by Hager, Mandy
‘Are you sure you really want to know?’
I like that she sounds concerned. ‘Yeah, it’s been bugging me, you know?’ Not exactly a lie, but for very different reasons than she probably thinks
As she gives what little information she can, I scrawl it on my inner arm to decode later. She makes me promise to phone again tomorrow night. By the time I hang up, I’m shaking. Bloody hell. It’s entirely possible life’s about to get quite weird.
One last call: I need to Man Up and ring Jeannie.
‘How did he get the alcohol?’ she demands before I’ve hardly taken a breath.
‘I don’t know. He had heaps with him. If it’s any consolation I think he’s only got half a bottle left. It could be worse.’ I don’t mention the bag of dope. May well have to tax him some for keeping his secret safe.
‘Tip it out for me. Please, Ashley. He’s got no self-control.’
Okay, so now I know why she’s sending Travis to her mum. But why Mikey and me as well? Did she think we’d be some kind of good influence? Surely she could tell that I’d been drinking the first time we met? Bets are on she’s going to hate what I’m about to say.
‘Listen, Jeannie. I’m calling to let you know that Mikey and Jiao and I are going to hang around in Whanganui. Travis can go on to his gran’s on his own.’
‘Why? There’s chaos down here and it’s just going to flare up through the whole island. You’d be much safer at Mum’s.’
‘I’ve got things to sort.’ I don’t need a parental lecture. Let her save it for Travis. ‘Look, we’ll be all right. I just wanted you to know. I’ve got to go now. Mikey’s playing up.’ I slam down the receiver, feeling like a shit and cursing myself for forgetting to ask her for an update on the news.
Nervous excitement screws so badly with my gut I have to stop off at the loos on my way back to the park. Jiao’s still reading when I get there, though judging by her puffy eyes she’s had another cry.
‘Okay!’ I sit down beside her and take a deep breath. ‘I’ve got some news. It seems my mother is alive.’
Her head whips round. ‘But your father told me she died when you were small.’
‘Yeah, well, now it looks as if she simply buggered off.’ Bitterness has crept into my voice. I push it aside. That’s not what this is about. ‘Anyway, it’s possible she’s a member of Muru.’
‘You’re kidding me? That must be weird.’
‘Weird and bloody brilliant!’ I can’t help but beam. ‘You know what this could mean?’ Jiao’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. ‘That guy Simon said it’d take a covert operation to get your parents out — well, you can’t get much more fucking covert than Muru!’
‘But how—’
‘Lucinda tried to find her five years ago. She came up with a dead end, but she’s given me some leads to follow, and the best part is that the place she’s mentioned is not too far from here.’
‘You seriously think that if we found her they would help? I thought they hated immigrants.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m hoping she’ll feel so shit for deserting me and Mikey that she might agree to an exception.’
She’s not looking convinced.
‘Have you got a better idea?’
‘Hold on. I need to think about this.’ Jiao stands up, walks to the mouth of the whale and stares out into the night.
I’m gutted she’s not more excited, but maybe it’s a good thing she’s taking her time. If she thinks it’s too crazy, then it probably is. Her logic’s way more advanced than mine.
‘What do you really know about Muru?’ she asks.
‘Bugger all, except they’ve been around since the turn of the century. I know in the early days they hacked into things and leaked documents to embarrass the government and corporations they don’t like. They’ve been involved in civil unrest and I’m sure I’ve heard they trained with terrorist organisations overseas.’
‘Are they good or bad?’ Such a simple question, yet I truly have no real idea.
‘Does it really matter, so long as they agree to help? We don’t have to join up with them, just guilt Mum into using her skills and connections to rescue your folks.’ It does sound pretty lame, I admit. And a bloody long shot.
‘Okay.’ Jiao turns and smiles. ‘Let’s see if we can find her. But if it gets too dangerous, you have to promise to stop. I don’t want you guys put at risk for me.’
‘Totally.’ I hold out my hand and we shake on it.
It’s only once I’m lying in my sleeping bag, trying to ignore the throbbing in my head and nose, that the personal implications really hit. What if we do find Mum? What if she tells us to piss off? That she doesn’t care? Logic and evidence tend to back this — yet why did she start sending messages to Dad? For all my altruistic concern for Jiao’s parents, if I’m honest, it’s the abandoned son in me that really wants to find her. I reckon she should have to look both me and Mikey in the eye.
I’m not sure Dad would approve. Not only because it’s dangerous, but because there’s a bloody good chance we’ll end up more upset — if that’s humanly possible, which I somehow doubt. I hate that Dad’s not here to ask. I hate that life’s so fucking fragile. That there are people out there in the world who don’t give a shit.
That ominous smoke cloud rekindles in my mind, blurring into the slip-stream of those fighter jets. I hope like hell we’re not too late. Imagine calling up the underground cavalry only to discover the whole place has been reduced to ash.
Two gunshots crackle through the night. Alarms start up. Sirens wail. Lights flick back on over at the camp. God damn. I need to get some proper sleep somehow. We’ve only just been dealt our crappy hand — and there’s still a heap of gambling to be done before this game plays out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE SIRENS CONTINUE throughout the night, weaving in and out of my fragmented dreams. It’s impossible to nap in more than shallow bursts: my nose is sore, the concrete floor is harder than our PM’s eyes, and I’m stewing over what might happen if we do find Mum. By the time the sun dribbles a watery dawn through the trees, I’m totally exhausted. I stomp over to the camping ground, first to brew up tea, then back to cook up porridge. The communal kitchen is filled with people frightened by the night’s disturbances. The business centre exploded into a riot zone, they say, with gangs of looters breaking into shops, and burning cars. And it’s not just here: the same thing’s happening in all the major cities and a good few other towns as well. It’s all gone mad.
An old guy with a scruffy grey beard is standing next to me at one of the sinks. ‘What were they rioting about?’ I ask him. It makes no sense. Why argy-bargy against each other when there’s already much more heavy business going down?
‘Entropy, lad.’ He coughs up something solid and spits it into the bin.
‘What’s that?’
‘Mucous. Sorry, better out than in.’
I snort. ‘No. I mean what’s entropy?’
He grins. ‘Whoops! Roughly speaking, entropy means disorder — it’s the second law of thermodynamics. It means the more ordered you try to make things, the more disorder you’ll eventually create somewhere else. Human civilisation is no different. We built it up, forgetting nothing is sustainable for ever, and now it’s breaking down. Natural decay.’
I shake my head, trying to filter out his thick accent to understand the words. German, perhaps? Or Dutch? Yes, bet’s on Dutch. ‘You mean there’s nothing we can do to put things right?’
‘Depends what you mean by right, my friend. If you consider us as part of the natural world then what’s happening is right. Everything develops to a point where it can no longer maintain such complication, so it falls apart again into conflict and chaos. You can’t fight nature.’
‘But that’s ridiculous! If that’s the case, we may as well roll over and die.’
‘Not at all.’ He squeezes me on the shoulder and there’s something calming about the steady application of his hand. ‘
Answer this: are things really going so well you’d want to see them stay the same?’
Now it’s my turn to laugh. ‘Okay. You’re right. My life is total shit.’
‘Total shit, eh? Not even ordinary shit? That sounds bad.’ I can’t tell if he’s being sarky. My face heats up. But now he offers me his gnarly hand. ‘I’m Erich Surring, from Holland via Wellington for the last forty years. Retired neurosurgeon and current refugee. And you, young man?’
We shake. ‘Ash McCarthy. From Wellington. My dad was Shaun McCarthy of the CTU.’ I’m not sure why I say this, but I figure if he knows Dad’s name and what has happened he’ll forgive me for coming across so rude.
I see the impact on his face. He keeps hold of my hand and pats it. ‘Ah, yes, now I understand. Total shit seems a fair and sensible assessment then. I’m so very sorry for your loss.’ Of all the strangers who have said this to me in the past few days, he really sounds as if he means it. ‘Funnily enough, I knew your grandfather Dennis McCarthy. Now he was quite a man. He wangled me my residency at a time when this country was more choosey about immigration — I had a somewhat radical past. I gather your father was a chip off the old block.’
‘I s’pose. Dad’s father died when I was small.’
‘A shame. If it wasn’t for him, I hate to think where I’d be now.’ His eyes go all unfocused, like he’s looking back into the past. ‘You know, I lost both my parents at around your age. It left a hole right here that’s never healed.’ He drops my hand and taps over his heart. ‘What brings you here?’
‘I’m trying to find my mother. She disappeared when I was four.’ This is bizarre. He’s like a magnet for the truth.
‘You think she’s here?’
I nod. ‘Sort of. It’s possible she’s living near this tiny village called Maungaroa up at the top of the old national park. I just haven’t quite figured out how we’ll get there yet.’
‘We?’
‘My brother Mikey and a friend.’ I pick up the billy of simmering porridge and make to leave. ‘Nice to meet you, Dr Surring.’
‘You too, young man. I wish you well. You’re staying at the camp?’
‘No.’ I shrug. ‘My friend is from the UPR. I thought it best to keep her out of trouble’s way.’
‘Very wise. Now do take care.’ He stands in the doorway and watches me wander back through the trees.
The others are awake and sitting at the mouth of the whale, sipping their tea as they catch the first warmth of the sun. Over breakfast I break it to Travis that we’re not going to Inglewood.
‘Why the hell not? You got a better offer?’
‘No, it’s just that—’
‘Look, if it’s about the drinking—’
‘Will you let me finish?’ I blow out a calming breath and proceed to explain my half-baked plan. It sounds try-hard and lame in the cold light of day, but now I’ve promised Jiao I guess I have to follow through.
‘Muru? Bloody hell. Does Mum know?’
‘About Muru? Yes. About my plan? Absolutely not.’ I evil-eye him. ‘And don’t you dare tell her.’
‘Give me a break! I’m an expert at keeping shit from Mum.’
I doubt it. She’s on to him big time. It’s freaky to realise I have more sympathy for Jeannie than I do for him. Can’t he see how much she cares? Shit, most guys I know would be rapt if a parent showed so much concern — I guess that’s why I always felt kind of smug about Dad. I’m trying to figure out how to imply all this without totally pissing Travis off when I notice old Erich limping towards us, rolling like a bandy-legged sailor at sea.
‘Hi ya. Long time no see!’
He pats the concrete whale as he catches his breath. ‘Very biblical.’ He’s wheezing like an old accordion.
‘This is Dr Erich Surring, guys. He comes from Wellington too.’ I introduce each of them, and then grab my sleeping bag for him to sit on. Mikey sidles over and digs his fingers into the old guy’s beard. ‘Mikey, don’t. That’s rude.’ I lunge towards him to pull his hand away, but Erich shakes his head.
‘It’s fine,’ he says. ‘When you’ve lived alone as long as I have, you start to crave the human touch.’ He pats Mikey on the head, and the little bugger pats his right back. ‘Greetings, young man. I’m guessing you’re the leader of this intrepid band.’
Talk about making Mikey’s day. He puffs his chest out like a randy rooster, flexes his muscles and ostentatiously kisses his guns. What a prat. ‘Me the boss.’
‘Well, I come to offer you a proposition,’ Erich says, addressing Mikey but winking at me. ‘I have a car and all the time in the world. Perhaps I could offer you and your underlings a lift?’
I can’t believe my ears. ‘You’re having me on? You mean you’ll take us … That would be great — except we haven’t nearly enough money to chip in for the petrol.’
‘Not a problem. I converted my car to run on waste oil years ago. If you don’t mind the smell, we’re A-okay.’ He glances into the whale, sizing up all our gear. ‘It might be a bit of a squeeze, that’s all.’
‘It’s only me, Mikey and Jiao. Travis is heading for Inglewood.’
‘No I’m bloody not!’ Travis rises, towering over us. He stands with his feet planted apart and his arms crossed like a ninja ready for action. ‘You’ll need someone to look after Mikey while you sort your plan.’
I frown at Travis to shut him up. He does have a point, though. I stand up to eyeball him. ‘You’d have to clear it with Jeannie. I’m not going to stuff her round.’ I lower my voice. ‘And, you’d have to swear not to get pissed while Mikey’s in your care.’
‘No problemo,’ he says, though there’s a flush whooshing up his tattooed neck. ‘I’ll be back in a mo.’ He heads off for the camp.
‘Well,’ says Erich, ‘that’s splendid. Much better than sitting around feeling redundant. I’ll go and fetch the car.’ I offer him my hand, and as he lurches to his feet we end up face to face. ‘Looks like you’ve been in the wars, my friend.’ He gently prods around my nose, noting every time I wince. ‘You’re lucky,’ he says. ‘Bruised, not broken. Remind me to give you some paracetamol. That’ll help.’
A car and painkillers. The guy’s a legend.
As he limps off to get his car, we pack our gear and wait for Travis, who turns up looking so chipper I reckon he hasn’t talked to Jeannie at all. Still, I’m buggered if I’ll risk ringing her myself. If she gets any hint of what we’re up to, she’ll blow her stack.
Erich’s car is not what you’d expect from a retired brain surgeon, that’s for sure. It’s some kind of Nissan, so ancient it’s a bloody museum piece, and he’s hand-painted it with slogans: Power to the Planet! Gotta Love Gaia! It’s Easy Being Green! Not only that, but its exhaust fumes smell like stale fish and chips. I’m glad I talked to him before I saw his car, or else I might’ve thought he was a total loon. Still might be, I guess, but if Mikey warms to him he’s okay by me.
We pile all our bags into the boot beside two big containers of recycled fat — it is from fish and chip shops, bugger me! — then Erich spreads a map out on the bonnet so we can plot our course. It’s so old the creases have obliterated all the nearby words, but it’s just as well he’s got it: with no access to online maps or GPS, my geographical knowledge is nearly zilch. We have to drive up State Highway 4 until Raurimu, then take a left and head towards the northern tip of the old national park. It looks straightforward enough but it’s a bloody long way. I hope this hippie contraption is up to it.
We squeeze inside, Jiao in the front, then Erich puts on a shapeless houndstooth cap (‘my driving hat’, he says) and eases the car out on to the road. He operates it with infuriating precision, each gear change a three-part act so slow I want to reach over and shove the damn thing through. And he’s screwy about speed: 10 ks an hour slower than the limit and not the slightest variation, up or down. Thankfully he turns the radio on — a welcome distraction from the frustration — and we can finally catch up with the latest news.
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There’s no mention of the smoke I saw from the tower, or of the war planes, but that’s hardly surprising, given what else has been going down. All trains have been cancelled after a good portion of the main trunk line was blown up just outside Hamilton. And another explosion took out the track near Kaikoura, which stuffs the journey south as well. There have been several more bomb blasts in the main centres too, with dozens killed, and sniper attacks near all the strategic assets owned by the UPR. All the country’s soldiers have been deployed and they’ve called in the Territorials to help patrol the main centres and the major roads. The Aussies have pitched in as well, helping to secure the towns, though soundbites from the locals make it clear they’d rather the Aussies pissed off home.
My god, it’s only two nights since we left and now we’re living in a war zone.
Worst of all, the WA has landed troops, ‘protecting’ all our ports and power stations, lakes and mines. Dad would have a bloody hernia if he knew they’d got their greasy mitts on them. Meanwhile, there’s been so many curfew-breaking riots and looters arrested they’ve had to set up temporary courts. This isn’t bloody entropy, it really is the next Big Bang.
By the time the news is over I’m so agitated it’s torture to sit still. Mikey’s squirming in the seat beside me, his elbow like a frickin’ cattle prod, and it takes all my willpower not to slug him back. I wind down the window and stick my head outside to drink in air. Close my eyes. Try to differentiate between the stink of old chip fat and the earthiness of the surrounding bush. Okay, what about a running tally of animals and birds? By the time I reach fifty, excluding road kill (twenty-nine), I’m a little more calm.
Jiao and Erich are talking about books, and soon it’s clear he’s a Shakespeare buff as well. No, actually, more than a buff: he seems to know almost every word of every bloody play by heart. Jiao’s testing him, flicking through random pages of her Complete Works as she tries to catch him out, but he must’ve operated on himself and slipped in extra memory chips.
