When the coffee had gone through him, he went to the bathroom at the back of the bus. He took Olive with him, guiding her unsteadily up the aisle.
There were about twenty passengers. Most of them looked broken in some way, Ben thought. They wore the scars of hard lives in their faces and in the way they sat. When Ben was little, he hadn’t known that people could become broken. Toys and plates and windows, he knew, but not people. Now he knew they could. Not just hairline fractures but compound breaks, where the bone pushes through the skin. Like when Olive broke her arm when she was four. Ben wondered if he would become broken like that someday.
Hours later, when everyone else on the bus was asleep, Ben drifted into an unsettled nap. He woke regularly to check on Olive, expecting to be leaning against the roots of a fig tree or lying on a rock or flat against cabin floorboards.
Olive woke around midnight.
“Can I have some water?”
Ben gave her some. She lifted her head from his shoulder and drank slowly.
“I’m hungry.”
He had not heard her say that in a couple of days. He reached for his backpack, jammed with food. She nibbled a rice cracker for a few minutes, then asked, “Where’s the bag? The bag of money?”
Ben’s heart thumped.
HIDE-AND-SEEK
He bolted down the alley, battered backpack on his front, Olive on his back. Morning light. Litter everywhere. Fences to the right and a wide concrete drain to the left. He slowed, looked both ways, took a deep breath, and shoved through Nan’s squealing back gate into the long grass of her yard. Golden barked angrily and ran at them.
“Let me down,” Olive said, and Golden whined in a happy way. Ben let Olive down gently. She knelt. Golden licked her face, then ran across the yard like a maniac, doing circuits around the clothesline, past the tumbledown chicken coop and the old white car wreck that Dad had brought home when he was seventeen.
“Shh! Shhhhhh!” Ben said to Golden, trying to calm her. He pushed the gate shut and walked up to the house. Light blue peeling paint. He climbed onto the timber back veranda, avoiding the rotten stairs. He knocked quietly and heard the familiar squeak of Nan getting up from her armchair. Then the shuffle of slippers on carpet before her silhouette appeared behind the sheer white curtain.
She slid the curtain aside and then opened the door and grabbed him and hugged him and cried.
“You two,” she said, sobbing. She was wearing one of her brightly colored caftans. Pink and purple. Ben reached down to help Olive onto the veranda, and she squeezed between Nan and Ben, making a sandwich.
“Come on,” Nan said. “Inside.” She looked to the houses on either side and over the back fence, then slid the door shut and drew the curtain.
It was bright and warm inside, like always. Nan didn’t like it when people turned lights off in her house.
“Still no word from Mum and Dad?” Ben asked.
“They called after you did. They’re coming to get you. Soon, probably. I had to tell them.”
Ben’s stomach dropped. Nan squeezed them into her so tight that the three of them became one, like Ben and Olive could never go anywhere again.
“I knew you were alive,” she said.
Ben felt the river rush through him for a moment.
“What happened to you?” Nan asked. “You both look so skinny and horrible! What have you been eating? And your hair’s too short, Ben. What have they done to you?”
“Ben lost the money!” Olive said, dropping the words into the room.
Ben shot her a glare. Nan stopped and looked at him through her watery hazel eyes.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Mum and Dad, they—?” Ben began.
“I know what they did,” she said.
Ben took a breath, ready to say what he had rehearsed, but he had been caught off guard by Olive.
“They kept some of the money in a bag,” he said. “When we were in the bus shelter and got on the bus, there were tons of people around and I must have left it. We realized on the bus in the night but we were already so far down the coast and someone would have taken it, I know, and Dad’s going to be so angry. I don’t want him to come back here. Can you stop him coming back?”
He buried his face in Nan’s shoulder so she could not look at him, and she put an arm around him. He continued babbling about how he didn’t mean it, that he was stupid, that he had looked after the money all those days, carrying it up the river and then, at the end, when there was no danger, he had left it. Saliva and snot dripped from his face onto Nan’s shoulder, and he wiped it off and rubbed it on his jeans.
“Don’t worry,” she said. She looked him in the eye. “Don’t worry. Did you mean to leave it?”
Ben thought about the question, then shook his head.
“No, of course you didn’t,” she said. “Well, don’t worry. It’ll be okay. We’ll work something out. At least you’re back. You’re much more precious than a bag full of money.”
Ben wanted to believe that.
“Come,” Nan said. “Come and eat. You must be starving.”
They sat at the kitchen table, and she made them steaming-hot tea. Ben did not like tea but he drank it. Nan made him toast with Vegemite, and sugar toast for Olive. She cooked poached eggs with lots of salt and ketchup and she put the tall yellow cookie jar on the table in front of them along with glasses of milk. Olive did not eat much, and Ben felt sick after the eggs. He tried to keep eating to make Nan happy but the hole inside him was not as big as it used to be.
Ben told her everything about their ordeal. About the night the police came and the raft and the helicopter and the storm and the night he thought Olive might die and finding the cabin again and hitchhiking and the bus trip. Everything. Almost everything.
Nan listened and nodded and occasionally excused herself, going to the front window in the living room, peering through the curtains.
When Ben finished, Nan led Olive up the orange-carpeted hall to the bathroom. He heard the bath running and Nan and Olive chatting. He had always liked being at Nan’s more than being at home. He took off his new shoes and peeled off the socks. They ripped at half-formed scabs on his feet.
“I’ll make soup for lunch,” Nan said, coming back into the kitchen.
Ben watched her chopping onions, thinking how easy food seemed now. Food had been so hard out there. Everything had been hard. He wanted to always remember.
She wiped her eyes with her wrist and looked at Ben in a funny way, scraping onions off the board into a pot.
“What?” Ben asked.
She took another onion and peeled it.
“I want to tell you something,” she said.
Ben waited.
“They’ll be here soon, but there’s something you should know first.”
Ben could feel the food and tea wrestling each other in his belly.
“It’s about your grandfather.”
Ben liked stories about Pop.
“He was a crook,” she said, wiping onion tears. “He was a criminal, a scammer.”
She chopped slowly now, looking to Ben for his reaction. “That’s why he built that cabin. A place to hide out sometimes, till things cooled down.”
Ben started to say something but he stopped. He was shocked, but he also felt as though he had somehow known this all his life. He thought of the stuff they had found in the cabin—the gun, the traps with tough steel jaws, and the safe. He thought of the story about the wolves in Pop’s old notebook. He thought of his uncle arranging the car and giving Dad the bag.
“Is Uncle Chris dodgy too?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know what your uncle Christopher is up to. A long time ago I decided it was best not to know.”
“Do you think we have convict blood? Maybe we can’t help it. The Silvers, I mean. Was Pop’s dad a crook?”
“I don’t know. Probably,” she said. “Your grandfather nearly got me killed a thousand times. I hated it. And now your
useless father is doing the same thing. Promise me something, Ben…”
He knew what she was going to say. She scraped another onion into the pot and pointed the knife at him.
“Don’t turn out like your grandfather. Or your father.”
Golden barked, and the gate in the back alley squealed open. Ben looked out the window, adrenaline churning through him.
“That’s them,” Nan said. “Come. Into my room. Let me deal with him.”
She gave Ben a push in the back, ushering him down the darkened hall. She stopped at the bathroom. “C’mon, out you get,” she said to Olive. “Whoops-a-daisy.”
“I don’t want to get out!” Olive protested. Ben heard Dad’s footsteps on the back veranda. “Who is that? Is that Mummy?” Olive asked.
“Shhh,” Nan said, wrapping her in a towel and guiding her down the hall to Ben, who was standing in the bedroom doorway. “I’ll check, love. One thing at a time. Just let Nan go and speak to Mum and Dad and then you’ll be able to give Mum a big hug, okay?”
Olive dripped on the carpet and shivered.
“Nice and quiet, you two. We’ll surprise them.” She winked at Olive.
“Is Ben going to get in big trouble for losing the money?” Olive asked.
“Shhh. That’s a good girl. You get dressed.” Nan pulled the door closed just as Ben heard the back door slide open.
“Hello?” It was Mum’s voice.
“Coming,” Nan said, slippers shuffling double time up the hall.
LAST STAND
The moment Ben heard his father’s voice in the kitchen he heard another noise at the front of the house. A heavy knock on the front door.
Then footsteps. Fast. Down the hall. Bedroom door open. Mum. Short-cropped hair. Dark circles under her eyes.
Ben had planned to be strong, to not show any emotion. That was before he saw her face fall apart and the tears falling from her eyes. She looked as though she had been out in the wild too. She hugged them so tight Ben thought his ribs might break.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and it seemed to Ben that her whole body bucked with the crying and the grief and the happiness. He had never loved and hated a hug so much in his life.
“Let’s go!” Dad said from the doorway, panicked.
Mum looked at him, still hugging Olive and Ben. “No.”
The knock on the front door again.
“Don’t say that. Come. Now.” He grabbed her by the arm.
“Don’t touch me!” she whispered, shaking her arm out of his grip. They stood, looking at one another for a few seconds.
Dad waved a hand toward the door. Mum walked into the hallway, one arm around Ben, one around Olive.
“Don’t speak,” Dad said as they walked up the hall.
“Where have you been?” Olive asked, ignoring him. “Where are we going?” and “Why are we going so fast?” and “Are you and Daddy in big trouble?”
They hurried through the living room. Nan stood at the front door, waiting to open it. Ben had a pretty good idea who might be on the other side. Nan waved them on, telling them to move it.
They went through the kitchen and out the back door.
“Where’s the money?” Dad asked.
“Where are we going?” Ben said.
“Where is it?” Dad insisted.
Mum jumped off the veranda, holding Olive’s hand. Ben followed them, then Dad, who slipped a piece of old rope through Golden’s lead and tied her to a veranda post. He ran through the yard behind Ben. “Tell me where the money is,” Dad said.
“I don’t know,” Ben replied.
They reached the back gate.
“Stop,” Dad said in a fierce whisper. He looked back up at the house, toward the police officers’ voices inside. He opened the back gate and edged an eye out into the alley. Footsteps, heavy, maybe a few hundred feet away. Dad pulled back into the yard, eyes watering. He was out of his depth, Ben knew. Even more out of his depth than he was in day-to-day family life. Now he was in the Mariana Trench, the deepest part of the ocean, with his feet set in concrete.
“Come on!” Dad whispered, moving to the back of the old chicken coop. Gray, rotting timber and wire pocked with feathers from long-dead chickens.
Heavy-booted footsteps in the alley, close now.
“Squeeze in here.”
There was a twelve-inch gap between the coop and the rear fence.
“We won’t fit,” Ben whispered. Dad squeezed in, grabbing Ben by the T-shirt and dragging him into the narrow space. Ben ate a mouthful of spiderwebs. Two or three police officers ran past in the alley, shadows flickering by in the gaps between fence railings.
“Ray. It’s over,” Mum whispered.
“Stop saying that. Get in here. Now.”
“I don’t want to,” Olive complained.
“Shhh. Do it!” he whispered fiercely.
The back gate squealed open as Mum and Olive shuffled into the space behind the chicken coop. Olive first. Then Mum. The police officers entered Nan’s yard to the sound of Golden’s savage barking.
Ben listened, ears sharp.
“Are the police going to get us?” Olive asked quietly.
“Shhh,” Dad said in an almost silent hiss.
“But are they?”
Cramped air, close breathing sounds. Things crawling on Ben’s legs. He thought of Captain and Olive Thunderbolt. He wondered if any of the great bushrangers had ever hidden behind a chicken coop during their last stand.
Listening. Soon the police were talking to Nan at the back door. Nan losing her cool, telling them she’s an old lady and to leave her alone.
“We know that they’re here,” said one of the officers in a voice that carried across the yard. “We’d appreciate it if you would…” Some of what he said was lost in Golden’s barking. “… inspect the property.”
Nan said something that Ben could not quite catch.
He had the same feeling as when the police had come to the front door looking for his parents. And when the four of them had crouched under the cabin, the night they ran. Now they were wolves behind the henhouse.
“Tell me where the damn money is,” Dad whispered, his breathing measured.
Sweat trickled down Ben’s temple. He thought of Pop’s words scratched into the diary. Two wolves. Good and bad. Which wolf wins? The one you feed. He felt a deep tickle in his lungs and he wanted to cough. He tried to swallow it.
“He lost it,” Olive offered.
Dad didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Tell me that’s not true.”
Ben said nothing. He was more afraid of his father than he was of the police.
“That is all we have left now,” Dad said. “They’ve frozen the rest of it. So please tell me that’s not true.”
“Why didn’t you tell me Pop was a criminal?” Ben asked.
Their low voices were covered by Golden’s relentless barking.
“Shut up with that,” Dad whispered. “Tell me where it is.”
Ben looked at him. Dad was sweating, shaking with fear.
A couple of officers were moving back down through the yard now.
Ben wondered what a bullet passing through his skin would feel like.
“I’m scared,” Olive whispered. “I want to get out.”
Mum hugged her close. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay,” Mum whispered. “Ray?”
“Quiet,” Dad said.
“What sort of people are we?” she asked.
“We’ll be dead people if you don’t shut up.”
“If I want to speak I will speak, Ray,” Mum said, raising her voice slightly. “We have our children back. It’s over.”
“I want to get out,” Olive whispered. “This is not fun.”
“We’re going to get out,” Mum said, rubbing Olive’s shoulder.
“Shut. Up,” Dad wheezed.
“No, I will not shut up. You shut up, robber man,” Olive whispered back to him. “You wrecked everything.”
Dad growled, as if he couldn’t help himself. He reached past Ben’s stomach and grabbed Olive’s arm roughly. She started to cry.
“I’m done, Ray,” Mum said. “You can’t control me anymore.”
“What?” he whispered, breathless.
Mum and Olive slid out from behind the chicken coop, Mum holding her arms in the air. “We’re here,” she announced, and the police moved in.
Ben squeezed out of the space and stood next to Olive, arms raised like in a movie. Mum stood slightly in front of them, protective. Ben turned, waiting for his father to join him, but all he saw were sneakers and legs. In those final seconds of their life on the run, without a single word, his dad mounted the back fence, silently vaulted into the alley, and disappeared. One clean, cunning movement.
Police quickly surrounded them, shouting, weapons drawn.
“Hands on heads. All of you! Go! Now!” An officer motioned to the middle of the yard.
“C’mon,” Mum said. “Just stay with me.”
Olive and Ben obeyed.
Another officer checked their hiding space behind the coop, but it was empty.
LIFE
“You keep runnin’, you’ll only go to jail tired.”
Ben mumbled the words as he watched his clay characters run. Ben Silver, Sydney’s toughest cop, and the zombie thief stopped halfway down the forest track and the screen flickered to black.
How is it going to end? He needed to know.
Ben rested Mum’s laptop on his bed, stood, and picked up the barbell again. He did fifteen curls. It was months since he had done any work on his movie. Now he was trying to finish it for an English assignment. His old camera had been ruined in the river, but he’d managed to rescue the movie.
Ben flopped onto his bed and turned to an empty space a few pages from the end of his crusty brown leather notebook. The river had permanently disfigured it but he could still write on its crisp pages.
On the Run Page 14
