The cashier looks at me for a moment, takes another drag on her cigarette, smiles slightly like she would do the same if she could, and points to the road just after the car park. ‘Better run.’
I make it to the road when I hear the roar of a bus. I run alongside it until it pulls into the bus stop a hundred metres away, letting out two people. I’m panting by the time I get on. I show the driver the picture of the map I took on my phone. He says the last stop is about a twenty-minute drive from the festival location. It will have to do. I’m hoping someone will get my message. Or I can find a ride from there; they can’t all be serial killers.
For a second, I think of aborting my mission—I’m being crazy impulsive, just like Mum told me, and probably super immature. I’m sixteen, not six. But I can’t just return, tail between my legs, to the truck stop.
It’s not hard to find a seat on the bus; they’re all empty.
I download the Facebook app and quickly create an account. My phone has only a quarter battery left, but there’s no other choice.
I send a message to Melody just in case, and then to the woman who posted the photo. Her name’s Autumn and she seems to be a local. Her profile pic shows her in a purple Greenpeace shirt. Mum used to have one similar so Autumn’s an obvious Melody-friend. I tell her I’m looking for Melody and I’m finding my way to the festival now. I copy the message to the eight other women tagged in the picture.
I wonder what my father will do when he finds me gone. And how long the police will wait for me to come back from the bathroom. Will they come looking for me? Will the cashier tell them where I went? I tune my ears to the sounds of a siren, but everything’s quiet except for the rumbling of the bus.
I send my father a message: Going to see Melody, no need to pick me up.
Our relationship may be over, but I don’t want him to worry again.
With hot air blowing from the vents above me, I rest my eyelids for just a minute.
I’m awoken by a shout. ‘Miss? This is the last stop.’ The bus pulls into a small terminal and I get off.
I inspect the standing map, trying to work out where I am. Bright lights flicker overhead in stark contrast to the black night. I turn the corner hoping to find someone to help, but the ticket booth’s closed and all’s silent except for a buzzing snack machine. I look around for the driver but he’s disappeared.
‘Hello?’ I call.
Not a soul. I start shivering. This was crazy; I am crazy. If I don’t die from cold, I’m going to get myself killed or worse. The horror film I feared for Melody has become mine.
If Mum could see me now … I can’t even think. I miss her so much. I’d give everything to have her back. Everything and anything.
Melody mustn’t have got the message. My teeth start chattering and before my fingers fall off, I take out my phone to call my father. I can’t stay out here all night; I’ll be dead by morning.
But the battery’s dead and my screen, black.
I hear a bang and I jump about two feet high. It happens again and I peer into the darkness outside the terminal. Nobody’s there. I hope.
Running around the terminal, I start searching for a payphone. But when I find one, it’s out of service. I check the door of the ticket booth; I could use the phone inside, but the booth is locked.
I start doing star jumps to keep myself warm. Should I break the ticket booth window with a rock and turn on the heater? Or start walking? Find the highway, hitch a ride back with a truck? Didn’t Melody say it’s illegal for someone not to pick up a hitchhiker in winter?
There’s the sound of an engine. A van pulls into the parking area, skidding slightly as it swerves towards me.
I stop jumping and squeeze my arms across my chest as tightly as possible. If this isn’t Melody, I have nowhere to run or hide.
The headlights are blinding.
A car door opens and slams shut.
All I can see is a dark silhouette, and it’s coming towards me.
Fast.
Chapter 9
‘Sky!’ someone yells.
I squint. I know that voice.
And then I’m enveloped in Melody’s strong hug.
‘You’re here.’ She pulls away to look at me. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. Thank goodness you’re okay.’ She squeezes me again so tightly it hurts. Then we hurry towards the van, she pulls open the sliding back door and I enter.
A campervan cocoon. Incense wafts and melodies flow from harps and flutes. Purple velvet fabric drapes the windows and covers the seat, which is long and soft, more like a sofa. The floor is hidden under a dozen pillows. Crystals hang overhead, and the walls are lined with yoga posters and quotes. One is from Bette Davis: When a man gives his opinion, he’s a man. When a woman gives her opinion, she’s a bitch.
‘I found her, oh my goodness, I found her,’ Melody says to the woman behind the wheel. I recognise her from her profile pic—straight ash-blonde hair down to her hips, tie-dye scarf and a wide friendly face clean of make-up. Autumn.
Melody sits me down next to her, not releasing me from her arms. ‘Are you all right?’ she asks, and I nod. I feel like I’m barely holding myself together and if I speak, my numbness will fade and I’ll crumble.
Autumn turns off the engine and squeezes between the two front seats towards us. ‘Poor little thing.’ She takes out a thick blanket from the cupboard and drapes it around my shoulders. She puts the kettle on, gets out three cups, scoops tea-leaves into a glass pot, and sits down on my other side.
Melody hugs me tight. ‘Thank goodness Paula found you and called me. If she hadn’t … Well, I just don’t know. Eli would never have forgiven me.’
‘Paula?’ I ask, completely puzzled. ‘How did she know where I was?’
‘She said Oliver worked it out.’
‘Oliver? But how? I didn’t tell him anything.’
Melody scratches her neck. ‘To be honest, I don’t know.’
‘Everyone in the camp was so worried about you,’ Autumn says. ‘We figured, hoped, you’d taken the last bus. Drove here as fast as I could. Lotus saved the day, didn’t you, girl?’ She taps the side of the van lovingly.
‘What happened, Sky?’ Melody turns to me. ‘Did someone hurt you? That guy, Jaxon, or … it wasn’t Adam, was it? Should we call the police?’
I shake my head. I want to say thank you and tell them how scared I was, but it’s like my brain’s frozen.
‘Maybe she’s in shock.’ Autumn puts her hand on Melody’s shoulder. The kettle whistles, and Autumn fills up the pot. ‘All these herbs come from the Alaskan woods,’ she says, mixing in fresh leaves.
My hand shakes slightly as I hold the cup, making the tea splash. Melody takes the cup and puts it to the side. ‘It’s going to be okay, you’re safe now.’ She rubs my hands between hers. ‘Let’s get you warm and find out what’s happened. Do you have something sweet?’ she asks Autumn. ‘Maybe her blood sugar’s dropped.’
Autumn rustles in one of the cupboards to find a packet of biscuits. I take a bite, not bothering to check the ingredients, and force myself to chew. In a second, I’ve finished the whole thing and then two more. I drink some tea; it’s sour.
As the rush of sugar surges through me, I rest my head in my hands. ‘I want to go home,’ I say through my fingers as my eyes start to brim. ‘And I need my passport.’
‘Passport? Don’t worry, I have it right here.’ Melody reaches into her handbag and shows me. ‘I’m sorry, Sky. My phone went dead and couldn’t be revived. Must be the weather, everyone says. I guess the newer phones manage the cold better. I’m so sorry.’
And then I’m crying, chest heaving, like a wounded animal, totally out of control.
‘Let it all out, honey,’ I hear Autumn say as Melody takes my hand.
I don’t know how long it is until I stop.
Autumn gives me a handful of tissues and gets up to light a tea candle, sprinkling the ceramic stand with lavender oil from a small bottle. ‘We�
�ll set up here in the parking station for the night,’ she says as I wipe my face dry.
Autumn moves the car to the far side of the lot and turns off the engine.
I whisper to Melody that I need to go to the toilet, and she points out the door.
The all-in-one bathroom, toilet and shower is smaller than a shoebox and, sitting down, my knees touch the sink.
Autumn and Melody release the back of the long seat so it lies flat and then connect it to the mattress behind. Soon a double bed takes shape, and Autumn tucks in sheets and shakes out three large blankets. I drink a little more of my tea and lie down next to the window. I hear the swish of messages from Autumn’s phone. Melody lies beside me, stroking my hair, and I hear myself sigh.
‘When you’re ready, and only if you’re ready, tell me what happened,’ Melody says.
‘You don’t need to call the police,’ I say quietly. ‘It’s just that …’
‘Yes?’ Melody says, her hand stopping.
‘He’s a hunter.’
‘Who?’
‘My father. I hate him. I want to go home.’
Her stroking continues, even softer now, as my eyelids close.
Feels nice … if only my mum were here … I see her smiling face and, for just a moment, it’s her beside me.
When I open my eyes, sunlight is streaking through the purple curtains. It takes me a second to remember where I am. Melody and Autumn are talking quietly in the front seat. I lift my body up slightly and see they’re holding hands.
I’m still tired and I lie back down. I hear Autumn say, ‘She ran away at night, in the snow, isn’t it …’ Her voice fades out.
They’re talking about me. I quietly take the blanket off my ears and focus on hearing.
Melody says, ‘Dangerous, I know …’ but I lose the rest of the sentence, only picking up the words, ‘… sometimes rash …’
‘How old is she again?’ Autumn asks clearly. Melody answers and Autumn continues, her voice slightly louder, ‘Just a little dramatic, that’s all. Spirited. I like it.’
Spirited. I like that word too.
I fall back asleep and when I wake again, stretching and yawning, soft folk music flows from the speakers, and Melody and Autumn are bustling around the campervan, opening and closing cupboards.
Out the window, the parking lot is filling with cars and the bus station has come to life, the ticket booth now open. I curl onto my side to watch, not ready to get up yet.
Melody leans over to kiss me on the cheek. ‘Happy birthday for yesterday, love.’
‘I hope that’s the worst birthday I’ll ever have. I miss Mum,’ I say, tears welling.
‘I know, love. I know.’ She rubs my back. ‘Let’s eat something and we’ll get back to camp.’
‘But I want to go to the airport,’ I say, sitting up.
‘We will. I promise I will get you home. But first, you need some clothes, right? All my stuff is at camp, so you can have a hot shower there, and I’ll give you something warm and comfortable to change into. And anyway, it’s an amazing place—I want to show it to you. Maybe we can save this birthday, just a little bit.’
A hot shower does sound nice. Although I hope Melody doesn’t let me down and disappear again.
After bowls of oats and almond milk, sprinkled with coconut and chia seeds, we pack away the bed.
I sit up front in the seat next to Melody by the window. She asks questions but I promise to tell her everything that happened later, I don’t feel like it yet. She squeezes my hand and I squeeze it back, telepathising with her—please don’t leave me. Autumn connects my phone to the car charger and I rest my head on the window.
More forest and snow. It’s lost its excitement, and as the scenery swishes past, instead of rose-coloured glasses, I see it through a lens of sadness.
Tears start falling again. My fantasy is destroyed. My father is not who I thought he was. The trip, the dream, a failure.
Finally, we pull into a small snowy path, and the van bumps up and down, making dishes clank in the cupboards. Bursts of colour appear behind snow-covered tents, flags and clothes hanging outside. From behind the trees, I hear the buzz of generators and see parked vans and people tramping trails through the forest in furry boots, knitted beanies pulled over their ears, and layers of colourful clothes.
Music floats from different directions, and I hear a beat of drums, deep and primitive.
Autumn tells me the camp is an annual women-only event established by the landowner who bought the homestead and 120 acres of private land ten years ago, and moved here from Portland, Oregon. She wanted to create an alternative, empowering, female community. The freezing weather and deep snow bring an intimacy between the women brave enough to make the trip, and keep away the tourists. Women come from across the state and even from other parts of the country, some suffering from deep loss and needing to heal, others bringing inspiring stories to share. Melody, the landowner thinks, is the first Aussie they’ve had in the five years the camp’s been going. There are talks on women’s issues, healing rituals, storytelling, poetry, music and art. Doesn’t sound too bad.
We park behind a huge triangular teepee and Autumn cuts the engine. She hands me my phone, kisses Melody on the cheek, and arranges to meet us later.
I follow Melody towards the women’s tent and she holds its flaps open for me while I go inside.
I stop to take it all in: about fifty mattresses cover the floor, with sleeping-bags, blankets, colourful clothes. I see a banjo and several teddy bears. A small dog sleeps in a corner nestled next to a woman reading.
Melody finds her mattress and pulls some sweatpants and a few layers of tops and jumpers from her bag.
‘Where did you get this?’ She points to my beanie.
‘The truck driver,’ I say.
She furrows her brow, waiting for more.
‘I kinda … Hitchhiked.’
‘You didn’t.’
I nod.
‘Sky, I thought you’d just taken a bus. That was more than dangerous enough by yourself, in the middle of winter. I mean, it was mad what you did, running off. I know you were upset, but you’re old enough to know better now, to try and think before you act. But hitchhiking, that’s a new level, even for you. I can’t believe you did that.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ I say. It’s true; spirited or not, I know I went over the top. ‘The truck driver ended up being a nice guy, if that makes you feel better. Maybe we’ll keep in touch.’ I try to laugh.
Melody shakes her head and hugs me again. ‘It’s okay, just never do it again, please? You must have been scared, all alone.’
‘Yeah, I was.’ I relax my head on her shoulder, my face in her spirals of jasmine-infused red hair. For weeks I’ve held on to resentment about her secret one-night stand with my father. Betraying my mother and me. But it doesn’t seem so important now.
Melody gathers shower supplies and a towel, and leads me down a windy, snowy path to a series of tiny tents. Each one is a shower. Inside, there’s a small plastic chair, wooden platform, hooks for clothes, and a bucket hanging above with a pulley system to fill it with hot water from a small tap.
After Melody leaves, I turn on my phone and it starts beeping with messages.
Lucy’s heard from Oliver that I’ve disappeared and she’s freaking out.
I quickly message back telling her I’m okay, everything’s totally fine, I’ll tell her all about it another time, and I insist she tell me if she saw Malcolm.
She replies immediately: I did, it was good, but weird.
What happened?
So, we were standing and talking in the line for the toilets.
Romantic.
I know. She sends a laughing face and continues. It was really easy to chat to him, he was asking me all about the bird sanctuary and seemed genuinely interested. Well, he didn’t roll his eyes like most people.
And? I ask.
I came out of the bathroom and hung around for a bit to
see if he was coming out too. When I saw him, I waved and pointed towards the book section, like, ‘let’s go there’. But he just waved and walked the other way. I guess he didn’t want to hang out anymore.
Maybe he didn’t get what the wave and point meant?
I don’t think so. I even wore my cut-off shorts and singlet with the sunflowers.
Nobody can resist your sunflower top. I’m sure he just didn’t understand.
Haha. Whatever. His loss, right?
Totally.
Poor Lucy. I really wanted it to work out for her.
Next, there’s a bunch of messages from Oliver, spread out over a few hours. The last ones arrived late last night.
Are you okay? What happened?
Please message or call me!
I’m trying to get through but your phone’s not ringing or anything.
Should I call your aunt?
Sky? Are you there?
There are three missed video chat calls from him too.
My father’s messaged and called, freaking out that I’m not at the truck stop. Jaxon, obviously fed up with texting me and not getting an answer, has instead sent YouTube clips. YouTube I can handle, so I press play and watch as I’m stripping off.
It’s not quite the luxurious shower I was hoping for but washing myself feels good, bucket or not. Listening to ‘Running Away’ by Bob Marley and then some eighties song called ‘I Ran (So Far Away)’, I can’t help but smile. Even though I’m mad at him, Jaxon’s funny.
As I’m drying off, I message Paula that all’s well and she immediately calls. I know I can’t ignore it, and even though I don’t feel like talking at all, I pick up. I tell her how sorry I am to have stressed her out. She tells me how she was in touch with Melody and my father all day, tracking my movements—she was so worried, she missed her doctor’s appointment—and to never ever do that to her again. Never. She sounds tired, more relieved than angry.
Snow Page 9
