Arrival

by Chris Morphew

  Mum finished laying out my stuff and then kissed me goodbye. She switched the light off on her way out the door, throwing the big empty hospital room into shadow.

  I rolled over to face the window and felt a flicker of panic as I saw something move past outside.

  Just a bird.

  I reminded myself that there was no-one out there, that Crazy Bill was locked up in the security centre, that his stalking days were over, at least for now. And I realised pretty quickly that this thought didn’t make sleep come any easier.

  Chapter 20

  FRIDAY, MAY 15

  90 DAYS

  ‘Okay, here’s the plan,’ said Jordan, unfolding a giant map and laying it out on my bed. ‘We take –’

  ‘So we’re definitely still going?’ Peter interrupted. ‘Even though Crazy Bill’s out of action? Even though we still have no idea what we’re looking for and the only person who ever did is now sitting in prison?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Jordan firmly.

  ‘Right, just checking.’

  We were sitting in my bedroom, going over the plan that Jordan and Peter had come up with for investigating Crazy Bill’s map.

  I’d been released from the medical centre in time for school that morning, but Dr Montag had sent me home, dosed up on painkillers, insisting that I stay there and rest. I wasn’t about to turn down a long weekend, especially since this particular weekend was shaping up to be anything but relaxing.

  So I’d emailed Jordan and Peter and got them to come around after school to bring me up to speed.

  ‘This is a map of all the bike tracks and walking paths around Phoenix,’ Jordan said, smoothing out the big sheet of paper. ‘Seeing as Calvin’s already got his eye on us, it probably wouldn’t be such a smart idea to ride out onto the main road in front of everyone, so we’re thinking we’ll make our start here instead.’

  She pointed to a place on the map at the south end of town, where a narrow path stretched into the bush.

  ‘This track goes straight into the bush for a kilometre or so,’ she said, tracing along the path with her finger, ‘then it curves around in a big circle and comes out near my house. But right here –’ she ran her finger back along the line, ‘– the track runs right up against the main road, only a hundred metres away from it.’

  ‘So we ride out there and then cut through the bush?’ I asked, peering over her shoulder.

  ‘Right,’ said Jordan. ‘That should get us far enough away from town to make sure no-one sees us leaving. We’ll have to make sure we don’t run into any supply trucks coming down the road, but apart from that we should be safe.’

  ‘Until we get to whatever death trap Crazy Bill’s got waiting for us out there,’ I muttered.

  Not that I didn’t still want to go ahead with our plan, but the pummelling I’d been given the day before had driven home for me just how dangerous this could get.

  Jordan looked across the bed at me, concern flashing across her face. ‘Luke, if you want to leave this,’ she said, glancing at my battered face, ‘put it off for another week until you’ve recovered from –’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ I said, trying not to wince. My face hurt more when I was reminded of it. ‘It has to be tomorrow. We’re already down to, what, ninety days? Something tells me we can’t afford to lose another week. I’m just saying we’re probably not going to like what we find out there.’

  Jordan was still staring at me. ‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘One minute, Crazy Bill is feeding us information, and the next he’s stalking us and beating us up. I wish he’d make up his mind about whose side he’s on.’

  ‘I think Crazy Bill is on Crazy Bill’s side,’ said Peter, leaning back in my desk chair. ‘I don’t reckon he’s done anything so far that wasn’t helping his agenda.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘but his map is still the only thing we have to go on right now.’

  ‘Great,’ said Peter. ‘When do we leave?’

  Jordan picked Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland up from the bed and flipped to Crazy Bill’s map.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m assuming this thing isn’t to scale, so it’s hard to tell how far away either of these places actually are. But if we head off at, say, midday tomorrow, that gives us seven hours of riding time before the curfew kicks in, which is probably about as much as any of us can ride in a day anyway.’

  And that was pretty much as far as our planning went. Leave at noon. Cut through the bush. Ride down the road and see what happens. Genius.

  We hung around in my room for a couple of hours, playing video games and pretending that our lives were back to normal, until 5.30 p.m, when against all odds Mum came home from work in time for dinner.

  Peter offered to walk Jordan home, which was ironic since I was sure she could have taken him down with one hand tied behind her back. To no-one’s surprise, she turned him down.

  It was getting kind of depressing to see Peter crash and burn with every attempt to win Jordan over – like watching the same car crash replayed again and again in slow motion. But convincing him not to climb behind the wheel again was clearly a lost cause.

  The others headed home, and Mum and I walked down the street to Cusumano’s. We took a shortcut through the park, past families standing around barbecues, teenagers skateboarding and rollerblading, kids feeding ducks or getting pushed on the swings by their parents.

  Normal people doing normal stuff.

  After everything that had happened in the last week and a bit, it was weird to think that most people saw Phoenix as just a perfect little town.

  I mean, sure, that scary homeless man would’ve given a few of them a fright, but that was taken care of now, and they could all go back to walking their dogs and planting their vegetable gardens.

  Even Mum was still positive about the move to Phoenix. ‘I feel like things are starting to settle down for us now, don’t you?’ she said as we reached the café and found a table overlooking the playground.

  I stared at her. ‘Mum, I just got hospitalised by a psychotic hobo. How is that settling down?’

  She bit her lip. ‘Okay, point taken,’ she said, picking up a menu from the centre of the table. ‘And I can hardly imagine how scary it must have been for you, being attacked out of nowhere like that by someone you’ve never even met.’

  ‘But…?’

  ‘But,’ she continued, ‘that was just a freak accident. One in a million. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  ‘Didn’t feel very accidental when he was beating the crap out of me,’ I said.

  A waitress, only a year or so older than me, appeared at our table. I thought maybe I recognised her from school. Her eyes went wide for a second at the sight of my bruised face, but she quickly covered up her shock and asked if we were ready to order.

  ‘The point I’m trying to make,’ said Mum, after the waitress had disappeared into the kitchen again, ‘is that apart from that one incident, our move to Phoenix seems to be working out for the best.’

  ‘What about the phones?’ I said sceptically. ‘I haven’t talked to Dad since we left. For all he knows, our chopper disappeared into a black hole on the way here.’

  ‘Luke, if your father can’t –’ she paused midstream to rephrase what she’d been about to say. She’d been doing that a lot ever since Dad stopped being Dad and started being your father. ‘Look, I know you miss him, but I’m sure he understands that these things happen from time to time. It’s just the nature of living in a small town.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ Mum said. ‘First thing on Monday, I’ll get in touch with Mr Ketterley and pin down a date for your first flight back to Sydney.’

  Yeah, good luck with that. ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  The food arrived a few minutes later, and it turned out to be pretty good. Better than most of the junk I’d been eating lately, anyway.

  We talked about school and work and what Mum wanted to do with the backyard if she
ever had time. I told her that I was going bike-riding with Peter and Jordan tomorrow, and she said how great it was that I was making friends already.

  But by the time we’d finished eating, the conversation had circled back around to Mum trying to reassure me – and probably herself as well – that moving to Phoenix had been the right choice.

  ‘I know it’s been a rocky start, Luke, but we’re getting there. You can see that, right? I’m finally getting my head around this new job, you’ve got your new friends at school…’

  She took my hand and held it between both of hers. ‘This town is a good place,’ she smiled. ‘Better for us than the big city. We just need to give ourselves enough time to find our feet. There’s something different about Phoenix. The people in charge here – I get the feeling they really believe in something, don’t you?’

  I didn’t answer.

  I looked back out at the park, where a couple of security guys were coming around to enforce the curfew, which, I realised with a nasty jolt, hadn’t been lifted even after Crazy Bill’s capture. Armed men moving in to protect the secrets of Calvin and his friends.

  Whatever it was that these people believed in, I could think of about seven billion others who might see things differently.

  Chapter 21

  SATURDAY, MAY 16

  89 DAYS

  Jordan arrived at my place at 11.30 the next morning, carrying her schoolbag over her shoulder. She opened it up on the coffee table, dumping out a bike pump, a pocket knife, a water bottle, a box of matches, a coil of rope, a notepad and pen, the bike track map from yesterday, some sandwiches, and a torch.

  ‘You really think we’re going to need all that?’ I asked, popping some more painkillers into my mouth as she piled everything back into the bag.

  ‘Doubt it,’ she shrugged, closing the bag again. ‘But we might need some of it.’

  Peter showed up about forty-five minutes later, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed.

  In another surprising display of motherly kindness (maybe she really was starting to make an effort), Mum offered to make lunch for us before we left.

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Hunter,’ said Peter. ‘That would be –’ ‘We really should be going,’ said Jordan pointedly. ‘Thank you, though.’

  Peter sighed.

  ‘Oh, stop whingeing,’ Jordan muttered as we walked our bikes out into the street. ‘There’s food in my bag if you’re hungry. Have you got the map?’

  ‘Right here,’ said Peter, patting the back pocket of his jeans and putting on his best non-whingeing face.

  It only took us about a minute to ride out to the edge of town. At the end of my street were about ten different bike paths and walking trails leading off into the bush. They branched off from a wooden information stand with safety advice and litter warnings and a blown-up version of the map Jordan had been using yesterday. There were other people gathered around the map, figuring out which path they wanted to take.

  ‘See, this is what people are reduced to when there’s no TV,’ Peter explained.

  Jordan studied the big map for a minute, then pointed at one of the dirt tracks and said, ‘That one. Let’s go.’

  The track turned out to be a lot rougher and bumpier than the one out to the airport, and a couple of times I almost stacked my bike over a rock or a fallen tree branch. Even so, I had to admit that it was peaceful out here, riding along and watching the scenery go by. Or at least it would’ve been for someone with normal-sized problems to worry about.

  ‘How do we know when it’s time to turn off?’ I asked.

  ‘There should be a rock formation coming up on the left,’ said Jordan, looking up the road. ‘Like a great big boulder with another couple of – look, there it is!’

  We stopped at Jordan’s pile of rocks and waited a few minutes until we were sure no-one else was coming past. A few other cyclists zoomed past us – full-on bike freaks with streamlined helmets, riding goggles, and skin-tight body suits that left way too little to the imagination.

  We must have looked kind of suspicious waiting there by the side of the path because one of them pulled to a stop next to us. He took off his helmet, revealing a familiar orange comb-over.

  ‘Mr Hanger?’ said Jordan, raising an eyebrow.

  Mr Hanger shot us all a dangerous look. ‘What are you three doing out here?’ he demanded.

  Some teachers just never know when to stop being teachers.

  ‘We’re riding our bikes, sir,’ said Peter. ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘Peter, I don’t appreciate –’ ‘Sir, it’s Saturday,’ Peter said. ‘You’re supposed to be off-duty. Give us a break, will you?’

  Mr Hanger snarled. He looked like he was dying to find some way to ruin our day, but I guess he realised there wasn’t much he could do to us on the weekend, so he just gritted his teeth and ordered us to stay out of trouble.

  ‘You should go home and read my new essay, sir,’ said Peter as Mr Hanger prepared to leave. ‘It’s a real page-turner.’

  ‘I’ll thank you not to tell me how to spend my weekend,’ barked Mr Hanger, putting his helmet back on. ‘For your information, those papers have already been marked – even those that had to be resubmitted.’

  ‘Pretty good stuff, huh sir?’ said Peter.

  ‘Yes, much better,’ grumbled Mr Hanger, swinging a leg up over his bike and pushing off down the path again.

  ‘Idiot,’ Peter muttered.

  We waited until he was fifty metres down the road, and then we slipped away into the trees.

  Unfortunately, cutting across through the bush to the main road was not as easy as we expected. It would’ve been fine if it was just us on foot, but try dragging three bikes through a hundred metres of rocks and branches and fallen trees.

  ‘You know what?’ said Peter as we finally scrambled out by the side of the main road. ‘I’m suddenly feeling a whole lot better about this trip.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ I asked him.

  ‘I just survived seeing Mr Ranga in spandex,’ he said. ‘Whatever Crazy Bill wants to show us out here, there’s no way it’s gonna be scarier than –’

  ‘Truck!’ said Jordan. ‘Quick, get down.’

  We crouched behind a bush at the edge of the road as the truck sped past, carrying supplies into town.

  ‘Should be okay for a while now,’ said Peter as we stood up again. ‘There’s usually only a couple of trucks a day, tops.’

  After almost two weeks of getting around on Phoenix’s narrow grey bike paths, it was weird being back on a proper road again. We stuck close to the edge as we rode along, ready to dive back into the bushes if we needed to.

  At first, I was constantly craning my neck around, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. But after an hour or more of riding along and seeing nothing but trees, rocks and an endless dusty road, I was sweaty and bored and wondering if we were wasting our time.

  Then I started to notice something weird about the road. ‘Do you get the feeling we’re riding in circles?’ I asked after a long silence.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Peter. ‘One of those long, straight circles.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ I said. ‘I don’t think this road is running straight out away from the town. I think it’s curving off to the right a bit.’

  ‘So?’ said Peter.

  ‘So, I don’t know yet,’ I murmured. ‘Weird though.’

  The conversation dropped off again for a while. A couple of times, I thought I heard the sound of other voices coming from off to our right somewhere, but I figured I was just imagining things. Then a bit further up the road, I was distracted by something glinting in the distance, breaking the monotony of the trees.

  ‘Look.’ Peter pointed, noticing it too.

  A big metal sign had been put up on the side of the road. We crossed over for a closer look.

  ‘Roadwork in progress,’ said Peter, reading aloud. ‘Authorised vehicles only. No cyclists beyond this point.For more information, call – are they ki
dding? How are we going to call?’

  ‘Can’t see anything up there,’ said Jordan, squinting against the sun.

  ‘Could be further up the road,’ Peter suggested.

  ‘Could be nowhere at all,’ I said uneasily. ‘Could be just a convenient way of keeping people away.’

  ‘Well, they’re going to have to do better than that,’ said Jordan, riding on again.

  We continued up the road for another hour or so, through more of the same dense bushland. My whole body ached. I was starting to think that this might not have been exactly what Dr Montag meant by taking it easy over the weekend. Even though we were riding down a narrow road with eucalyptus trees towering on both sides, the sun still somehow managed to beat its way down to us, and we rode slower and slower as the exhaustion started to kick in.

  We took a quick break for lunch, for which Jordan rationed us out one sandwich each, and then we pushed on again. I started to think I’d been right about the roadwork. That warning sign had turned out to be the last evidence of any human activity along the road for ages.

  ‘It’s three-thirty,’ said Peter after a while. ‘It’ll take us longer to ride back than it did to get here. We should probably think about –’

  ‘No,’ Jordan called back over her shoulder. ‘We can’t go back now. We haven’t found anything yet.’

  ‘We’ve been riding for over three hours,’ said Peter. ‘What if there’s nothing to find? Is it really worth getting caught breaking curfew?’

  ‘Crazy Bill wouldn’t have just sent us out here for no reason,’ she insisted.

  ‘Wouldn’t he?’ said Peter. ‘I mean, how do we know that? Who knows what’s going on in that guy’s head?’

  ‘Let’s give it another half an hour,’ I suggested. ‘At four o’clock, if we still haven’t found anything, we can –’

  ‘Whoa, hold on,’ said Jordan, suddenly skidding to a halt. She leapt from her bike and wheeled it off the road, into a little ditch at the edge of the trees.

  Peter and I both froze.

  ‘Quick!’ said Jordan, frantically waving us down into the ditch with her.