Sign

by Colin Dray

  He thought about the lurching shadow of the zombie. How it had tugged at the car. At the bumper bar. The scraping sound of metal. He remembered how Dettie had been gone. How she’d disappeared. He remembered the screwdriver in her handbag. His temples throbbed. His mouth was dry. Dettie had changed the numberplates. For some reason she’d swapped them with some other car’s plates. They were the same colour, the same state—but more scratched up and bent. Jon had even noticed that they were loose. He’d tightened them up before they’d fixed the fan belt. Sam’s eyes were stinging but he didn’t want to cry. He heard his vent whistle.

  From somewhere inside the store there was a gush of water and more of Katie’s shouts. Tentatively, he crept back through the doorway, inching closer to the back room to try to see what was going on. The shopkeeper stood behind the counter, clearing her throat. She was tidying up, gathering handfuls of paper, scrunching them together, and tossing them into the bin. Behind her, Sam could see a telephone hanging on the wall. He needed to call someone. He needed to get the shopkeeper to call someone. His mother. His father. Anyone. Someone needed to know how Dettie was behaving. The talking to herself. The sneaking around. The spraying Katie deliberately with the petrol hose. That she was back there now, clawing at her, washing away the proof and blaming Katie for playing up. He needed someone to know where they were—wherever Caiguna was. Jon was just a silhouette, too far away to help, and Dettie would be back any minute, so Sam stepped across the store and approached the counter.

  The shopkeeper’s skin was leathery. Sam could see old tattoos, wrinkled, on her arms. As he stood across from her she sorted a stack of receipts into a drawer under the register.

  Sam tapped on the counter and waved.

  The shopkeeper stopped, looking up at him. She offered a tight, quick smile, and then went back to her papers.

  Sam knocked again.

  The woman exhaled. ‘Yes. Hello,’ she said, keeping her eyes down. ‘What do you want?’

  He pointed at his throat, right at the strap around his stoma. He shook his head, and then gestured to the phone.

  The shopkeeper glanced at his neck, her eyes widening in surprise, then blinked and sipped her beer. ‘Your grandma will be out soon,’ she said.

  Mouthing the word, No, Sam mimed Katie being sprayed with petrol. He squeezed his finger like he was pulling a trigger and pointed it at his clothes.

  The woman blinked. She tapped her foot, frowning. ‘Yes, I saw,’ she said, monotone. ‘Very exciting.’

  Sam knocked. He was bouncing on his toes. He pointed out at the car. The numberplate, he thought, hoping she’d understand. He tried to shape the words with his lips.

  ‘Look, little fella, I don’t have time to play games.’ She rolled the bottom of her bottle around on the cash register.

  Sam searched the counter for a pen. There was nothing. He mimed scribbling something in the air.

  The woman pretended not to see and stared over his head. One more muffled shout echoed from behind the streamers. It was Katie.

  Sam slouched, feeling the breath in his chest slip away. He mouthed, I need to call my mother, but the woman was intentionally not looking now. He signed, Mother—three fingers slapped twice on his other palm—then mimed the handset of a phone up to his ear.

  Mother. Phone. Phone Mother.

  The woman nodded and looked away.

  ‘Hmm. Yep,’ she said.

  He banged his fist on the counter.

  Help.

  He made a thumbs-up sign and slammed it on his other palm, just like Jon had shown him.

  Help. Help.

  His left hand stung. His whole body was clenched, pricked with sweat.

  ‘What? Do you want some chocolate? Here.’ She pulled a Mars Bar down from a shelf on the wall and set it in front of him, pushing it closer. ‘Now go away. I’m busy.’

  He kicked the counter, ran around to the phone on the wall and lifted the receiver. He held it out to the shopkeeper.

  ‘Hey! Stop messing around! That is not a toy, damn it!’ she said, snatching it out of his hand and hanging up. As she shoved him back around the counter, she noticed something outside, and sighed. ‘Go play with your dad out there.’ She was waving towards the doorway, and as Sam turned, he saw Jon strolling back to the station, peering out at the horizon.

  Sam felt himself smiling. Fine. He could explain to Jon. Get him to make the call. But just as he started to jog towards the entrance, the plastic streamers scattered and Katie returned, stomping her feet, with Dettie behind her, puffing and flicking her hands dry. Both of their faces were flushed.

  ‘Well, that was an adventure.’ Dettie scratched through her handbag. ‘Sammy, I hope you didn’t get into any mischief.’

  The shopkeeper grunted and dropped the Mars Bar back into its box.

  ‘How much do we owe?’ Dettie asked, waving her purse.

  Leaning in the doorway, Jon told her the final price and Dettie started counting out the cash. There wasn’t enough. The stack of notes was depleted. She was seven dollars short. With her face suddenly tense, she fished out her chequebook.

  Katie’s clothes and hair were soaked, and she still smelt strongly of petrol. She was shivering, and when Sam touched her arm she choked and ran out to the car.

  The shopkeeper punched the price into the register as Dettie wrote out the cheque. With it signed and dated, she slid her license from her purse and set it down on the countertop.

  Jon stepped forward. ‘Huh,’ he said. ‘There’s your licence there.’ He pinned it to the wood with his finger. ‘Guess it wasn’t lost after all.’ His expression was blank.

  Dettie paused, staring down at it. She opened her mouth and closed it again. She narrowed her eyes.

  They watched each other a moment, neither one moving, until the register dinged. ‘That’ll do,’ the shopkeeper said.

  53

  The blanket, their pillows and the first-aid kit had been thrown into the dirt beside the petrol pumps. Katie was clambering over their seats searching for something. Snivelling, and not bothering to wipe the tears from her eyes, she had tipped over the floor mats and emptied the glove box. The pages of her colouring books were torn and scattered across the upholstery.

  ‘What in blazes are you doing?’ Dettie shouted, wrenched her from the car.

  Katie squirmed. ‘I’ve got to find it!’ she shrieked. Strands of wet hair clung to her cheeks.

  ‘And you’re just going to pull the car apart?’

  ‘Wait. Wait, what’s the matter?’ Jon stepped between them, kneeling. ‘What have you lost, sweetie?’ He lifted Dettie’s hand gently from Katie’s neck.

  ‘Her—her han—ky—’ Katie could barely speak through her juddering breaths. ‘Her hanky—it’s gone.’

  Dettie rolled her eyes and wandered away.

  ‘Whose hanky, lovey?’ Jon asked softly.

  ‘Mummy’s,’ she choked. ‘Mummy’s hanky. She gave it to me.’

  Dettie was gathering up their things from the ground and dusting them off. ‘We don’t have time for this silliness,’ she said. ‘We have to get going.’

  Katie noticed the tiny smile curling at the edge of her aunt’s lips and her expression hardened to a glare. ‘Where’s Mummy’s hanky?’ she hissed.

  Dettie waited a moment, shaking out a blanket before turning. ‘What?’ she said. ‘I don’t know why you’re asking me.’ She folded the square into a tight bundle and placed it back in the car. ‘I can’t be taking care of all your things, girl. If you can’t look after them—’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘All right now.’ Jon’s hands were raised, palms open, to both of them. ‘We can’t have lost it. It must be in the car somewhere.’

  ‘Well, there’s no time to be hunting for it now.’ Dettie tossed a handful of colouring-book pages into the bin.

  Katie’s fists were shaking. ‘You don’t care! You’re happy it’s gone!’

  The shopkeeper, Sam realised, had appeared in th
e station doorway to see what all the noise was about. She leant against the frame, one hand parting the streamers and shielding the sun from her eyes.

  ‘We are driving across the Nullarbor desert, young lady.’ Dettie pointed towards the horizon, her teeth clenched. ‘It’s long. It’s unpleasant. It’s going to be stressful for at least another entire day. We have got more important things to worry about than some silly bit of cloth.’

  ‘We can have a look though, love,’ Jon soothed. ‘It’ll just take a minute.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m sure it’s about. Somewhere. And if it’ll calm her down.’

  Dettie crossed her arms and squeezed her elbows. ‘Fine! Fine,’ she said. ‘You want to waste your time, go ahead. But don’t expect me to help.’

  So as Dettie stood aside, strumming her fingers on her handbag and continually examining her watch, they searched the car. Sam checked beneath the front seats and through the paper bag they used for their garbage. Jon flapped out the other blanket, and Katie ran her hands along the creases of the seats. They hunted through the boot and Katie even ran back inside to the sink where Dettie had helped her clean up. Finally, slumped on the back seat, his legs dangling out of the door, Jon blew out a long breath.

  ‘Nowhere,’ he said and looked up at Dettie. She was still fixed in place, tapping the hard leather of her handbag. ‘Unless,’ he nodded at her, ‘what if? Maybe it fell in your handbag, love.’

  Dettie laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’

  Raising himself from the car, Jon edged closer to her. ‘Probably not, love, I’m sure,’ he whispered. ‘But to put her at ease.’

  ‘No, no, no.’ She clutched her strap to her chest. ‘No. I’m not having children—and some stranger we picked up on the side of the road!—ferreting through my belongings.’ She kicked backwards and started to pace. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I’ve looked. I looked before. It’s not there.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I tell you, it’s not there!’

  ‘You took my shirt to wash.’ Katie was pointing at her across the bonnet. ‘You were holding it. With my hanky.’

  ‘So now I took it!’ Dettie voice was cracking. ‘Stole it, did I?’ She slipped the bag from her shoulder, stomped to the back of the car, and tossed it into the boot. ‘This is ridiculous. I am fed up with being blamed for everything on this trip.’ She slammed the lid down. ‘Now we are getting in this car, and we are driving to Perth, and I am not going to hear any more nonsense from anyone.’

  She rounded the vehicle, dropped into the driver’s seat and wrenched the door shut.

  Katie stepped up to the passenger side window and sucked in a deep breath. ‘You’re bollocks!’ she yelled, her eyes squeezed shut.

  Dettie’s grip fell from the steering wheel. She nodded slowly, and when her mouth closed, a sick smile crept over her face. She blinked, kept nodding, and turned to stare at Jon. ‘Oh, I see,’ she said.

  ‘Come on.’ Jon led Katie away from the window. ‘Let’s all calm down now, eh? I bet it’ll turn up,’ he said. ‘Just when we’re not looking for it. That’s how it always goes.’

  After watching the commotion in front of him for so long, Sam was suddenly surprised by the sight of a large red tractor that had turned off the road and into the station. There was an old man in overalls driving, bouncing in his seat, and as he pulled it to a stop beside the furthest pump, he waved. Jon noticed, and shot him a quick nod.

  Dettie fussed with the mirrors and jangled her keys.

  ‘It’s a hot one out today.’ The old man whistled as he climbed down from the tractor.

  Jon agreed, and popped open the back door for Sam to get inside.

  ‘In a hurry, I see,’ the old man said as the dirt crackled under his boots. ‘Fair enough. I don’t want to keep you.’ He smiled. ‘Just wanted to warn: if you’re heading anywhere west, be careful. Those fires are getting pretty bad out there. News reckon it’s the worst in a generation.’

  ‘Scary stuff,’ Jon said, hoisting his boot up into the doorframe.

  ‘Too right, mate. Already lost some fireys, they say.’

  The car roared to life and Dettie revved the motor. Jon called out a thank you and slid in beside Sam on the back seat.

  Dettie stretched over to open the front passenger door, but Katie ignored her and leapt into the back with Sam and Jon.

  ‘What is this?’ Dettie snapped. ‘What? Am I diseased now?’

  Jon sat forward. ‘No, love. Sorry. I should have jumped up front.’ He leant across Sam to open the door, but Katie grabbed his arm and hugged it tightly.

  Dettie huffed. ‘Oh, forget it.’ She stomped on the accelerator. The car’s wheels spat dust across the old man’s legs as he scampered away, and they skidded out of the station, swerving onto the road, heading west.

  54

  The horizon only continued to flatten the further they travelled. The colours of sunset faded from a dense red cloud in front of them to a serene purple shadow, glistening with stars behind. Aside from the engine, the only sound was Katie, kicking the seat in front of her. They still hadn’t found her mother’s handkerchief, and she was lying half asleep on her side, quiet, her leg still giving the upholstery an occasional half-hearted thump. The road had been straight and long, and Sam would catch Dettie yawning every few minutes, letting the car roll off to one side of the lane before shaking her head and jerking the wheel back to the centre.

  When the sun had sunk completely, the air cooled, and Dettie drove for a while with the air vents switched off. For a while the absence of their hissing seemed alien to Sam and he considered how strange it was to hear the crackling of their tyres over the bitumen.

  Finally, they pulled into an old rest stop, little more than a beaten-up wooden table, a tap, two garbage bins and a pile of metal someone had discarded beneath a tree. There were no toilets, so Dettie left the car lights on while they used the bushes. This was where they would spend the night, she said.

  An unfamiliar cold wind gnawed at their clothing, so Jon decided to build a fire in an old ten-gallon drum he found by the scrap heap. Dettie reminded him of the fire ban, but he promised to keep watch the whole time and not let things get out of hand. Nonetheless, Dettie made them fill up every water bottle they had at the tap and lined them up on top of the picnic table, just in case.

  Jon found branches and wooden scraps lying around, and after snapping them in two with his boot and stacking them up, they soon had a small blaze to light their faces and warm their hands. Dettie tried to wrap a blanket over Katie and Sam’s shoulders, but Katie threw it off. As the children sat on the edge of the concrete table, Dettie and Jon turned two bins over and used them as seats.

  The fire crackled and popped. Something inside the drum settled, sending lit ash up through the smoke. Sam’s toes were cold in his shoes, but his nose glowed and the smell of burning wood watered his eyes. Between the heat of the fire and the cool of the air, his neck, which had been getting increasingly irritated, was a peculiar wash of tenderness.

  ‘Who wants to hear a story?’ Jon inched closer to the fire.

  Katie said that she did, and Sam nodded.

  ‘All right then, what do you want to hear?’

  His sister hummed thoughtfully to herself, but Sam waved his arms in the light, trying to remember the sign Jon had shown him. He held his fingers like bear claws and tapped them to his chest. Was that right?

  Scary. Scary.

  Jon nodded. ‘Okay. Good. What kind of—’ he signed back.

  ‘What’s that?’ Dettie said, leaning forward. ‘What are you doing? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Nothing, love. It means scary. A scary story.’

  ‘No.’ Dettie shook her head.

  ‘Yes!’ Katie snapped. ‘Scary. I want to hear scary.’

  Jon waited, surveying their faces. When Dettie didn’t object further, he took a breath. ‘What kind of scary story?’ he said.

  Sam held his arms out in front of himself, rolling hi
s eyes back. He tried to groan—couldn’t—and stuck his tongue out instead.

  ‘A sick story?’ Jon said.

  Sam shook his head. He pretended to bite.

  Jon still couldn’t get it, so he held out his hand. ‘Here, my old mate. Scratch it out on this then.’ He pointed at his palm.

  Sam took Jon’s palm, and by drawing each letter slowly inside it with his fingertip, he spelt out a word.

  ‘Zombies.’ Jon grinned.

  Sam nodded.

  ‘Of course. Zombies,’ Jon said, scratching his eyebrow. ‘Oh, I can tell you zombie stories.’

  ‘No, you can’t,’ Dettie snapped. ‘He doesn’t need any more of that terrifying the life out of him right before bed.’

  Jon smiled. ‘It’s just a story, love. Make-believe.’

  ‘Does it have to scare them silly, then? I don’t want them up all night, petrified.’

  ‘I want to hear it!’ Katie yelled.

  Dettie leant back, crossing one leg over the other. ‘Fine. Your decision,’ she said. ‘You all do whatever you want.’ She lit a cigarette and sucked at it dramatically. ‘Never mind me.’

  Jon waited, smiling. ‘Come on, love. It’s just for fun.’

  She waved him away, so after a moment more, he nudged closer to the fire, his face lit gold by the flames, and with wide eyes, started to tell them the story.

  It was a true story, he said, of a young couple he’d known in England. One night, they had driven out to a secluded lookout in the wilderness. On a date, he said. And while they were sitting, watching the stars, they heard a news report come on the radio. A deranged killer—a zombie by all accounts, he said—had been seen roaming the exact area where the couple had parked their car. The zombie, the report informed them, could be identified by its missing hand. It had been chopped off, Jon said, acting it out by pulling down his sleeve and leaving only a pinched stub. Instead, he said, there was just a long metal hook stuck in its place.