The Last Shot

by Michael Adams

  It’s the third time he’s said sorry. I wonder whether he’s subconsciously apologising for all the evil shit he’s done. This close to him, inside his aura or whatever, I need to remind myself of who I’m dealing with. So I don’t fall for him again, in any sense. Raising only those who’d make him more powerful. Stopping the revival of people with free will. Killing anyone who even remotely looked like they’d get in his way. I touch the stitches on my head, think of Mum dead in her garden, Nathan terribly wounded down in the city and Evan evicted from his own mind. We’re all his victims. It’d be a mistake to think Jack’s saying sorry for any of his crimes. It’d credit him with humility . . . with humanity.

  ‘We could go back?’ he’s saying. ‘If there are people you know who can still—’

  It takes me a second to realise he’s talking about Shadow Valley. ‘No,’ I say. ‘They’re all dead.’

  Again Jack shows split-second surprise. ‘All of them?’

  I nod. ‘Like you say, there are only a few houses. A couple were empty. One guy had killed himself. Someone else had a motorbike accident.’ I study Jack but he doesn’t betray anything other than awful fascination. ‘Another lady drank herself to death and her husband looked like he just died at the dining table.’

  I get glassy-eyed at the thought of Andy and Jill and their twins rotting.

  ‘But what was really strange was that a whole family of four looked like they’d died at the same time.’ I don’t know if I should push this. But being as honest as possible is the best deception. ‘Do you know how that could happen?’

  Jack flinches. Rubs his jaw. Looks at me sadly.

  I wonder if I’ve gone too far. What will he do if he knows I am onto him? Try to seduce me into seeing things his way? Pull out that .45 and blow me away? I’m not sure what would be worse—being convinced by him again or being left for dead on the road right here.

  ‘I do know how that can happen,’ he says. ‘Seen it in Clearview. Family crashed out with the gas on. Six people—suffocated.’

  I want to say that Jill and Andy’s place didn’t smell of gas. Except I don’t know that. I held my breath the whole time I was inside. Like I am now.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Jack asks.

  I breathe out slowly. ‘As okay as I can be.’

  In just a few minutes Jack has badly dented my case against him. His knowledge of my approach along the highway wasn’t because of John and Lana but because he had low-tech eyes in the sky. What he said about the gun coming from an old lady who shot herself is plausible. Maybe blanks can kill at close range and that would account for there being five used shells in the gun even though I’m pretty sure I only fired four times. What Jack said about gas suffocating whole families sounds possible. On top of all that I was sure I wouldn’t get near Jack with a loaded gun—but he just offered me his own loaded .45. He’s turning everything I thought I knew upside down and inside out.

  What’s worse is that I can feel my heart wanting to turn around.

  I have to resist. Trip him up. See just one chink in his armour. Remind myself I’m right.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For being with me.’

  Jack’s eyes glitter. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I mean down there. At my mum’s.’

  His brow crinkles. Puzzled. Not panicked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know.’

  Jack’s frown deepens but his smile widens. ‘I really don’t.’

  He’s unshakeable.

  I give him a little smile.

  Sliding my hand inside my bike shirt, I peel his letter from my left breast and hold it out for him to see. ‘For being with me in spirit.’

  Jack blushes and then beams. Oh, he is good.

  ‘Oh, you kept it close to your—close to you.’

  Let him think it was next to my heart.

  ‘It’s a little damp,’ I say, adding a laugh. ‘Sorry about that.’

  His colour deepens. So does his smile. ‘And?’

  ‘I read it over and over.’

  Just not for the reason he thinks.

  My leg muscles tense so much I think they’ll cramp.

  ‘I meant every word,’ he says.

  I nod and without thinking touch his cheek. ‘I know.’

  Jack gazes at me intently. I’m afraid of what he’s going to say. And expect of me. I don’t know if he’s about to kiss me. My experience with guys starts and ends with a few pashes back in year nine that felt more like dares than anything else.

  Jack takes my hand, folds me into his arms.

  ‘Can we take it slow?’ I say.

  ‘We’ll take it slow,’ he says. ‘We’ve got all the time we need.’ Him holding me like this, the warmth of our bodies feels so natural that it scares me. After everything he’s done, I should be trying not to throw up. Instead, I’m feeling safe and secure and seduced. I don’t know what’s real about what I feel. Maybe I’m like one of those crazy actors who disappears into character.

  Focus, Danby.

  I break off our embrace, look past him back to the Minions.

  ‘I’m not big on the PDA,’ I say. It’s a much easier excuse to use than, ‘Hey, I’m not sure if I should kiss you or kill you.’

  Jack grins. ‘We’re actually alone.’

  God. Even my feeble brush off is a reminder that I’m in his world now. The Minions on the hill are all him. Just like almost everyone in Clearview will be. The thought of Jack’s spooky control over people cools me right off.

  ‘It still feels like a PDA,’ I say. ‘It’ll take getting used to.’

  He laughs.

  I’m glad the moment’s passed and I can get back to business.

  ‘How has it gone in Clearview?’ I ask, stepping away.

  Jack runs his hand through his hair. ‘We’ve been lucky to save as many as we have.’

  I glance at him, brace to hear the news that I fear.

  ‘The population is—was—about five hundred and fifty,’ Jack says, pulling out his tobacco and starting a cigarette. ‘We’ve managed to get two hundred and sixty up and about. Another hundred or so didn’t make it. The rest weren’t around. Either away on holiday or ran off when it started.’

  ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘That’s amazing.’

  It actually is. My theory was he’d leave people to die and raise only those he could utilise. Spin me some line of bullshit about why the mortality rate was so high.

  Jack shrugs and lights his smoke. ‘I wish it’d been more but it’s good given how long they’d been without food and water.’

  He exhales a blue cloud. ‘How’re they looking up in Greenglen?’

  ‘Not great,’ I say. ‘Maybe half the people are still alive.’

  Jack rubs his head. ‘My plan was to continue up there with these guys and see who we could help.’

  He’s going to ride off without me? My eyes narrow under my frown.

  Jack’s eyebrows shoot up and he laughs.

  ‘No, oh, I’m sorry,’ he says, blowing a plume of smoke. ‘I didn’t mean I was going to leave you. One of the guys can take you back with your things. You must be exhausted and dying to see Evan.’

  As much as he’s right about that, I don’t want Jack out of my sight.

  ‘Evan’s fine, right?’

  He nods.

  ‘Well, I’m coming with you. I can help.’

  Jack looks up at Lachie, who’s fallen silent.

  He whistles. The bird doesn’t budge.

  ‘Come on,’ I say, holding out my arm. ‘Down you come.’

  The cockatoo’s not having any of it.

  I hate to leave Lachie but we have to go.

  EIGHT

  My arms are wrapped around Jack’s waist. I see us in the funhouse reflection of his shiny helmet. His green jacket. My black lycra. It’s not highway rushing underneath us. It’s an inky river. I’m the scorpion. He’s the frog. I can kill him right now. But then I’ll die as his powerful bike slams us into a tree or as I sprawl across the road
and get squashed by the thunderous convoy behind us. I need to finish him when I’m sure I can look after Evan. Besides: wasting him now would condemn to death whoever he’s about to wake up in Greenglen. As if to ensure I can’t deliver my sting, I hug myself closer to Jack and rest my helmet on his back. That pull in me won’t let go. When he reaches down to squeeze my hands I tighten my thighs around the thrumming bike. I don’t really know what’s in my nature.

  A minute later we weave into Greenglen. We remove our helmets and sit them on the luggage rack that’s stacked with my panniers. He refreshes the liniment under his nostrils and offers me the tube. I dab it around my nostrils.

  ‘Is that him?’ Jack asks.

  ‘Who?’ I think he’s talking about someone among the Goners and corpses.

  ‘Up there.’

  Jack points at a streetlight where a white cockatoo’s perched and watching us. I can’t tell from this distance whether it’s Lachie or not.

  ‘Hi-ho!’ I shout.

  ‘Hi-ho!’ comes the crackling reply.

  I smile at Jack. He grins back.

  The convoy catches up to us and its riders disembark, remove their helmets to reveal strong young guys who wordlessly unload their duffel bags. They move like some perfectly disciplined outlaw gang, unpacking cordless drills and stethoscopes and rehydration equipment. I take the IV stuff from my panniers and hand it to a big Minion with a mop of sandy hair.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ the guy says with an easy nod.

  ‘No worries,’ I reply automatically.

  There’s nothing in the little exchange that betrays him as anything but normal. A shiver ripples through me. At least before the Minions were a bit robotic. This is somehow stranger.

  I look at Jack but he’s focused on the Goners of Greenglen. When he meets my eye, he wears an earnest expression.

  ‘These people, Danby,’ he says. ‘I’m going to help whoever I can, like I promised, okay?’

  I nod, but I’m numb. Not sure now if they’re actually better off dead. By helping them, Jack’s helping himself to them. If I can’t kill him, will they be his forever?

  He moves fast, touching and whispering his words, a humanitarian hurricane. The people he revives don’t so much wake as stir. Eyes open, dry lips move. Behind us, Minions work in pairs with military precision. There’s the whir as one drills into a wall and bolts into place a big hanger hook. While he does that, his partner arranges their patient on a plastic sheet. Together they swab, insert a catheter and connect the IV bag hung on the hook.

  I feel useless just shadowing Jack.

  ‘What can I do?’ I ask.

  ‘There’s a litre of sugar, sodium, water in each of the IV bags,’ Jack says. ‘It should be enough to resolve dehydration. But they’ll need to drink and eat. You wanna hit the supermarket? Get anything that’s sugary and easy to chew and whatever drinks they have.’

  As I pick my way through the chaos of cars and bodies, I realise not just that I’m doing Jack’s bidding of my own free will—but that I want to. Declaring a truce on my emotional hostility towards him feels right. Of course these people should be physically saved by any means necessary. What happens to them later doesn’t matter now.

  Greenglen’s little supermarket bore the brunt of panic. The front windows and doors are smashed. The first aisle’s blocked where groceries were swept from the shelves into a food pyramid. Ugg boots protrude from a mound of pasta packets, tinned soups and biscuit boxes. A hand reaches out from inside the pile. Fingers with red-painted nails are black and swollen around chunky gold rings. Whoever she is, she’s definitely dead inside her weird consumer cocoon.

  In the next aisle, I grab a trolley and stack it with bottles of lemonade and fruit juice, bags of jelly snakes and blocks of chocolate. I push the load back into the street and steer the wonky wheels over broken glass and around bodies on the footpath.

  ‘Good work,’ Jack says.

  His praise makes me feel proud—and pissy at myself for feeling proud.

  I carry armfuls of supplies to wherever I see a saline bag. Danby Nightingale, that’s me. Already the new Minions are more alive for the clear solution dripped into them and whatever cosmic juju Jack has juiced them with. It spooks me how sharply they watch me as I deliver bottles of sugary bubbles and bags of sweets.

  When the trolley’s empty, I head back to the supermarket. I pause by Jack, who’s laying hands on a jogger woman laid out between a car and the kerb.

  ‘Open your mind.’

  It sounds like that’s what he says to them but it also sounds different somehow.

  The lady groans into semi-consciousness.

  ‘You’re going to be okay,’ Jack says, as Minions sweep in to fix her up.

  Jack and I walk on. I pop a piece of chewing gum into my mouth.

  I offer him the packet.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Just like that, he takes a piece. If I’d injected it with poison, I’d be killing him right now. But I didn’t and I’m not.

  The Machete Guy and the dead dogs loom on our path.

  ‘Man, what a way to go,’ Jack says as he steps around the corpse. There’s no hint of recognition. Which makes sense if he’s hiding what he’s done from me. It also makes perfect sense if he’s never seen the man before.

  Jack kneels down to touch a guy who’s stretched in the doorway of a thrift store. He nods back at me and leans in to whisper his words.

  I glance back along the strip at the Minions approaching with the equipment that’ll save this man’s life. Already in Greenglen there are thirty people alive and awake who would’ve died if it wasn’t for Jack. I feel good to be part of this rescue. Like I did when Nathan and I revived people. For a moment I don’t want to think about Jack’s motives—or mine.

  He stands by my side. ‘You okay?’

  I look at him. ‘What you’re doing here is good.’

  Jack smiles sheepishly. ‘We, Danby—what we’re doing.’

  I nod.

  We.

  By the time the daylight’s fading in the clouds, we’ve helped everyone we can in and around the shops and worked our way through a row of houses behind the commercial strip. I feel useful, part of something, glad we’re side by side. I can’t help it—and I wish I could cut it out because it’s going to make what I have to do to him so much harder.

  ‘We’re done for now,’ Jack says as we stand by a front fence.

  Around us Minions are still going through front doors to rehydrate people.

  I spread my arms wide to the side streets and sweep to include the highway. ‘What about the rest?’

  Jack shakes his head. ‘I’d love to but we’ve only got enough saline bags for the people we’ve already raised here,’ he says. ‘We got a couple of thousand from Penrith hospital but they’re gone. I’ve got guys out trying to find more.’

  The maths seems off.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ I say. ‘You’ve woken up maybe seventy people here. Two hundred and sixty in Clearview. Where did the rest of the supplies go?’

  ‘This and Clearview are nothing. You should see Penrith.’

  Penrith: the city I felt guilty for not helping when we passed it by on our way to Clearview.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Six hundred and twenty two. So far.’

  ‘Jesus,’ I say. ‘How?’

  ‘I’ve been at it non-stop since you left.’ Jack looks at Minions setting up an IV on a verandah. ‘I’ve had a lot of help. My part’s pretty simple.’

  Pretty simple: I still have no idea why or how he can do what he can do. What’s as awesome—in the true sense of the word—is that he’s in so many minds and yet still totally here for me.

  Will they live if—when—I kill Jack? It seems logical to ask him what’d happen to them if he was to die. Except how could he know the answer? The question might tip him to my plan. So could not asking it.

  ‘Wow, nearly one thousand people,’ I say. ‘Isn’t it totally exhausting?’
<
br />   Jack shakes his head. ‘I’ve got more energy than I’ve ever had but I haven’t slept for a week.’

  Christ. Doesn’t sleep deprivation like that send people crazy? I wonder if he’s using drugs to stay awake. But he doesn’t look wired or wasted. He’s glowing with health.

  ‘How’s that possible?’

  Jack smiles a little sheepishly. ‘They sleep for me.’

  I look at him sharply. ‘You’re not serious.’

  He nods. ‘I am.’

  Jack’s full of life because he’s filling up from other people’s lives. What would happen if he went to sleep or was knocked unconscious? Maybe that’s all it would take to free Evan and everyone else. Maybe I don’t need to kill him.

  Except that wouldn’t avenge my mum. My fists clench at my sides. I need to feed my anger. I flash to her dead in her studio. Her life used up to further Jack’s goals. I think of Nathan and how hurt he was last time I saw him, shimmering in my mind, determined to defy Jack.

  Jack’s not going to confess to hunting Nathan down. But a direct question might give me a glimpse of the horrible truth. I need to keep hating him.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Shoot,’ he says.

  ‘Have you or your guys seen Nathan?’

  Jack looks me in the eyes. ‘No.’

  I don’t blink. Neither does he.

  ‘I wish I had,’ Jack says.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We need to work things out,’ Jack says. ‘So we can all move forward.’

  Is that the truth—or what I want to hear?

  My gut can’t tell me.

  ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Are you ready to go home?’

  As we walk back to the motorbike, my stomach’s in knots with what ‘going home’ with Jack is going to involve. But this was my plan: get inside his defences. Maybe I’ve been self-sabotaging all along. Maybe I subconsciously devised this up-close-and-personal plan because it’d mean I’d get so close I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to kill him.

  Jack straddles the motorbike.

  I look up at the streetlight. Lachie’s still there, white against the darkening sky, watching Greenglen’s newly raised Minions move cars off the highway and carry cartons from the supermarket to the back of a truck.