So it didn’t matter that the sky was pissing down rain like the end of a forty-year drought, or that lightning forked through sky every couple of seconds, or that I’d left my raincoat at home in the laundry when I’d stumbled out the door, numb with shock. It didn’t even matter that by now, Dad would probably be frantic with worry over where I was—or that Mum wouldn’t be.
Sailor was dead. The world had ended.
When I saw them first I thought I was hallucinating, a gruesome image induced by grief, my hindbrain’s horrid imaginings of what might have happened to Sailor. But then they saw me, yellow eyes gleaming in the dimness, and the fear prickling my spine as they prowled towards me on thin air couldn’t be mistaken for anything but real.
Air foxes, wind spirits, the whole pack stalked towards me as one—eight, ten, maybe even twelve of them treading careful steps in the sky. A metre or so away, they stopped, hunching like they would pounce… and vanished. At the time, I thought it was just a coincidence that the storm began to die out, rain fading quickly to mere dampness in the air, thunderheads flattening and dissipating into a uniform roof of steel.
One last flash of lightning showed me a small, damp mound of fur in the middle of the clearing. As the world settled into uneasy silence, I picked my way towards it. I could barely breathe through a chest so tight with grief I felt it might crack, a throat too swollen to swallow.
A fox. The remains of a fox. Its tail had been broken in several places and despite the downpour, blood stickied its fur. The ears were shredded to ribbons, its hide tattered, paws—I reached out and ran one trembling fingertip down them—cold as ice.
Tears burned my cheeks. Enough. Death was too heavy and I couldn’t carry any more.
I sat on the half-frozen ground, storm water seeping into my jeans, and scooped the bloodied, mangled fox into my lap. Water soaked through to my undies and I shivered with cold that was warmer than grief. I missed Sailor. I missed Halmoni, my grandmother.
I missed Mum, trapped by a grief deeper than any life-rope I could offer.
So much death. So much grief. Heavy, and exhausting. I huddled around the fox and wished with every fibre I had that once, just this once, death would lose. “Please,” I breathed to the dying storm. “Please, no more.”
A whisper of air around me; the smell of musk over the clear, bright scent of rain. On my lap, a flutter of movement.
There was no dramatic reversal of time, no uneasy slithering of skin, no back-pouring of blood; just a quiet heartbeat, coarse, dry fur, and eyes that slowly blinked open, yellow and gold in the oncoming night, before he slid from my lap and trotted away with his life and a little shake of his ears.
Afterwards, I told myself I must have imagined the damage. Maybe it was some other creature’s blood. As I slipped back into the house just on dark to the frantic noises of my father, and even a desperate hug from Mum, I knew it had been a metaphor invented by my imagination, nothing more.
Dead things didn’t return to life. I knew that.
Five: Zac
I watched her after that. Not when I was a storm fox; it was harder to care about human things then. But I found her house easily as a normal fox, the bush behind her house thickly layered with her scent. She had a treehouse she did homework in when the weather was warm, a short distance out beyond the borders of her yard. In late spring and early autumn, when I was foxy enough to find her and human enough to care, I hung out at the bottom of the tree, curling up and napping in the sun.
At first I tried to stay out of sight, but she seemed to know when I was there regardless, glancing out the window, peering towards the house as though she couldn’t quite figure out what she was sensing.
I knew exactly what it was. I owed my life to her, in ways so literal it was almost uncomfortable. The Winter King had brought me back to life when she’d asked, but he’d done it the only way he could: by taking a little of hers.
If she died, I’d die too—and not just of a broken heart.
NOW
Six: Mina
The whole idea that small towns are safe towns is a fallacy. I’d always known that, small towns being the natural breeding ground of prejudice and all, but the last month had challenged the perception of safety more than usual. Today in particular. I hovered outside Mum and Dad’s bedroom, hand raised to knock, when a snippet of their conversation made me hesitate.
“More bad news today,” Dad was saying softly.
“Don’t,” Mum replied firmly. “Don’t. I can’t handle it any more. It’s too heavy, it’s too much.”
“Ignoring it doesn’t prevent it from happening,” Dad said, and the irritation in his voice made me want to slap him.
“I know that,” Mum cut back at him. “I’m sick, not stupid. But if you’re going to sit there and grump at me like a rooster with his feathers ruffled just because I don’t want to hear more bad news, fine. Just say it.”
A pause. I ran my lip through my teeth and weighed up my options. Chances of finding out what the news was if I interrupted? Zero. Guilt levels on a scale of one to ten if I sat back and let Dad speak when I knew Mum wasn’t up to hearing it? Eleven.
“Another person’s disappeared,” Dad said before I could make my choice. “Craig’s kid. Goes—went—to Mina and Sunny’s school.”
“There,” said Mum, voice muffled. “You’ve told me. Now leave me alone for a little bit, please. I need to cry about it.”
Mum must have been having a relatively good day. On a bad day she’d have collapsed into sobs there and then. Still, I backed away from the door and hid around the corner until Dad had exited. Then, stepping as lightly as breathing, I tiptoed into Mum’s room and perched on the edge of the bed.
The suspicious sniffling ceased and she stilled under the covers.
Without peeling them back to expose her, I leaned down and gave her a tight, fleeting hug. “Hi Mum,” I said softly. “Just me, home from school.”
No response, but the pressure in my arms shifted as though she was leaning into me.
“I’m sorry about the bad news,” I breathed. Could she hear me through the covers? “I love you. It won’t be like this forever. Things will get better. I promise.”
I hugged her again and stood. “I’ll come back after homework.”
Halfway to the door, the covers shifted. “I love you, Mina,” she said, voice clear and firm as it had been all those months ago before… I swallowed. Before.
“I love you too, Mum.”
I raced down the stairs, through the kitchen, out into the yard where the cold autumn air slapped me in the face and froze the tears away, and out the back gate. I scaled the makeshift ladder to the treehouse I’d called mine since I’d found in the bush behind our house ten years ago.
So. Another person had gone missing. Jasper, no less. Well, that in and of itself was no particular loss: he was a jerk even at fourteen, one of the few people who still tried to get away with calling me slurs on a regular basis. Always out of hearing of the teachers, of course. I’d given up trying to get them to do something about him—those conversations always turned into him being 'just a bit of a boy’, and me being ‘a little too sensitive, don’t you think?’
I ground my teeth. So. Not entirely disappointed by his loss. But the idea that yet another person had gone missing here in backwater Jilamatang, that was concerning. Three people in three weeks was a pretty noticeable rate of evaporation, even in a town three times our size.
Scratching in the bushes below drew my attention, and I peered out the window, keeping my movements slow and calm. I smiled. My red fox was back, snuffling through the undergrowth and flicking his ears. He reached the perimeter of the tree that housed my treehouse and stopped, staring at the change in leaves underfoot. Everywhere else around the bush was olive and drab, eucalypts and wattles as far as the eye could see—which, actually, wasn’t that far. But my tree was a rogue, an invader that didn’t belong, and I loved it for that. A giant, sprawling oak, its leaves had al
ready turned russet and some had begun to fall.
The fox sniffed at them cautiously, whiskers trembling, then padded through them to his usual spot near the base of the tree.
I’d once thought it strange that a fox would have a usual spot, especially one as obvious and unsheltered as his was, but it clearly worked for him—at least in the mid seasons. I never saw him in summer or in the dead of winter, but in autumn and spring he’d be there nearly every day, coming just to hang out, curl up in a patch of sun, and doze.
I watched him until Jasper faded into the background, and even the constant ache I felt for Mum was reduced to a quiet mumble. Then, sighing heavily, I turned to my homework. Bloody HSC. Everyone warned you it was a hell of a year, but still nothing could prepare you for the sheer amount of hours you were expected to devote to school if you wanted half a chance of doing well. I was already on the outer, studying at a tiny regional school with only a hair over thirty of us in my year level—though at least being regional meant I scored an extra three points on my ATAR by default—so if I wanted any chance of a score good enough to get me into a decent uni and thus enable my dreams of escaping the Tang, I had to work my arse off.
An hour and a half later the sun was too far gone to be of any use, and I packed my books back into my bag. Time to go do the family thing, eating dinner together at the table like we weren’t one person short, adhering rigidly to formality even though the only person who cared was marooned in a sea of darkness, drifting unmoored in her bed.
I shivered as I sat in the doorway of the treehouse, wind teasing around me. Smelled like we were in for some heavy rain.
My movements had woken the fox below. He yawned, stretched, and shook out his fur before trotting across the clearing made by the oak’s fallen leaves. Just before he reached the scrub, the wind came howling down. I caught at the doorframe for balance, and the fox flattened himself against the ground, ears pinned back, tail tucked low. The gust was here-and-gone-again in an instant, but my fox wasted no time: the second it let up, he ran, sprinting as fast as I’ve ever seen a fox, disappearing like a spirit before I’d finished inhaling. Seemed like I wasn’t the only one who hated the wind. I grabbed my bag, jumped down the ladder, and headed for the yard. At least I had the option of staying out of the cold. Maybe I should build the fox a shelter or something. He might like that.
The warmth of the kitchen-living area was washing over my face before I remembered that foxes dug their own burrows. I sighed, feeling curiously rejected.
Never mind. It wasn’t like I had time to spare anyway.
Seven: Mina
“Mina.” Dad interrupted our rousing(ly non-existent) dinner conversation questioningly.
“Mm?” I raised my eyebrows at him as I crammed a forkful of steak and shittake mushrooms from the stew into my mouth. The smoky, earthy flavour of the mushrooms gave depth to the stew, and the meat was nice and tender… but it was never quite right when I made it. I missed Mum’s cooking.
“I don’t have much planned for tomorrow—just heading over to Old Pete’s to see about fixing his fences again.”
I nodded like I was interested and wondered why he was bothering to tell me this. Sunny stared wide-eyed back and forth like it was the most interesting tennis match she’d ever seen. Kid seriously needed to get out more.
“You and I both know that they won’t need fixing,” Dad continued. “He just wants the company, bless him, but I should go nonetheless.”
I nodded. “Is this going somewhere?”
“Mina!” Sunny scolded, fork frozen halfway to her mouth in horror. “Don’t talk to Dad like that!”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s fine, Sunny.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but Dad cut her off by squeezing her free hand. “It’s fine,” he said, before refocusing on me. I could tell he’d refocused on me because the sparkle dropped out of his eyes. I didn’t blame him, or anyone else in the whole wide world who was captivated by Sunny’s naive innocence and charm—so, you know, everyone in the whole wide world, myself included—but I did still wish that I could make people respond like that. Would never happen, though. I was too prickly by half, and whereas smiles and optimism came naturally to my kid sister—hence the fact that no one called her Sunmi, and everyone called her Sunny—I was pretty sure that my natural dialect was sarcasm, and I knew I was a realist rather than an optimist.
“I’m building to a point,” Dad continued, tone mild and agreeable. Curiosity itched at my spine. “Which is,” he said, toying with his fork, “that you can have the car tomorrow if you promise to drive Sunny to and from school.”
I straightened in my seat, shocked at my good fortune. “You mean I can use it after school too?” Although I’d had my Ps for nearly six months, Dad rarely let me drive anywhere without direct supervision.
Cogs turned. Ah. “This is because of the missing kid, isn’t it.”
“What?” Sunny straightened like a hound on a scent.
Dad cut sharp eyes towards her and I rolled my own again. “Dad, he was in her year at school. She’s going to find out.”
“Find out what?”
Dad chewed his mouthful of noodles so carefully, I half expected him to regurgitate it on Sunny’s plate—his precious little baby bird. I sighed and turned to her. “Jasper Blake? From school?”
She nodded, eyes wide.
“He’s gone missing. Like Jack and Sally.”
Although it hardly seemed possible, Sunny’s eyes widened further and she went pale—a feat easier with her skin than with mine, I had to admit. “But he was in school just yesterday.”
Dad put his cutlery down and ran a hand over his head. I watched him while I chewed, wondering what he’d choose to share. Although he never seemed to have any problem dumping the cold hard facts on Mum’s head, he was too precious by half around Sunny. “He never made it home,” he said at last. “His friends saw him leave school to walk home, but he never made it there, and no one seems to have seen him moving across town.”
“Well, they wouldn’t have,” Sunny added just a little too quickly.
“Why not?” Suspicious nagged at the edges of my words. What did Sunny know about Smarmy Blake’s routine that even his friends didn’t know—or wouldn’t confess to, at any rate.
She stared at her plate, avoiding eye contact as she speared a piece of carrot and tried to act casual. “Well, he lives over on Baxter, doesn’t he. Fastest way home is through the pine plantation.”
“And you know this because…?”
It was Dad’s turn to perform the role of tennis spectator. I swear, some days I had no clue how he and Mum had gotten together. He couldn’t take a hint if you dropped it on his head from outer space.
Sunny shrugged, still avoiding eye contact. “He might have told me.”
My grip tightened on my fork. “You’ve talked to him? Since when?! How often?”
She shrugged again. “Once or twice.”
Oh, sure. Once or twice. If that wasn’t teenage girl speak for We’ve Talked More Than He Wants To Let Anyone Know And I’m Helping Him Protect His Reputation, I was the mutant alien from outer space dropping the hints on Dad’s head. “Sunmi!” I cried, aghast. “He’s a total creep!”
“He is not,” she said firmly, meeting my eyes at last. “He’s misunderstood, and I happen to feel sorry for him.”
Oh, boy. This was Not Good. “Fine,” I said, leaning towards her. “But he’s not a stray.”
She had the good grace to blush at that.
Dad looked from one of his daughters to the other like he’d found a strange species he didn’t know how to confront. “Can someone please explain what’s going on here?”
“Strays, Dad,” I said, still pinning Sunny with my gaze. “You remember the kitten? And the mouse? And the snake?” I glanced at him then, and the sudden loss of colour in his face told me he remembered finding a coiled up whip snake under the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink all too well—a little yellow-faced f
ellow, not dangerous enough to kill, but hardly safe pet material either. “Put it this way,” I said, turning my laser vision on Dad. “Sunny found another pet, only its claws are sharper than a kitten’s, it carries more diseases than any mouse I’ve seen, and I’m ninety-five per cent sure it’s more dangerous than the snake.” I stood abruptly, collecting my now-empty bowl and fork.
“Mina, that’s—“
“Hush.” I cut her off with a wave of my fork. “If you stopped to think about it for two seconds you’d know perfectly well that I’m right. So,” I added brightly to Dad. “Have fun with that.” I beamed a smile at him and left.
Behind me, he sputtered for words as Sunny raced to reassure him about whatever she’d decided was his most pressing fear. I smirked, not feeling the least bit sorry. At least her embarrassment and all-consuming desire to please the parentals should keep her safely away from Jasper now. Should he, you know, suddenly become un-missing. I frowned. Guy might have been a smarmy toad, but he’d grown up around here and I would have thought him smarter—and slipperier—than to get himself caught.
A cold shiver writhed down my back—someone walking over my grave, clearly. Ha. Nonetheless, I vowed to see Sunny to the doors of the school and back again more carefully than a mother hen with her babies watched by a fox. Once she was home I’d take advantage of having the car for a change—but not before.
Eight: Mina
I sat at the back of the history classroom with Liz, flicking notes back and forth as we waited for the final bell to go.
Wanna get ice cream after school? I wrote.
Ice cream? You up for a walk?
I grinned as the teacher crouched to talk to another student, and shook my head at Liz. I have the car. I just have to drop S home first.
She nearly squealed. She did bounce, two little up-and-down bops in her seat that reminded me of my one-year-old cousin. I shook my head wryly, bemused as ever by my best friend.
The beep-beep of an impending announcement over the loudspeaker cut through our excitement. Liz raised her eyebrows at me and I frowned back. Even the teacher wrinkled his brow and peered perplexedly at the speaker in the ceiling.
That Moment When: An Anthology of Young Adult Fiction Page 59
