by Steph Matuku
Wood smoke. People.
She sat up, suddenly conscious of being very wet – and she really needed to pee. Miraculously, apart from a sore hip, she had escaped unharmed. She slid off the ledge and onto the rocky scree below.
The scent of smoke was coming from downriver. Just as well, as the route upriver was blocked by a cliff face jutting into the water, powerful eddies swirling at its base. She stumbled over the rocks on wobbly legs, her wet jeans soon beginning to chafe her inner thighs. She peeled them off and tied them around her waist. It was a relief to come across a scraggly clump of bushes. Even with no one in sight, she would have felt weird peeing in the open.
A movement caught her eye – a grey backpack bobbing in a little rockpool. She edged down to it, arms outstretched for balance as her wet sneakers skidded on river stones worn smooth by the current. It was only after she’d snagged it that she realised it was Mandy’s. Somehow this didn’t surprise her at all.
With the backpack slung over her shoulder, she kept close to the water’s edge in case something else had washed up, but there was nothing.
A wide stream brought her to a halt. On the other side, a little peninsula protruded from the cliff with a mound of driftwood as high as her head.
Eva sank to the ground. She clutched Mandy’s backpack to her chest, her mind blank with indecision.
And then a familiar figure edged around the pile of driftwood. Eva’s pulse hammered hard against her temple as Mandy waved at her. ‘Eva! Eva!’
Except it wasn’t Mandy. It couldn’t be. Mandy was gone.
Eva’s eyelids fluttered and closed as she pitched forward in a dead faint.
5
For Theo Brannigan, falling off a cliff was as easy as closing his eyes.
Typically, he’d been head down in another gory murder mystery, fairly certain he’d picked who the serial killer was, torn, as always, between self-congratulation and annoyance that he knew how it was going to end. Then he’d got a face full of Mrs Harlow’s boob, the
bus had given a tremendous lurch and he’d woken up … here.
He was on a ledge, perhaps a metre wide, covered with scrub and dense spiky flax, his feet dangling over the riverbank. His head hurt. He reached up, and his trembling fingers came away red and wet. He sat up, confused, taking in his surroundings.
Behind, a cliff rose almost vertically, up and up to the peaceful blue sky. To his right, a wall of rock. To his left, the ledge opened out onto a loose clay slope dotted with bushes and flax. It was scarred by sweeping skid marks and littered with bits of bus, bags, luggage and crumpled piles of clothes. The bank at the bottom of the slope had collapsed, the crumbling brown clay turning the river cloudy.
Solving this mystery was easy. Everyone had joked that the old bus was only held together by rust and hope, and from the looks of it, the front had pretty much disintegrated. The back end was nowhere
to be seen.
Still dizzy, Theo crawled off the ledge towards the wreckage, grabbing at the tough flax leaves for balance on the steep slope. And then his fingers wrapped around something soft. He instinctively flung it down, and wiped his hand convulsively on his thigh.
It was an arm. A floppy, freckled, female arm, torn off from the shoulder, bloody tendons and sinew dangling like wet strings. As Theo vomited into the flax, he decided that blood and gore weren’t really his thing after all.
6
Devin plunged into the stream and swam over to the narrow beach on the other side.
She hesitated for a moment before touching Eva’s shoulder.
‘Eva?’
Eva’s eyes opened and she whimpered. Devin untied her jeans from her waist and dropped them onto the backpack, then helped Eva to her feet. She led her into the water and, struggling to remember those compulsory lifesaving lessons at school, swam her over to the other side. They negotiated the driftwood pile, and Devin guided her over to the fire. Eva slumped in front of it, apathetically lifting her arms as Devin stripped off her wet shirt.
The flames were barely discernible in the sunlight. Devin had built the fire against the rocky cliff face, which was dotted with scraggly flax plants. The rocks radiated an intense, shimmering heat that was helping to dry the remains of Rocky’s skinny joint and their assortment of clothes slung over a makeshift driftwood clothesline.
Devin sat with her back against a smooth grey log, pale and ill at ease in her baggy, ladybird-patterned undies and grimy beige bra, her arms covering as much of her body as possible. Rocky sprawled unselfconsciously in tight boxer shorts, the ragged blue bandage wrapped around his lower leg. Eva’s arms were wrapped around her knees, a blank-eyed fashion model in a black-and-white
polka-dot bikini.
‘We should complain to the bus company,’ Devin finally blurted. She immediately whipped a hand up to cover her mouth. Her voice had sounded much louder than she’d intended. And what a dumb thing to say, with people hurt and dead and everything! ‘Sorry. I just … I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry.’
Eva didn’t even look up, but Rocky had a tiny smile on his lips.
‘It’s all good,’ he said. ‘Got to deal with it any way you can. Jokes are a coping mechanism, you know? You’re in shock. We’re all in shock. Look at Eva. She’s in la-la land.’ He raised his voice, clicked his fingers. ‘Yo. Evs. Come in, Evs.’
Eva didn’t answer.
‘She had a backpack,’ Devin said. ‘I’ll go get it. Could you …?’
She indicated Eva morosely staring at the flames.
‘I’ll watch her,’ Rocky said. ‘Make sure she doesn’t commit suttee.’ At Devin’s blank expression he added, ‘You know, widows throwing themselves on their husband’s funeral pyre.’
Devin felt stupid. It was a feeling that came and went quite frequently, especially in the classroom. Suttee? Was that French? Awkwardly, she got to her feet and backed off behind the pile of driftwood, not wanting Rocky to see the saggy wet bum of her undies drooping down.
Rocky eyed Eva. A sparkling drop of water fell from her spiky black hair and traced its way down her thin back, green and blue veins clearly visible under translucent pale skin.
‘Everything will be fine, Evs, you’ll see,’ he said, trying to inject a light, hearty tone into his voice. He sounded a bit like his Uncle Timoti, who was something high up in the Anglican Church and did all the family weddings and funerals in the same fake jovial manner. Rocky lapsed into silence. Who was he trying to convince? Her or himself? He glanced down at his leg again, looked away. He didn’t want to think about it.
A few minutes later Devin returned, self-consciously holding the backpack in front of her near-naked body. In lieu of a towel, she used her hands to wipe the wet off her body, scattering silver drops. She squinted at the nametag swinging off the shoulder strap and read out the name: ‘Mandy Woods’.
Eva stiffened. A harsh cry broke from her and then she was scrambling, crablike, over the loose gravel. She snatched at the backpack, leaving deep scratches across Devin’s wrist. Devin was so startled she fell backwards, landing hard on her bum. Rocky reflexively jerked to move out of the way and roared with pain.
Eva scuttled away, clutching the backpack to her chest. ‘Don’t touch it! It’s not yours!’
‘Evs.’ Rocky’s voice was firm and steady, although his teeth were gritted and a red bloom now darkened his bandage. ‘We have to open it. There might be a phone or food or something.’
‘No! It’s Mandy’s. She might come back for it.’
Eva bit her lip hard, and let out a guttural moan. She slammed her fist against her forehead, again and again.
Rocky threw Devin a panicked look. Devin blinked, realising that Rocky wanted her, needed her, to intervene. Forcing herself not to rub her bruised bum in front of two of the most popular kids in school, she went over to Eva and placed her hands gently but firmly on her arms, keeping her still.
‘She can have it when she gets here, but we need it now. Okay?’
Eva
resisted for a moment and then all at once released the backpack and buried her face in her hands. ‘She won’t come back. She won’t. She’s gone.’ Her shoulders heaved.
Devin hesitated, then reached out and patted her shoulder.
‘Oi!’ Rocky hissed. ‘Get a move on!’
Devin jerked her hand back as if she’d been burned. She backed away, holding the backpack tightly in case Eva changed her mind, unzipped it and tipped the contents onto the gravel. It was a proper waterproof camping daypack, and apart from Eva’s wet jeans, which Devin had stuffed inside, everything was dry.
‘Muesli bar! Yay. Notebook, pen ... and … phone.’ It was a girly phone, pink with glittery diamantes stuck all over it, and the screen was blank.
‘Chuck it over.’ Rocky held out his hand.
Not trusting her aim, Devin handed it to him instead.
Rocky inspected it closely. He shook it, pressed buttons, and finally began pulling it apart.
‘Wallet, cosmetic bag with …’ Devin unzipped a colourful plastic-coated bag and peered inside, ‘... painkillers, plasters, antiseptic cream, nail scissors, nail file, sewing kit …’ She saw a box of tampons and cleared her throat, ‘... girl things.’
Rocky clicked the phone back together. He vigorously slapped it on his palm, checked it again. ‘Still dead. Needs a charger. Damn,’ he muttered.
Devin continued her inspection. ‘Plastic bag with … a cardy.’
She shook out the crimson wool cardigan and smiled. Underneath was a shiny red apple. She held it up triumphantly.
Rocky snorted. ‘Is that it? No pie or anything?’
‘Sorry.’ She unzipped a tiny pocket. ‘A bracelet. Pretty.’
Eva’s head shot up. ‘Give it!’
Devin, mindful of her scratched wrist, handed it over at once.
Eva loved Mandy’s charm bracelet. It wasn’t one of those tacky ones strung with charms that were found in the front windows of every cheap jewellery store in the country; it was a gorgeous, old-fashioned bracelet made of heavy silver links, with a heart-shaped clasp and little charms swinging cheerily.
She’d never seen Mandy without her bracelet. Wearing jewellery was against school rules, so she carried it with her, in her bag, her pocket, her pencil case. It was like a diary, Mandy had said, and the charms were like bookmarks, reminding her of special chapters
in her life.
Eva had saved for ages to get Mandy the four-leaf clover with a little diamond winking like a tiny dewdrop, for her sixteenth birthday. And next to it was a charm she’d never seen before. A silver pair of angel’s wings, each feather arranged like a fan.
Eva held it tight, brushed it against her lips. It was a sign. She knew it. Mandy was watching over her.
7
The blood oozing from Theo’s scalp dripped down his face and into his eyes. He gingerly explored the mushy spot on his head, encountering a loose flap of skin the size of his palm. He lifted it, and let out a squeak of pain so high-pitched that he inadvertently giggled, amused at how much he sounded like a panicked mouse.
His vision was blurred, partly because he’d lost his glasses and blood had congealed in his eyelashes, but also because he’d lost so much blood that he was woozy and lightheaded. So it took him a few moments to realise someone else was there on the slope, a girl crouched next to another girl sprawled in the dirt. He squinted, and eventually could see that the girl lying down was too twisted and broken to be anything but dead. There were other bodies too. He’d mistaken them for crumpled bundles of clothing.
His mouth was too dry to yell out, so he raised a trembling hand to attract the crouching girl’s attention – he couldn’t quite remember her name – when he realised what she was doing. He stopped, hand in midair, mouth wide. She was going through the dead girl’s pockets.
She suddenly turned and looked in his direction. Theo ducked back behind a clump of flax, the tall seed heads concealing him from view. The girl turned back to the broken body in the dirt, slid something off its arm – a bracelet perhaps, or a watch – and pulled it over her own, holding her wrist up to the sunlight to admire the effect.
Theo watched, stunned, as she leisurely stood up and went over to another body and felt in the jacket pockets. He sank back into the flax feeling sick and dizzy, and when he tried to get up again, found that he couldn’t.
Nobody had ever accused Idelle Watkinson of being sensitive to the needs of others. She had long believed that the world existed purely for her, with her friendships and home life just part of a script that provided background drama for her own starring role. The only thing that mattered to Idelle was Idelle.
Chantelle dying had fascinated her. The way the eyes had glazed over as the living spark within faded, the way the breath had faltered and then stopped, easily and sweetly. It wasn’t at all how Idelle had imagined dying would be. Part of her wished she could watch Chanti do it over again.
As she slid the bangle off Chantelle’s arm (she’d always liked it, and she was sure Chanti wouldn’t mind her having it), she sensed someone behind her. She turned, but there was no one there.
For a long moment, Idelle contemplated the tall flower heads of flax swaying gently in the breeze, and then turned her attention to the other bodies. When she was done with them she’d go through the bags.
She smiled.
It was almost like shopping.
8
The white light of the full moon barely penetrated the thick canopy. In the thick of the bush it was so dark it was like being blind.
Liam and Jahmin lay back to back in a dry hollow under the trees about twenty metres from the river. A soft carpet of leaves helped to insulate them, but the night air was still cool. Their heavy outer clothes were draped optimistically over bushes to dry. Liam could feel Jahmin shivering. He was clad only in a damp cotton singlet and a pair of boxer shorts. Liam was luckier. He had on a light woollen singlet, and even though it was damp it provided some protection from the cold.
‘You saved my life, bro,’ Jahmin said. His teeth were chattering. ‘I dunno what to say, but thanks.’
‘Don’t thank me yet. We’ll probably die of exposure.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s gotta be better than drowning.’
Eugene’s face swam into Liam’s mind. He squeezed his eyes tight. Multi-coloured stars burst behind his eyelids, wiping Eugene away.
‘Who was in there?’
‘What?’ Liam said, although he’d heard what Jahmin had said. He was just stalling.
‘Who was it, in there?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Liam said. His voice sounded like it was bubbling through water, swallowed up by the river. ‘I think it was Eugene.’
‘Oh.’
‘I couldn’t reach him.’
‘Nah, of course. Don’t feel bad. You did what you could.’
‘Maybe I could have done more.’ Liam took a deep breath. ‘Maybe if it was someone else, I could’ve tried harder.’
Jahmin yawned. ‘Maybe. But you can’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.’
Liam didn’t reply. He levered himself upright, accidentally elbowing Jahmin in the hip. ‘What was that?’
‘Ow! What was what?’
‘Like … rustling.’
‘It’s me. Shivering. I’m freezing.’
‘No, out there.’
‘I didn’t hear anything.’
Liam cocked his head to one side, listening intently. He knew there was nothing to worry about – no snakes, no bears, no leopards, no scorpions. He’d been deer hunting with his father a few times and had kipped down in the ferns more than once with no worries at all. The worst he’d ever seen was a whitetail spider, and that had been easily dispatched with one stomp of his tramping boot.
He lay back down. ‘Never mind, probably just a possum.’
Jahmin’s voice sounded worried. ‘Possums don’t attack people, do they?’
‘Are you kidding me?’
Jahmin was a city kid th
rough and through, and Liam had heard all about Jahmin’s single big adventure in the wild. He’d crashed out in a bus shelter after a late-night art gallery opening, and someone had tucked a five-dollar note into his hand, thinking he was homeless. Liam had seen it, framed, on Jahmin’s bedside table, living proof he was hard as.
Jahmin laughed. ‘Yeah … nah. I dunno.’
‘I guarantee you’ll be safe. Can’t say the same for the bush, though. Dad reckons they’re destroying our forests.’
‘As long as they’re not destroying me.’
Liam burrowed into the leaves. Jahmin finally stopped shivering and his breathing slowed and deepened.
Liam sat bolt upright. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t hear that.’
Jahmin groaned. ‘No.’
‘There’s something out there, man, I’m telling you. Maybe it’s a pig? Wild pig.’
‘They don’t attack people, do they?’
Liam hesitated ‘Nah. No way.’
‘Then I don’t care. Night, bro.’
There was silence and then a tiny snore. Exhaustion had won and Jahmin was asleep. Liam lay rigid, his eyes wide, straining to hear the crack of dry branches underfoot.
He shivered, squeezed his eyes tight shut, and concentrated on listening to his heartbeat. Soon he too fell asleep.
9
Devin woke first, her muscles aching from all the unaccustomed exercise in the river the day before and a night spent lying on the cold, hard ground. Eva was still curled up like a cat, Mandy’s pink cardy balled up under her head. Rocky was half lying, half sitting, against the same smooth boulder, snoring gently, jeans bunched behind his head, his clothes draped over him. Devin could see his bandage, stiff with blood. The skin around it was a dark purple.
