. George had won. Sort of. But he might have misjudged her — he always got everything wrong. And they were now at even greater risk. What was stopping her turning Beeper in to Welfare and enjoying the reward?
There was Mr Carey to worry about too, and the men in the truck this morning. Even the rabbitoh man. He knew the truth about George’s father, surely. And without shoes on his feet, why wouldn’t he be tempted by money? They couldn’t trust anyone.
Worse still, George couldn’t stop those words of hers circling around in his head: ‘People go missing all over town every day. He’s just another one of them.’
No! He wasn’t just another one. Dad was strong, smart. The police must have surrounded the markets before anyone could get away. That’s what must have happened.
At least he was safe. They’d have to feed him, or he couldn’t work in a mine. But six months. A year!
‘It’ll be all right, Beeps, I promise,’ George declared shakily. ‘In the morning we’ll start building a new hiding place. One even better than the first one.’
‘And we’ll go looking for him again Torgie, won’t we.’
‘There’s no poi … Listen, Beeper, we’ll just stay here for the moment.’
George took a sip from the water jar and passed it to his brother. ‘Tell me what she said, when you were in the room with her.’
Beeper drank noisily then yawned. ‘About school and stuff. And her family. Her mum and dad said they would find a new special house. Then they’d come back and get her.’
‘When was this?’
‘When we were in my old bedroom.’
‘No, Beeps, I mean when did it happen?’
‘Don’t know. But her mum and dad were fibbing. She heard them talking to each other secretly. They didn’t have the money to smiggle everyone on a boat …’
‘Smiggle?’
‘That’s what she said, I think. Just the mum and dad, not her or her sister.’
‘She has a sister?’
There was a long break before Beeper uttered a reply. ‘No, she died.’
With that, his head drooped against George’s shoulder. ‘Her name was Laurissa,’ he mumbled. ‘Emily said she was the same age as me. But she couldn’t save her.’
George gave his brother a gentle shove to keep him awake. ‘What else did she say?’
‘She told me I was lucky, Torgie.’
‘What … why?’
‘Because I belong somewhere. Most people don’t.’
A few minutes later Beeper was sleeping deeply and noisily. George put his arm around his brother and felt tears rolling down his own cheeks. What if she was right, what if Dad wasn’t coming home? For six months. Or twelve months. What if George had been wasting his time listening at every moment for a car driving up the hill, for the click of the front door lock?
And what if the smart thing was to form a team? Then George was the one who had chased her away.
The blaster began picking up again. ‘She’s out there in this,’ George wheezed above its roar.
He pulled Beeper towards him even tighter. The candle burnt to its base and went out.
TWENTY-THREE
George awoke to a red glow spilling through the grimy window.
It was mid-morning, he guessed. And it was quiet outside. He was sore from the hardness of the bathroom tiles. But he patted the worst of the dust off his brother and pushed himself to his feet.
Beeper followed him into the day room, rubbing his eyes. ‘Look, Torgie!’ he said.
The room was littered with sand, scraps of wood, plastic sheeting and shattered glass. A couple of chairs had been upturned. A metal pole stuck through the lower pane of the side window. It had smashed the clear plastic panel and the glass, letting the wind and dirt roar in. Only the steel bars remained.
�
��We’re going to have to dig up the hammer from the bedroom, so we can fix some of this stuff,’ said George. ‘But first we need some water.’
The empty water jars had been blown off the kitchen bench. George threw the shards of glass into the cleaning bucket. He blew the dust off the lids of the full water jars and filled the two white mugs.
The boys drank, then Beeper twisted the tap. Not a single drop came out.
‘Can we eat, Torgie?’
‘We better wait, Beeps.’ The tin of Braised Steak with Farm Fresh Vegetables was the last bit of food in the house. George put it in his backpack for later.
Beeper disappeared with the broom into the front rooms. George walked out to the back yard to empty the bucket and noticed that the sky was darker than usual. The pink haze had an unusual bluish tinge to it. The day was just as hot, but the air felt heavier, almost moist.
George joined Beeper in their father’s room, which was coated in a thick layer of dust. ‘We are going to have to make that new hiding place in here,’ George said.
‘We can’t,’ said Beeper. ‘Dad won’t want his room wrecked. He’ll sleep in here when he’s finished his mission.’
‘Stop it!’
‘Stop what?’
‘Stop talking about that!’ George snapped. He lifted his dust mask and spat into the bucket. He was revolted by his stupid story. He wished he could make it just go away. He had to come clean.
‘Remember I said, Beeps,’ George’s voice was thin and shaky, ‘that Dad might possibly be a secret agent?’
‘And how he is going to catch the Drought Barons, Torgie.’
George held up his hand to stop Beeper talking, but Beeper took no notice.
‘Everyone will know who we are,’ Beeper went on. ‘The boys who took care of themselves while their dad …’
‘No, Beeper. What you need to understand is …’
A deep rumble outside shook everything.
‘What’s that, Torgie?’
‘Thunder?’
The boys pulled off their dust masks, scrambled out of the room and rushed into the back yard. Near the edge of the patio, George stepped on a tennis ball and almost slipped over. He quickly regained his balance and tilted his head backwards to stare up at the sky. It was filled with clouds. Low, dark, pillowy clouds that moved quickly, as if pushed along by a great hand. It was dizzying to gaze straight up at them.