Then Joanna’s mind vanished from mine and Nathan was gone again.
Nick slammed on the brakes and we shuddered to a stop. The convoy ahead halted in a cloud of dust.
‘Oh my God,’ I said. ‘Oh my God.’
Jack’s jaw was tight and cords stuck out on his neck. He massaged his temples.
I held my breath, held Evan and Michelle closer to me, afraid of what he would do. I didn’t think Jack knew that Nathan’s thumbs up was a message for me. But it didn’t matter. Reviving people, arming them: Nathan might as well have declared war.
‘I feel terrible about this,’ said Jack.
He turned to me grimly. I shook my head. If he was going to turn the convoy around and go after Nathan he would have to kill me first.
‘I’m glad your friend’s alive,’ he said. ‘But it’s my fault he’s so badly injured and it’s my fault that the first thing that woman hears on waking is she’s got a target on her head. I wish I could tell them they’re safe now. But I want to tell you I’m sorry.’
Jack ran his fingers through his hair. I relaxed my grip on the kids and took a long breath.
‘You could send the guys you left behind to talk to him.’
I didn’t really want him to do that. But I wanted to see how Jack responded to the suggestion.
He shook his head. ‘They’d be the last people Nathan would trust.’
That was right but I wondered if it was the real reason. Maybe Jack no longer controlled the Biker, the Cop and the rest. Maybe they’d dropped back into catatonia like that stockbroker guy. Maybe Jack still had them in his grip but wasn’t going to tell me so he could send them out to hunt Nathan.
‘Why?’ I asked, leaning forward so my head was by his shoulder. ‘Why the change of heart?’
‘“Why the change of heart?” ’ he repeated, adding a laugh and a shake of his head. ‘You still don’t get it?’
My toes curled in my boots as I wished I could take the question back. Whatever he was going to say, I didn’t want to hear it.
‘You,’ he said.
I held my breath.
‘This morning I wanted to convince you I was right. But you showed me I was going about things the wrong way.’
I exhaled slowly. I’d egotistically thought Jack was going in a different direction. I tilted my face to look into his eyes. They looked candlelit.
‘You mean it?’ I asked. ‘You won’t hurt Nathan and the others?’
Jack’s warm smile faltered and he knitted his eyebrows. ‘I’m sorry you still think you need to ask that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘It’s okay,’ he replied. ‘Everything’s happening very quickly.’
Jack broke eye contact and turned his attention to the railway track curving up into the bush. ‘All that matters,’ he said, ‘is that we get things right from here.’
I wondered whether Jack’s about-face was as abrupt as it seemed. He wasn’t the Party Duder. He was intelligent, idealistic. He couldn’t have killed those people without feeling something, wondering if it was necessary.
‘When we’re established up in Clearview,’ Jack was saying, ‘we’ll see if we can reach out, find some way we can clear everything up.’
Reach out? Clear everything up? Jack was pretty good with those understatements.
‘What’s done is done,’ I said. ‘Let’s get going.’
My mum was waiting. I hoped.
Since Jack had first told me where we were going and how we were getting there, I’d equated driving up the Blue Mountains railway with bouncing up a rocky ridge at an absurd angle, like some stupid commercial where owning an off-road vehicle meant world domination. Instead, we were steadily ascending a gentle slope behind Sydney’s westernmost houses. The people who lived in them looked like everyone else. A woman floated in a backyard pool. A grandfather sat on a terracotta roof. A kid lay inside a trampoline’s safety net.
Getting into the Blue Mountains proper didn’t mean leaving such sights behind. As we crossed the bridge that straddled the Great Western Highway we saw where cars had bashed into each other, crossed lanes and crashed head-on. The surrounding drab green bush held swatches of colour. Each was someone who’d abandoned a vehicle. Many people would have made it deeper into the trees where they’d now stay forever.
The terrain became more rugged though our route remained gentle and almost level as the railway hugged the mountainside. On the driver’s side we were inches from ancient sandstone strata while on the passenger’s side we were but feet from a cloud-draped gorge.
One by one a tunnel swallowed the convoy’s vehicles. The engines roared louder against the rock walls and ceiling, and through the windshield the world closed to a halo of yellow headlights and red tail-lights. I didn’t like rumbling through the centre of the mountain. A billion tonnes of timeless geology pressing down reminded me of being in that nowhere place after the Snap.
The end of the tunnel appeared as a bright archway. A second later we were out and the Pathfinder’s roof was being pummelled. At first I thought we were caught in an avalanche and that the spray of pebbles would be replaced by sandstone boulders. Then I realised we’d emerged into a furious downpour from a low black sky. Water poured down the cliff faces in curtains, our wipers no use against the water sluicing across the windshield.
‘No!’ Jack yelled. We lurched towards the cliff edge. Our wheels spun across slippery tracks and sleepers. He thrust his hands against the roof. I clutched Evan and Michelle tight. Time elongated as Nick wrestled the steering wheel. A horrible protesting shriek came from our tyres digging furrows in the gravel. Then the vrrrr of the vehicle shooting sideways and the cru-thunk of its panels hitting the sandstone wall. The kids and I were hurled against our belts and bounced back into our seats as I yelled swear words. Evan and Michelle stared ahead like nothing had happened. The engine sputtered out.
‘Oh, shit!’ Jack said.
During the frenzy the Range Rover ahead of us had been spinning towards the cliff edge. While we’d crashed into safety, the other car was spearing backwards into empty air.
The other driver’s mouth and eyes were wide in horror. Tina and Jamal and Baz and Joel tore at seatbelts and door handles, faces pressed to the tilting windows like people at the portholes of a sinking ship. Then the car’s back end tipped and it flipped into a tree trunk before slipping into the grey and green fog of the rain-swept ravine. There was no blood, no fire, no sound above the rain, just an empty space ahead of us in the convoy.
‘Shit,’ Jack said. ‘No.’
‘They might have survived!’ and ‘We can’t just leave them!’ and ‘We have to go down and check!’—they were the things I should have said. But I didn’t. I knew they were dead. Or as good as. Even if they were only critically injured, just trying to get to them could injure or kill more of us. I knew all of that as hard fact in a split second. I also knew I was glad it had been them and not us. I didn’t know if that was triage thinking but I thought that as much as I’d influenced Jack he had influenced me.
‘It’s okay,’ I whispered, hugging the kids, though neither needed my comfort. ‘It’s okay.’
‘He couldn’t—I couldn’t!’ Jack said angrily. He slammed his fist into the dashboard. ‘I couldn’t get both of us under control.’
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I said, leaning forward to touch his shoulder. ‘You did everything you could. And you saved us.’
Jack’s tension eased and he let out a long sigh. He reached up to put his fingers over mine. A jolt surged through me. I wanted to break free but couldn’t. Like someone who can’t let go of a livewire.
‘Thank you,’ he said softly, smiling back over our joined hands, ‘for being here with me.’
I nodded dumbly. Wondered if the flow of energy in his touch was how he charmed people back to life. I felt warm all over. And weirdly empowered by the realisation that for all Jack’s power, I was the one with power over him.
Relief and disa
ppointment swirled in me when he lifted his hand from mine so he could face forward and I could sit back in my seat.
Nick turned the key in the ignition and the Pathfinder roared back to life.
The people in the Range Rover had come so close to seeing Clearview. Within minutes of the convoy starting again, we were flanked on both sides by the safety of rocky ridges and then we pulled into the town’s quaint railway station. The rain eased as we chugged past the long platform. It was wet and clean and clear of bodies. No one was crashed out in the colourful gardens or on the pedestrian bridge linking the station to the town. In the past four days, I hadn’t seen any place untouched by the madness. But Clearview’s station ignited a tiny spark down in the darkness that had filled me. Maybe the farther we got from the density of the cities, the more places and people we’d find who’d been spared. Maybe Mum and Shadow Valley were okay.
As much as I wanted to believe that, if it was true I should be able to tune into Mum by now. She was only twenty or so kilometres away. But I got nothing when I tried to send my mind to Shadow Valley. I had to face the fact that I’d probably have to revive her with Lorazepam. But Nathan appearing to me had shown that it could still be done. Mum should be fine so long as I got to her soon.
We passed by the station and onto a service road. A minion from the first car used boltcutters on the chained gates and pushed them open. Our vehicles rolled onto a street called Railway Parade. Neat weatherboard houses nestled behind hedges and rose gardens and pine trees. Dogs barked furiously. I hoped they were confined to backyards. If a labrador had gone rabid then I hated to think what fiercer mutts might do. We crested a hill and were met by a sign welcoming visitors.
Clearview—Gateway to the Mountains.
Pop. 545, Elev. 236 m
Winner of Tidy Town Award (Western Region)
Clearview was still tidy. Spookily so. Nothing looked out of place. Nothing had burned. The next street was the same.
We veered left into Main Street. Ahead and behind us, other vehicles peeled off. I guessed Jack was sending people out to scout. Not for the first time I wondered what the inside of his mind looked like. Fed by so many sights and sounds, I imagined it as a NASA control room.
Another big sign with a sepia photo described Clearview’s origins as a mining town. The original shops still stood but the economy had long been aimed at well-heeled tourists. Wholesome Cafe offered gluten-free organic everything. Chardin’s Way was bright with New Age books. Bric-A-Brac Shack bustled with retro whatsits. High Life had weatherproof essentials for trekkers and Off Road was a one-stop mountain-bike shop. The DrugRite was padlocked shut and that was good because its Lorazepam should be untouched. Yuletide had dusted these ye olde shops with plastic snow. They retained their festive good cheer, were closed and intact, as though the owners had yet to return from holidays. I tried to picture Clearview’s population safely in their houses, working their way through Christmas leftovers and enjoying their presents. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t believe that. Anyone here would have to be Revived or Raised.
‘It didn’t escape, did it?’ I said.
‘There’s a row of houses burned out down there,’ Jack said, flicking his head back the way part of the convoy had gone. ‘Look closer, Danby.’
I did. He was right. Some of the cars parked at the kerb outside this row of shops were banged up. We passed an untouched real-estate agency and gift store but the vintage boutique and artisan bakery windows had been smashed—and then boarded up. Someone had been cleaning up Clearview.
We were probably being watched. At any moment that person—or persons—might decide they didn’t want gun-toting invaders messing with their tidy town. I imagined bullets ripping through the Pathfinder and us. My stinging head reminded me I’d already survived such a scenario. I might not be lucky a second time.
Jack’s men and women jumped from cars and trained their guns on shopfronts and houses and the park opposite the village. I clamped a clammy palm over my mouth, not to suppress a fearful gasp but to stifle a hysterical cackle. Jack hadn’t told me he’d picked up any special forces soldiers. All this springing into action might be him recreating movie silliness rather than real military tactics.
‘Shit went down here,’ Jack said gravely.
That was too much—straight out of a B-grade flick.
I guffawed into my hand, eyes bulging and streaming.
‘Are you okay?’
Jack’s rubbery expression of concern didn’t help. He looked like a handsome Shar-Pei.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks.
‘Just a little delirious, I guess.’
‘You sure?’
I nodded and forced myself to take this seriously.
Jack smiled uncertainly and turned his attention back to Clearview.
Shit had indeed gone down. Jack pointed out a pool of dried blood on the footpath outside the locksmith. The road sparkled with bits of broken glass but bigger pieces of debris had been swept into piles in the gutters. In the park, on tables and on the ground, dead tablets and phones glinted under the silver sky.
Our driver stopped the Pathfinder.
‘Listen,’ Jack said.
I heard it: chugga-chugga-chugga.
‘There,’ I said.
Artificial light shone from a mini-supermarket up on the corner, where a generator on the footpath coughed out blue smoke. A four-wheel drive had already disgorged minions who waited under the shop’s awning.
Nick stepped into Clearview’s rain-slick main street. We left the guard in the back to look after Evan and Michelle. Jack’s people, all stern-faced, all locked and loaded, closed ranks around us.
Thinking of this as some film fantasy brought a smile to my lips again. But it died when I realised that if this was a movie then Jack and I would be the villains—the megalomaniac and his wench, enclosed by expendable gun thugs.
Being surrounded by heavily armed people didn’t make me feel safe. A sniper bullet could find us. I wasn’t amused anymore.
‘Go easy,’ I said to Jack. ‘Whoever’s here is probably terrified.’
‘There are bodies by the school,’ he said. ‘Six, under a tarp, next to an open grave. There’s another freshly covered grave.’
I shivered like someone had just walked over mine.
Jack turned and held his hand out to me. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to experience that strange connection again.
‘I’d rather have a gun,’ I said.
He smiled. ‘I’ll get you one.’
I accepted his hand. There was no supernatural buzz. All I felt were his fingers light around mine as he led me towards the supermarket, as casually and naturally as if he was taking me onto a dance floor. Trailing him again, I wondered if Jack saw me as a follower. Nathan and I had walked and worked side by side. I liked that better.
When we reached the shop, Jack’s vanguard parted so we could approach the entrance. He guided me next to Nick and another hard-looking guy. Both had assault rifles pointed at the pavement, pockets bulging with ammo clips.
‘Wait here,’ Jack said, releasing my hand.
I should’ve curtsied, told him, ‘Yes, Your Grace’ or said or done some other snarky thing to let him know he wasn’t the boss of me. But I was too scared to do anything but nod.
Jack stepped into the supermarket doorway. Framed against the light he’d made himself an easy target. But he looked utterly unafraid. I thought again of movie scenes—army commanders striding confidently through bullets and bombs while lesser mortals cowered in the dirt.
‘Hello?’ Jack yelled. ‘Anyone here?’
He waited a few seconds. No answer.
‘I’m coming inside,’ he said, taking the .45 from his jeans and setting it on the floor. ‘I’m unarmed.’
As much as I didn’t want Jack as my Fearless Leader, I didn’t want him shot dead by some nervous wreck hiding in the fresh food section. I was frightened for him—but also for Evan and everyone else he had raised.
I had no idea what would happen to them if he died.
‘Jack,’ I whispered. ‘Send someone else in.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve got this.’
My pulse raced. I didn’t know if he was being brave or stupid. I did know I wanted him to stay outside with me. ‘Please,’ I said. ‘Be careful.’
Jack grinned and nodded and stepped inside.
I waited under the awning, standing with his guys next to the noticeboard advertising the craft market and book club that’d never happen. I didn’t know if I should make small talk, ask them what was most rewarding about minioning. Then I remembered: anything I said to them, I said to Jack. They could give me the lowdown on what was happening inside.
‘Jack,’ I said to Nick, feeling kinda silly. ‘How’s it going in there?’
Nick smirked.
‘No one home,’ Jack said.
I turned to see him in the doorway, tucking his .45 back into his jeans and eating jelly beans from a plastic bag. ‘Have some, they’re good.’
I walked past Jack into the supermarket. It might be empty but it hadn’t been that way for long. The linoleum floor was wet and streaked with muddy footprints. Someone had been busy in here. But they hadn’t been looting. The shelves were stocked with cans and boxes and packets and tubs. The fridges and freezers were beautifully frosted and frozen. There looked to be enough food to sustain our small army and whoever else we revived or raised for weeks or months.
I grabbed a shiny red apple from the fresh food section and bit into it with something like ecstasy. Its sweetness soured when I gazed up at the little ‘Employee Of the Month’ gallery behind the cashier’s counter. Teenage faces stared back at me from shiny gold frames. Guy R. —‘Mr September’—hadn’t let his braces stop him from grinning for the camera. Zoe L.—‘Ms October’—wore an exquisitely bored expression under her peroxided mop of hair. Chris M.—‘Mr November’—looked like he was smouldering for a fashion shoot. I smiled when I imagined local girls loitering whenever Chris had a shift. I pictured Guy and Zoe rolling their eyes and telling themselves they weren’t jealous. Local kids, my age, working part time to buy Shades or cars or overseas holidays. I hoped Jack would be true to his word and wake everyone in Clearview. These guys might still be saved.
The Last Girl Page 24