by M. J. Kelly
Eventually Dig extended his hand. “Look. We’ll get off at the next stop, and then we can work something out. But for now, let’s go sit down.”
She glanced at his hand, then up to meet his gaze. After a long pause, she reached out and Dig pulled her to her feet.
They moved into the humidity of the train carriage, ducking their heads to avoid a scalping on the low door frame. Passengers crowded into square wooden seats, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, their brows lined with sweat, their children curled at their feet. The scent of body odour and something like mothballs filled the air. A stack of metal cages constricted the aisle, filled with chickens that beat the air with their wings as they passed. A boy lay on the ground with his head propped against one coop, sleeping. Dig stepped over him, then found a seat near a sleeping man wearing a turban and a long beard; he had a transparent plastic bag clutched to his chest, filled with documents. Dig lowered himself into the opposite seat. Jules sat beside the window and let her head rest on the frame.
“You okay?” Dig said.
She shrugged and stared out the window. “It’s my fault,” she said. “We should have left Goa a long time ago.”
“There’s no point blaming anyone. We just have to figure out what to do.”
“Yes, but Chook was in my ear for months. Telling me to get out of Goa. Telling me to go home. And I didn’t listen.” She bit at her lip. “But at the end of the day, it wasn’t me who paid the price. It was him.”
Dig rubbed at his neck. “So why did you stay?”
“Staying was bad...but going home was worse.”
A boy walked through the train with a pot of chai balanced on his shoulder. Dig handed the boy a few coins and he poured out two measures into small cardboard cups. He passed one of them to Jules; she gave a small nod and took a sip.
“Trouble at home?” Dig said.
Jules’ lips thinned. “I had a car accident, and the police want to lock me up for it.”
“What happened?”
“Ran over my step dad. Put him in wheelchair.”
“Man. That's pretty hectic.”
She shrugged and blew on her chai. “He won't be beating on Mum again.”
Dig raised his eyebrows.
“So I came to Goa. And for a while things were good. Nice beaches. Lots of friendly people and big nights out. Got caught up in the whole atmosphere. Then Shiv offered me a few shifts in the bar in exchange for free board and some spending money—and well, it was too easy to refuse.”
“Mind if I ask how you ended up with him?”
Jules’ eyebrows drew together. “He was different when I first met him...friendly...caring even. He used to make me dinner. Maybe I didn’t think it through at the time, but he helped me through a pretty tough stage. But the longer I stayed, the harder it was to leave. Before I knew it, I was part of the whole business and getting into the...extras.”
“The opium in that place seemed pretty rampant.”
She blinked. “I mostly had it under control. But yeah, with the amount of free stuff floating around it was hard not to get involved.” She placed her elbows on her knees, and leaned forward with her chai cupped in her hands. “But once Max found out we were together she lost it. Told him he was putting the whole business at risk. Threatened to cut him out. He changed after that—resented me or something. Didn’t trust me around other guys. Started getting violent.” She stared out the window. Wide fields of rice and maize ran out to the horizon in rows, dotted with farmers driving bull ploughs through the earth. Jules sighed. “Chook figured out I was struggling and came over to get me. Wanted me to go home and face up to things. Get the family back together. But it wasn’t that easy. I wasn’t ready to deal with it. So...I blocked it all out, and pretended it would get better.” She took a sip of chai, then shook her head and stared at her cup for a long moment before looking up. “What was your argument with Max about anyway?”
Dig explained everything that had happened over the last week. The funeral, Shiv’s visit to Sydney, and then his efforts to track down Max. Jules listened, and as the story progressed she frowned.
“Why would they bother exporting them? Seems pretty risky.”
Dig shrugged. “More money I guess.”
“That doesn’t sound like Max. She wouldn’t trust just anyone with those hops.”
“Well we used to get regular deliveries. The hops were used for our most popular beer.” He scratched at his face. “But all that opium bioengineering stuff...it doesn’t make sense. I know for a fact our beer back in Oz wasn’t as potent as the stuff back there in the brewhouse. It tasted the same...but at the end of the day it was just a normal beer.”
“There wouldn’t have been enough in there for you to notice.”
Dig looked at her blankly.
Jules sighed. “They produce two types of beer at the Banyan. One is the raw material, the unrefined, strong stuff they only sell under the table at the brewhouse. With the normal batches they sell commercially, they extract almost all the opiate during the brewing process until it scrapes under the relevant regulations.”
Dig nodded. “Packages,” he said under his breath.
“What?”
“Packages,” Dig repeated. “That’s what Dad was doing back home. Extracting the opiate during brewing and passing it back to Shiv in packages for distribution.”
Jules nodded and pulled back her hair, exposing a slender neck and earrings made of small white shells. “I bet your beer was popular too, like the refined version of Banyan Bitter.”
Dig frowned. “It was very popular. It was becoming the biggest selling Pale Ale in Australia.”
“That’s understandable. With all that trace opiate still in it.”
“But that can’t be legal?”
“Don’t you get it? As long as it’s below the legal limit it is. It’s the same principle that some big cola companies use.”
Dig furrowed his brow. “Huh?”
“Cola,” Jules repeated. “They still use coca leaf extract as part of their recipe...the same type of leaf that cocaine’s produced from.”
“That’s got to be bullshit.”
“It’s not. The cocaine gets extracted from the leaf until it gets below the regulatory limit—but the flavour’s still there.”
“That’s nuts.”
Jules shrugged. “That’s common knowledge.”
“What about Banyan Bitter then?”
“Even worse,” Jules said. “The trace opiates in the beer trigger subtle cravings for every person who’s ever had opiate based products in their lives—and that’s not just for drugs like opium and heroin, it also applies to people who have taken things like codeine, an addictive drug found in over the counter pain medicine.”
“But that’s pretty much everyone.”
“Exactly.”
Dig shook his head. “So that’s why the beers are so popular. The flavours tap into opiate cravings.”
Jules nodded. “And that’s why Max is so keen to keep it a secret.”
Dig blinked rapidly. “We’re totally stuffed here aren’t we?”
“For sure.”
“They aren’t going to let us walk away from here.”
“No chance.”
“What the hell are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Jules rummaged through her pack. “But we need to get off this train. They know we’re on it.”
“Big time.”
The man in the seat opposite them had woken up and was now eating yellow rice from a plastic bowl. Across the aisle, an elderly couple sat together. Their possessions were balled between them in a faded blanket. Through the window behind them a mountain range tracked past a gloomy sky, and a multi-coloured bird floated through the air.
The brakes squealed and the train began to slow. Jules straightened and leaned out the window. Her forehead furrowed. “The next stop’s coming.”
Dig nodded.
14
THE TRAIN CRUISED INTO
THE STATION and shuddered to a stop with a hiss. As they rose from their seats, Dig glanced through the window to check the platform. People crowded against the doors of the train. Men dragged bags across the platform tiles and women hoisted children onto their hips.
Dig looked past the crowds to the station building behind, and his eyes caught on a group of figures standing against the weathered brick wall. One of the men scanned the crowd. Dig’s stomach fell when he recognised him. It was Shiv, wearing a dour expression.
Dig dropped to a squat and shook Jules by the wrist. “He’s here again!”
“Shiv?”
“Outside!”
She looked out the window, grimaced, and ducked down beside Dig. “Damn it.”
“We can’t get off. Let’s just see what he does.”
They sat on their heels inside the passage of the train, keeping out of sight. Passengers crowded past them through the aisle, pulling luggage. Vendors holding trays of samosas followed behind.
Eventually a whistle blew—long and loud, and Dig snuck a glance above the sill. Shiv looked up and down the platform. Suddenly, the train gave a jerk forward and began to accelerate. Shiv nodded to the thugs beside him, and the three men jogged toward the head of the train.
“I think they’re going to get on.”
“Where?”
“A couple of carriages up.”
Jules bit at her lip. “We’ve got to get off.”
They scampered through the carriage toward the rear exit, keeping low—but by the time they reached the doorway the end of the platform had dropped away to a blur of ballast and concrete. “Too late,” Dig said.
Jules pressed her palm against her forehead. “Shit.” Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
“Come on. We need to hide.”
They hurried through the carriage toward the back of the train. As they moved, Dig scanned the carriage for a place to take cover, but there was nothing. The seats remained full of people, the baggage areas were jammed with luggage.
At the start of the next carriage, a side door revealed a toilet—dank and dirty and smelling like an open sewer. It was a small space, with barely enough room to squat over a shit-streaked hole in the floor. Above it, a cracked mirror hung above a murky metal sink. Dig glanced at Jules. She grimaced, put the back of her hand to her nose, and shook her head. They continued on.
The seats in the next carriage were also full, and they moved through quickly, casting furtive glances over their shoulders. At the end of the second carriage, their path was blocked by a closed metal door, marked with a sign that read Guard Compartment. A steel garbage bin was fixed to the wall beside the door, full of crumpled newspapers and plastic drink containers.
“That’s it.” Jules’ eyes were wide. “No more carriages.”
Dig swore, then looked around him. “You smoke right?”
“Yes,” she said in a strained voice.
“Give me your lighter.”
Her brow furrowed before she unzipped a pocket in her skirt and handed it to him.
“I’ll be back in a sec.” Dig sifted through the garbage bin beside the door and extracted some newspapers and drink containers. He then ran back through the passenger cabin.
When he reached the toilet, he dropped the newspapers to his feet and began ripping the pages away, rolling them up into crude balls and throwing them onto the floor. He continued until he had covered the cubicle in paper. He placed the empty plastic water bottles on the centre of the pile, and with a shaking hand he knelt down and held the lighter to the bottom of the heap in several places.
The flames flickered small at first, then climbed and spread throughout the pile. As the heat intensified, Dig pulled the door to the toilet closed. He peered into the next carriage and sucked in his breath as three men entered. Shiv had arrived.
Dig ran back down the aisle to where Jules was standing at the end of the train with her hands on her hips. “What’s going on?” she hissed.
“Shiv’s coming. Next carriage.” He reached out to the Guard Compartment door and rapped on the metal.
He waited a few moments, then pounded again, the force biting into the point of his knuckles. “Come on...” he said under his breath, and glanced back over his shoulder.
The handle turned and the door creaked open enough for a man in a faded blue shirt and peaked black cap to ease his head through the gap. “Yes?”
“Hey. There’s a fire in the toilet of the next carriage. There’s smoke coming out from under the door.”
The man looked at him blankly. “In the toilet?”
“Yes. You should hurry!” He turned and pointed into the carriage— now filled with the brown haze of burnt plastic.
The man opened the door and squinted further down the train. Strained voices now echoed down the aisle. He nodded, adjusted his hat, and hurried into the carriage.
Before the door to the guard’s compartment swung closed, Dig threw his foot out to catch it between the door and the frame. He glanced behind him, but the guard was already halfway down the coach.
Dig pried the door open. “Come on.” Jules followed him in, and he pulled the door shut with a click.
The guard’s compartment was a small room with a desk in front of a rear facing window. The room stunk like stale cigarette smoke, and was flanked by open doorways on both walls with only links of chain separating the compartment from the speeding ballast below. A chipped speaker hung from the ceiling. Behind the train, the tracks ran away at a rapid pace.
The train bounced to the left, and Dig put a hand out to steady himself. “Looks like we’re stuck in here for now.”
Jules fingered her necklace, then sat on the floor with her back to the door. “I can’t believe they got here so fast. They must have sped from Goa.”
Dig pressed his ear against the door, listening. All he could hear was the clackety-clack of the wheels below. The smell of burning plastic intensified, and a plume of brown smoke choked the air behind the train.
Jules pointed to the base of the door, where a sliver of light beamed through the gap between it and the floor. A shadow materialised in the light. They held their breath.
Rap Rap Rap!
They jumped. The sound seemed to come from all around them. Dig put a finger to his lips.
They waited.
The door handle turned and the lock caught. Dig swallowed and held tightly to the desk beside him as the train jostled along the tracks. Jules hugged her knees on the floor.
Rap Rap Rap!
And silence. The stench of the smoke was acrid and more pronounced now, filling the room. Dig could taste it at the back of his throat.
“Hello?” It was a deep voice, muffled through the door. “Anyone in there?”
It was Shiv.
“Jules?”
Jules dropped her head to her chest and closed her eyes; she was shaking. Dig surveyed the room for some sort of weapon. A wrench, or even a broom would do. But the room was empty. There was nothing.
“You need to open the door Jules. We know you’re in there. The guard said he saw you in this carriage.”
Jules laced her fingers around the back of her head.
“We have your brother. He’s hurt, so we sent him back to Hampi to...take care of him. If you want to see him...then you need to come with us now. Otherwise, in a couple of days he’ll be chopped up and fed to the crocodiles.” Jules turned to look at the closed door. Her forehead furrowed and a tear welled in the corner of her eye.
There was a pause. “We know you took the money from the house. If you give it back now, we can try to figure things out.”
Jules pursed her lips.
“And as for your friend Dig, he needs to come too. If he doesn’t, in a couple of days’ time I’m taking a return trip to Australia to see which one of his mother’s ears she wants to keep.” Dig clenched his fist and tapped it against his lips.
“So open the door...now. And come with us. We just need to talk.”
Jules glanced at Dig, and he shook his head. She stared forlornly at the door, then pushed herself to her feet. She brought a shaking hand to her lip, then reached for the handle. Dig grabbed her wrist, his eyes wide.
The speaker above their head gave a whine of feedback and then crackled into life; a warbled voice then echoed across the line. “Fire! Fire! In carriage seven! Stop the train...stop the train!”
A loud squeal of metal-on-metal drilled into Dig’s ears and they were thrown forward. Dig’s head cracked hard against a metal bulkhead. Jules fell to her rear. The clackety-clack slowed its tempo beneath them and the smell of burning brake pads filled the air. With a final whine, the train ground to a shuddering stop, and they both slid across the floor, crashing into the rear table. A drawer popped out and fell to the ground, spilling out a handful of timetables and a magazine with a cover of a busty, dark haired woman wearing nothing but a suggestive pout.
It was eerily quiet, save for the hissing of gas escaping from somewhere below them. Behind the closed door, Dig could hear Shiv and his offsiders swearing and complaining.
“Let’s go,” Dig whispered and crawled along the floor to the exterior ladder. He unhooked the chain link and began lowering himself backwards out the door when he glanced back at Jules. She lay back on one elbow with a vacant stare. Dig reached up and tugged her ankle. “Come on!”
She nodded, and followed him out the door.
Dig stepped down the ladder and lowered himself to the earth. His foot landed on something slippery and slid out from under him, dropping him to his knees. His hand went to the ground, and groped something slimy and wet. A foul stench was in the air—the stench of human waste. Dig held his breath and looked around him.
Further up the tracks, an elderly man wearing dirty pants and a grimy collared shirt was squatting, relieving himself. He glanced at Dig with a passive nonchalance as he deposited the contents of his bowels beside the track. Dig stared at his own hand, and realised it was covered in excrement. In fact, the ground around him was dotted with brown patches.
