Wicked Bindup

by Paul Jennings

  Dawn is breaking. That was a good one. Actually it would soon be dusk and growing dark. It had been a long day since we’d visited the historic homestead and gone back to school. The weather had turned bad and the river was swirling savagely below us as we crossed the bridge. It had started to rain and a miserable mist was settling into the valley.

  I peered out of the window at the darkening forest. ‘Look out,’ I screamed.

  Mrs Enright jammed her foot on the brakes and the bus skidded and swerved wildly on the wet gravel road. I was thrown forward and my head banged painfully on the windscreen. What was going on? What was that out there? A creature had darted out of the forest. An animal. I blinked and tried to see what it was. A stupid goat. Just in front of us. Running along the road right in front of the bus.

  We were going to hit it. There was nowhere for the bus to go. The road was narrow with trees on one side and the cliff dropping to the river on the other. ‘Shoot,’ I shrieked.

  Mrs Enright gritted her teeth and pushed the brakes with all her might. Stones and gravel spat up from under the wheels. The goat fled in front of us. As stupid as a sheep.

  Wham. The bus hit the goat with a bang and it disappeared between the front wheels.

  Mrs Enright stopped the bus and took a deep breath. She was terribly upset, I could tell that. But she didn’t panic. She switched off the engine and turned on the warning lights. ‘You stay here, Rory,’ she said. ‘This might not be a pretty sight.’

  She stepped out into the misty shadows. All was silent. Then I heard her voice. ‘Oh the poor thing, it’s still alive,’ she called. ‘Give me a hand, Rory.’

  I hurried out of the bus and gently touched the goat. It was wedged under the sump. It was definitely alive, because it was breathing. But it was unconscious. It didn’t make a sound.

  We grabbed the goat’s back legs and pulled. ‘It won’t come,’ I gasped.

  ‘Harder,’ panted Mrs Enright. ‘Pull harder.’ She was strong was Mrs Enright. It was probably where Dawn got her big muscles from. It was in the blood.

  Slowly, slowly, we began to move the goat. We dragged it out in front of the bus and examined it in the beam of the headlights.

  There was no blood or signs of injury but the goat was still unconscious. ‘You’re going to be late home tonight, Rory,’ she said. ‘We have to take this goat to the vet.’

  I nodded and we started to pull the limp animal around to the side of the bus. I held back the door and we dragged the goat up the first step with great difficulty. It was hard work because the goat was so heavy. We puffed and panted with the effort. ‘I don’t think we’re going to be able to get it up there, Rory,’ said Mrs Enright.

  Suddenly something happened. The goat opened its eyes and stared at us.

  For some reason it gave us both a terrible fright and we jumped back. The goat struggled to its feet and scampered up the steps into the bus with a loud baa.

  ‘Stupid thing,’ I yelled.

  We both laughed. The goat had got inside without our help. ‘Maybe it’s not so stupid after all,’ said Mrs Enright.

  The goat scrambled into the gloom at the back of the bus.

  ‘We’ll still have to take it to the vet,’ said Mrs Enright. ‘It might have internal injuries. I’ll have to go back into town. There’s just enough room here for me to turn.’

  She began to back the bus across the road. It was a tight squeeze on such a narrow road. Back. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. Forward. The engine groaned and moaned and the gears growled in protest. Bit by bit Mrs Enright turned the bus until it was halfway around. It completely blocked off the road. The front faced the river and the back was pushed right into the trees.

  ‘Rory,’ said Mrs Enright. ‘Look out of the back window and tell me when to stop.’

  I ran down to the back of the bus. But I didn’t look out of the window.

  The goat was sitting up on one of the seats. It made me jump. For a second I thought it was a person. The goat sat there with its back legs crossed and its front legs folded like arms. It reminded me of an old man sitting there patiently waiting for the next bus-stop.

  ‘Aaagh,’ I screamed. ‘Aaagh.’ I belted down to the front of the bus. Mrs Enright didn’t even notice me. She had just put her foot on the clutch and selected first gear. The bus was pointing straight at the river.

  She was staring out through the side window.

  There was someone outside. A man. He was running down the road towards us. He started to beat on the door with his fist. He banged so hard that the whole bus rattled.

  ‘Open up, Louise,’ he yelled in a desperate voice. ‘Quick. Open up.’

  I knew that voice. My heart jumped with joy.

  I rushed to the door and looked at the figure outside. It was him. I pulled frantically at the door but it didn’t want to open.

  ‘Dad,’ I screamed.

  FIVE

  My heart nearly stopped when Rory sat up in the mud and screamed ‘Dad’.

  For a second I thought his father was there, behind me, crouched over Rory with the rest of us outside the refinery gates.

  I spun round. Nothing. Just Gramps’ and Howard’s anxious faces.

  I realised the ‘Dad’ had been part of Rory’s hallucination. The memory dream I so much wanted to share. The one I’d been struggling to piece together in my mind from the few words Rory had mumbled in the mud.

  While he’d been on the bus.

  It couldn’t have been great for Rory, lying there in a puddle, but it had been torture for me. When he’d jolted and cried out in pain, I’d nearly fainted. Was this the moment Mum had died? Then he’d used her name again and I’d realised it wasn’t.

  ‘Rory,’ I’d whispered, not wanting to wake him but desperate to know more, ‘what’s happening?’

  He hadn’t heard me. His eyes darted around. Sometimes his legs and arms moved and twitched. Now and then, much too rarely, he muttered a word or two. Goat. Vet. Seat.

  ‘What about Mum,’ I wanted to yell. ‘What’s happening to my mum?’ But I kept quiet. I knew the only way I’d find out the truth about how she died, and whether it was her fault or someone else’s, was for Rory to stay in the dream.

  Then he’d sat up and screamed ‘Dad’. And tears of frustration had burned my eyes.

  Now Gramps was cradling Rory in his arms and patting his cheek. ‘Rory,’ he said, ‘can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?’

  ‘One,’ said Rory. ‘Don’t give me the finger, give it to that poxy no-good abandoned refinery. Why did they have to close it down? Why couldn’t they have let Dad work there at least until today?’

  Gramps started gently trying to explain to Rory. Something about multi-national companies and capital investment and how fuel pipes rusted if you didn’t give them a regular spray with WD40.

  ‘We should get him to hospital,’ said Howard. ‘In his condition concussion could be really serious. If we take him to the Royal Prince Edward I can visit Mum.’

  Suddenly I wanted to strangle Howard. His mum. His mum. What about my mum? I wanted to make Rory lie back down in the mud and go back on the bus and tell me about my mum.

  But I knew I couldn’t.

  ‘Can you feel your legs?’ Gramps asked Rory. ‘Squeeze there with your hand. Can you feel that?’

  ‘That’s your leg, Gramps,’ said Rory.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Gramps. ‘My circulation goes bung when I’ve been crouching.’

  ‘I don’t need a hospital,’ said Rory, struggling to his feet. ‘I just need to get out of the wet.’

  It had started to rain. We helped Rory into a sagging wooden gatehouse that stood just outside the barbed wire fence and sat him on a rusty old office chair.

  ‘Tell me what you saw,’ I whispered. ‘Please.’

  Rory told me. The accident. The goat. Mum turning the bus halfway around. The appearance of his dad. His eyes filled with tears as he told me that bit.

  ‘Nothing else?’ I pleaded. ‘
No other clues?’

  I was as bad as Howard.

  Rory shook his head. Poor kid. There was hardly a patch of normal skin on his face. It was nearly all blotched and swollen. ‘We’ll find out,’ he said, ‘next time I go back.’

  I turned away. What if there wasn’t a next time? What if Rory couldn’t go back again because he got too sick or because he – because he –

  Rory screamed.

  ‘Aaghhh.’

  He pointed, terrified, at the little gatehouse window.

  ‘There,’ he yelled. ‘He was looking in. The apple-man.’

  I rushed outside. And caught a glimpse of something that froze my blood. A figure, running away along the refinery fence into the darkness.

  A figure dressed in the same blue overalls as the apple-men.

  But there was something worse. I glimpsed it just before the figure moved out of the glare of the car headlights. Something much worse. The skin on the figure’s face didn’t look like human skin. It was more like wrinkly, dried-out apple skin.

  And it was covered in furry white mould.

  ‘Dawn,’ yelled Gramps, ‘stay here.’

  I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Rory and Gramps staggered out of the gatehouse. We peered into the darkness, but we couldn’t see anything.

  ‘Probably just a tramp,’ said Gramps. ‘Or a spy. They’re everywhere, you know, spies. Even in supermarkets.’

  I shook my head. I still couldn’t speak. But I knew it wasn’t a spy.

  Rory still looked terrified. And he was shuffling in an agitated sort of way. I thought it was just because he had wet undies.

  Suddenly I realised Howard wasn’t there. ‘Where’s Howard?’ I said, alarmed.

  Gramps and Rory looked around. ‘Perhaps he’s in the car,’ said Gramps.

  We hurried over to the car. Howard wasn’t there either. Then I saw the note on the driver’s seat.

  Gone to see Mum at the hospital, it said. I’ve waited fifteen years. Hope you understand. Sorry. Howard.

  I realised it must have been Howard I’d seen running along the fence. Stress and the rain in my eyes must have made me imagine the overalls and the mould.

  For a second I felt relieved. Then I thought of Howard going to the hospital and felt sick.

  ‘Doesn’t he realise?’ I said. ‘Eileen’s infected. It’ll only take one tiny living thing to go from her to him and he’ll be infected too.’

  I noticed something scribbled on the bottom of the note. P.S. Rory, check the boot. It’s gone.

  When Rory saw this he scurried to the boot and threw open the lid and rummaged around inside.

  ‘What does he mean?’ I asked. ‘It’s gone?’

  Rory looked at me as though I was an idiot. ‘Howard’s letting us know that the boot lock’s broken,’ he snapped.

  I didn’t get it. Why had Howard bothered mentioning that? And why was Rory so jumpy about a dopey broken boot lock? Then Rory dropped the lid with a bang and I understood.

  ‘That’s the noise I heard as we arrived,’ I said. ‘The boot lid must have been flapping open then.’ I banged it a few times to show them.

  ‘Lock’s been a bit dicky,’ said Gramps, ‘ever since I tried to squeeze a hedge-mulcher in there.’

  Rory was staring at the boot, pale and concerned. I thought it was just delayed shock. And I had other things to worry about.

  ‘We’ve got to go after Howard,’ I said.

  Gramps was already behind the wheel trying to start the car.

  ‘No,’ said Rory. ‘I’m staying. I’ve got some business to finish here.’

  I pointed to the dark refinery looming over us. ‘Your dad’s not here,’ I yelled. ‘It’s abandoned. The gates are chained. The windows are boarded up. The power’s turned off. They haven’t done that just while they’re having a tea-break.’

  Gramps was cursing and pumping the accelerator. The car wasn’t starting.

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Rory. ‘I’m staying. Anyway, there might be a clue to where Dad’s gone.’

  The starter motor in the car was chugging more and more slowly. ‘That’s the one drawback with this model,’ said Gramps. ‘Won’t start in the wet when it’s been parked with the headlights on.’

  ‘I’m going after Howard,’ I said.

  ‘I’m staying,’ said Rory.

  Gramps emerged from the car and straightened up painfully. ‘Flamin’ back,’ he said. ‘When the supply trucks get here remind me to requisition some painkillers.’

  I wished I had a fistful of the strongest painkillers in the world. Painkillers so strong they’d obliterate the lousy infection that was trying to kill people I cared about.

  I looked at Rory’s poor sick distorted face. Desperate to see his father for what could be the last time.

  Then I thought about Howard. Desperate to see his mother for the first time.

  If I stayed and helped Rory he might just tell me the truth about Mum. If I went after Howard I might just save him from being infected and possibly killed.

  I stood there, torn. I couldn’t be with them both.

  I turned and went after Howard.

  SIX

  Dawn had gone off with Howard.

  Jeez, my blood was boiling. After all the things Dawn and I had gone through together – fleeing from slobberers, burying our pets, escaping from the hospital, beating a killer creeper, surviving step-parents – after all that you’d think she would have stuck by me. But no. The rotten good-for-nothing girl had shot through with Howard.

  Probably in love with him. She wouldn’t look at me. A diseased sick kid who was growing uglier by the minute. To her I was just a dying bag of festering germs. She must have thought I was revolting.

  Well, she could get nicked. I had other things to worry about.

  ‘Dawn’s gone,’ I said to Gramps. ‘Raced off with Howard. Gone to the hospital with him.’

  Gramps was worried. ‘They’ll get lost,’ he said. ‘Or run over by a tank. The big city is dangerous. There are panzers everywhere.’

  ‘There’s something else,’ I said. I hung my head in shame. ‘Gramps,’ I whispered. ‘We didn’t throw Howard’s apple-man down the well. We put it in the boot of the car.’

  ‘The spy,’ yelped Gramps. ‘It’s still alive? But the boot is empty. Where’s the spy gone?’

  ‘It’s disappeared,’ I said. ‘Either someone’s taken it or …’

  ‘Or what?’ said Gramps.

  ‘Or it’s climbed out itself. It might be after Howard. He’s the next in the bloodline.’

  ‘We’ll have to go after it,’ yelled Gramps. ‘The spy will kill him. And it will kill Dawn too. She’s my little sweetheart – my only grandchild. We have to save her, Rory.’ A tear started to trickle down his face.

  His only grandchild. Wasn’t I a grandchild? No, I was a step-grandchild. I didn’t count. I wasn’t the real thing. Oh, it made me mad. It was only blood relatives that mattered. Dawn and all of them could get stuffed.

  Like slobberers, when it really came down to it, adults only wanted blood relatives.

  I turned towards the refinery. All was dark. Rain drizzled down. Huge steel chimneys pointed at the sky. Rusting tanks sat silently like the bodies of dead elephants in their final resting place. ‘My dad used to work in there,’ I said. ‘He’s my real relative. My real father. And I’m going to find him.’

  Gramps was terribly upset. ‘Karl was … is … a man. Dawn and Howard … they’re kids,’ he said. ‘The spy will kill them. Let’s get the spy first. Then we can come back here and look for Karl.’

  ‘It’s only an apple, Gramps,’ I said. ‘My dad is a person.’

  ‘It’s a spy,’ said Gramps. ‘Spies are killers.’

  ‘Gramps,’ I said bitterly. ‘I can’t go after the apple-man. Not when I’m this close to Dad. Let’s face it, Dawn is big and smart and tough. She can handle anything. She doesn’t need us. She can look after herself.’

  ‘She’s only a kid,�
�� said Gramps.

  He was right. She was only a kid. I remembered the frog general. And how he had eaten all his little soldiers. And grown as big as a truck. Could the apple-man grow that big? I shuddered at the thought of what might happen to Dawn and Howard if it caught them.

  I was sure that the refinery held a clue about Dad and where he was. This might be my only chance to find him. But Gramps was right. We had to try and save Dawn and Howard first.

  Nearby was a large round pipe. Foul water was running swiftly out of it and splashing into a large open stream. I looked nervously at its black mouth and shivered. There was something awful about it.

  Suddenly Gramps sprang to his feet. ‘There he is,’ he shrieked. ‘The spy. The scumbag spy.’

  I looked up and saw a monstrous white face disappear into the drain. I had never seen such a frightening sight. White wet furry stuff covered the horrible creature’s entire head. I couldn’t even see any of its skin. There was only mould.

  Gramps bolted over to the drain. It was amazing how fast he could go on those tottery legs. In a flash he had disappeared inside.

  I put aside all thoughts of Dad. This was serious. I realised that I loved Gramps too. Suddenly it didn’t matter that he was a step-Gramps. I had to help him. If I survived I would come back and look for Dad.

  I turned and took one last look at the refinery. ‘Oh Dad, I love you,’ I said to myself. ‘I’ll find you one day.’ Then I turned away and went after Gramps.

  ‘We know how to treat spies,’ came his echoing voice. ‘Mister Apple-head, I’m coming to get you. You won’t kill my Dawn. You won’t kill my …’

  I couldn’t quite hear the last word. But I think it was Rory.

  I tried to follow Gramps but my feet just wouldn’t go properly. My bad leg ached and my whole body seemed to be wracked with pain. ‘Wait on, Gramps,’ I screamed.

  There was no reply from Gramps. The only sound was his splashing footsteps as he waded further and further into the drain.

  I took a deep breath and forced my weary body into the drain after Gramps. I had to save him.

  The water was cold and slimy and came up to my knees. My jeans flapped against my sodden skin like rotten garbage bags. I shivered and stared into the darkness. I could see nothing. Nothing at all. I turned around and looked back towards the entrance where the dull glow of the night sky crept faintly into the tunnel.