Crossings

by Ashley Capes

  “Are you all right? Has Ben done something?” He was still in uniform and a half-finished bowl of pasta rested before him. Carbonara – the smell of bacon and creamy sauce.

  “No, I’m just getting tired of waiting...” She hesitated. Don’t be stupid. He wouldn’t believe her. Who would? “I’m on edge, all the time.”

  He hesitated slightly then put an arm around her shoulders. “I understand, but we’ll find him. He can’t hide forever and Lidelson’s not that big. Why don’t you get something to eat?”

  She closed her eyes and leant against him for just a moment. “Good idea.”

  “Great, I’ll keep you company if you like?” His phone interrupted before she could answer. He gave an apologetic smile as he took the call. “Hansen.”

  The voice on the other end was muffled but a sense of urgency slipped through.

  “I’m on my way.” He hung up.

  “Trouble?” Was it Ben?

  “I have to go, I’m sorry. I’ll drop by tomorrow, all right?” And then he was gone.

  Bruce appeared, a tea-towel slung over his shoulder. “You look knackered.”

  “I am.” She rubbed at her eyes. “I need a drink and I could use a parma too,” she said.

  “Draught?”

  “Better make it a light beer,” she said.

  “Righto.” He soon returned with a beer, setting it down. “I’ll get young Matt working on your tea too.”

  “Thanks, Bruce.” She took a long drink. Bitter. Fitting, too. “You look tired yourself,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I’ve been checking the gutters and roof, you know? Fire season after all and you don’t wanna cut corners there. Life and death, right?” He collected a few empty glasses. “Gotta be ready. I went and got some window shields too, just in case.”

  “Good idea,” she said, though she couldn’t put much conviction into her response. He gave her a smile and moved off to help one of his other customers.

  She spun one of the thin coasters while she waited, staring at the framed photos behind the bar. Rally cars, a dusty B-Double and a pin-up shot – only Bruce had drawn a moustache and beard on the model; he liked to tell everyone it was his ex-wife.

  The drone of conversation and the clack of pool balls filled her ears as the early evening wore on. When Matthew appeared he set a steaming plate down. Chips and salad piled high around a slab of chicken parmigiana. Her mouth actually watered – spraying a fine haze of droplets onto the counter.

  “Hungry, eh?” Matthew chuckled.

  She wiped at the counter and took the knife and fork, able to manage a smile. “Yeah. Thanks, Matt.”

  “Hey, you right?” He leant on the counter.

  If only. “Just exhausted. Actually, do you know anyone who knows much about kangaroo myths?”

  “Like Dreamtime stories?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Not really. Why don’t you try the primary school or the library? They’ll know someone.” He slapped the counter as he straightened with a grin. “Or look it up online, stupid.”

  “Of course.” She laughed. He returned to the kitchen and she got stuck into the food.

  When she was done, she leant against the wall where it met the bar. What a difference a full stomach made. And the company of other people. Even leaning kept pressure off her thigh, which still ached. Matthew was right; she could start with the internet. Maybe there’d be something about kangaroos gone feral. Maybe there was a Dreamtime story about them. There was at least one she sort of recalled from school. How the Kangaroo Got his Tail? But that probably wouldn’t help much.

  On the way out she tried to pay but Bruce raised his hands. “My treat, Lisa. Go home and rest.”

  “Thanks, Bruce. I owe you.”

  “No way. Just do as I say now, all right? Get an early night.”

  “I will.”

  Back home she locked up – yet the single glazed glass and bolt on the front door didn’t seem like enough. Could it really stand up to the red kangaroo – or Ben – or whatever it was?

  She switched the radio on. High winds expected overnight. And worse, a Northerly, which could easily drive the fire down toward Lidelson. Or Yarsdale – and Dad. She turned the radio down to a murmur and opened her laptop, a mug of coffee beside her. Too hot for coffee but she needed the caffeine.

  The internet revealed no traditional myths about giant white or red kangaroos, nor cannibalistic, murderous kangaroo-gods either. No transformations and nor, for that matter, undead wildlife intent on vengeance. Had the red kangaroo sent the corpses after Fathead and Steve? As retribution? And now had it taken Ben too. Saving the ultimate punishment for the man who led them.

  Would it stop? Would Ben be able to stop it, if there was anything of him left within, as it seemed? She shivered. Maybe the white kangaroo was the only thing that could stop the beast.

  Tomorrow would mean more research.

  Or maybe she needed to find a gun and go hunting. It’s what Dad would have suggested, but she hadn’t touched a gun in years.

  Could Robert help? No. He wouldn’t believe her any more than Gerry would.

  Which meant no-one was going to help her. Not willingly at least. She might be able to trick Robert, or Gerry for that matter, into hunting down a ‘feral roo’ with her but risking their lives wasn’t right. She had to take control of her life again. It’d taken too long to get it back the first time Ben had taken everything away – he wasn’t going to do it again.

  Even as a blood-covered kangaroo.

  She had to act. Alone. Lisa reached for the mug, wrapping her hands around it and tapping her foot slowly beneath the table. If she could hunt it, if she could shoot it, would that be enough? Would it even die? The roo that killed Steve was a corpse. Same with the snake.

  Could she shoot it down and cut it to pieces? She needed a big gun, like Pumps’ Remington. It took .308 rounds, the largest calibre a civilian was going to get. And once she had the gun, she needed to keep out of sight. If McConnell or even Gerry saw her practising with a rifle they’d try and stop her. McConnell might even decide to lock her up. Or worse, one of them could try and help her.

  And before all of that, she had to see Dad.

  Just in case.

  Chapter 23.

  Lisa cancelled her jobs for the day and paced through a news broadcast. She’d set two alarms – one for midnight and another for three in the morning – to check the ABC radio. Bleary-eyed and limping, each time the report confirmed the fire was not yet threatening Lidelson or Yarsdale – Dad was safe for the time being.

  And once again the newsreader gave them the all clear.

  Overnight, however, the wind had driven the firewall down toward small high country towns and isolated homes – all of which had been evacuated, but a second fire had taken hold to the east. The announcer’s voice was weary. “This new fire is smaller than the alpine complex but if the wind is unkind, the two may join. It’s not known at this stage if the fire was deliberately lit.”

  Lisa slapped the bench top. Pieces of shit. If someone started it on purpose...

  She exhaled. Focus. She had to stop Ben. Or the red kangaroo, whatever he’d become. Something had killed Clint Healy, or forced a kangaroo to do so. Something had given Pumps the fright of his life – and maybe that was the white roo returning, maybe it was Ben. And it felt right if the kangaroo had made sure James and Steven died too.

  And now it had to die.

  If it was even possible, then killing it would be the mercy she showed Ben. And maybe he didn’t truly deserve her mercy, but then, no-one deserved whatever was happening to him. Or perhaps, whatever he’d done to himself. Somehow. Damn fool.

  Even after everything he’d done, for some reason it seemed he’d saved her in the boneyard. She hoped. Or perhaps it was just a warning.

  W
hatever had happened, she would put a stop to it.

  She had to kill Ben. Or whatever he’d become.

  But before all that she had to see Dad.

  She’d barely left Chambers Street before the orange warning light blinked on – petrol running low. She pulled into Johnno’s – a two-pump station – and filled the Holden. The attendant watched from the window, the rest of the brick building painted a peeling white. Still the same – it hadn’t been done up since before her week of work experience back in high school. Not that they’d remember her; Johnno had long since moved on.

  Inside the station she grabbed a Turkish Delight, paid up and headed for the car, stopping when a police cruiser pulled in behind her.

  Gerry climbed out and waved. “Hi.”

  Good. It wasn’t McConnell. “Hi. Any news?”

  He rubbed his jaw – unshaven, which was unusual for him. He was obviously stressed too. “There’s been another murder. That’s where I had to go last night. Someone from out of town; poor bastards were just passing through. The next truck stop along from where you found Clint. Slashed up pretty bad. Looks like claw marks.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “What?”

  “I know. We’ve had a missing person report come in too.”

  Lisa sagged against the car. How much worse was it going to get? All the killings. Were they just random? Or was it retribution? “Couple of high school kids haven’t been seen for two days.”

  “Maybe they went on a road trip or something.”

  “I haven’t ruled that out.” He glanced at the Holden. “Heading to the hospital?”

  “Yeah. I haven’t seen him for a day or so.”

  “Hope he’s doing better,” Gerry said.

  “Me too.” She paused. Gerry would help if she asked. At the least, he’d be willing to keep an eye on her, but only if she sold it like hunting a real kangaroo – not a huge, red beast or a vengeful bush-God.

  But that wasn’t fair. She’d be putting him in danger and he’d looked out for her since Ben revealed his true colours; Gerry didn’t deserve that.

  He moved closer, concern clear on his face. “You all right?”

  She nodded. “Still tired I guess.”

  “McConnell?”

  “Everything.” She shrugged. “He thinks I’m involved, doesn’t he?”

  “You know I shouldn’t talk about that with you.”

  “I know.”

  He grinned. “Let’s just say he’s not one to make assumptions and the autopsies seem to point to animal attacks. We’re all pretty confused actually.”

  “Do you think it’s animals, like the kangaroo I saw?”

  “I do. And that’s what the evidence suggests. But I gotta say, must be one hell of a mean roo.”

  “Maybe it’s time someone tried to track it. It could be sick – that might be making it crazy.”

  “Not a bad idea. But that’s for someone higher up the food chain than me to decide.” He paused, as if wanting to say more. “Drive safe.” He returned to the cruiser.

  Lisa got back on the road. The morning was not yet fully underway when she reached Yarsdale Hospital where it sat on the hill, looking down across the rows of tiled rooves interspersed with corrugated iron. Once again, she waited at the nurse’s station, with its blinking phones and cluttered notice boards, for a nurse to take her in to see Dad.

  “How is he today?” she asked.

  The woman clipped a pen to a board and put it aside. Her expression was not encouraging. “Dr Bagnato had to sedate him. He became very agitated when he couldn’t understand why he was in hospital. He demanded to see Annie.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Is he lucid?”

  “For the most part but he hasn’t been talkative,” she said, her tone kind. “When we bring him some lunch he might perk up a bit.”

  “Do you know why he collapsed?”

  “It’s likely related to his condition,” she said. “You can find him just down there. Number three.”

  “Thanks.” Lisa walked down the hall and into room three, where she pulled back the curtain around Dad’s bed.

  He blinked up at her from the sheets. “Yes?” His eyes showed no recognition.

  Lisa forced a smile. “It’s Lisa. How are you feeling?”

  “Well enough I suppose.” He frowned at her. “Have we met?”

  Oh God, dad. Why aren’t you here? “I’m...I’ve visited before,” she said. No point upsetting him. At least he didn’t look to be in pain.

  He waved to the chair. “Well, you look friendly enough. Have a seat.”

  She did. “Ah...so, how are you?”

  He grinned. “You need some practice at this. Community service or volunteer?”

  “Volunteer.”

  “Well, why don’t you ask me something you don’t already know? Should be obvious I’m not doing too well,” he said, but he was still smiling.

  “Good idea, yeah. Okay...so, what would you be doing now? If you were home, instead of here?”

  “That’s better.” He tapped his thumb on the steel rail of the bed, a small bandaid on the back of his hand. “I’d be painting, I guess. Feels like I haven’t done it in a while and I miss it.”

  ‘A while’ was fifteen years. Since Mum died.

  “I can ask if they have anything here?”

  “Can’t hurt.”

  “So, what would you paint?” He used to do Impressionist landscapes and scenes of the town. Maybe kids playing in a dam or the old post office – before they replaced it when she was a kid. She still had some of his oils, like the butterfly and caterpillar. There had been others, but he’d hidden them away somewhere after Mum...

  “Rose garden. Or a Labrador – always wanted one.”

  “Why didn’t you?” But she knew the answer – Mum had been allergic.

  “Can’t remember.” He fell silent.

  Lisa glanced away, fighting tears. He wasn’t going to remember. Maybe it was time to leave. There was every chance she wouldn’t even find the red kangaroo and she’d be back to see him again; that the fire wouldn’t reach Lidelson or Yarsdale. That the medication would start to work and he’d remember for a little longer.

  But just in case...She stood. “I’ll check for those paints then.”

  “That’d be good,” he said.

  She hesitated. “Would you mind if I gave you a kiss on the cheek?”

  “A pretty girl like you? Of course not.”

  She laughed, leant in and kissed his cheek, closing her eyes as tears threatened again. At least he was smiling. When she pulled back she blinked, mumbled a goodbye and nearly dashed from the room.

  He called after her but she didn’t slow.

  After all, he probably wouldn’t remember.

  Chapter 24.

  Pumps’ farm was quiet beneath the noon sun, which bore down on the tin roof from behind a haze of smoke, like a furious orange ball. Police tape surrounded the tractor, torn at one end, blue and white checks fluttering in the hot breeze. The taste of ash had grown heavy on the air overnight.

  The house was closed up – maybe some relative had come to check over his belongings – but she went around to the back door and lifted the bucket beside the outdoor tap. Earwigs twisted and scurried away. She flicked one from the silver key and fitted it to the door. She paused. “Sorry, Pumps. Hope you understand.”

  She turned the key.

  No radio this time. Work clothes soaked in a concrete sink in the laundry and a Western lay open on an armchair in the sunroom opposite. At the end of the passage she turned into the lounge where the sleek, black Remington hung over the mantle.

  Lisa hesitated.

  Long time since she’d held a gun. Not since Granddad’s farm. He’d had one of his big hands on her shoulder, his rasping voice low as he explaine
d how to hold the weapon, where to rest the butt; how to be gentle with the trigger.

  Too bad, Lisa. Take it, do what has to be done.

  She lifted it down, heavier than she’d expected, and pulled the bolt free. A .308 round lay within; the magazine held four at a time, and she’d need more. She checked the bottom drawer in the kitchen, atop the old fridge and a cabinet in the bedroom before opening the cupboard, where she reached up to the top shelf, feeling around until she gripped a box. Pulling it down, she gave a nod. Winchester .308. The bullets rattled as she hurried back outside, slinging the rifle over her shoulder and locking up again.

  Then it was back onto the road – first stop, the Drummond’s.

  Or at least, first place she’d drive by. If Detective McConnell was there, then she’d keep going. Maybe head back out to Jennings Lane or the truck stops on Swallow’s Road. No way to know where Ben would be, but she had to try them all.

  No silver sedan at the Drummond’s – and no sign of Ben, his parents or any kangaroo when she climbed out of the car. Lisa lifted the rifle, resting it across her forearm as she walked toward the house. She stopped. Going back inside...stupid. The red roo wouldn’t be in there – it’d be out in the bush, waiting for night. And the house still had the pile of skin and the skull with its bad vibes in the basement. Bad vibes – that was an understatement.

  His parents had better be on vacation; if he’d done something to them...

  She headed for the trees, the last place she’d seen the dark figure.

  When she neared the fence a magpie took flight. She swung the barrel around but didn’t fire. Just a bird, Lisa. She took a shuddering breath. Just a bird. She put a foot on the wire but before she could slip through, her mobile interrupted. McConnell. She slung the rifle back and answered.

  “Detective McConnell. Am I in hot water again?”

  “This isn’t a time for jokes, Miss Thomas.”