Burnt Snow

by Van Badham

  ‘Do you believe this?’ asked Kylie as I sat down next to her. She nodded towards Joel and Fran.

  Fran was tittering at something that Joel had said into her ear. The smile on his face was so broad it looked as though it had been cut into his head with an axe. Fran reached her hand under the table, weaving her fingers with Joel’s.

  Mr Gazzara, walking into the room and taking his desk, did nothing to stem their physical contact. ‘New seating arrangements?’ he asked, gesturing towards Joel and Fran with a cocky smile.

  Fran giggled. My stomach churned; from the look on her face, I could tell Kylie’s was churning as well.

  For forty minutes I watched Fran wriggle and giggle and kiss Joel on the shoulder when she thought Mr Gazzara wasn’t looking. I prayed that Mr Gazzara wouldn’t leave the room, for fear that if he did, Fran and Joel would break into a full tongue session.

  How could Joel be enjoying this? I thought, over and over, watching the glowing red manacle burn around Fran’s wrist. He knows it isn’t real. Fran stared at Joel, her big eyes cloudy with magical adoration – and from the look on Joel’s face it was clear he didn’t care whether it was real or not. Fran was reflecting back to him exactly what he wanted to see, and as the minutes passed, and my Maths book stayed empty, my bitter sense of betrayal by Joel morphed into a full-blown hatred.

  I took a pair of scissors from my bag and kept watch for opportunities to cut Fran’s bracelet and release her. Joel must have sensed potential threats to his happiness; his hand was never far away from her bound wrist. I’d have to wait until he got used enough to her attentions that his guard would slip. I wondered, sadly, when that would be.

  Joel and Fran were the first ones out of the classroom when the bell rang. It at least gave me an opportunity to debrief with Kylie.

  ‘I thought Nikki was joking when she talked about throwing up this morning,’ Kylie said. ‘I’d be happier to ram my head down a toilet than watch … that again.’

  ‘I’m telling you,’ I said, ‘it’s all about that bracelet. Notice how he’s always got his hands near it?’

  ‘Notice how he’s got his hands near everything?’ Kylie slung her bag over her back as if she were in agony. ‘What is she thinking?’

  ‘You have other classes with her, don’t you?’

  Her head flopped backwards and she gave a deep sigh. ‘We used to sit together in English – guess I’ll find out before lunchtime if we still do.’

  ‘Joel Morland’s in your English class?’

  She nodded heavily, then was distracted. ‘What the hell is going on outside?’

  I turned my head to the door. There was laughter and hooting coming from the corridor – a crowd that should have been moving down to recess was staying still.

  Kylie and I bustled out of the classroom, and I realised, with horror, what was causing the noise.

  All along the walls, someone had pasted blown-up A4 photocopies of a child that looked like Brody Meine. It was the photograph from the book What Makes Children Kill?

  On every page, the same handwritten word was scrawled across the photo: Killer.

  ‘Oh no,’ I said, my pulse building with dread.

  Brody Meine was marching down the corridor, the crowd of hooting, laughing people yielding silence before him like a breaking wave.

  47

  Brody didn’t even see me as he strode past. His eyes were all iris, nearly black. His shoulders fanned out, his fists swung at his sides.

  I followed his gaze to its target. Garth and Matt and Rob were standing at the other end of the corridor, handing out more of their photocopies.

  ‘Brody! Brody, no!’ I yelled, pushing my way through the crowd, trying to overtake Brody before he reached Garth. A forest of hands and arms were in my way. ‘Kylie, you’ve got to help! Help me!’

  ‘Sophie!’ I heard Kylie behind me.

  ‘Here comes the killer, ladies and gentlemen!’ Garth bellowed above the heads of the crowd.

  ‘Garth, shut up! Shut up!’ Kylie cried.

  The crowd scattered as Brody got closer to Garth. People flattened themselves along the walls so they could witness what was happening without getting in Brody’s way. As the crowd thinned, I lurched forward.

  ‘Brody, think!’ I called out.

  ‘Killer!’ cried Matt.

  ‘Killer!’ cried Rob, laughing, encouraging the crowd to join in.

  No one did. A junior was in Brody’s way; without even looking at him, Brody flung him towards the wall with a single swipe of his arm. The kid stumbled and fell.

  ‘Make way for the killer who wants to get up all the girls!’ Garth said, waving one of his photocopies above his head.

  ‘Garth, leave him alone!’ screamed Kylie. ‘It’s got nothing to do with—’

  Brody was within metres of Garth now.

  I pushed and shoved anyone in front of me. ‘Get out of my way!’ I snapped. ‘Brody, think! Think!’

  No one was left standing between Brody and the three boys now. ‘How dare you go after Steve’s woman!’ barked Garth as Brody closed in.

  ‘Killer!’ cried Rob.

  Brody didn’t even stop. The first thing I saw was a flurry of photocopies scatter in the air. Then I heard a swipe, and a crunch. Rob had thrown a punch at Brody’s face. The last few people in front of me staggered back, and I pushed through them to see what was happening. My jaw fell open.

  With one hand, Brody had lifted Rob from the ground and slammed a fist into his face. Blood shot out of Rob’s nose and sprayed in a line on the wall. The crowd screamed. Someone hollered, ‘Get a teacher!’ as Brody rammed a dazed Rob back-first into the wall. As he did, Garth called, ‘Get him!’ to Matt, and the two of them threw themselves at Brody’s heaving shoulders. Brody dropped Rob, who tumbled to the ground like a broken doll. Garth got an arm around Brody’s throat; rearing, Brody ran backwards into the opposite wall, crunching Matt and Garth against it with a loud smack. The crowd around them was frozen, staring, only moving backwards when Brody, loosened from Matt and Garth’s grasping arms, spun around and caught Matt on the side of the head, holding him by the ear as his fist rammed into Matt’s eye. Garth darted to pull Brody’s punching arm away from Matt, but Brody was too quick for him: he swung his arm and landed a back-handed blow against Garth’s jaw. Garth fell to the side, spit dribbling from his mouth.

  There were teachers running up the corridors now. I could hear them behind me, yelling, ‘Stop! Stop!’; they were shoving people aside as they tried to get to Brody.

  Brody ignored them. Pushing Garth to the ground, he turned back towards Matt. There was blood on Matt’s face as he groggily lurched towards Brody; there was blood sprayed on their shirts and Brody’s hands were smeared with it. Brody grabbed Matt by the neck and held him against the wall, punching him in the stomach until all Matt could do was wheeze and fall over. Garth was back on his feet now, swaying, but managed to throw himself at Brody’s shoulders, grabbing the fabric of his shirt and landing a headbutt against the side of Brody’s face.

  ‘Everyone, get back!’ screamed a female teacher – but no one moved. Brody was swinging punches into Garth’s sides as one, two, three male teachers – the biggest in the school – broke through the crowd and grabbed at Brody’s arms. He shook them off – one fell, and as he did he knocked the other two teachers to the floor. As the teachers struggled to get to their feet, Brody pushed Garth to the ground and straddled him. Anchored to the ground by his knees, he swung slow backhanded slaps at Garth’s face and chest. A teacher who tried to get near him was hit in the stomach by Brody’s hand as it ricocheted from Garth’s head.

  I was trembling with horror.

  ‘Stop!’ begged Garth, blood pouring out of his mouth ‘Please … stop!’

  But Brody wasn’t going to stop. Brody the person was not throwing punches. A robot, a machine, the sum result of a violent life that knew no fear of pain was slapping Garth around the head, thumping his chest … and if he killed Garth, he did
n’t care. ‘Stop!’ Garth begged, breathless. Crying.

  I had to do something. Jeules, I decided, could call me a witch and feed my body through a shredder, limb by limb – nothing was worse than watching this. I closed my eyes, held my pendant and willed a wild bolt of electricity at Brody through the hallway.

  Everyone in the corridor gasped at the loud snap that ruptured the air. All the fluorescent lights blew out at the same time. A freezing cold rush of white wind ran through the space until the school corridor was replaced with a tunnel of snow.

  I stood where I was. Brody sat anchored to the ground. Everyone else had disappeared. Brody’s hands landed into a ground cover of fresh snow with nothing but a powdery crunch. The sensation surprised him, snapped him out of his trance, and his eyes flew around the transformed world. He sprang backwards, landing in snow. He saw snowflakes on his hands and bloodstains marked where his hands had landed. He looked up and stared at me.

  On the landscape of fallen snow were pieces of a new car, not smashed but disassembled, as they would be in a dream. Brody’s eyes caught sight of the pieces and he scrambled on the ground, trying to get away.

  Snow was falling. Behind a separated piece of car door, a noise started.

  A baby was crying.

  Brody looked to me – he was a frightened animal, he tried to kick himself out of the snow. He shut his eyes. He rammed his fists over his ears.

  There was someone in the car with the baby, someone Brody did not want to see.

  The baby cried louder, and louder; the whiteness of snow started to bleed with the colours of the Yarrindi High corridor, where ghostly figures were moving through space, reaching for Brody’s shoulders, pulling him to his feet, yelling words like ‘suspension’, ‘Tripp’, ‘get the nurse’, ‘get an ambulance’. Other teachers ran up to the fallen bodies of Rob and Matt and Garth with first-aid kits and panic.

  I was back in the corridor, and so was Brody. There were four teachers gripping his shoulders and arms but Brody was still. He was staring at me. He and I could still hear the sound of the baby crying.

  ‘Let us through! Get out of the way or you’re all on detention!’ growled one of the teachers hanging on Brody’s arms. Brody was still looking at me as they walked him past me towards the History book room, and past Jeules, who was leering out of a classroom doorway, surveying the scene.

  ‘Where’d you learn to fight like that?’ asked a tiny, wide-eyed junior as the teachers marched Brody away.

  ‘Tough childhood,’ replied Brody, and I watched him go, his cheekbones stained with blood and tears.

  48

  Straight after recess I had the ridiculous double free. I didn’t bother to wander down to the Technology labs to half a group, anti-Brody hysteria and the last ten seconds of the break. I headed straight to the library, where I presumed Jeules would be prowling around a supervision class; at least there I could nurse my magical exhaustion, and think about Brody while pretending to read textbooks on Art.

  I got to the library just before the bell rang. I replaced all my things exactly where they’d been for my last free period, positioned my eyes at the level of my Art textbook, and then sat perfectly still, sleeping with my eyes open for the best part of an hour.

  Jeules came in with a Year 10 class whom he snapped at for an entire period. I knew he would come up to me again and he did.

  ‘More study periods?’ he remarked, over my shoulder.

  I gave the best performance of being alert I could manage. ‘I’m supposed to be doing vocational subjects, but they don’t offer them at Yarrindi,’ I said. ‘But you’re right, it’s good discipline for me to set my own study agenda.’

  Jeules had a smug smile, his arms were crossed and light glinted off his replaced azurite ring. The ring reminded me of my necklace, and I experienced a moment of panic before assuring myself the stone was neatly hidden under my school shirt.

  ‘You got your ring back!’ I said in a bright, fake voice. ‘Was it because of the signs you put up?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, stretching out his fingers to admire his stone. ‘And I’m very glad. My hand feels naked without it.’

  With Jeules it was impossible to tell if his smugness was because he had identified me as a witch, or whether it was just his natural character. ‘Was it a present from someone special?’ I asked, maintaining the charade.

  ‘Yes,’ he purred, then, ‘Your friend from class is quite the fighter, isn’t he?’

  I shuddered to remember it. ‘That was awful,’ I said, casting my eyes downwards.

  ‘Has he been in many incidents like that?’

  ‘I know he’s been in fights before …’

  ‘That other boy was lucky there was that problem with the lights,’ Jeules said, eyeing me. ‘Seemed to snap your friend out of it. Probably saved that boy’s life.’

  ‘Brody wouldn’t kill anyone – he’s not like that. The others hit him first. He just snaps – it’s not Brody’s fault that he’s a better fighter than they are.’

  Jeules gave what he must have thought was a reassuring smile. ‘We’ll lay off the work in pairs that Ms Dwight favours for the meantime, anyway,’ he said, putting his ring hand on the back of my chair.

  My skin crawled.

  ‘Your friend’s not going to be back at school for two weeks at least,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t be at a disadvantage because he can’t control his temper.’

  ‘They’ve suspended him?’ I said.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank you – for making allowances for me.’

  ‘Like I said, I’m impressed by the way you take instruction,’ Jeules said. ‘Enjoy your work … Sophie,’ he added, walking off.

  49

  At least the fight in the corridor distracted the group’s attention from the Fran and Joel saga. Fran’s absence was less noticeable at lunch, given that Matt’s and Rob’s parents had been called to take their wounded sons to a doctor and a teacher had driven Garth to an emergency room.

  The skeleton crew that assembled behind the labs discussed the events in detail. Nikki told Ryan she thought the posters were a dumb idea, Ryan maintained that was why he hadn’t joined in. Steve protested ignorance of the whole plan, while Kylie cuddled into his shoulder and affirmed that he was clever to have avoided a punch-up with Brody Meine. Belinda was sullen. While Michelle despaired whether any of the boys who’d been involved would be able to attend Gretchen’s party, I noticed that Kylie’s face bore a rosy self-confidence that I was not used to seeing. I hoped it was because she and Steve were back together, not because the punch-up in the corridor was a boost to her ego.

  My thoughts, of course, oscillated between Brody and Jeules. Given the smug chat with Jeules in the library, it was entirely possible that I’d been exposed, that the Finders knew who I was, and that staying in Yarrindi was a suicidal journey to at least my branding, maybe even my death. Rationally, I should walk out of school now, retire to the protection of our little house on Boronia Road, pack everything I could stuff into a suitcase and stay indoors until Dad could drive me to Sydney on Saturday, where I could confess everything to my mum and let her arrange some sanctuary for me – away from Finders, Brody, Belinda Maitland and everything else that threatened me harm.

  I barely registered the art theory video Ms Jackson showed in class. My mind kept returning to that odd scene in the corridor – and Brody, the pieces of car, the hidden person, the baby, the snow. Travelling home on the bus, Michelle sat next to me yapping, and my hand reached to my pendant as I considered just why I wasn’t willing to pack, why I wasn’t going to get home, pick up the phone to my mother and pour out all my troubles … Why I knew, with absolute certainty, that before I went anywhere – even to save my own life – I had to see Brody Meine again.

  Because you love him, Little Bear, said the stone.

  And that was the only answer there was.

  50

  When I got home the first thing I did was collect the orange candle f
rom the box in my bedroom and bring it out to the dining room table with some matches. Once it was lit, I soaked up its reviving energy as I made myself a blend of holly leaf and ginseng tea. In the glow of the candle, the bitter tea spread yellow magic through my body, and I went outside to check on Izek.

  I’d left some scraps from the fridge on another plate beneath the ash tree before I’d left in the morning – again, these were gone, but again I didn’t know if they’d made it to Izek. Picking up the plate, I stood under the ash tree and cooed. For a couple of seconds, I heard no noise. I cooed again and, thankfully, heard a flutter as the crow leaped down the branches of the tree, landing on my shoulder.

  ‘You seem better,’ I said. I could feel through my shirt that already the grip of his talons was stronger than yesterday. His feathers were visibly thicker and his eyes were clearer too. When I said, ‘I’m going to take you inside today,’ he gave an acknowledging caw.

  I walked Izek inside the house and he hopped off my shoulder, waddling towards the light of the orange candle. He ruffled his feathers and I brought him water in a cup and more food from the fridge. I’d never fed a crow before, but I knew – thank you, Nanna – that they were carrion birds. Still, I was sure that Izek, being sort of human anyway, would be happy with cheese and bread. The morsels I gave him went down quickly, and by the time Izek was dunking his head in the cup of water to drink, I was sure his eyes had cleared.

  It was relaxing, playing with the bird, and to indulge the feeling of wellbeing broadcast by the fat orange candle, I decided to make myself another cup of tea.

  I was at the kettle when our doorbell rang.

  The sound jolted me – I had my cup in my hand and dropped it at the sound of the three chimes that rang out. I’d never heard our doorbell before and it took me a second or two to realise what the sound was. I looked at Izek. He cawed and, hopping off the table, flew out of the sliding doors and back into the branches of the ash tree.