Tunnel Vision

by Andrew Christie

  It was pitch-black inside the shed. Absolute dark, no light at all. None. Billy couldn’t remember when he’d been anywhere so completely dark. Even out in the bush with John, there was always the moon or stars. In here, he couldn’t see his hand when he held it in front of his face, even when he touched his nose. It was weird, not being able to use his eyes. He supposed this was what it was like to be blind, hearing and smell taking over. And touch. He felt the warmth of Rash’s back against his side. She didn’t seem to be having any trouble sleeping out here. She reckoned she used to stay in the shed with her grandpa when she was little, so she probably was used to it. Used to the noises. And the bites.

  Billy slapped at another mosquito and wondered what they’d do tomorrow. He had thought there would be plenty to do on a farm, but it turned out there wasn’t, especially since Rash couldn’t walk far. There was a quad bike and an old beaten-up Land Rover in the machinery shed. Rash had said her grandpa had taken her around the place on the back of the bike. When Billy suggested they give it a go, she shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. We probably should wait till he gets here, though. He’s always going on about how dangerous they are.”

  Billy was seriously starting to wonder whether her grandpa would ever turn up. “I’ve ridden quads before,” he’d told her. “With John. I’m pretty good. It’ll be okay.” He’d ridden one quad bike during one of John’s bonding sessions, at a track out near Penrith. An hour spent riding around a dirt track. It had been lots of fun, and the bikes had been pretty easy to ride. Billy figured if he could ride one, there was no reason he couldn’t ride another, and then they could go explore the farm.

  Instead they’d spent most of the previous day sitting in the shade of the shed. Watching the cows. Not talking much. There wasn’t much left to say. Except stuff that would probably just start them arguing again. As the sun moved across the sky, they’d moved too, following the shade around the shed, sitting on the ground with their backs against the metal wall. There were no trees in the yard, except for a little one near the brick barbecue in front of the shed, but it was too small to throw much shade. Maybe if they came back in ten years.

  Billy’s stomach rumbled in the dark, loud enough that he was surprised it didn’t wake Rashmi. The only thing he’d eaten since breakfast was a big steak. They’d cut two hunks off a large piece of beef they’d taken out of the freezer and defrosted. Billy had scrounged up enough wood to get the barbecue blazing, but they’d burned the steaks. Charcoal outside, red and raw inside. And water to drink. That was it; there wasn’t even any tomato sauce. As a meal, it was better than nothing, but only just. He really wanted some bread. White bread and butter. With honey. And a glass of cold milk. There was no chance of that, though, unless they tried to milk one of the cows. He didn’t know why they hadn’t thought of bringing any food. They’d been in too much of a hurry when Kurt had said he was leaving straight away. Worried about the cops finding them if they hung around Brunswick Heads any longer. At least if the cops had found them and locked them up, they would’ve been fed.

  Billy wondered what time it was, how long before it got light outside. Once or twice he heard the sound of a car in the distance. A long way away, the engine note carrying along on the wind. How far was the main road? He tried to remember whether they’d come through any towns before they’d arrived here. There’d been one small place that Kurt had driven through. Just a crossroads and a couple of buildings. Some kind of shop, he thought, with advertising signs stuck on the wall out front and a bit of a car park to the side. How far back had that been? It seemed like they’d driven a long way before they got to the Toolongolook gate, and they’d made at least one turn off that main road before then. Maybe it only seemed like a long way because it was all new to him. If it was five or even ten kilometres, he could walk there easily. Pick up some food. Get a newspaper too, see if there was any mention of them. See if anyone was looking for them. He wished he had a map. A really detailed one, like the ones John had when they went bushwalking. A map that showed every hill and valley they walked through. A map that told you what was coming up ahead. That was what they needed now. Billy had no idea what would happen next. How long could they stay here, even if they had something to eat other than just meat? He had tried to talk to Rashmi about it, but she said it was too far without a car. When he suggested taking the quad bike, she shook her head. She was still hoping her grandpa would show up. He’d have food; he’d know what to do. That was her response to everything now. Grandpa would have all the answers.

  Maybe she was right, maybe her grandpa would know what to do, but when was he going to get here? And what would they do in the meantime? Sit around some more? The most interesting thing he’d done all day was watch a family of little birds hopping around on the ground beneath the bushes along the fence. Most of the birds were kind of grey, but one of them had a brilliant blue head. They all skittered around, poking about in the leaves and stuff on the ground, their little tail feathers poking up in the air. If Billy or Rashmi moved too quickly or got too close, the birds would all fly up into the bushes, chirping madly at one another. Or maybe at Billy and Rashmi. Then, when they calmed down, they’d all come down to the ground again and keep looking for food.

  “I think that blue one is the boy,” Rash had said.

  “Yeah? Wouldn’t it be a girl?” Billy said, glancing at Rash’s blue dye job.

  “No. Mum reckons in birds, the bright-coloured ones are always male.”

  “Not like people.”

  “Nah.”

  Billy pulled his legs onto the bench and rested his chin on his knees. “So are all those grey ones girls then?”

  “I guess. According to Mum anyway.”

  The birds were moving along the fence line, coming closer to the shed and to Billy and Rashmi.

  “She’ll be worried, your mum,” Billy said.

  “Probably. But I couldn’t tell her, could I? Then she’d get in trouble too. This way, if she doesn’t know, the cops can’t blame her.”

  Billy wasn’t so sure. In his experience, not knowing anything didn’t mean the cops would leave you alone. “Will she call them? The cops?”

  “No. I don’t know…probably not.” She slapped at a fly that had landed on her thigh. “Maybe if she’s really worried about me.”

  “Maybe you should have left her a note, like you said you were going to.”

  “No. Then she would know. They could charge her. An accessory or something.”

  “You could’ve told her you were going away but not told her where.”

  “They wouldn’t believe she didn’t know. They’d blame her. It’s better that she doesn’t know so she doesn’t have to lie.”

  When they were back in Sydney, Billy had agreed with Rashmi that they should take off before the cops locked them both up. Now, as he lay wide-awake in the pitch black, it didn’t seem like such a brilliant idea. They’d gotten this far, but now they’d run out of plans. What next? Just sit around and wait for Rash’s grandpa and hope they didn’t starve to death?

  Billy listened to the sound of a car, rising and then fading on the main road. What would they have for breakfast? More beef? He’d have to search again in the morning, see if anything was hidden away. Some crackers or cans of drink. Something.

  The wind carried the sound of another car, this time louder and closer. Billy heard it change gears as it climbed up a hill before fading away. When he heard it again, it was much closer, going slowly in low gear. He sat up. The car was close. On the track. And the only place the track led to was this shed.

  He shook Rashmi awake.

  “What?”

  “Listen. Someone’s coming.” They sat together in the darkness, listening as the car ground along in low gear, getting louder as it got closer.

  Billy went to the window. Headlight beams lit up the track in front of the car, occasionally picking out cows as it wound its way along the ridge. He couldn’t see what kind of car it was. “What’ll we do?” Billy sai
d, pulling on his jeans.

  “It’s probably just Grandpa.”

  “What if it’s not? What if it’s the cops?”

  Rash started getting dressed too. “We could hide down by the creek.”

  “Hurry.” Billy opened the door a crack and peered out. The car was hidden below the rise that led up to the sheds, but its headlight beams lit up the fence line at the crest of the hill.

  Rashmi pushed him out the door. “Let’s go. This way.” She started along the side of the shed.

  “Wait,” Billy said. “What about our bags?”

  Rashmi stopped and turned. “Shit. I don’t know. It’s too late now anyway.” Billy grabbed her, and they stumbled around the corner as the car came over the last rise and its headlights lit up the wall of the shed. They leaned against each other, pressing themselves against the corrugated steel as the tyres crunched across the yard. The glare of the headlights made the shadows seem darker than the night.

  The engine settled back to a low rumble. Billy heard the handbrake being pulled on, and then the headlights went out and the engine died. He started to move towards the far side of the shed as a car door creaked open and boots stepped out onto the dirt. Rashmi pushed past him. “I want to see,” she whispered, shrugging off the hand Billy had put on her shoulder. She lurched towards the front of the shed.

  Billy leaned his back to the wall and waited, listening. They’d missed their chance. They couldn’t get away quickly enough now, not with Rash. With the headlights off, the light from the stars cast a pale glow across the yard and the sheds. On the far side of the paddock, the trees along the creek were a dark line against the sky.

  When Billy turned back, Rashmi was gone. He stuck his head around the corner of the shed and saw her dark shadow hurrying towards the car. The man who’d climbed out of it was a pale outline against the black of the vehicle. He turned and crouched when he heard Rashmi coming across the yard, his right arm reaching for something in the car.

  “Grandpa.”

  The man stayed down, holding in front of him whatever he’d taken from the car. “Rash?” His voice was low, a growl. Billy couldn’t see his face, just the outline of his grey hair. “Jesus. Is that you, Rash?”

  “Grandpa. Where have you been? It’s so good to see you.”

  The man straightened up as Rash swung up to him on her crutches. His right arm went behind his back for a moment before he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. “What the hell are you doing here, girl?” The two of them held on to each other for what seemed like a long time. But then, Billy figured, he probably wasn’t the best judge of how long a hug should last. Hugging wasn’t something his family did. Nor did John. Not really. Shasta was big into hugging, though. Every time she met anyone, she never missed the opportunity.

  Rash’s grandpa stepped back and held her at arm’s length, trying to see her in the dim light. “What are you doing here?” he repeated.

  Rashmi was sobbing.

  “Are you all right?”

  She gasped, sucking in big breaths, sniffing. “No.”

  “What’s wrong? How did you get here?”

  “Kurt brought us.”

  “Us?” Her grandpa straightened up and looked around.

  “Me and Billy.” She turned and called out to him. “Billy? Where are you? Come and meet Grandpa.”

  Billy emerged from behind the shed, both of them watching him as he walked slowly toward them. Her grandpa’s arm was behind his back again.

  “Hi…uh, Mr. McPhedran,” Billy said, sticking his hand out to shake.

  The old man looked hard into his face for a moment, then noticed Billy’s hand and brought his own out from behind his back. “Dave,” he said. “Everyone calls me Dave. And you’re Billy?”

  “Yeah, Billy. Mr….um, Dave.”

  “Okay, Billy. And who are you? I mean, what are you?”

  “Um…” Billy looked at Rashmi. “My name’s Billy Sheehan. I’m a friend of Rash’s, I guess.”

  “He’s a friend from school,” Rashmi said. “My best friend.”

  “Best friend, hey?” Dave said. “Good then. Everyone needs friends.”

  Billy helped Dave unpack the Land Rover. Rash’s grandfather had a whole lot of shopping bags full of groceries and an enormous plastic cooler that was so heavy the two of them had to carry it. Cans, bread, cereal, packets of biscuits. Dave must have been planning to stay out at the farm for a while.

  After they’d brought in all the gear from the car, Billy sat on the mattress, leaning against his backpack, while Dave and Rashmi talked. Rash told him all about the cops wanting to charge her because of her Sri Lankan uncle. About Billy helping her with the squirting and about running away. Dave didn’t say much; he just let her talk, occasionally poking her back towards the main story with a question when she went off on a sidetrack. Billy didn’t listen too closely; he was thinking about the gun he’d seen Dave tuck into the back of his jeans. Where was it now? Why would Rash’s grandpa need a pistol? A rifle or a shotgun…okay, that made sense on a farm. But not a pistol.

  Billy must have fallen asleep while Rash and Dave were still talking, because the next thing he knew it was light.

  Dave stood over him, holding out a mug. “Tea?”

  Billy sat up and turned to see Rash fast asleep, rolled up in a blanket. “Yeah, thanks,” he said quietly, taking the mug with both hands.

  “Come outside with me, will you?” Dave said. “We need to have a chat.”

  The air outside was much cooler and fresher than inside the shed. The sun was still low, its pale-orange light just catching the tops of the range of hills that rose above the farm. Dave led Billy to the fence that kept the cows out of the yard.

  The two of them stood there for a moment, side by side, sipping tea and looking across the paddock.

  “So you were part of this stunt too? Covering that politician in pig’s blood?”

  “Yeah.” Billy didn’t look at Dave; instead he kept his eyes on the cows, watching them tearing up the bright-green grass. “I helped her rig the crutches. Put the pumps in. Got the blood.”

  “You must be pretty smart.”

  It didn’t sound like a compliment to Billy. “Rash didn’t have the tools and stuff. We did it together.”

  “And now she’s got the cops after her. The government too. She’s scared; she ran away. But why are you here? The cops aren’t after you, are they?”

  Billy watched a cow lift its tail and emit a stream of steaming green shit onto the grass. “No. But only because Rash wouldn’t tell them.”

  Dave nodded. “No. She wouldn’t.”

  Billy turned to face him. “Rash and I are friends. She asked me to come with her. I didn’t want her running off on her own.”

  “Friends,” Dave grunted. “Friends can get you in trouble.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “What about your family? Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

  Billy shook his head. “My mum wouldn’t care.” He didn’t mention John. It was too complicated.

  “Okay then.” Dave leaned against the fence and looked at Billy. “I guess we can all hide out up here together.” He drank some of his tea then threw the rest out into the paddock. “For a while anyway. I don’t know what the hell Kurt thought he was doing bringing the two of you up here with no supplies.”

  When they went back into the shed, Rashmi was awake. They made more tea and had bread with butter and jam for breakfast. After they’d eaten, Billy put all the plates and mugs in a bucket and took them around the side of the shed to the rainwater tank. He was rinsing off the last plate when the Land Rover’s engine rumbled to life. Between the sheds, he saw Dave drive across the yard and back down the track towards the road.

  He found Rashmi sitting on a bench in the sun, using a stick to draw in the dust. “Where’s he going?”

  “Said he had to talk to Kurt and collect his mail.” She twitched the stick back and forth, wiping out whatever she’d been drawing.

 
Billy took the bucket inside and spread the plates and mugs on the bench to dry. Back outside, Rashmi was singing quietly to herself when Billy sat down beside her. “What’s that?”

  Rashmi grinned. “A song Grandpa used to sing to me when he was putting me to bed when I was little.”

  “Hallelujah?”

  “That’s the chorus. I can’t remember all the words.”

  Billy watched a white bird hover above the field on the other side of the yard: a hawk, beating the air with its wings to stay in one place, folding and dropping closer to the ground, hovering again for a moment, then sliding across the morning breeze to the other side of the field and taking up a hovering position again. Hunting something. Mice maybe. “So,” he asked, “what do you want to do today?”

  “Just sit here. Enjoy the sun.” Rashmi had her legs stretched out as she leaned against the wall of the shed with her eyes closed.

  Billy watched the hawk dive down into the field then fly off towards the edge of the forest. It was hard to see, but he was pretty sure it held something small in its claws. “I’m going to go for a walk,” he said.

  “Sure.”

  He walked around behind the machinery shed, where a track led through another gate and up over the next hill. It was a warm day, the sky deep blue with only a few small white clouds off in the distance. As he walked through the paddock, the cows raised their big heads and watched him. “’Morning cows,” he said. Their big eyes blinked, and their ears twitched for a moment before they lowered their heads again and got on with eating their grass.

  At the top of the hill, Billy turned and looked back down on the little farm. The two sheds in the corner of the yard, Rashmi sitting in the sun against the wall. And beyond the sheds, the track Dave had driven out on, following the fence line into the distance. The bitumen road was just visible where it ran up the side of a ridge before it disappeared again into the trees.