I look up at Lachie. He’s weaving crazily. From down here, it looks like he’s shaking his head.
‘Is he yours?’ John asks.
‘Kinda,’ I say. ‘He belonged to one of my neighbours.’
I whistle. ‘C’mon, Lachie.’
He screeches and refuses to budge.
‘He’s skittish,’ I say.
John nods. ‘Aren’t we all?’
If he thinks there’s anything more to the bird’s reluctance to play pet, he doesn’t show it—but then, he wouldn’t.
John knits his eyebrows. ‘So, Danby, how about you come with us? We’d be glad to have you.’
I smile.
Lana, Marko, John: they’re like a version of me, Evan, Nathan. Set up for my sympathy. Their story’s even older: John the stand-in father, Lana the beatific mother, Marko the helpless babe in arms. I’m not religious but even I know that a humble family fleeing the murder of innocents is what happened on the other side of Christmas. It’s too neat. It’s a trap.
I’ve got to stick to my story. I have to sell it by channelling what I believed was true right up until the moment I figured out the truth behind Mum’s death.
‘No,’ I say. ‘You’ve got Jack all wrong. Look, I admit his methods were brutal but what he was doing was like martial law.’
John’s mouth opens in disbelief. ‘That’s a load of horse dust.’
‘We’ve said our piece,’ says Lana. ‘Let Danby have her turn.’
I nod at her.
‘Jack thought what Nathan and I started doing with Lorazepam was just setting the world up to explode again. He feared the dozens we woke up would wake up thousands and all those minds would get crossed again. You saw the awful things some of them did?’
Lana nods. ‘It’s true, John, there was some horrible—’
‘Whatever they did, surely it didn’t justify killing people,’ John spits.
‘That’s what I argued,’ I say. ‘And Jack saw he was wrong. He’s promised he’s not going to hurt anyone using Lorazepam anymore. He just wants to help as many people as he can.’
‘You believe that?’
I look John straight in the eyes. ‘I . . . do.’
They stare at me.
‘I don’t know what you expect to find wherever you’re going,’ I say. ‘What I do know is that Jack’s people are all strong, smart, capable.’
‘But that’s just it. Don’t you see?’ John protests. ‘The very thing that defines them as people, God’s children, is gone.’
‘That’s not true,’ I say. ‘My brother’s safe, he’s still in there.
Jack’s trying to find a way to give them back their—’
‘Souls?’ Lana offers.
‘Yes, no, look I don’t know,’ I sputter, not having to fake this bit. ‘Jack’s our best chance to rebuild. You guys come back with me. Both of you and the baby will be safe. I promise.’
My spiel hangs there. If I haven’t sold it right I might be about to die.
‘Not a chance,’ John says, standing up abruptly. ‘I’ve heard enough of this pig excrement. Lana, we best be on our way.’
She and I get to our feet.
‘Maybe Danby’s right,’ Lana pleads. ‘Maybe we’d be safer with them. We don’t know what’s waiting on the road.’
John’s not having any of it.
‘Better the devil you know?’ he scoffs. ‘ “Lucifer” means “bearer of light”. The Evil One comes as the seducer, the trickster, the magnificent bastard, the father of lies. Of course he’s going to look like the one who can save us.’
If they’re really who they say they are and they follow me then I’m pretty sure whatever soul I have will be damned to hell if they die for my sins. But I have to play this out.
‘You’re crazy,’ I say, to John dismissively. ‘Lana, you and the baby, come with me.’
He swings the rifle at me.
Maybe I’ve read this really badly. Maybe he is real and his religious fury is so great he’s going to shoot me for being a servant of Satan. Maybe Lachie’s shrieking aloofness is simply because he’s shy in company.
John lowers the gun.
‘God be with you, Lana,’ he says. ‘Do what you will but I’m going and I’m taking the medicines.’
The priest stalks off.
‘Hey, wait,’ Lana says.
John doesn’t.
Lana takes a step towards me and stops. She holds her boy tighter to her chest and gives me a shrug.
‘Sorry,’ she mouths to me and then hurries after the priest with a loud ‘Wait!’
They argue for a moment before he puts an arm around her shoulder. I watch them wander up the highway.
As John and Lana dwindle into the haze, I wonder what just happened. Either I just lied my head off and tried to coax decent people into the clutches of a monster or Jack’s ventriloquism has come along in leaps and bounds in the past few days. They were so present—not spacy like other Minions. If they were under Jack’s control then he just tested my loyalty and I have to assume I passed because I’m still alive. It’s not like answers will be forthcoming. If they were really Specials like me, I’ll never know because when they use the Lorazepam on the other side of the mountains it’ll be too far away for me to see. I have to accept that I won’t get an answer beyond the one my gut and Lachie gave me.
When they’re out of sight, I gaze up into the glare for the bird.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘It’s safe now.’
With a flutter of white wings, Lachie returns to my shoulder.
‘Hi-ho,’ he says. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello yourself,’ I reply. ‘Were you trying to tell me something about them?’
I feel stupid as he preens.
‘What’s that, Timmy’s trapped down the well?’
The bird doesn’t get the joke. I’m not sure if I do either.
We pick our way past the wrecked car and into the rubble of the DrugRite. Inside I find what I expect. Whether acting under their own steam or doing Jack’s bidding, John and Lana have cleared the shelves of Lorazepam.
There’s no way I can fulfill my promise to the dying people of Greenglen.
SEVEN
I keep the super soaker but leave the helmet and pads in Greenglen. I tell myself it’s because I believe John and Lana told the truth about the dogs. Yet I know part of the reason is I don’t want Jack to see me looking like a doofus. To have him laugh at me like John did. I flush a little with embarrassment when I think Jack has probably already seen me through John and had his little laugh. Shame swells in me for giving a rat’s ass about what he thinks of my appearance. It deepens when I realise part of me is excited that I’ll see him again soon. I can’t help but picture how good-looking he is—and him killing my mum isn’t going to change that.
I swallow my shame—and try to keep down everything I’ve eaten—when I see the McDonald’s drive-thru lane is now home to a supersized pile of bloody snouts, stiff bellies and twisted legs. While the dogs range from nicely groomed pets to rangy feral creatures, they’ve all got horrible matted wounds.
A low growling throttles me. I’m about to pedal in blind panic. But I’m not hearing zombie hounds. What’s on the wind are motorbikes.
Breathing easier once I ride away from the dogpile stench, I stop, step off my bike and lean it against a tree. As I walk to the middle of the road, the motorcycle racket gets closer and louder.
I’ll see Jack again in seconds.
‘Let’s do this.’
I wish saying the words made me feel like a calm and calculating killer.
Instead I’m shifting from foot to foot, head light and stomach heavy, like I’m waiting for him to pick me up for our first date.
I ball my fists by my thighs, muscles tightening like it’ll help squeeze this treachery from my body. ‘Get a grip,’ I whisper. ‘Don’t be stupid.’
Lachie squawks and flies for the upper branches of a eucalypt as men and machines flash between the trees along
that same ridge I took to avoid the incinerated stretch of highway. Three dirt bikes blaze the trail. Five quad bikes lumber in their wake. I can’t read any minds inside the colourful assortment of helmets. As I raise my hand to wave, a bleak chuckle rasps from me at the horrible irony: if this gun-toting gang isn’t evildoer Jack and his Minions I might be about to fall victim to road-marauding maniacs.
But it’s too late to run. The dirt bikes rev into the open on the embankment above me, their engine noise drowning out Lachie’s protests.
The leader of the pack wears a black helmet and a camouflage jacket. I know it’s Jack. It’s like I feel him. Something magnetic. Tidal maybe. Deep down. Pulling. I want to turn off whatever’s been turned on. I can’t. I have to accept it. Own it. Use it to be more convincing.
This is it. Game on. I don’t know who’s cat and who’s mouse. I do know that it’s never a game for the mouse.
Jack waves and stands tall in the saddle. He lets gravity drop his bike down the ridge in a torrent of dust, revs when he hits bitumen, shoots along a stretch of highway and skids to a stop a few feet from me in a cloud of burned rubber. He rests the bike on its kickstand and whips off his helmet. Smile or smoulder—either or both would perfectly finish his rad re-entry into my life. But Jack’s mouth is a grim line and his eyes are a fragile green.
‘Danby, thank God!’ he says. ‘But your mum, is she—I mean, where—’
Opening scene. It’s like stage fright. A rush of terror and excitement. This is where I’m supposed to be sad but strong and warm—all masking my cold hatred. ‘I—I—’
Tears spill down my cheeks. I sag to the road in my own shadow.
Jack’s down beside me, enclosing me in his arms, enveloping me in his smoky sweet aroma. He holds me close as I sob.
I’m not faking this. It’s as though the moment I knew Mum was dead a reservoir of tears was created and it’s nowhere near empty. And while this is no act, a deep and dark part of me knows my unscripted outburst will work in my favour, help me get his guard down.
I push free of Jack, sit cross-legged on the road, face in my hands. ‘She couldn’t—couldn’t—I was—it was—too late—I couldn’t—’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘It is my—’ My voice hitches. ‘—it is!’
Jack scrapes closer, wipes strands of hair from my wet cheek.
‘If I’d listened to you,’ I say, ‘gone on a motorbike with one of your guys, I could have—I—I—’
I lose it again and he’s a teary blur as he comes close to hold and rock me gently.
‘Nothing’s your fault,’ he whispers, his cigarette breath both foul and fragrant. ‘None of it.’
I compose myself by concentrating on what I need to do.
‘Thanks,’ I sniffle, prising myself free of his embrace. But Jack takes my hand. I let him keep hold for a moment. Because it’ll make him trust me—and because his grip is strong and warm and reassuring.
I look into his eyes. They seem more gold than green and I wonder if he’s working some mojo on me. Or whether I’m working it on myself. I need to get back on track. Get myself together. I give his hand a squeeze, let go and wipe my eyes.
‘How’s Evan?’ I ask. ‘Is he okay? Where is he? You said you’d look after him.’
‘I am, I am,’ Jack says soothingly. ‘He’s fine—he’s safe, protected, happy and—’
‘Where? Where is he?’
‘Where you left him—my father’s house. Michelle’s there. They have guards. They’re fine. They’re never out—’
Out of my sight: that’s what I think he was going to say.
Jack smiles. ‘I’m keeping an eye on them, okay?’
I nod.
‘When I saw you on the highway,’ Jack says, ‘I had to come and meet you.’
My heart shudders. ‘You saw me?’
Jack glances at Lachie in his tree. ‘And him.’ He grins. ‘You were dressed like you were going to a roller derby or something. But I knew it was you.’
I feel embarrassed all over again that he saw me in my road-warrior gear. But he has me off balance for another reason. He’s admitting to being John and Lana.
‘You saw me through them?’
Jack’s brow furrows. ‘Who?’
‘A priest, a woman with a baby,’ I say. ‘I ran into them in Greenglen.’
Jack shakes his head. ‘Not mine. I swear.’
It’s my turn to frown but Jack’s standing up, squinting back down the highway at the horizon and pointing a finger. ‘That’s how I knew you were coming back to me.’
He extends his hand and I take it and stand beside him.
At first I don’t see anything but burned cars and trucks on a black road under the curdled sky. Then I make it out. Small in the distance, cruising over Clearview, banking and heading out over the valleys to the south. The black bird! I can’t believe it: Jack’s controlling the animals. He might’ve been Lachie this whole time. Toying with me. Listening when I talked about killing him.
‘Spotter drone,’ he says. ‘We found a bunch of them in Clearview’s fire station. Simple enough old-school remote control units powered up off the generators. Video relay. They can stay up about an hour. Since yesterday we’ve been trying to keep at least three in the air at all times so we get plenty of warning if a fire heads our way. One of the drones got a glimpse of you up the highway on its return flight.’
‘Oh,’ is all I can say. ‘Right.’
Jack looks at me, bites his lip.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asks. ‘Your mum?’
‘There’s nothing much to tell.’
Because you know everything, is what I think.
‘I crashed my bike on the road to my mum’s place and had to walk most of the way. It added hours. When I got there, she was dead. Like I said, my fault.’
‘That’s not true.’ Jack shakes his head. ‘I’m so sorry. It must’ve been awful.’
This time I hold my tears in. ‘I can’t believe she’s gone.’
Over his shoulder, Minions are lined up on the embankment. If I made my move on Jack now, they’d riddle me with bullets before I got anywhere near to killing him. Anyway, I can’t do it until I know for sure that Evan’s okay.
‘What did you do?’ Jack asks softly.
‘I buried her. Cried a lot.’ I offer him a weak smile. ‘Obviously not done with that bit yet.’
Jack smiles. ‘The people you met, they didn’t hurt you?’
I shake my head. ‘They were harmless. I told them about you—us—and what we’re doing. I asked them to come back with me but—’
‘But?’
‘They saw you raising people and John thought you were—’
Jack nods for me to go on.
‘Doing the devil’s work.’
He snorts. ‘Well, with everything that’s happened, who can blame him?’
‘I told him he was crazy,’ I say.
‘Thanks for having my back,’ Jack says, cracking a smile at the super soaker hanging on the bike. ‘I hope you didn’t give them a drenching on my account.’
‘It’s filled with bleach,’ I say. ‘Dogs came after me before.’
Jack nods sadly. ‘It’s like they’ve all gone rabid. We chased that pack out of Clearview yesterday. My guys had to put them down.’
He looks at me puzzled. ‘But why the water pistol? I gave you the gun.’
My stomach falls away. Play this through. If he’s been watching me he knows I know anyway. I rub my Wonder Woman bracelet like it’ll bring me good luck.
‘Yeah, about that,’ I say. ‘It was loaded with blanks.’
‘What?’ Jack’s mouth gapes as his eyebrows knit in a perfect display of split-second surprise and disbelief. Pity the Academy Awards are off this year.
‘No,’ he says. ‘That’s not possible.’
‘See for yourself,’ I say, leading him to the bike, and pointing to a pannier. He looks at me and then rummages in my stuff. Man I
wish I’d thought to catch the black snake and pack it.
Jack pulls out the .38 and the paper bag of ammo.
He flips open the chamber, empties the red-crimped rounds onto his palm and looks at me with an astonished expression.
‘I did some target practice this morning,’ I say. ‘Couldn’t hit a thing.’
‘Shit,’ he says, face reddening. ‘We—I—took the revolver and the bag from an old lady sitting in her yard in Summer Hill. She’d shot herself in the temple with it so I just assumed. I should’ve checked. I’m so sorry. Please tell me you didn’t need it.’
‘No.’ My little grin isn’t me marvelling at my supposed luck but at Jack’s lightning-fast fabrication. He rattled off that lie so convincingly I’m almost tempted to think it’s the truth. ‘No harm done.’
‘Do you want this?’ Jack lifts a .45 from his waistband and holds it out. ‘It’s definitely loaded with the real deal.’
I look from the gun to his smiling face and then to his goon squad up on the rise. Tempting. I could take the chance that Evan’s all right. Get it over right here and now. But there’s no way I’d be able to blow his head off before they turned me into Swiss cheese. Then it’d be game over.
‘I don’t need it, do I?’ I say. ‘Not when I’m with you, right?’
Jack shakes his head and tucks the weapon back into his jeans. I think he’s trying not to show that I’ve just made him really happy.
‘Where your mum lives,’ he says, ‘there wasn’t anyone to revive with Lorazepam? I mean, when I didn’t tune anyone, I figured maybe you were out of range or something.’
‘Shadow Valley,’ I say.
Jack lets slip a flicker of recognition. ‘That’s where you were?’
‘So you know it?’
He nods. Wrongfoots me again.
‘I went there once with my father on one of his stupid straight-talk Sunday afternoon drives. All I remember is that it was a long way down on a dirt road and there weren’t many houses.’
‘That’s the place,’ I say. ‘But I couldn’t revive anyone. I used all my Lorazepam trying to wake up Mum.’
‘Oh.’ Jack gazes at his shoes, looks up at me with sad eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
The Last Shot Page 6