The Children Of The Mist

by Jenny Brigalow

  Morven tilted her head. Swiftly, she filtered through the night-time noise. Traffic, talk, music, wind in the trees, the soft swish of the river, clatter of feet, clink of glasses. In the distance a ferry hooted mournfully and a helicopter’s blades whirred. Nothing out of the ordinary. And then, something else. Something that did not belong. What was it? An odd buzz. Almost metallic. Then a click, like a giant grasshopper. And then she had it — a radio. A two-way.

  She glanced at Zest who lifted a finger to his lips in warning. Silently he stood, his right hand slipping his urami free. He looked at Zach and pointed to the floor. ‘Go.’ he lip-synced.

  Zach didn’t argue. With surprising agility he leant down, peeled the edge of the lino back off the floor and lifted up a small trapdoor. Seconds later, lithe as an eel, he disappeared. Dog followed. Zest pointed at Morven and then at the trapdoor. Morven shook her head. Zest glared. Morven glared back.

  A loud crackle, quickly smothered, filtered through the closed door. Morven pointed to Zest and then at the trapdoor. Zest glared. Morven glared back.

  Then Zest grinned, his handsome face alight with glee. ‘On the count of three,’ he mouthed silently.

  Morven nodded.

  ‘One, two, three!’ Zest lifted a leg and kicked the door open. There was a loud grunt and a thud. Zest jumped through the opening and bounced off the prone body. Morven was right behind. For good measure, she paused and clouted the man around the head with the butt of her pistol. As she stood she became aware of two things. The first was that three men, dressed in black, were pounding down the road toward them. Hands thrust into deep pockets. The second was that the skate park and her parents were barely half a kilometre across the park. A white hot rage filled her. She took a deep breath and turned to face them. Zest came and stood by her side. For one brief moment the tips of his fingers touched hers. And then, as if by silent consent, they both took off. Fast and furious.

  As they raced headlong toward their prey, the three men slowed. Looked at each other. And stopped. Hands came out of pockets. Somewhere someone screamed. Before the men could draw their guns, Morven was among them. She could have killed — but she didn’t. She was not an animal. A lesson needed to be taught and dead men didn’t learn much. As she disarmed one man, she heard the soft sigh of Zest’s urami and another went down, eyes glazed with pain. Together they rounded on the remaining man.

  ‘Oh…shit,’ he said. His eyes flickered side to side, and then glanced up toward the tree line of the parkland.

  It was as Morven had feared. There were more of them. In the park. With one fluid motion she reached out and pinched the man’s shoulder blade. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed like a deflated tyre.

  ‘Oh, that’s sick!’ said Zest. ‘You gotta teach me that one.’

  Morven looked at her watch and her stomach curled over like a wave. Ten minutes. Maybe her parents were in the park already. ‘Zest, there’s more of them. In the park.’

  Immediately he seemed to grasp the point. Without a word, he set off back the way they came. It was eerily silent. The few pedestrians that remained seemed frozen with shock and just watched them pass in wide-eyed fear. But Morven knew the moment they were out of sight, those phones would be working overtime. The police would soon arrive.

  Such was her terror, Morven couldn’t wait for Zest. She flew across the park toward the skate park, her heart in her mouth. She wasn’t sure what would be worse: her mum and dad to be there, or not to be there. Either way seemed fraught with danger. On the edge of the skate ring she paused in the canopy of a huge fig tree and looked around. Everything seemed to be in order. Skaters skating, walkers walking and joggers jogging. And there they were. Relief washed over her like hot fudge sauce over an ice-cream sundae. They were alone, sitting on a bench. Just waiting.

  She climbed carefully down and looked around once more. A movement caught her eye. Zest, in the kids’ playground on top of the pirate ship. She could feel his gaze upon her. But he made no move. Reassured that all was well, she jumped down and ran over to her parents.

  At the sight of her they jumped up. Her mother hugged her close. ‘Oh God, Morven, are you alright?’

  ‘I’m fine, Mum,’ she said. She peered over her mother’s shoulder at her father who looked on anxiously. ‘I’m really fine, Dad.’

  Her father patted her on the shoulder. ‘Shelley, let her go love.’

  Morven was released. Her mother opened her handbag and pulled out an envelope. ‘There’s a visa for you here. It will enable you to travel as part of a crew. I’ve organised for you to take a flight tonight at ten o’clock from the army base. The address is in there. A man called Andrew Goldsmith will help you. The flight should take you to Edinburgh. From there…you’re on your own.’

  Morven took the envelope and stowed it in her backpack. There was so much she wanted to say but everything seemed to be bottlednecked in her brain. Toward the river she could hear the careful tread of booted feet; she could smell adrenaline, and taste the acid of vengeance on her tongue. They were coming. Sirens screamed across the city. She hugged her mum and her dad. ‘Please…just go.’

  Her mother began to cry, but did not resist as her husband took her arm and led her away. Morven felt bereft. But Zest’s abrupt appearance at her side gave her no time to dwell on the magnitude of her loss.

  ‘They’re here,’ he said.

  She was not scared. More…impatient. Why couldn’t they just leave them alone? She glanced to the west. Her parents were nearly at the gate, not running, but walking fast. She looked at Zest. ‘We gotta buy them a bit more time.’

  Zest nodded. ‘Let’s go play.’

  Like wraiths they melted into the night. Only metres away they spotted three more men. Three again, thought Morven; bad mojo. Ought to kill one just to bring back the balance. Zest picked up a stone and threw it with deadly accuracy at the nearest man. It hit him square on the nose. There was a soft whine, and something pinged off a tree on Morven’s right. Morven and Zest took off toward the river, crashing and banging through the Japanese garden. The three men closed in behind.

  Morven felt a bullet burn across her left ankle, but she took no notice. Just slowed a little to let the posse keep up.

  Zest dropped back beside her. ‘Jeez, they’re slow,’ he said.

  She looked back at them as they stormed down the steep grassy embankment to the river walk. Another bullet whizzed over her head. ‘Pretty pathetic,’ she agreed.

  For two more kilometres Morven and Zest drew the foot soldiers down the path, until they had left civilisation behind. The river flowed dank and dark, lapping sullenly against the crumbling bank. In the quiet Morven could clearly hear the rapid breathing of their pursuers. Finally, she and Zest slowed down and stopped beside a large warehouse. And waited.

  The men slowed, weapons drawn. They said not a word but concentrated on breathing. But their recovery was quick. One lifted his radio, glanced around and opened his mouth.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?’ said Zest loudly.

  Their quarry seemed unfazed. ‘Put your weapons down! Hands up where I can see them.’ barked another. ‘Or I’ll shoot.’

  Morven laughed. A thin cold sound. She strutted up the path toward them. ‘Go on. Make my day.’

  A shot rang out. The bullet sang through the air and buried itself in Morven’s shoulder. Morven stopped and peered down at the damage. ‘Look at that. You ruined my shirt. You shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Not very gentlemanly,’ Zest added conversationally.

  Another shot. Morven slid slightly to her left and plucked the hot metal nugget out of the air. ‘Missed,’ she said.

  The soldiers’ demeanour suddenly shifted. One said a very rude word. The other repeated it. Twice.

  Morven took a step closer. ‘I think it’s time you kiddies went home, don’t you?’ But then she realised she’d lost her audience. Their terrified faces were riveted on Zest.

  As the clouds s
lid further apart, the moon spread her silvery beams around them. Zest lifted his head and let out a long, lingering howl of happiness. The posse turned tail and headed for home.

  Chapter 32

  Morven was glad to see them go. She turned to Zest who reared above her. His eyes were fixated on the foot soldiers as they disappeared into the darkness. He was perfectly still. Morven could feel the pent-up frustration pounding through his veins. He made a small whining sound in the back of his throat.

  Morven looked at him sternly. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  With a yip of what might have been apology, Zest took off in hot pursuit.

  ‘Zest!’ Morven yelled. ‘Shit.’ She called again, louder, to no avail. With no other choice she launched herself into the moonlit sky. When she caught up with him he was going to be in big trouble. Dog was better behaved.

  It took longer to catch up than she had anticipated. In his pure form Zest was fast. Really fast. Morven was just beginning to panic when she finally spotted him in a small Zen garden. There was already one body crumpled on the ground. He had another man firmly in his grasp, while the third cowered behind a large statue of Buddha.

  ‘Zest!’ said Morven. ‘Put him down! I said drop it.’

  Zest turned, eyes blazing, and snarled.

  Morven was not impressed. ‘Put him down or…I’ll tell my mother.’

  Zest growled and shook the man like an old scarecrow. And then dropped him.

  ‘Zest, we gotta go.’

  Zest leant over the quivering man and a deep menacing rumble issued from his chest. Then he lifted one big claw and poked the man in the right eye.

  Morven turned away to hide a smile. Really, that was so mean.

  Zest stood up to his full height and howled. He turned to Morven and let out a deep bark.

  She sniffed. ‘I should bloody well think so. Honestly, Dog’s so much better behaved than you are.’

  Zest’s huge jaws opened and Morven got a fine glimpse of a set of pearlies a shark would be proud of. His lips lifted to reveal a set of pink gums. Without a doubt, it was a smile.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’re amused,’ said Morven, ‘but I’ve run out of time.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got less than an hour.’

  Without waiting for a response, Morven set off at a sprint. She had to admit she was relieved when Zest came bounding up behind her. She did not stop until the park was far behind them. Beneath the cover of the railway bridge she stopped and pulled out the envelope. Rapidly she scanned the note from her mother. A small pang of regret rippled through her at the sight of the familiar, flowing script. She looked up at Zest. ‘We’ve got to go to the army base. Shouldn’t take long.’

  She was right. It took 10 minutes. At the eastern entry of the base they paused and hid behind a large parked van. As they did, the light dimmed and the moon disappeared once more in a bank of cloud. She watched, utterly absorbed as Zest transformed. In less than a minute he was back. His clothes hung in tatters — he was barely decent. Anxious not to let him see her hot, red face she ducked under the truck. Thankfully it was dark down there.

  Zest wiggled in beside her. He felt very close.

  ‘How many guards?’

  Glad for the distraction, Morven peered down the street. ‘Four, I think.’

  Zest was silent for a moment. ‘How the hell are we gonna find this Goldsmith dude?’

  It was a good question. But then a noise made her jump, and her head cracked against the floor of the truck. Her phone sounded louder than a stampeding herd at the January sales. ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ she muttered as she tried to reach into her back pocket.

  ‘Allow me,’ said Zest.

  Before Morven could protest he’d extracted the phone. She took it, somewhat ungraciously, and peered at the number. No idea. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Morven?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s Goldsmith. Your mother just called me. Where are you?’

  ‘Just down the road from the main gates. City side. Under a big white truck.’

  ‘Stay there. I’m on my way. Green jeep.’

  The phone went dead. Morven looked at Zest. ‘That was Goldsmith. He’s on his way. Green jeep.’

  They didn’t have to wait long. A couple of minutes later the jeep came down toward them, slowing a few metres away.

  ‘Let’s go!’

  Zest rolled out, jumped up, raced after the vehicle, vaulted over the tailgate and ducked through the canvas canopy. Morven was just a heartbeat behind. The vehicle picked up speed, then slowed, turned and stopped. They must have pulled into the barrier. Morven and Zest lay flat, barely daring to breathe.

  They heard Goldsmith laughing and chatting easily to the guards. Someone slapped the bonnet and the vehicle slowly pulled away. Morven closed her eyes, weak with relief; utterly in tune, neither of them spoke a word. Morven lay still. If she concentrated really hard she could hear Zest’s heart pumping in his chest. It was slow. And strangely reassuring. The faint scent of aniseed hung in the air close around them. She smiled as she tried to imagine what Goldsmith would make of Zest and his strange attire.

  When a warm hand encased her own she instinctively squeezed it. And then a heavy weight seemed to settle on her chest, for the journey was nearly done. Soon it would be time to say goodbye.

  As if to spite her, the car came to an abrupt halt. Both Morven and Zest slid a little sideways, Zest pushed hard up against her.

  He put out one arm and pushed himself back. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  But he didn’t sound sorry. Not really. Morven looked up into his face. So familiar. So strong. ‘I’m not,’ she said.

  ‘Morven — ‘ he whispered.

  And then her eyes misted. Oh God. She closed them, not wanting him to see her pain. When she opened them he brought his golden head down to hers. Her hand, seemingly of its own accord, reached up and touched the back of his hair. And then — he kissed her.

  Morven hadn’t anything to compare to, but it seemed to her that Zest was a very proficient kisser. Not too wet and not too dry. Just right. And he tasted good, too. And felt good. In fact, it was all good. She was no expert but it seemed pretty much perfect.

  When he pulled away Morven’s eyes flickered open. Her mouth opened to protest. But Zest put a finger to his lips. To her right, the crunch of heavily-booted feet boomed through the night. Zest fell back toward the rear of the tray. ‘Go,’ he said.

  For a moment, Morven didn’t understand. But then she had it. This was it. Zest had come as far as he intended to go. Oh God. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe.

  ‘Morven, you must go. Please.’ His voice was husky, like he had a sore throat. ‘I’ll wait for you, every night, on the last train.’

  The canvas creaked and Morven turned, suddenly scared that Zest would be revealed. She rushed to the opening. The curtain tweaked aside and a man looked in. ‘Quickly,’ he said.

  Morven took a deep breath and slid out of the opening. She did not look back. She did not dare.

  Chapter 33

  The soldier did not waste time. Even as her feet hit the ground he was off. Morven shouldered her backpack and followed him into a huge hanger. Inside it was still and gloomy. A grey aeroplane sat before her. Blunt nosed with four propellers. Instinctively she knew that except for herself and the soldier, the cavernous building was empty. Not counting the aeroplanes.

  Goldsmith wasted no time or words but headed up the ramp of the grey plane, a lumpy, wide-bellied affair. Once inside he switched on a light to reveal a wide tunnel of metal lockers. The floor was constructed of steel rollers. Four red seats flanked the front end, but otherwise it was totally utilitarian. For the first time Morven had opportunity to check the soldier out. He was tall and solid. About 40 years old. For a moment, Morven felt a rush of hunger. This was a man in his prime, positively bursting with vitality. Best not to go there. His hair was black and regulation short. Deep-set brown eyes regarded her shrewdly. Old acne scars marred hi
s swarthy tanned skin. Not handsome, but arresting, with a strong jaw and a high bridged nose. Not a man to mess with.

  ‘Got your papers?’ he said.

  Morven nodded.

  ‘Good. Shouldn’t need them, but it pays to be prepared.’ He checked his watch. ‘Helmrich will be here in a moment. He knows you’re on board and can be trusted to keep his mouth shut. The flight’s straight through, with a refuel at Dubai. Should get to Scotland by O four hundred. When we get there I don’t expect to see you again. I’ll consider the debt paid in full.’

  Morven couldn’t help herself. ‘What debt?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  Morven said nothing but made a mental note to weasel it out of her mother. She shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘You’ll stay in the hold and keep out of the way. When we stop you’ll hide over there. And that’s how you’ll leave at our destination.’ He pointed toward the belly of the plane.

  Morven looked. A snort of disbelief blew out of her nostrils. He must be kidding. She looked at Goldsmith but there was not so much of a hint of humour in his face. She looked back at the two coffins that hunkered beneath a union jack, tightly secured by grey, flat straps. ‘You’re pulling my chain?’

  ‘No.’

  And suddenly it seemed freakin’ funny. Priceless. Morven tried to choke back the guffaw that surged up her throat, but failed. Miserably. Maybe it was displaced grief, maybe it was nerves. Whatever it was, it could not be denied. Morven let go and laughed long and hard. Finally, exhausted, she wiped the tears from her eyes, and managed a more dignified hiccuping instead. ‘Sorry,’ she said. Then she had a horrid thought. ‘I’m not going to be, like — sharing, am I?’

  Goldsmith’s lips twitched suspiciously, but he shook his head gravely. ‘One’s fair dinkum. The other’s not.’

  Morven sighed. In the end, what choice did she have? Footsteps clanged up the ramp. Morven turned and watched the new arrival. He was young, probably still in his teens. Despite the economy of his size, Helmrich moved with all the assurance of a jungle cat. The thin pale face and milky eyes looked ghostly in the flat, white light of the plane’s belly. He ignored Morven but saluted smartly to Goldsmith.