by JM HART
“Piss off, what did you do that for? Sometimes you can be a real asshole,” Kevin said rubbing his shoulder.
“Now you’re sounding just like her.”
“Who?”
“My sister! Man, you’re a space cadet today. What’s with you? By the way, have you seen the dude she’s dating? He plays third base, big on double plays.”
“You mean Nash?” Kevin said, taking Tim’s model plane out of its box and sorting through the pieces. “He lives on my street; a couple of doors down. He’s alright. You signing up this year?”
“Yeah, you? What’s this part?” Tim asked picking a curved rectangular piece of the plane, too small to be a wing.
Kevin took the piece from Tim. Inspected it and handed it back. “It’s the aileron, part of the wing. Maybe we might head off to my grandparents’ property down the coast for a few weeks. It’s been empty since they died in the accident. It would be a good place to get away from the infected until the virus is eradicated.” Kevin looked towards the front of the house. He didn’t know if he should say anything. He was sick of hiding, he thought and blurted out, “I think Kathy’s coming.”
“Why’d you say that?”
“My mom’s dad had a plane and was teaching me how to fly it before—”
“No, not the model plane bit. Why do you think we need to leave, and why do you think Kath is coming home early?”
“I … just a feeling. She’s sad,” Kevin said, mostly to himself.
Before Tim could react they heard a key sliding into the lock. “Quick, help me put everything back, or I’ll never see that ten bucks.”
Kevin grabbed everything, putting it back into the box. “Why, what’s wrong?”
“It’s her box!”
Kevin watched Tim bolt down the hall to the closet and heave the box over his head to slide it onto the top shelf. Kathy stormed into the house seconds later, slamming the door behind her. Kevin froze and held his breath. She walked straight past him, heading in Tim’s direction. He was busted for sure. Kath didn’t stop. She always wears gym workout clothes, but she never goes to the gym, he thought. She had obviously been crying. She passed the walk-in closet, and went upstairs to her room. Tim came out of the closet and looked up the stairs before shrugging his shoulders at Kevin.
“What do you want to do now?”
Kevin ran his finger along the spine of the DVDs on the living room shelves. “Let’s watch a movie. What do you feel like? What about —” Sensing something was wrong he turned around. “What’s up with you?”
“I hate to say it, but I think you’re right,” Tim said.
Kevin raised his eyebrows. “About what?”
“She was crying.”
They both stared at each uncomfortably. “Perhaps there’s something we should do,” Kevin said.
Tim turned on the TV and the world news headlines blurted out of the surround sound system. Terrifying images splashed across the LED screen of people running through the streets, others were being attacked by infected, while others watched or were looting.
“Turn it off. My mom’s here,” Kevin said walking to the front door.
“I didn’t hear anything. Her car’s not—” Before Tim could finish his sentence they heard her car pull up. The boys walked outside to meet her.
“Hi, boys,” Callie said, passing Kevin his sleeping bag and backpack. “I expect you home tomorrow before dark.” She kissed Kevin on the brow. “Be careful,” she whispered.
“Mom, I have to tell you something. A black car —”
“Kevin, I have to go. I have important work to do. Tell me tomorrow, I’m sure it can wait.”
Kevin didn’t bother replying. He knew she wouldn’t listen to him anyway. All she cared about was her work. Ever since she got back all she cared about was that little canister inside her little blue esky.
Her work shoes didn’t make a sound on the driveway. “Tim, don’t forget your tent. Alex is looking forward to spending some time with you boys, even if you pitch it in the garage.” She waved over her head. “Say hi to your mom for me.”
Kevin could see Tim busting to say some smart-ass comment. “Don’t say anything.”
“I’m not even thinking anything. You got a bit of lipstick there on your forehead,” Tim said smirking. “Anyhooooo! So who’s going to win the World Series? Cough up, how long have you been able to do that?” he said closing the door.
“Do what?”
“Why is it called the World Series, when it’s only one country playing? What am I getting for Christmas? Next time, can you give me a bit more of a heads-up rather than a few seconds? Stuff the movie, let’s go for a ride.”
Kevin watched Tim’s mouth move at a hundred miles an hour. He followed him out back to fetch his bike from the shed. Kevin waited around the side of the house where his sky blue Apollo was. He loved his bike. It was the last good thing that happened before his grandparents’ accident. His mom had surprised him with it two days before she went to the USA. Tim came running out of the shed, jumping onto his bike and riding right past Kevin. “Man! Did you just skol a Red Bull or what?” Kevin asked.
*
Kevin climbed on his bike, coasted down the deserted road catching up to Tim and overtaking. He let go of the handlebars, stretched out his arms and the fog in his head cleared. His ears popped. His mind crystallized. He could focus again. For a few seconds he dared to close his eyes, basking in the light. He felt the warmth, a surge of energy. He chuckled to himself and opened his eyes; That’s what I am, he thought, a solar battery. He raised his fists up into the air, pretending to shoot bolts of light like he’d done when he was seven.
Tim caught up to ride beside him, and shouted. “What the hell are you doing, K? You look like a retard.”
“Nothing,” he said putting his hands back on the handlebars. Kevin flicked his gear lever and speeding off said, “Look who’s the dork now! Catch me if you can!”
Kevin mounted the footpath onto the vacant block. He pedaled through the long yellow grass that slid over his legs, and pedaled even faster along the narrow, dusty path leading through the bush to the river knowing that red-bellied black snakes lay in the scrub, just out of sight. Kevin brought his bike to a sliding stop. Blocking their way was a familiar gigantic bull ant mound. They both knew the first person could ride over it before the ants poured out in frenzy: the second person would become the victim. They stared at each other, then the anthill, both with one foot on the pedal, ready. Tim broke rank first, with Kevin’s front wheel inches behind. Kevin sailed over the hill standing up on the pegs. Twisting his body he looked around to see the ants pouring from the top like lava from a volcano. Feeling exhilarated, they kept pedaling, lifting their front wheels up off the ground, riding to the river.
*
Getting a handful of brake the back tyre skidded to the side. Kevin dropped his Apollo and ran onto the small sandy patch. You could hardly call it a beach, he thought. He kicked off his shoes before racing through the shallows and diving into the clear refreshing water.
They swam up and down the river trying to outdo each other, played stickball at knee-deep until finally, exhausted, they just floated in the cool water. Tim was trying to rattle Kevin’s cage. “Did you hear the stories about the shark that came upstream last year? Dogs were taken.”
“Shut up, it did not,” Kevin said, walking out of the water and plonking himself on the warm sand. “I heard someone say Shaun Grady and his thugs hang out down here.”
“It did! And now you’re just trying to freak me out, I’ve never seen him,” Tim said, stretching out next to him. “You can ask Spicier. He saw it, he saw the shark.” Tim scooped and patted sand to make a pillow mound.
“You make up some really good stories,” Kevin said, resting his chin on his arms. “You should write a movie, especially that story about the dunny man remember! Early in the morning, before sunrise, the dunny man would sneak into backyards and collect large buckets full of a family’s
week’s worth of shit, and if the dunny man was lucky, he would make it through a day without spilling any on himself. Tim, seriously, you should write that down. You’ve got a gift, man,” Kevin said, laughing.
“But it’s true,” Tim said confused. “Ask my grandfather.”
Feeling his skin burning, Kevin sat up and went back into the water to cool off. Peacefully, he floated on his back, his hearing muffled by the sloshing of the water rocking in and out of his ears. The silky water and gentle wind eased the heat of the day. Kevin stretched his arms and legs like a starfish and watched the clouds chugging across the sky as he drifted along with the current, losing track of time. He had not gone far when the feeling of the sun burning his face became overwhelming. He dived under and enjoyed the coolness of the deeper water on his face as he swam to the river’s edge. He crawled into shallow water where nearly transparent shrimp swam slowly around his wrists. He kept still, resting on his elbows, watching them swim in between his fingers and over his hands.
Suddenly he felt his awareness expand and his senses heighten as if someone was standing over him, tapping him on the shoulder. He looked up, searching for what was drawing his attention away from the playful shrimp, and spotted Tim climbing up the steep bank on the other side. “Where are you going?” Kevin shouted.
Tim quickly looked over his shoulder, put a finger to his lips and pointed into the bush. He crouched low, slowly moved forward and disappeared. The cicadas’ song rose to an irritating crescendo, the kookaburras laughed and the tide crept in. The little beach area was disappearing. Kevin felt sick, something was wrong; his stomach twisted in knots, his ears rang. A cold sweat emerged from every pore. Where the hell has Tim gone?
Kevin waited a few minutes more. The wind blew the scent of the bush in his face and the afternoon shadows started to come alive. All at once he felt cold and alone. “Shit! Where the hell is Tim?” Kevin brushed his fringe out of his eyes and scanned the area again before calling out. “Come on, where are you.” His whole body seemed to buzz, vibrating with an intense concern for his friend. The trees were noisy, encouraged by the strengthening winds. He heard every sound, except Tim.
Kevin walked into the choppy water. Tiny waves driven by the wind smacked into his knees. He dropped forward and swam across. Taking fistfuls of reeds he pulled himself up the bank. He crouched low and crept into the bush. The smell of cigarette smoke was prominent. His stomach somersaulted, its contents moved upward and he vomited. His lips tingling, Kevin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Up ahead he heard muffled voices. The bush was so dry, with each step twigs snapped as he moved deeper into the bush. A wallaby jumped out from behind a tree and scared the crap out of him. Something very bad is about to go down. Still he couldn’t see any sign of Tim. The voices became clearer. There were at least two. Stealthlike, Kevin moved even closer and crouched behind a tree to listen.
“You’re a retard. I’ll teach you to spy on us. Grab him.”
Kevin wondered if they, whoever they were, were talking about Tim. Kevin moved closer. He heard a scuffle break out. He still couldn’t see anything, but a sense of urgency overcame his fear and he quickly moved forward towards the commotion.
“Hold his hands behind his back, hold him! You morons are wimps, letting this little pussy get the better of you. Hold him still.”
Kevin rushed into the clearing and saw Tim spit in some guy’s face. The dude pulled back his arm and punched him on the side of the head for it. Tim spun a one- eighty while the guy wiped the spit off his face. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. Tim had his back towards his assailant, facing Kevin. There were three dudes, all around seventeen to nineteen years old. At the top of his lungs, Kevin screamed, “Get off him …” The thug lifted up his leg and kicked Tim in the back as Kevin ran forward, keeping his eyes on the unlaced runner in Tim’s back. Tim’s face was red, swollen, and quickly turned from a look of pain into a blank stare; he was a dead weight on a downward journey and hit the ground hard. Kevin sprinted and lunged recklessly at the thug, who mockingly raised his foot again and stomped on Tim’s leg … Kevin heard it snap. He was stunned. From outside his peripheral vision, in mid-stride, a fist collided with the side of his head. Kevin felt himself falling. What the hell! he thought. His left ear started to ring and was burning hot. It reminded him of a time when he had picked chilli off his plate and then accidentally rubbed his eye. What a dumb thing to be thinking of now. There was nothing he could do to stop himself from hitting the ground, right next to Tim.
It all happened at a snail’s pace. He could only watch his assailant laugh and fist-pump the air, looking at his mates for approval, devouring their cheers. So, there were four, not three, Kevin thought, two he recognized from school. One was Shaun Grady, the local bully with his dumb sidekick, but he wasn’t sure who the other bully was, or the one that had taken him out with the king-hit. He tasted dirt as he lay on the ground. Before his eyes completely shut, he saw an old car seat with half a dozen or so petrol bombs lined up ready to go.
*
Shaun laughed as he threw the last petrol bomb into the scrub. He watched in awe as fire raced up the face of a tree. His friends were like statues, mesmerized by his power. I couldn’t give a shit about the retards, he thought and left them lying unconscious as he crossed the river. Stealing Kevin’s Apollo bicycle Shaun pedaled as fast as possible homeward to watch the bush burn from his rooftop. Shaun felt exhilarated, full of bubbling energy. A passing fire truck wailing around the corner nearly took him out.
Shaun dropped Kevin’s bike on the lawn, flung off his runners and climbed barefoot up the side drainpipe and onto the roof, dangling his legs over the edge to watch the show. He could see the firemen leap from the trucks, unwinding the hoses. Shaun could feel the wind change; the fire would be driven out of control by the arriving southerly.
5
The morning star: Jade. South Carolina, USA.
The early morning sun penetrated the heavy drapes. The memory of the warm night clung to Jade as she woke from a restless sleep. She was born in this painted weatherboard bungalow fifteen years ago. She used to love sitting outside on the front veranda during the summer reading a science journal, or people-watching. This year the temperature during the first week of autumn was high, as if it was still the middle of summer. Kicking off the blue sheet she threw her legs over the side of the bed, planting them firmly on the cool wooden floor. She closed her eyes, breathing in the morning, imagining it flowing through her soles and spreading up through her body. Over the last few weeks she had been experimenting, trying to eliminate her anxiety, and it seemed to be working.
A smell of coffee and burnt toast wafted from the kitchen. She reached for her glasses. The house was still. Jade shuffled along the hallway. The open window caught the dust dancing in the sunlight. She lost herself in the moment, twirling past the window; the lace curtain flapped and coiled itself around her. Breaking away from its gentle hold, she entered the deserted kitchen. Two lonely pieces of toast, with a thick layer of butter and speckles of charcoal sat on a plate next to a glass of juice. Jade smiled at the toast, grateful for her dad’s effort. She missed her mom every day. It had been nearly a year since her mother’s disappearance.
An old Indian man from her great-grandmother’s tribe appeared out the front of her home more often than not. Jade could see him now through the window making himself comfortable under the tree, burning herbs in a seashell. Today she planned to escape her personal prison and act like a normal teenager. Today she had agreed to go to the beach with Ben; she hoped he would ask her to tomorrow night’s beach party. It would be her first. She crunched on the burnt toast, skolled the juice and breakfast was over.
Closing the bathroom door, she ran her tongue over her just-cleaned teeth, tasting the mint flavor, and blinked a few more times making sure her contacts were in place. Her bedroom was dark and she pulled back the blinds. Her room lacked posters and the general teenage paraphernalia. There was one pictur
e; a childhood painting, an image from her dreams of a green iron gate, with a golden padlock and a beautiful, smooth golden star in the middle of the gate — through its bars, undefined shadows could be seen. Sometimes she felt that the lock was just a lock, and at other times, like now, she felt it beckoning, crying out for her to find the key.
Breaking the magnetic pull of the image, Jade stretched her arms over her head and removed her night clothes and stepped into her bathers. She pulled on a shirt depicting the structure of an atom and a black pair of cargo shorts. She looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. Black and black. Her emo days were gone, but it was still hard for her to adjust. Her mom had said, “Black is only to complement, to reveal the colors in light, and enhance the patterns around you.” Jade changed her shorts to a pair of white short shorts she’d never worn before. She padded into her mom’s room to pick out one of her colored shirts.
She pushed the sliding door open and the smell of her mother filled her senses. For a few seconds she just stood there. Wiping away tears, she reached in and picked out a rich blue shirt. Jade tied it around her waist, exposing her belly button, feeling semi-naked. Jade grabbed her mother’s handmade straw bag, which she had made with her grandmother. Just thinking of her great-grandmother made her smile. It had always been happy days when great-gran was here. People came from miles around to be with her. Everyone was gentle, caring; they called her Great Turtle. She spoke so quietly their ears would strain to catch the pearls of wisdom. Jade thought her great-grandmother had certainly been an old turtle: slow, hard to crack, soft on the inside. To be that little bit closer to her, Jade went to her mother’s jewelry box, took out Great Turtle’s bracelet and fastened it firmly around her wrist. She ran her fingers gently along the etchings, feeling the notches in the aged copper. Jade stuffed a rolled- up striped towel into the bag and grabbed her hairbrush, smiling at her floating memories. Her eyes became unfocused as she brushed her long raven hair, thinking of her mother. How many times I complained about her dragging me back to her work after school to do just one more thing; always, just one more thing. Now Jade missed hanging around the laboratory.