by M C Rooney
“Company,” he said.
Locke and Renee immediately awoke from their thoughts.
“How many?” asked Locke.
“Just a man sitting upright near the road.”
“What do you mean upright?” asked Renee.
“Well,” said Tom, “he is sitting on the ground, his torso is very straight, but he has his legs crossed over each other, and his hands are resting on his knees.”
“Odd,” said Locke.
“And his eyes are closed, I think,” said Tom as they came within shouting distance.
“Very odd,” said Renee.
“I think this sounds like a trap,” said Locke. “We should go left and circle around them.”
“Zombie!” Tom called out.
They all could see the man now, and as he was sitting, another body staggered out of the nearby vegetation and moved towards him, groaning.
“Are you sure it’s a zombie?” asked Renee. “I mean, some of the locals we have seen sure look pretty bad.”
Tom took another look with his spyglass. He could see the zombie’s face quite clearly, and quite clearly, the face was dead.
Tom put down the glass and started shouting at the living man. “Hey, wake up, idiot!”
The man still didn’t move.
“It could still be a trap,” Locke said
“I still think we should take out the dead ones,” Tom said and looked at Locke for his permission.
“Okay.” Locke nodded.
Tom dismounted Pips and unhooked his bow from his saddle. It was a distance of maybe fifty metres, and thankfully, the notorious Tasmanian winds were quiet today. Tom had contemplated just running over and killing the zombie with his sword, but he agreed with Locke that it could be a trap, and he wasn’t sure if he would make it in time regardless. He wasn’t the fastest runner in town, he thought with a grin.
Taking a steadying breath, he aimed the bow, let loose, and slammed an arrow straight through the zombie’s head. It fell down at the man’s feet, and only then, very slowly, did the man open his eyes.
“Whoa,” they heard the man say.
“What should we do now?” Renee asked.
Tom really wanted to go over and retrieve his arrow, but they both turned and looked at Locke.
“I think we should get our weapons ready,” he said and nodded to the man running towards them.
Tom raised his bow again and aimed another arrow at the running man as Renee and Locke scanned the lands to either side for a trap.
“Mate,” the man said, “don’t fire, mate; you saved my life.”
He was a man of maybe thirty, with dirty black hair and even dirtier clothes. He seemed to have homemade tattoos all over his body.
“Just stop where you are,” Tom said.
“Of course, dude,” the man said as he stopped and held up his hands. “Just wanted to say thanks, that’s all.”
What was wrong with his voice? Tom wondered. It seemed like he was talking through a strangled voice box.
“What were you doing sitting there by the road?” Tom asked.
“Meditating,” the man replied.
“What?” Tom asked, puzzled.
“Meditating,” the man said again.
“About what?” asked Tom, as he became mildly curious about this strange man.
“The Universe!” And as he saw Tom’s confused look, he continued. “You know, asking the Universe to provide me with what I need today.”
“You were almost eaten,” Tom said incredulously “Trying to get the Universe’s providence almost got you killed.”
“But you showed up and saved me,” he replied with a knowing smile.
“He has you there,” Renee said with one of her wide grins. She was clearly enjoying the conversation.
“But if he wasn’t sitting there, he could have killed the zombie himself,” Tom replied.
“But I always meditate this time of the day,” the man replied with an even smugger smile.
“Some would say you were just lucky,” Tom said.
“Some would say that,” the man replied, still smiling.
“Bong!” a woman called out. “Where are you, Bong?”
Bong? Who the hell was Bong? Tom wondered.
But it was clear that the man’s name was Bong, as a woman with wild, frizzy brown hair came running, barefoot, out of the vegetation and headed in their direction. She even had a baby hanging from one of her breasts.
“Ah, this is my wife, Frizel,” he said as she reached them.
“I was so worried when I saw that zombie, Bong. Who would look after me and Freebird if you died?” she said.
“The Universe kept me safe, Frizel,” he replied, and she nodded in relief as if the Universe philosophy was a known fact.
“Who are your friends, then?” she asked as she ran an eye over the visitors.
Tom stood silent for a moment. Freebird! Who was Freebird? Not the baby, surely? He then remembered his manners.
“My name is Tom,” he said with a tip of his hat, “and these are my companions, Renee and Locke.”
Renee and Locke nodded their heads in greeting, and Tom noticed that Locke seemed to be smiling for the first time today, laughing almost.
An hour later, Tom, Renee, and Locke were sitting underneath a makeshift home, which was made out of some sort of native fern.
I have never seen this sort of plant before, thought Tom. I wonder what it is called.
“Are you sure this food is all right?” asked Locke, which Tom thought was a rude thing to say to their hosts. “I mean, we need our wits about us for the journey north,” he finished.
“Oh … oh, yeah, it’s fine,” replied Bong. “No added extras, just natural stuff.”
“Some would say that your … house is natural as well,” replied Locke.
“No, man. Word of honour,” said Bong. “That rabbit stew you are eating has no added surprises.”
“Or mushrooms?” Locke said.
“Or mushrooms,” Bong replied.
Tom shared yet another confused look with Renee. Ever since they had met with the locals, Locke had been extra careful about anything that was offered to them. Tom wondered why and took another long look at their hosts. They seemed pretty normal, smelly but normal, but on a closer look, Tom noticed that their eyes seemed to be very bloodshot.
“So what brings you rangers up here?” asked Frizel, who still had Freebird on the breast.
“You know of us?” replied Tom as he gulped down the rest of his stew. He had a big appetite.
“Yes, we have seen a few riders before. Your green jackets stand out a bit,” replied Frizel.
“The last ranger we saw asked us heaps of questions,” said Bong, “about the population numbers, bandits, fully dressed or half dressed. But mostly about whether we had much lightning up this way.”
“Do you?” asked Renee, who was also wolfing into her bowl of stew.
“No, not here,” replied Bong, “but on the horizon to the north, there is always a lightning storm.”
“Except for that two months,” said Frizel.
“Yes, that’s right,” replied Bong. “It stopped for a few months only recently. But every night, you can see it clearly.”
“We’re hoping that the tower may give us some insight as to how electricity works,” said Locke.
“Electricity, what’s that?” asked Frizel.
“A power source from the old days for light and heating,” Locke explained. “It may help us with the rebirth of our society.”
“Phoenix,” Bong whispered to his wife.
Frizel nodded her head in understanding.
“What’s a phoenix?” asked Renee.
“An ancient symbol of rebirth,” Frizel said. “I hope it means something, as Bong dreamt of it last night.”
“The Universe again,” Tom said.
“I think so,” Bong replied.
“I’d love to believe that the Universe would help me in some way,�
�� Tom said, “but after all our world has been through, I don’t think the Universe, as you say, cares all that much.”
“So negative, my friend,” Bong replied.
“It’s not being negative,” Tom protested mildly. This was not an argument. This was a debate about life, as far as Tom was concerned. “You see, my brother died recently,” Tom continued sadly, “and my mother … cried for months. Where was the Universe then?” He almost sobbed when he thought of his mother crying.
“You don’t understand,” said Bong with compassion in his bloodshot eyes. “People will die, people will get sick or hurt. They will suffer great challenges. But when I meditate, I ask the Universe to give me strength and guidance in meeting these challenges.”
Tom thought Bong was sounding a little like his aunt, except she believed the strength to deal with life came from only within you. Bong was saying strength as well as answers came from within, but his idea of within was on a whole deeper and bigger level.
“So you believe life is a test?”
“The biggest one,” he replied “and I am not even sure if this world is the real one.”
“What?” Tom said confused.
“He means that when we die we go back home.” Frizel now explained.
“But maybe life is just random acts of chaos,” said Tom.
“I choose to believe there is a purpose,” replied Bong.
“But you don’t know for certain?”
“No.”
“And it has to be one or the other because Chaos and Order cannot live side by side,” said Tom thoughtfully.
“Indeed,” Bong said with a smile. He liked this kid.
“But maybe people choose to believe in something greater solely in the hope that there is a plan to all this, or in the hope that death is not the end?” he said.
“Maybe,” replied Bong with a shrug.
“And their belief is based upon the individual’s experience not a general across-the-board rule to life?” Tom continued.
“Yes, I believe so,” Bong replied with a thoughtful frown. “However, in the old days, according to the books I have scrounged, it was based mostly on where you were born.”
“A geographical location!” Tom said in surprise.
“Yep.” Bong nodded.
“That’s random,” Tom said. Chaotic, he almost said.
“Yes, it is,” replied Bong, “but in their defence, the beliefs they had were sometimes forced upon them by the four horsemen.”
Tom shared a big smile with Locke. Dear Aunt Lily and her passion for poems were spreading through the island.
“The trick is,” Bong continued, “you need to separate the belief in the afterlife from the belief in organised religion. One has rules and pride; the other just is a part of life’s cycle.”
“So when you say you believe in the afterlife,” said Tom, “you don’t put any restrictions or rules on it?”
“No, why should I?” replied Bong. “How could I?”
Tom nodded his head. It was good to know his new friend was not part of the four horsemen.
‘Always watch out for them,’ his aunt had told him. ‘They ruined people’s lives and destroyed the environment, and they took your grandfather’s life.’
“So when you said the Universe sent me to you this morning, it wasn’t only about the zombie,” continued Tom.
Bong smiled again. “Nah, mate, it’s not my time to die.”
“Better not be,” said Frizel as she glanced at her baby.
“The Universe sent a dream, then it sent you to me the very next day to say, keep on going,” said Bong. “There is literally a light at the end of tunnel. There is hope,” he finished with tears in his red eyes. Confidence he may have in the Universe, but he was worried as much as everybody else about the future.
“Could be just a coincidence,” Tom said quietly.
“Could be,” Bong replied.
“One last question,” Tom said. “Can you prove any of this?”
It was a typical Hobart question now, and the first question that needed to be asked to anybody who professed to know all the answers.
“Nah, mate,” he replied with a laugh. “I can’t. I can only tell you what I feel. Only the dead know for sure,” he continued, “and I don’t mean those smelly bastards outside.”
That was the right answer for Tom, as nobody did know for sure. His father had drummed that into his mind from a very young age. Tom’s father had only met one religious person in his life, and he was not impressed with him at all.
Locke listened to the exchange with great interest. He had heard about the number of different beliefs in the old world. Tom, and he supposed a number of other people, were starting all over again, and the meaning of life and what happens to you in death was something that would never go away.
Renee, on the other hand, looked decidedly bored by the conversation and seemed to spend most of her time looking at the now-empty pot of rabbit stew with a wistful look on her face. Or maybe she was thinking about Daltrey. Like Tom, Locke had kept quiet on that subject.
Locke had only one rule to life, which Billy Beasley had told him years ago. ‘Don’t be a dickhead is the only philosophy you need to live by, Locke,’ he’d said. Billy said his father had told him that when he was just a kid. He always looked quite upset whenever he mentioned his father’s name and even though he named his first born son Harry he never talked about his brother at all. The pain was still raw even after so many years.
He looked out of the makeshift home and judged what time it was by the positioning of the sun. With thanks to their hosts for their hospitality, he decided it was time to move on. They had a job to do.
“Thanks for the conversation,” Tom said to Bong with a smile. “I don’t get to discuss these matters much,” he finished with a nod to his companions.
“It was a pleasure, mate,” Bong replied as he walked alongside of Tom with his arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulder. “I hope you find what you are looking for.”
“Me too,” said Frizel, whose baby, Freebird, had finally fallen asleep.
On impulse, Tom went to his horse to check on one item in his saddlebags. What he found brought a huge smile to his face.
“Bong, look at this,” Tom said to his new friend.
“What’s that, mate?” Bong replied.
Tom removed the lightbulb he had carefully carried the last week and held it up for all of his friends to see. They looked back in wonder. It shone with a faint light.
“There is hope,” Bong whispered.
Suddenly, a massive bolt of lightning went off not too far to the north. It seemed that one of the Lightning Lords had come to them. The lightning bolt went upwards.
East Coast, Tasmania
Molly had spent the last hour being scrubbed clean like she has never been before. The man who owned the hairdresser shop had frowned at her when she entered his establishment then exclaimed that she would be his greatest challenge and his greatest creation. She had no idea what he was talking about, but an hour later, she had been waxed, washed, cut, scrubbed, and had a smell about her that she didn’t recognise. Michelle said it was just her normal body smell. Was she so used to her stinky fur clothing that she never knew what a normal person smelled like?
“Come over here, Molly,” said Michelle as she gestured to some clothes made by the local tailor.
Molly walked gingerly over to Michelle. She felt a bit uncomfortable only wearing a towel for cover, but Michelle assured her that the hairdresser had seen so many naked females that he was not interested in women like that anymore. Only, Michelle had a big grin when she said this, and Molly wasn’t really sure why.
“Here,” Michelle said, “try this red dress on.”
Molly did as Michelle said and wore a dress for probably the first time in her life. Maybe she had worn a dress as a little girl, but she could not remember that far back.
Michelle looked her up and down critically. “Well,” she said,
“if you keep washing yourself, the welts on your body should go away, but you scrub up pretty well, Molly.” She finished with a smile.
“Can I look now?” Molly asked.
“Yep, come over here to the mirror,” replied Michelle.
Molly took tentative steps towards the mirror. She wasn’t really sure what she looked like, as she had only really seen herself in the reflection of water and her silver suit. Her hair had been washed and cut and felt all soft and smooth …
“Wait. Did you say I have welts?” asked Molly.
“Yep, heaps; you look like the wicked witch of the west,” replied Michelle. “Now come over here.”
Wicked what? I really don’t know why I am friends with this girl, Molly thought in a huff, but her thoughts trailed off as she stood in front of the mirror.
“So this is me,” she said softly.
“Yes, it is,” Michelle replied, and Molly was surprised to find there were tears in her eyes.
Molly spent the next ten minutes looking at herself in the mirror. She touched her short hair, which the hairdresser said was called a pixie cut, she smiled at herself, checked her teeth, and looked at her boobs and bum mostly. She pointedly ignored the welts that were all over her face, arms, and legs. Sunshine would help, she was told and, of course, regular washing.
“Are you done?” said Michelle, who had obviously gone from a state of tears to a state of ‘stop looking at yourself in the mirror, you vain bitch’.
“Really, does pregnancy make you that moody?” Molly said.
“Well, up until an hour ago, you didn’t know how you got pregnant,” Michelle replied sarcastically.
Molly went red in the face. The professor had cared for her since she was a little girl, but he could have at least told her more about life than just electricity.
Michelle’s face seemed to crumple in one of her mood swings, and tears were about to flow again when an angry-looking middle-aged man with a blue jacket like Edward’s entered the salon.
“Molly McLaren,” he said in a stern voice.
“Yes, that’s me,” she replied softly.
Michelle moved beside her and placed her arm around Molly’s own. “Who are you?” Michelle asked.
