by Hager, Mandy
I help Jiao to her feet and do a quick recce. Rugged grassland stretches out in all directions, with only the odd distant twinkle of electric light to pierce the gloom. There are a few patches of scrub dotted about, but nothing distinctive to help us get our bearings. The only thing I have to orientate us is the railway track, and I try to place it on a map inside my head. Given how long we’ve been travelling, I reckon we’re about twenty kilometres south of Whanganui, though I’m buggered if I can remember any of the towns between our last stop at Turakina and there.
‘Do you have a GPS app?’ I ask Travis. It’s worth a try.
‘No.’
Damn. All that bullshit technology out there in the world, and we have none of it. ‘I reckon we should walk that way.’ I try to sound more confident than I feel, and point towards what I can only hope is west. ‘Worse case, we find somewhere sheltered for the night, then walk out in the morning.’
No one has a better idea, so we stumble off across the uneven ground, our path lit by one measly torch. If there’s a moon tonight it’s not yet risen, and the further we walk from the train the darker it becomes. Rockier too. And littered with cow shit.
After about half an hour, during which Mikey alternates between complaining about his heavy pack and the smell, I hear the rush of water. It’s not too long before the torch lights up a fair-sized river in our path, flowing too fast to make it safe to cross at night. We follow it downstream, assuming it will eventually guide us to the coast, but there’s no way we’ll get that far this evening. Besides, it’s growing colder by the minute, so when we reach a grassy knoll by the river I call a halt.
‘What say we wait the night out here? We can light a fire to keep us warm.’
‘Bags I light!’ Mikey shrieks. He dumps his pack and ambushes a nearby tree, breaking off dead branches and passing them to Jiao while Travis and I collect river rocks to build a hearth. We scavenge dry bracken for kindling and pile it in the centre, then I hand Mikey one lit match. He coaxes the flame until it’s taken hold, then blows with surprising care to build the blaze.
‘Good work, mate.’
He grins as though I’ve pinned a medal on his chest. ‘Me Mikey!’ he says, and links his hands above his head, Olympic style. In the flickering light he could be the first man to discover fire.
We form a corral with our luggage so we have something to lean against, put the billy on, then wriggle into our sleeping bags for warmth. Mikey’s in boy-heaven poking at the fire — until he almost smothers it and I make him stop. He’s on the verge of melting down when Travis’s phone goes off. He answers straight away.
After a few seconds it’s clear it’s Jeannie on the line and she’s going ape-shit. Travis shouts her down. ‘Of course I fucking understand … yeah, well, you weren’t there!’ He shoves the phone at me. ‘She wants to speak with you.’
‘Yeah, Ash here.’
‘What the hell is going on?’ She sounds distraught.
‘Travis is right. We had no choice but to get off the train. It simply wasn’t safe.’
She’s silent for a moment, which I’m hoping means my words are sinking in. ‘Do you want me to get you picked up by the local police?’
Tempting though the offer is, now that we’re settled I just want some peace. ‘No, we should be sweet.’
‘Is Travis okay?’
‘Sweet,’ I say again, not wanting the poor schmuck to know she’s checking up. ‘Look Jeannie, we’ve got a fire, water, food and sleeping bags. We’ll ring you in the morning once we figure out exactly where we are. Okay?’
‘All right. But see you do. Things are imploding fast.’
I hand the phone back to Travis, who rolls his eyes and cuts her off as quickly as he can. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘She’s a total control freak.’
‘No shit?’ I laugh to soothe the sting. ‘I guess it proves she cares.’
Travis doesn’t bother to respond. He lobs his phone into the darkness. I hear it splash into the river.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Fuck her. I’m sick of her telling me what to do.’
‘Are you stupid? That phone’s our only link to help.’
‘Who cares,’ says Travis. ‘I’ve got something much more useful.’ He reaches into his pack and produces a bottle of cheap whisky. ‘Ta da!’ Unscrews the cap and swigs it straight. ‘Ahhhhh. Now that’s more like it.’ Wipes spit off with his sleeve, then offers the bottle to Jiao.
‘No thanks.’ She curls up in her sleeping bag, pillowing her cheek on her hand. ‘Come on, Mikey. Snuggle up with me and get some sleep.’
Mr Casanova doesn’t need to be asked twice. He’s spooning her before Travis and I have downed another shot. They make me laugh, the people who think Mikey’s thick. The sleazy little opportunist knows exactly how to get his way. Before long he’s snoring, and Jiao’s breathing is so slow and easy she must be sleeping too. Travis and I meantime go shot for shot, until my gut is filled with liquid lava and the last few days have turned into a welcome blur. I lean against my bulging pack and close my eyes, only to force them back open when my brain goes into a spin. The next time Travis offers me the bottle, I shake my head.
‘I’m really sorry ’bout your dad,’ he says, his voice a little slurry.
‘Yeah, thanks.’ Above, the sky is lit with stars, ten times brighter than I’ve ever seen at home. ‘So where’s your dad?’
Travis chokes on his next shot. ‘Fucked off when I was six.’
‘Bummer.’
‘Yeah.’ He throws another hunk of wood on to the fire. A spray of sparks releases into the night. ‘I used to see him every holidays but he pissed off to Oz when I was twelve.’ He snorts, the sound real bitter, and sculls another huge mouthful of drink. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this to you right now, with … everything … you know … but sometimes I wish the bastard was dead instead of acting like I don’t exist. I mean, Mum’s okay most of the time — but she’s always feeling guilty about working, so she over-bloody-comper-compet—’
‘Compensates?’
‘Yeah, that’s the one!’ He slaps me on the back. ‘That’s why you’re at university, Brains, while I’m still unemployed.’
‘Doubt it. Hey, why do you reckon your mum’s being so nice to Mikey and me? She hardly knows us.’
He lets out an impressive booze-fuelled burp. ‘Hah! Now there’s a good question.’ He stares into the fire, his eyelids drooping as he sways. I wait for him to continue, but nothing comes.
‘Did you know she travelled all the way to Christchurch to tell me about Dad?’
‘Yeah. She was wound up like a bloody clock.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘How would I fuckin’ know? I’m only her disappointing son.’ He waves his hands around, all drunk and blustery. ‘She never tells me shit like that.’
He’s starting to get this real stroppy edge to his voice, so I back off. Whatever’s going on for him, now’s not the time to tease it out. Besides, I need to take a crap. I grab the loo paper out of my pack and wander off into the bushes. By the time I get back to the fire, he’s flaked. I screw the cap back on to the half-empty bottle and drag his sleeping bag up to his shoulders so he won’t freeze.
It’s funny, when I was Mikey’s age I’d look at other people’s lives and wish they were mine. More money, a father and mother, a sibling who could do things on his own … I never stopped to think how lucky Mikey and I were to have Dad. He talked to us about everything (yeah, well, so I thought) and I never had to wonder if he loved us, because he’d say it every day. I don’t envy poor Travis one tiny bit: fuck knowing your father’s out there and doesn’t care.
Except, of course, I’m in exactly the same position with Mum. I snort aloud.
‘What’s so funny?’ Jiao scares the hell out of me. She slides out from under Mikey’s arm to snug up to the fire.
‘Life.’ I stoke the flames and edge up closer too.
‘I wonder if his mother knows how mu
ch he drinks?’
‘I wouldn’t be the least surprised.’
I close my eyes and listen to the river’s flow. It’s hard to believe there are the makings of a war out there — or that Dad’s gone — when here, right now, we could be on a summer camp.
Jiao clears her throat. ‘Thanks for getting me out.’
‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk.’
‘That’s okay—’
‘No it’s fucking not! Only six months away from home and I start acting like a fascist pig. It’s kind of scary how quickly other people’s attitudes can screw with you. Fact is, I never even noticed it with my mates down south. But don’t get me wrong. I hate the way the UPR’s hoovering our resources and abusing human rights. And if they’ve had a hand in Dad’s death, I swear I’ll hunt the bastards down—’
‘When I first went to school I couldn’t understand why the kids hated me before they even knew what I was like.’ Jiao stares into the fire like she’s watching her memory play out in its flames. ‘I thought it was my fault, until I went home for the holidays and Mum explained.’
‘Yeah, but you’ve got to admit the way your country’s carrying on is fucked.’
‘Not my country. I live here.’ She reaches over for the whisky, unscrews the cap and takes a swig, shuddering as she swallows it down. ‘Do you have any idea how many people actually live in the countries that make up the UPR?’
‘What is this, a bloody demographics lesson? You think that makes it okay for your leaders to screw with people’s lives?’
‘You think the New Zealand government doesn’t?’ Her eyes tell me I’m thick as well as deeply flawed. ‘You try running a huge republic and keep the population fed and housed — and in control.’
‘Come on … it doesn’t mean the UPR has the right to come down here, take all our stuff and treat people like slaves.’
‘They have the right because your government handed them the key. The difference is, I see both sides. All the leaders of the countries that make up the UPR walk a tightrope — they’ve got Europe and the WA snapping at their heels. And the lives of some people back there are starting to improve.’
‘Yeah right. A handful of corrupt officials—’
‘Oh, very funny. As if there’s no corruption here.’
‘Yeah, but you’re missing the point. They didn’t just blow up my dad, did they?’
‘Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m not saying I want to live there. And I sure as hell don’t want the UPR to change things over here.’ She shudders. ‘But those people on the train were scary. Where’s our famous Kiwi charm?’
She’s got me there. I hate to think what would’ve happened if we’d stayed aboard. I stare into the fire, part of me pissed off that she finds anything to defend about the UPR, the other part kind of excited: I haven’t had such a good debate since last time I was home with Dad. My mates in Christchurch may know how to party, but we never talked politics until the torpedo-strike last week — and then it was a conversation mostly of expletives.
I try a different tack. ‘So what are you planning to do when you leave school?’
She scratches her head, like maybe she’s embarrassed. ‘Right now I’m swotting for a scholarship to university.’
‘To study what?’ I remember the books that fell out of her bag. A dead poet and Shakespeare. Bets are on it’s something totally useless in the real world.
‘Genetics,’ she says. ‘And then I want to go into research.’
‘What? To find the cure for cancer? Isn’t that what everybody says?’
She folds her arms across her chest, creating one hell of a cleavage. ‘If I tell you, you’ll laugh.’
‘Come on. I won’t. Hell, I’m the only boy at Canterbury studying speech therapy. They all think I’m a fag.’
‘Okay … but, if I tell you, you’re not allowed to give me shit.’ It’s the first time I’ve heard her swear. It must be a big deal. ‘One day I’m going to prove there is a gene for being gay.’
You’re fucking kidding me! Talk about a random goal given the state of the world. What about developing something that can feed everyone? Or fix up climate change? Or stop us behaving like psychotic pigs? It’s weird how you can look at someone and make a judgement but you never bloody know what’s in their head. Still, I can see why Dad liked her: he’d admire her originality and spunk.
‘Good for you, then.’ I don’t know what else to say, and I’m too bloody tired for another fight.
The whisky and the warmth are starting to take effect. God knows what we’ll do tomorrow, but right now I need to sleep. I chuck one last log on to the fire and curl up in my sleeping bag. The ground is hard, and strewn with stones that jab into my hip. ‘Night,’ I say.
Jiao’s still staring into the fire, probably worrying about her mum and dad. I should say something encouraging, I guess, but my energy has bled into the ground. Time to drown this shit-house day in sleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I WAKE TO FIND MIKEY poking at the fire, doing a pretty good job of stoking it back up. Dawn is only just breaking, cool silver light nudging out the shadows among the trees across the river as the birds start up. I lie still, eyes closed again as I take in their song. There are hardly any birds at home, apart from the bossy pigeons and sparrows in the city centre. And the tui at the cemetery. A tear wells up under my lid and trickles down beside my ear. A great gloomy sadness has settled on me in the night, pinning me down.
Mikey starts to sing, under his breath at first, but soon his volume creeps up. ‘Y’aint nuffin’ like how-dog, crying all time …’ Honestly, if Dad was here he’d piss himself laughing. Mikey’s version of the old ‘Hound Dog’ song sounds more like a cat on heat.
‘Turn it down!’ Travis roars and pulls his sleeping bag right up over his head.
I laugh. ‘Welcome to Mikey’s cure for hangovers, mate. Like shock treatment, only worse.’
Jiao lifts her head, her bright red hair sticking up in flaming tufts. ‘Hey, Mikey. Good work with the fire.’
He beams. ‘Morning, Jow Jow. You sleep well? You hungry?’ Talk about an obvious hint: that boy’s stomach rules his life. Feed him and he’s happy. Starve him and he’ll make life hell.
Jiao climbs out of her sleeping bag and stretches, her sweatshirt rising up to reveal a smooth belly. I’ve always fancied skinny chicks before but, actually, Jiao’s soft curves are rather nice. It’s like she’s comfortable in her own skin, not giving a bugger what other people think. Mikey obviously can’t resist her. He ducks over before she lowers her arms to plant a kiss on her bare skin.
‘Hey! That’s not okay.’ He nearly craps himself at the sound of my voice. ‘Apologise and don’t you ever do that again.’
Mikey’s more hang-dog than rock’n’roll hound dog as he mumbles his apologies to Jiao. He gives me the evils before he turns back to the fire.
Jiao tucks her sweatshirt into her jeans, which looks totally nerdy but I guess she wants to underline the point. ‘Morning,’ she says to me. ‘Did you get any sleep?’
‘A bit. Though bugger waking up this early.’ I sit up and check my phone for the time. It still shows no service. And bloody Travis’s phone is in the river. What a stupid jerk.
Now that it’s lighter we can see that the river is choked with slime and weeds, filthy from run-off. Bloody hell — we brewed a billy of tea with that crap last night. No wonder it tasted like liquid shit. If one of us gets sick, it’ll be my fault. I should’ve known better: since when is any river clean enough to drink?
I don’t know how far we walked last night, but there’s no sign of the train or any tracks. There’s a band of scrubby trees, mainly manuka, on the far side of the river bank, that stretch up into rugged hills dotted with cattle and sheep. In the opposite direction the land is pitted with erosion, the flat grassland so overstocked with dairy cows it’s little more than mud.
‘Hey, you guys,’ I say. A plan has hatched inside my head. ‘If we can find the track
the cows take to the milking sheds, we should be able to find the road.’
The others agree it’s worth a try. While we pack our things, we scoff down the last of our cake and, thanks to Travis, a handful of walnuts each. Not much to go on, but I can’t be bothered cooking and it’s better than zilch.
We head off across the fields, our noisy procession (thanks to you know who) scaring the shit out of the cows. And I mean literally. Cows can fire it out like a bloody hose. Mikey loves it, shrieking and leaping over the stinking piles as if he’s dancing some kind of Scottish jig to match his bagpipe voice. It’s crazy what keeps that kid amused.
We trek for about twenty-five minutes before Travis spots a gate that opens on to a gravel track. You’d think we’d been in the wilderness for days the way the others cheer and make a rush for it. Me, well, I am relieved. But, actually, the bigger problem’s up ahead. Once we do make it out to the main road, what then? I’m fast going off the idea of being trapped with Jeannie’s mum. I’m fast going off the idea of being with anyone at all. I wish to god I could lick my wounds in peace.
Past the gate, there’s no stopping Mikey. He wants to run ahead, so Jiao agrees to go with him while Travis and I cart all the gear. Ten minutes later I scan the track ahead of us. Mikey and Jiao have disappeared over a rise.
‘Did you hear that?’ Travis stops and cocks his head. ‘It sounded like someone calling your name.’
I meet his eye, and both of us start to run, packs and bags slapping as we stampede up the rise. I crest the top seconds ahead of him, then stop to catch my breath. Jeezus. Jiao and Mikey are about five hundred metres away, staring down the barrel of a rifle aimed by a giant of a man on a quad bike.
‘Wait!’ I throw my hands up as high as I can, given I’m weighed down with all these fucking bags, and sprint for all it’s worth. ‘It’s okay,’ I yell, hardly able to push out the words. My arms are killing me. Eventually I’m forced to slow to a walk, overcome by stitch.
Jiao and Mikey have their arms raised in surrender and I can see the dark stain blooming between Mikey’s legs where he’s wet his pants. The man on the bike is wearing a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, muddy white gumboots and a blue overall, sleeves tied around his waist. He’s bare chested and pure muscle. And now he’s swivelled around to aim the gun straight at me.
