‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Hi-ho!’
The bird shifts and shrieks but won’t come.
By the time I’ve got my helmet on, Lachie has flapped off into the twilight. My heart sinks a little because it’s like he’s decided I’m a lost cause.
I climb onto the bike, wrap myself around Jack.
NINE
Crepuscular: it’s another good word and it describes the sky as we ride along and above the highway. I’m glad we’re in the shadows because it means I don’t have to see how many of the people I passed a few days ago are now dead. Their smell’s strong enough to penetrate liniment and chewing gum.
The stench starts to lift when we take the turn-off into Clearview. This road’s clear, it’s easier to breathe and Jack no longer has to weave between cars and around bodies. When we reach a rise overlooking the village, Jack pulls to the side of the road and cuts the engine. We take off our helmets. Voices carry on the breeze, pans clank, generators hum. The smell of sizzling sausages and caramelising onions makes my heart hunger for happier times. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Clearview was having a New Year’s barbecue.
The sports oval is lined with the canopies you find at a festival and people are visible eating at plastic tables inside a large central tent. Men unload boxes from trucks and wheel trolleys stacked with cartons into open shops. At the far side of the park, a yellow mechanical digger scoops dirt and masked workers lower bodies into fresh graves. What amazes me most is Clearview’s incandescence. Windows glow warm and welcoming in houses, lamps burn from tents and floodlights blaze for people who’re moving earth.
‘Marv by name, marvellous by nature,’ Jack says. He’s talking about the one Special we found in Clearview when we arrived.
‘How is he?’ I ask.
‘He’s great,’ Jack says.
‘We brought up a bunch of generators. He’s lit the place up like—’
‘Christmas?’ I finish for him. The Snap has changed the meaning of that day. Now December 25—if we even have a calendar anymore—marks the birth of something very different.
Jack leans back against me, tilts his face to mine. ‘We’ve made a lot of progress is what I’m saying.’
‘What you’ve done is incredible.’
‘It helps having helpers who are—’ ‘Single-minded?’
He laughs. ‘Right.’
Hearing him admit it is like a piece sliding into place in the puzzle that is Jack. Minions literally embody his need for control. Revivees were beyond him—and that’s why they had to be stopped. Mum and Nathan, too. But Marv? Is it his usefulness that’s kept him alive? Or that devotion I saw in his eyes after Jack revived his wife, Jane, and his daughter, Lottie. Jack needs Minions but I think he craves real people to believe in him and follow him. Me most of all.
‘Where is Marv?’
‘He’s around,’ Jack says. ‘He’s working himself to the bone.’
I can see dozens of people below but certainly not one thousand.
‘Where’s everyone else?’
‘If you can wait a few more minutes to see Evan I can show you.’
Jack turns the motorbike down a dirt track and we bounce along in the headlight’s yellow circle. The trail ends at a weathered sign for Omega Point lookout. I remember Marv telling us this is where he crashed out. When I reach the safety fence, I gasp at the panorama.
Pulsing orange clouds roil on the horizon like hell has unleashed a tsunami and rivulets of fire snake across the countryside closer to us. With the night sky and shifting smoke and shimmering flames, I can’t really get a fix on places or distances. What terrifies me is that Nathan’s somewhere in one of those infernos.
‘Is Parramatta burning?’
‘No,’ Jack says. ‘The fires are still mainly in the inner city and to the south. They are spreading but we’ve been lucky. What I actually wanted to show you is down there.’
Directly below, much closer and clearer, are blinking chains of electrical light. Segmented glowworms: red, orange, white. Some are still. Others slither down the hillside and cross the plains. The sound of machinery and motors carries to us.
‘The highway’s a mess,’ Jack says. ‘Even with all our manpower, it’d take weeks, maybe months to free up. But the Old Western Road wasn’t nearly as jammed. It’s still a big job but it’ll be completely clear by morning. No more using the railway.’
He points to a cluster of lights. ‘Penrith. We’re making sure we get as many supplies as we can out and on this side of the river. The wind’s keeping those fires away from us. Fingers crossed for rain—the barometers say it’s on the way.’
I send my mind.
‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘I can’t hear anyone.’
Jack sighs. ‘Nathan’s warning about me has kept them from coming west. Best I can tell, they’re out of range.’
I look at his face, chiselled by fire light, and hope that he’s telling the truth and that he hasn’t had them all killed.
We cruise into Clearview. No dogs howl.
Jack stops the bike outside Griffin House. Yellow lamps glow in the windows and there’s the comforting flicker of a television. The mythological tangle of lion and eagle that’s carved into the front door swings inwards as it opens.
Evan steps out onto the verandah.
I race up the footpath.
‘Danby!’ he says. ‘Back!’
My little brother jumps into my arms and I hug him tight.
Hot happy tears surge from me. Right now I don’t care how much Jack controls him. Evan is my only flesh and blood. His beautiful real little self is in there. I believe that with all my heart. Just like I believe I can get him out. I set Evan down and look into his eyes. Try to catch a glimpse of him inside.
‘Fish movie,’ he says. ‘On TV.’
I don’t know who owns the twinkle in his eyes but Evan looks and sounds and smells and feels like the little boy I love. I kiss his cheek, ruffle his hair, ignore that Jack’s also feeling my touch because what’s important is that I get through to Evan. That he knows I’m here for him.
Jack climbs the steps, pannier slung over his shoulder.
I look up. ‘Thank you for looking after him.’
‘I told you I would.’
‘Is he still—’ I’m not sure how to ask. ‘You—you know?’
Jack shrugs. ‘He’s both. He feels you. He knows you love him.’
I wipe my eyes as Evan pulls away from my embrace and follows the call of the television back into the house. Classic little brother: not one for extended affection. Maybe classic Jack: making Evan seem as normal as can be.
‘When can you let him be himself again?’ Back in Parramatta, he promised he’d find a way to release my little brother and everyone else as soon as Clearview was secure and he’d found as many survivors as he could. Those conditions seem to have been met.
‘The most important thing right now is saving people and keeping them safe,’ Jack says. ‘We’ve got a limited window for that. Tomorrow’s day seven since most people crashed out. There won’t be many left alive soon. After that I’ll devote everything to getting everyone back to normal. You have my word.’
I nod. He’s said it all so smoothly that I’m almost swept past the fact that he hasn’t said anything new at all. Like a politician. Vote for me now. I’ll fix everything later. Trust me.
In the lounge room, Evan and Michelle nestle on cushions piled into a cubby-bed and stare at a widescreen. They look like two normal little kids—just as they have since Jack showed me them playing together back in Parramatta.
‘Hi Michelle,’ I say. ‘What’re you watching?’
‘Movie,’ the little girl says, eyes on the screen. ‘About fish.’
I perch on an arm-rest. It’s only been a week but moving images on a screen already seem like ancient magic. The fish movie’s not Finding Nemo. It’s a documentary about using backyard pools to raise trout.
I raise an eyebrow at Jack.
He sits n
ext to me. ‘It’s educational.’
On screen an aquaculture guy talks proudly about the fat rainbow specimen wriggling in his hands. But I’m not listening.
I’m aware of how close Jack and I are sitting. No motorbike as an excuse now. His slow breathing and the warmth coming off him are intoxicating. But it’s more than just that. Right here at his side, I feel the safest I’ve felt since the Snap. I’m at the centre of his circle of control. I know Jack wouldn’t let anything or anyone hurt me—this same man who’s hurt me more than anyone or anything.
‘The kids will go to sleep soon,’ he says quietly.
What does that mean?
I can feel his eyes on me. I keep mine on the screen.
Jack takes my hand. I let him.
‘Danby?’
My heart pounds as I look at him. I’m suddenly aware I’ve been in my sweaty bike clothes all day. ‘Yes.’
‘There’s food in the kitchen. Tub full of hot water in the upstairs bathroom. Fresh sheets on the bed in the spare room.’
I’m not sure what he’s saying, what he’ll be doing while I eat, wash, slip between those clean sheets. ‘Okay.’
Jack smiles and lets go of my hand.
‘As much as I’d love to stay,’ he says, ‘I better get going.’
‘Oh.’ Keeping the push-pull of emotions from showing on my face takes everything I’ve got. ‘Where?’
‘Back down to Penrith,’ he says. ‘You and I have the luxury of time. It’s running out for just about everyone else.’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘But maybe I can help?’ Even though I’m exhausted.
Jack shakes his head. ‘Get some rest. There’ll be plenty for you to do tomorrow. You’ll also meet more people like us.’
This time I can’t hide my surprise. ‘Like us?’
Jack smiles and nods. ‘ “Specials”, as you call them.’
The room seems to brighten around us.
‘How many are there?’ I ask excitedly.
‘Including Marv, twelve,’ Jack says.
Twelve. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. If my theory about Situs inversus is right, and what the doctor told me about it affecting one in ten thousand people is true, then there should be nearly seven hundred people spread across the huge expanse of city and suburbs. Some would’ve died in accidents or fires or violence. Many would’ve fled or gone into hiding when they saw what happened in Parramatta.
Twelve. Jack finding that many is a miracle—and a tragedy.
‘Where’d they come from?’ I ask.
‘All over,’ he says. ‘Ask them yourself tomorrow.’
Jack letting Specials live didn’t factor into my theorising about his plans at all. It’s hard to know what it means.
‘Do you have any idea what sets us apart?’ I ask.
‘It’s not like I’ve asked them to fill out a survey,’ Jack says. ‘I’m sure we’ll figure it out. What matters is that they’re all team players.’
The clipped way he uses that phrase chills me. I think about the way he sent that four-wheel drive of Specials we picked up in Blacktown off a cliff to their deaths. Or, at least, my belief that it wasn’t an accident and Jack killed those people because they didn’t fit with his plans. Now I wonder if there have been more than twelve Specials but those who weren’t ‘team players’ have been finished off before they had a chance to cause him trouble. It’s good to feel this cold splash. Remember who I’m dealing with. Who I think I’m dealing with.
‘Do they know?’ I ask.
‘Does who know what?’ Jack says. I wonder if he’s getting fed up with all my questions. Too bad if he is.
‘The twelve Specials. Do they know that your “guys” aren’t quite themselves?’
Jack sighs.
‘I don’t think so. Apart from Marv, everyone’s with strangers so it’s not like they’ve got anything for comparison. Anyway, it’s for the best. Everyone’s been through so much and me telling them would just freak them out. Besides, it won’t matter soon because everyone will be themselves again.’
‘Really?’
Jack rolls his eyes with an exasperated laugh. ‘Yes, really.’ He lets go of my hand and gets up to leave.
My heart thumps. I follow him into the hallway.
Jack’s back is to me. He takes his jacket off the coatstand. Evan is in the next room. There’s not a Minion in sight. This is where I should be stalking him like a hunting dog. But he has me trailing him like a lovesick puppy.
Jack turns to me in the doorway. He steps in close, leans down and kisses me on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Make yourself at home.’
With that Jack takes the stairs with a leap and lopes along the garden path. His motorbike revs to life in the darkness and he rumbles away to the highway.
I’ll see you in the morning? Make yourself at home?
My body hums. My skin tingles where he kissed me.
I stand on the porch and watch his tail-lights recede.
I look to see who he’s left watching me but Jack hasn’t posted a guard. Not even under the guise of protection. I’m free to come and go as I please. Is this how a murdering megalomaniac acts? Or is he just so smoothly confident that he has me seduced?
My head spins.
‘Won’t get fooled again.’ I whisper it so Jack won’t hear through Evan and Michelle. It’s the title of a song Mum used to crank up. ‘You know what you know,’ I tell myself. ‘You know what you have to do.’
I close and lock the door behind me. I need not have worried about the kids. They’re out cold in the glow of the television. I switch off the set.
In the kitchen, there are cured meats, fancy cheeses, sliced fruits, chocolate biscuits and fresh bread. Jack has laid out a feast, just like he did that first morning in Parramatta, when he fed me up and then led me out on a tour to show off his power over life and death. I laugh out loud when I think it might just have been the weirdest first date in history. I force the thought out of my mind and start pigging out, standing right there at the bench. While I eat, I look at the kitchen’s knives, half a dozen Excaliburs in a wooden block. That I can have any blade I want makes my theory that Jack would search my panniers and seize any weapons seem sillier than ever.
Upstairs, I use the toilet, flush with a bucket. The claw-foot bath is steamy with wonderfully warm water that promises to soothe my aches. I don’t know how many muscles the human body has but all of mine are making themselves felt. But the physical exhaustion’s nothing compared with how worn out I feel mentally and emotionally. Maybe the bath will help me turn off. If only for a few minutes.
I light candles arranged around the bath’s edges and unlace my boots and peel off my stinky bike outfit. Jack’s letter falls out. I pick it out of the clothes and set it safely on the basin. I scrub in the tub, cleanse myself of the sweat and dirt. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but a hint of the decay from the highway lingers. Maybe it’s coming from my bike clothes piled by the door. I lean back, wet washer over my face, let the bath salts soak in.
I can’t help replaying those few seconds in the hallway. If I’d attacked Jack then I might’ve freed Evan and everyone else. But by letting him go to Penrith there might be hundreds more people to release tomorrow. I tell myself my hesitation was strategic. But it won’t wash. While Jack seems to trust me, I’m no longer sure that I trust me.
Mr November: the fact of him hasn’t changed. Nothing Jack said explains him away. Not that I’m going to ask: ‘By the way, did you send guys on motorbikes to kill my mum and then cover it up?’ If he did then that’d be my game up right there. If he didn’t then he’d have every reason to think I’m suffering psychotic delusions and it’d ruin things between—
Us?
There is no us.
Is there?
‘You will go through with this,’ I say. ‘You will.’
The words sound hollow in the high-ceilinged bathroom.
Luxuriating in the bath also makes m
e feel guilty about Nathan. Here I am with a full belly in warm water in the house of the man who shot him. Nathan might hate me if he could see me now. I hope not. I hope he’d understand I’m trying to do the right thing. I hope he’s okay, that he’s fixed himself, staved off infection, revived a lot of people and that they’ve paid it forward. Surely some Revivees must’ve been brave enough to stand with Nathan and risk using Lorazepam. If ten people dosed ten people who dosed ten people then there’d be as many of them as there are Minions. It’s a comforting thought. Working fast with bulk Lorazepam, we could revive still thousands more. After I kill Jack, that is.
Killing Jack: the idea isn’t just sounding sillier and sillier . . .
It sounds psycho.
I’ve just spent hours with this guy. Hugged him. Held his hand. Let him kiss my cheek. If I murder him . . . what sort of person does that make me?
Even worse is that it might not achieve anything—anything good, at least.
I picture Jack dying and hordes of people snapping back to themselves. What will they remember? I’m not sure what’s more awful—that they remember nothing or that they know they’ve been puppets. Either way, a lot of them will wake up having lost a week and everyone they ever knew and loved. How will I set them straight? Get up on the table in the centre of Clearview like Jack did? Use his loudhailer and explain what happened and tell them we’ve all got to head for the suburbs and try to revive everyone else? I imagine them angry and confused and blaming me for everything—as they tear me limb from limb.
What’s as terrifying is that I pose to them because I don’t even know that Jack’s death will free them. Killing him might kill them all and make me one of history’s worst mass murderers. If I take that risk then am I being every bit as ruthless as Jack has been?
Love your enemies: that’s what the church sign said. I don’t think I can do that. Not if he really did kill Mum. But Jack as my enemy is getting harder to hold on to.
I climb out of the tub, wrap myself in a towel, use a bottle of water to brush my teeth. The spare room’s modest. Single bed. Side table with lamp. I pull open the top drawer of a dresser. There’s a neatly arranged collection of store-new underwear in a selection of styles and colours. No guesswork here. It’s all in my size. My stomach rolls. Jack’s thought of everything. That knot of caterpillars in my gut loosens into butterflies.
The Last Shot Page 8