Bo nodded and drew Mr Pinkwhistle onto her lap. She sat with the roboraptor draped across her knees, his chest open, her face a study in fierce concentration as she punched in coordinates and directions.
As soon as Mr Pinkwhistle was on his feet, Callum uncovered the tethered cockatoo. Immediately, the rest of the flock gave up on the children. They followed the struggling leader north, squawking and shrieking above the roboraptor and their captive leader.
Callum only glanced over his shoulder once as they headed into the bamboo. Far away, flapping frantically above the hillside path, the flock of cockatoos circled and dived at Mr Pinkwhistle as he led them further and further away from the two children.
They had been running for hours by the time they breasted the rise and found the Daisy-May.
‘We probably still don’t have enough fuel to reach Vulture’s Gate,’ said Bo. ‘I only half-filled her tanks.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Callum. ‘Early yesterday morning, while you and Mollie were still asleep, I topped them up. I’ve even filled the reserves and jammed one of the panniers full of pineapples. I figure they should work as well as cactus.’
Bo looked at him in surprise and then grinned. ‘Even if you’re a boy, you’re as cunning as Fitcher’s Bird!’
They rode down through the thick scrub and turned along a worn trail at the base of the hillside. Suddenly, Bo braked and turned her eyes to the hills. Callum watched too, waiting. They both laughed with relief as Mr Pinkwhistle came charging out of the scrub. Bo swept him into her arms and set him on the tank before her.
Towards midday, they pulled off the road and drove down a dirt track to find a sheltered place to rest. Bo opened the saddlebag to search for their sleeping kit.
‘Did you put these in here?’ she asked. Callum stood beside her and stared into the pannier. Neatly stacked inside were all Bo’s weapons, her string carrier of hunting tools, and a brown paper bag. Tied on with coarse twine was a note in wobbly handwriting.
Sometimes old men dream foolish dreams. Travel safe – Mollison Green.
‘He knew we were going to run away,’ said Bo, as she opened the paper bag and looked in at the ripening tomatoes and bananas.
‘He was crazy,’ said Callum.
‘But he was sad and lonely too,’ said Bo. ‘All those long nights listening to the sound of your own breathing, with no other living soul to care if you never woke up again.’
‘Don’t feel too sorry for him,’ said Callum. ‘He would have had you bringing up babies like he does tomatoes. They’d be springing out of your mouth before you knew what hit you.’
Bo laughed. ‘Babies don’t come out of people’s mouths!’
‘So where do you think they come from – when they don’t come from clinics? How do they get from the inside out?’
Bo blushed. ‘I haven’t spent much time thinking about it. I suppose they come out the same way baby animals do – between the legs.’
They both fell quiet, trapped in the awkwardness of the moment. ‘Well, no wonder girls are extinct,’ said Callum.
17
GATE WAY TO THE UNDERWORLD
Callum had to fight down his impatience as the city of Vulture’s Gate loomed on the horizon. They’d been travelling for days on end, making few stops, and both their food and fuel supplies were low. Now that he knew they were on the home stretch, he wanted to be there instantly. He couldn’t wait to be inside the old apartment in the heart of the city and finally in the arms of his fathers. He played it over and over again in his mind, that moment when he would step over the threshold and they would embrace him. Yet he knew Bo was right when she insisted they set up camp in the mountains south of the city.
‘I think it would be better to arrive in daylight. We can leave at first light and be there by early morning. If this place is as awful as Mollie Green said, we want to be able to see our way around.’
‘It’s not that bad. Mollie was trying to scare you. Once we reach my dads, everything will be fine,’ said Callum. He pointed at the tiny glow of distant lights. ‘That bright bit, that’s the Colony on South Head. Most Colony people lived there but we lived in this really cool apartment building outside the wall. It has a lot of security around it, so once we get inside we’ll be safe. It’s only the streets that are dangerous.’
‘And are there vultures?’ asked Bo anxiously.
‘I don’t think so. I don’t even know what a vulture really looks like.’
Bo knelt down beside him and drew a small sketch in the dirt. ‘Poppy read me stories about vultures. He said a goddess with a vulture’s head guarded the gateway to the underworld.’
Callum looked at the symbol of the vulture and kicked dust across it. ‘You know too many stories,’ he said, trying to make his voice sound cheerful.
Mr Pinkwhistle brought them a possum and Bo threw the carcass onto their small fire. The air filled with the smell of scorched fur. When it was cooked, she cut away the charred skin and sliced thick pieces of meat for Callum and herself.
‘I miss Mollie’s food,’ said Bo.
‘I don’t,’ said Callum, chewing grimly on his slice of possum meat. ‘You wait. My dads will make sure we have plenty to eat. Maybe they’ll build another refuge somewhere safer and we’ll go live there. Or maybe we’ll live in the apartment.’
‘What if they don’t want me?’
‘I’ve told you. They’ll be fine. They might be a bit freaked out by you being a girl. But they’ll get used to it. As long as you don’t turn into a woman, it will all be okay.’
‘But I will turn into a woman, Callum.’ She opened her shirt and looked down at her bare chest. ‘Sometimes my nipples tingle and they’ve changed shape. Only a little bit. They’re not smooth and flat any more. They have little pointy tips, see?’
Callum looked away. ‘Close your shirt,’ he snapped.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘There’s nothing the matter with me. I’m normal.’
Bo snorted. She crawled around the campfire and knelt in front of him. ‘Look at you. You’re scruffy and dirty and covered in scars. How can you tell me what to do when you don’t even know how to tie your own shirt?’
Callum let her straighten the stays of the old cat-leather shirt she had given him. She ran her fingers through his hair, combing it away from his face. It had grown so long that it brushed against his shoulders.
‘Bo,’ he said, taking her face in his hands and drawing it close. ‘Whatever happens tomorrow, you know that you’re my best friend. My best friend in the world.’ He put his face next to hers and swept his eyelashes against her cheek in a butterfly kiss.
As the embers of the fire grew low, Bo drew him down to lie beside her. He curled against the warm curve of her body, savouring the comfort of her arms. Tomorrow, everything would be different. He tried not to think about what that would mean.
As they approached the city, Callum could feel tension mounting in Bo’s body. She leant close to the bike and focused on the road to avoid driving into one of the gaping craters that pockmarked the highway. Burnt-out vehicles littered the verge. Drifts of burning rubble glowed orange through a smouldering haze. A shadowy figure emerged from the smoke and then disappeared, as if it were an apparition.
‘Has there been a war?’ asked Bo.
‘I don’t know. There have always been crazy outsiders attacking the Colony. But I don’t remember any of this.’
No wonder his fathers had wanted to take him away. He couldn’t recall ever seeing this devastation when they’d lived in Vulture’s Gate but was that because his fathers always kept him cocooned inside their apartment? He had been so small when they left the city that all his memories were surrounded by a soft infant glow.
They passed hundreds of abandoned buildings. Some were overgrown with vines, others had trees growing out through cavernous black windows. A murder of crows flew cawing through the broken roof of a bombed house. Bo slowed the Daisy-May as the highway disappeared benea
th a swampy mass of refuse and sludge. They travelled for kilometres without seeing anyone until a ragged man, almost naked except for a cloth around his waist, stumbled across the road and vanished into a crater. Callum shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Bo reached back, squeezing his knee to make him stop wriggling.
The Nekhbet Tower was easy to navigate towards, dark and solid above the ruined city. Its black glass walls rose up like the muzzle of a gun, pointing straight into a hazy blue sky.
‘It doesn’t look like a homey sort of place,’ said Bo.
‘Don’t let that or the security put you off. Once we’re inside, everything will be great. But there are checkpoints to get through before we’re safe. The first test will be the security drone at the gateway,’ he said nervously.
But as they drew closer to the black gates they could see that the entrance to the Nekhbet Tower courtyard was a bombsite. One of the gates lay twisted and torn from its hinges, jutting out of a crater.
‘What should I do?’ asked Bo.
‘Don’t stop,’ said Callum. ‘Skirt around it and take us straight to the main doors.’
Bo revved the Daisy-May and drove straight up the steps of the building and along the colonnaded entrance. She braked only when they were close to the vault-like front doors.
‘Home time!’ said Callum. Bo pressed the release and the protective shield of the Daisy-May slid back. They were hit by a wave of sticky, humid air. ‘We have to be fast. Once Ruff and Rusty know I’m here everything will be fine, but we don’t want anyone mistaking us for Festers.’
‘Festers?’
‘Don’t worry.’ Callum grabbed her hand and dragged her off the Daisy-May.
Bo set Mr Pinkwhistle on guard while they turned their attention to the access boxes on the south wall. Callum counted his way past the blank screens until he reached Box 217. When he found it, he was almost too excited to speak. He pushed his hand against the imprint bar and his face against the retinal scanner and waited for the screen to light up. ‘I have to still be in the system! I have to,’ he muttered. He gave a shout of relief when Ruff and Rusty’s faces appeared on the access screen.
‘Dads, it’s me!’ he said. ‘Let me in!’ But the faces staring back at him smiled blankly and intoned, ‘You have activated Ruff and Rusty’s message box. Please say your piece and we’ll get back to you.’
‘Why aren’t they answering you?’ asked Bo.
‘Maybe they’re asleep. Or they might be out. I hope not. I can get into the building but if someone spots me looking like this and with no microchips in my ears, I could be in trouble.’
Bo glanced over her shoulder anxiously, scanning the arcade.
‘Should we wait somewhere else until they come back? My ’twitian says this is a bad place to be,’ she said, pointing up at the surveillance cameras monitoring the arcade.
‘Don’t rush me. I want to leave a proper message first.’ Callum turned back to the message bank. ‘I’m safe. I’m going to try coming up but if someone stops me, at least you know I’m here in Vulture’s Gate. And I’ve got this friend with me and you’re really going to like . . . them.’ He was suddenly uncertain about calling Bo a ‘she’. It seemed rude.
At the entrance to the Tower, there was another retinal scanner. Callum turned to Bo and put his hands on her shoulders.
‘You wait here,’ he said. ‘You can’t come into the building unless you’re in the system. I’ll talk to someone and sort everything out. Stay with the Daisy-May. I won’t be long. I’ll come back for you,’ he said.
Inside, the white-and-silver foyer was empty. Callum was relieved to see it looked the same as he remembered. But where were the squadrones that guarded the place? Where was the Colony drone who usually manned the front desk? Callum caught sight of his reflection in the polished metal of the lift doors. He looked like a runaway. He touched his scarred ears anxiously. Would a drone believe he had once been a Colony boy? He could hardly believe it himself.
No one stopped the lift as it rose up through the building. On the seventeenth floor, Callum made his way to the old apartment, down long, silent corridors. It was eerie how empty the building appeared. Nervously, he pressed his hand against the apartment’s imprint sensor. What if the scars on his hands interfered with the reading? When the panel failed to acknowledge him, he leaned his head against the smooth, shiny door and sighed. This wasn’t the homecoming he’d dreamt of. A single tear ran down his cheek. ‘Dads,’ he whispered.
As if the apartment itself heard him, the door swung open. Inside, nothing was as he remembered it. The place was a mess. There were piles of filthy crockery on every surface and the air smelt stale. Drawers had been pulled open and sheets of paper were scattered across the floor. Callum picked up a small square of stationery with a black flower in the middle. There were no words on the page, only neat ebony petals fanning out from the centre of the white sheet.
‘You, Fester! How did you get in here?’ yelled a voice.
Callum jumped. A grey-haired man stood in the doorway of the apartment, blocking Callum’s exit.
‘I’m Callum Caravaggio. I’m looking for my fathers.’
‘There are no Caravaggios here.’
‘Where has everyone gone?’
‘Anyone with brains or luck is living on South Head.’ The man walked towards Callum, as if approaching a wild dog. ‘You can’t be a Caravaggio.’
Callum backed away until he was pressed against the window. Down in the Tower courtyard the Daisy-May was waiting for him, but it was no longer parked discreetly. It was speeding around the edge of the building with a Pally-val hovering in pursuit.
‘Bo!’ he cried.
Before the grey-haired man could stop him, Callum dived past, skidding over the scattered paper, slamming the apartment door shut behind him and dashing down the hallway. He could hear the man chasing him but he didn’t stop. He swung into the lift and hit the ground-floor button.
When he stepped outside again, a pair of drones on a Pally-val were hurtling down the arcade towards him. Callum zigzagged between the colonnades, making it impossible for the drones to take a clear shot at him.
Suddenly the Daisy-May came roaring around the corner of the building and the shield slid back.
‘Quick, Callum,’ called Bo as she slowed near him. ‘Jump.’
Callum didn’t need to be told twice. As the bike glided past him, he mustered all his circus training. He took a running leap and flung himself into the air, landing neatly on the slow-moving vehicle. The shield of the Daisy-May was barely closed when the guards opened fire again. Bo revved the engine and the bike leapt off the top of the steps. Callum felt his bones jar as it landed in the street. He could see the muscles and sinews in Bo’s arms quivering as she tried to keep control.
‘Where can we hide?’ shouted Bo.
‘Just drive,’ said Callum. Why hadn’t he anticipated this and made a back-up plan? The Daisy-May sped out of the central area and into the cluttered streets of the city’s dark side. It fishtailed wildly as Bo gunned the accelerator. Out of nowhere, a monster truck pulled in front of them and before she could steady it the Daisy-May was on its side, careering down a narrow city street. Mr Pinkwhistle let out a long, shrill cry. As soon as the bike came to a stop, Bo tried to make the shield peel back but it was jammed shut. For a moment, Callum had a horrible vision of the patrols smashing the blue glass, dragging them out and shooting them both before they could explain. Bo screamed at him to cover his eyes as she set Mr Pinkwhistle against the shield. The roboraptor sat back on his haunches and then launched himself against the cover, blasting a hole through it that generated a shower of tiny dark shards. Callum shook the glass from his hair and looked out into the street.
There was noise everywhere – sirens, shouting and the sound of jackbooted feet racing towards them. Bo and Callum crawled out of the wreckage of the Daisy-May and ran. Bo grabbed the handrail at the top of a long, slimy flight of stairs that disappeared beneath the city, and s
tarted descending into the dark.
‘Stop, wait,’ called Callum. ‘We can’t go down there.’
‘There are people chasing us,’ said Bo. ‘People with weapons.’
‘That’s an old underground train station. They’re all flooded. I’ve heard about them. We go down there, we’ll drown in the darkness.’
‘There’s a muon detector in Mr Pinkwhistle. He’ll help us find our way.’
‘Maybe we should put our hands up and surrender. Then they can take us to my dads. They’ll know I’m on the register.’
‘But I’m not,’ said Bo. ‘What if they won’t listen to you?’
Callum bit his lip. His dads had always warned him against being found alone, being mistaken for a runaway or a reject. If it was dangerous for him, how would a girl be treated?
The sirens grew louder and still Callum stood transfixed, staring into the darkness.
‘Callum?’
Bo gazed up at him, waiting. Callum followed her down into the fetid dark.
18
BLACK WATER
For one long and terrible moment, Bo had thought Callum was going to leave her. She had seen it written on his face when he stood at the top of the stairs – that split second of hesitation as he contemplated whether to follow her into the darkness. As they hurried into the underground, she reached for his hand.
Black water washed around their ankles. Shadows fell like dark wings as they descended the steps and walked along a tunnel. Once they were below the streets, slivers of light pierced through cracks above them. Soon the darkness thickened to soupy blackness. Bo stroked Mr Pinkwhistle until his eyes shone with thin, bright LED lights that cast a pale glow before them. As the tunnel started to dip downwards, the water grew deeper. Bo tied her string bag into a bundle to carry on her head.
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