'Why aren't they attacking?'
Monty's answer had been less than forthcoming, 'Because I've made it so they can't see us,' he whispered. Then, when Dave queried further, the old man had held a finger to his lips and then hissed, 'They can still hear though.'
After that, there'd only been the relentless scrape, scrape, scrape as they'd trudged along; the soldier's corpse unable to escape the confines of the dome. Dave had done his best to not think about what had just happened to the inhabitants of the skyscrapers. Despite his best efforts though, snippets kept slipping in as he'd staggered along.
More deaths because of me... The guilt had weighed heavily and in the end Dave embraced his fatigue to escape it. He just focused on putting one foot in front of the other until Monty led them onto the deserted Citylink.
The steep entry ramp to the freeway – which had passed nearly unnoticed the three of four times Dave had driven up it – nearly killed Dave, but once they'd ascended there'd been good news. The last lingering shadows had opted to stay behind, finally giving them some breathing space.
Standing on top of the freeway, staring across as the entire CBD joined the rest of the city in flames, Dave had needed to remind himself that night had fallen. The glow from the fires had lit the surrounds like it was broad daylight. As he'd scanned the destruction, despite the stare it garnered from the soldier, he'd been unable to hold in a short bark of laughter. He remembered the fuss that had been made of the freeway's opening. How everything had been an issue. Staring across the wasteland of a city, the tolls and the rules and the delays in construction had all seemed hilariously unimportant.
All that wasted effort, for what? He'd thought and then laughed again; the only thing he could think of to stop his brain from exploding.
They'd trudged on, crossing the Bolte Bridge and hooking onto the freeway heading out of the city. The occasional shadow they crossed triggered panic – especially once Monty dropped the barrier an hour or so into the trip – but otherwise Dave simply watched his footprints form in the layer of ash and dust that coated the road, his growing exhaustion not at all helped by the oppressive heat of the surrounding fires. Especially once they were further out and the real infernos began.
Dave hadn't realised where Monty was leading them until they were right on the verge of Sussex Street. Even once they took the Moreland Rd exit it hadn't twigged. He'd been too busy staring around at the haphazard destruction that had befallen first Essendon then Brunswick West. Seeing some streets reduced to complete rubble while others stood untouched except for the film of grit from raining ash. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason. No discernable pattern to the destruction. To Dave, that made it all the creepier. Same as how the shadows leaving the survivors penned in the skyscrapers for so long did – especially when they'd just proven it wasn't because of the army's fortifications. It gave him the feeling that a mammoth plan beyond his comprehension was being acted out around him. One he could never hope to understand.
He'd been reeling by the time he figured out their destination was his flat. Monty's voice had been a weak rattle when Dave had asked why.
'What? Were you planning to walk all the way to Hent?'
That had shut Dave up quick smart. The realisation dawning that he hadn't even considered that far ahead. He hadn't pondered anything beyond the decision to take the kid and even then he'd been unable to make up his mind before Monty had taken the issue out of his hands. Dave had felt a trickle of something cold race down his spine as he'd thought about that. The pulsing command in his head, driving him forward...He'd deliberately dropped back a cautious few steps from the old man as they'd headed down Sussex Street.
If he can make me do that then...
Dave decided that thought wasn't worth finishing.
A part of him wanted to ask Monty exactly what he'd done to him but he was too tired to think of the right words. And deep down he wasn't certain that he even wanted to know the answer.
Instead, as the group headed down the driveway and stopped outside his flat, Dave did his best to ignore the enormity of the undertaking ahead.
It was easier said than done. As Monty waved a flickering hand in front of his door and effortlessly popped the lock, Dave felt it weigh on him like a crushing beast. There's just no way, he thought, squinting through the gloom to see the rental still in his car park, covered with the same layer of dust and ash as the driveway and flats. Travelling that far through country swarming with them. Even with a car it seemed impossible.
'Come on,' Monty rasped and Dave followed. He pretty much collapsed over the threshold but managed to catch himself on the beige wall of the hallway before he hit the matching beige carpet. He swayed after Monty as the soldier led the kid through and pulled the door shut behind them. For the first time Dave felt thankful his flat was akin to a postage stamp. A few steps and the short hall swelled out into an open plan lounge, kitchen and dining room area. Dave made a beeline straight for the couch, almost tripping over the coffee table lined with the bottles of booze he'd left sitting there when he'd evacuated.
He was too exhausted to even think about them now. Naomi's disapproving voice barely started up in his head before he wrote it off. He suspected one shot and he'd be out for the count anyway. He'd learnt long ago that drinking when tired was a recipe for disaster. Not that it seemed to bother the soldier. She knelt and placed the kid on the floor and then made a beeline for the bottles. She snatched a Smirnoff from the pack, nestled the bottle in the crook of her injured arm then spun the cap free and took a long, long swallow as she plonked down on the couch next to Dave.
For a long time the three of them held their positions, their harsh breathing the only opponent of the silence that gripped the flat. The kid on the floor stared off at nothing in particular. The soldier stared down into the depths of the vodka bottle whilst she smeared blood all over the couch's white fabric Dave stared at Monty, his brow creased in concern and confusion while he watched the flickering old man dart across to the window and run a finger around its edges. A glowing red line trailed in his finger's wake as though Monty was sealing the crack with thin neon tubes.
Once he'd completed the window, Monty quickly headed for the bedroom and bathrooms – presumably to repeat the process – while the rest of them remained, staring into space. To Dave, it felt like his entire lower body had gone numb. By the time Monty emerged once more and dashed down the hall to the front door, he doubted he'd be able to move even if a horde of shadows burst in.
Which proved to be a bit of an issue. Dave's breathing calmed and as it did, he quickly noticed that the smell wafting over from the soldier was appalling. The pungent BO from their long trek mixed with a horrible, sweet coppery smell. It emanated from her in waves, making Dave feel quite nauseous.
Yeah, 'cause I'm sure I smell like a bunch of roses, Dave thought but didn't dare attempt a whiff of his own armpits.
He briefly pondered a shuffle across but the scream from his muscles when he attempted to flex told him it would be a very bad idea. He decided tolerance was the best approach and set about breathing through his mouth. As shallowly as he could.
Monty returned, flickering so rapidly it hurt Dave's gritty eyes. The old man looked across the three of them for a moment and seemed disappointed by their shell shocked stares. Although a second later Dave realised it might be pain that twisted his features.
'Well, you should be safe for now,' Monty gasped and then stumbled and almost collapsed to the floor, catching himself at the last second. 'I've made it so they won't be so... interested in this place,' he added once he'd regained his equilibrium, his voice cracking into a coughing fit, mid-sentence. His only reply was the smacking of lips after the soldier took another long swallow from the bottle. 'I need to go now. I fear with what I've done I may have just given my real location away. Might as well have lit up a beacon, really. Those things'll be en route no doubt. I need to try and get us some back up. Hopefully I can return shortly. We'll see t
hough. Just need some more blood. Not this screened crap either. The transfer robs it of most of its zing. Fresh from the source is what I need. Though I fear I've tapped all there is to tap here on that front.'
Monty trailed off into another coughing fit.
'I'll be as quick as I can,' he added and then flickered out of existence leaving the three of them alone in Dave's apartment. All sitting in stunned silence as each mulled over the ordeal they'd just been through.
Me, the soldier and the kid. One big, happy family, Dave laced his thought with sarcasm though the scene wasn't too far from some of the imaginings he'd envisioned "down the track" between him and Naomi. Though of course in those daydreams Naomi did not bleed all over the couch like the soldier currently was. And the kid had always been their own child, not one that Dave had just stolen from its mother. In the daydreams Dave didn't have to think about why he'd snatched the kid every time he looked into its eyes.
Dave winced and closed his own eyes to break the hypnotic stare the kid had caught him in. Horrific scenes waited there though so he rapidly opened them again. He wanted to scream but even that seemed like too much effort. Instead he stared down at his hands and almost absently noted that they were trembling quite badly.
To take care of that he rubbed his eyes while the soldier took another long swallow of vodka.
For a good long time after, silence reigned.
Then the soldier quietly muttered, 'Shit.'
Then silence once again.
Long, drawn out silence that made it inevitable. After a few minutes passed Dave started to succumb to his fatigue. His eye lids started to droop...
…and he was back in the room again. The bluestone room. Holding the knife that Monty had handed him. Holding it pressed to the throat of the quivering boy while he gaped, open-mouthed, at the surrounding piles of bodies. The horror of all the little decayed corpses pressing in around him. Their bodies melting into each other, dripping relentless streams of decayed juice to the floor in a monotonous plip, plop rhythm.
Dave could feel the tears tracking down his cheeks as he took in all the little faces. Each one undercut by a gaping rent in their neck. He could feel the inevitability coursing through him. He knew that he was about to add to the pile of bodies even before he felt the hand grip his own and guide it, pushing the cold steel of the knife harder into the soft, yielding skin of the boy's throat.
The tears coursed harder, nearly obliterating Monty's grizzled face as it appeared, nodding slowly in front of Dave. A nod that killed any of the last hope that Dave had. As did the view over the old man's shoulder. The long, black cone extending from the wall again, ever so slowly creeping their way, the centre a swirling mass of glinting that crept closer and closer.
Please... Dave tried to plead when he felt the knife bite. Felt the little tug on the blade while it worked its way through flesh. But no words exited his mouth as Monty dragged his hand across and the red started to fountain, dousing the old man's face. Nothing exited Dave's mouth except for a long, drawn out scream...
... That died out into a gasping, 'FUCK!' as his eyes sprang open and he found himself back in the flat, his heart hammering, and his shirt soaked in sweat.
'Shit,' he added as he fought back bile, leaning forward and cupping his head. He rocked backward and forward on the couch, banishing the lingering after images. 'Shit,' he muttered again, quieter, as his panic started to abate.
'Bad one, was it?'
Dave peered through his fingers and saw the soldier by the window, peering out through the pane that was still bordered by the glowing border Monty had put in place. Dave couldn't be sure but it seemed duller than it had been previously.
'Sorry?' Dave didn't know why he said it. He'd heard her perfectly well the first time.
The soldier took a sip from one of the mugs Naomi had given Dave way back in the day. The one that had "Hot Stuff!" emblazoned on the side in flames. Dave didn't know what it was, just that watching her sip made him realise he felt pretty dehydrated.
'You were screaming,' the soldier added and of all things, Dave felt a little spike of embarrassment.
'Oh.' He dropped his hands from his face and did his best to sit up straight.
He winced at the movement. His entire body ached. It felt like someone had worked his joints over with a rubber mallet. A pounding headache joined his thirst as he eased himself up.
'How long was I out?' Dave croaked.
'Four or five hours.' The soldier returned to peering out the window as she sipped from her cup. Dave gently rubbed at his temples and wondered how the soldier could sound so sober when the bottle of Smirnoff on the coffee table sat three quarters empty. 'He went a few minutes later.' The soldier gave a nod toward the kid zonked out on the carpet, dead to the world without even a cushion to prop up his head.
Dave remembered his nightmare and shuddered.
'Did you get any?' he asked the soldier to distract himself.
'Nope. Far too wired for that.'
'Oh.' They lapsed into silence and Dave noticed that the soldier had stripped off her tattered shirt and now only wore a khaki singlet, discoloured by both blood and sweat. She'd bandaged her arm with a sheet. One of the thousand thread count, Egyptian cotton numbers that had cost them a bomb. Dave could only imagine the fit Naomi would have pitched if she'd been around to see it. She'd loved those sheets with a zeal that had left Dave petrified of sullying them in even the slightest of ways..
The soldier took another long slurp from her drink, framed by the lightening sky outside, then turned and jiggled the cup.
‘Did you want one?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Water.’ She shook the cup a little harder then nodded to the kitchen. ‘There's a few bottles in the fridge. Bit tepid as the power's off but if you can brave the smell of the rest of the stuff in there, it's not too bad. There was quite a bit of food left. It's not pretty.’
‘I know.’
This time it was the soldier’s turn to clarify, ‘I’m sorry?’
‘This is my… was my flat… before…’ Dave tailed off, waving a hand in front of his face, ‘before all of it…’
‘Oh…’ The soldier looked into the cup as though it held some sort of answer. After a second of brow furrowing concentration, she shrugged and gulped down the remaining dregs. ‘Sorry for just… you know, using all your stuff, I didn’t realis–'
‘It’s fine,’ Dave rushed to add and winced when he accidentally cut the soldier off. ‘Help yourself,’ he added weakly and they lapsed into an awkward silence.
‘I’m Sally, by the way.’ The soldier finally broke the silence.
‘You're...’ Dave’s mind processed her words sluggishly.
‘I didn’t introduce myself ear…’ The soldier’s voice momentarily hitched but she recovered quickly. ‘Corporal Blake if you’re that way inclined but I think considering everything, maybe just Sally will do.’
‘Hi,’ Dave said and felt a little ridiculous when it took him a second to realise that her pointed stare was because he hadn’t offered his own name in return. ‘Um… I’m David, probably didn’t tell you…’ Dave trailed off as he recalled that he had told her his full name but she probably just didn’t remember.
‘So the redhead in the photo on the fridge. That’s your wife?’
‘No, girlfriend… ex-girlfriend. She…’ Dave faltered again and was grateful when the soldier nodded understanding.
‘The boy then, he your son?’
‘No, not mine. He’s not my son.’ Dave shook his head though he regretted the vehemence of the gesture when he realised how weird that made the kid's presence sound.
In panic, his brain froze, robbing him of any opportunity to come up with a suitable substitute.
Another long drawn out silence stretched while he watched Sally’s brain tick away behind her eyes.
‘So then, David. I suppose there's only one more question. Exactly what the fuck is going on?’ Sally said it with an inten
sity that left David even more tongue-tied, caught off guard by the abrupt shift of her mood.
‘Um… um…’ he struggled as he saw the burning glow of anger start to ignite fires behind the soldier’s even stare.
Is she going to attack me? Fuck, maybe she remembers the newspaper articles and it’s just clicked who I am…
‘I’m just wondering because I’m pretty sure I know what I saw. I’m also pretty sure that what I saw was impossible. And since this all seems to revolve around you and that… that thing. I was just hoping that maybe you’d be able to shed some light on the situation. Could you do that for me, David?’
‘Well… Um… I don’t really… It’s just… I.’ Dave licked his lips nervously while he waited for the barrage of questions to really kick in. Why’s the kid with you? What are you planning to do with him?
Fortunately, just as Sally’s grip tightened on the cup and she took a step toward him, Monty flickered into view in front of them.
Dave had never been so glad to see the old man.
‘Monty.’ He finally found his voice. The old man swayed in place, flickered rapidly for a second and then abruptly dropped to his knees on the carpet.
Dave almost started forward to help him up before it dawned on him it'd be a pointless manoeuvre. He had to wince as he watched the old man struggle to rise. Monty seemed to desiccate before his very eyes. His skin dried and cracked as it was pulled taut over bone, his already slender frame thinning further, shrinking before Dave’s eyes.
The soldier retreated and pressed her back to the wall. Dave barely paid her any attention though, riveted on the decaying body before him. The sudden appearance too much to fully process.
‘I'm sorry. I wanted to take you further than this.’ Monty wheezed, his voice gravel and dust. ‘But there's no more time. They’re coming and I’ve exhausted my supplies. Found a couple of others holding out way down in the back cells but it’s too little too late. Without the blood there is nothing I can do to stop them. And I've already burned through too much of my own.’
Should Have Killed The Kid Page 14
