Wicked Bindup

by Paul Jennings

  I wouldn’t have made it over the gate without the thought of Rory and Gramps to keep me going. Finally I dropped into the mud on the other side.

  I crouched and listened. Nothing.

  I gripped Mum’s shoe in one hand and Gramps’ tyre lever in the other and wondered if I should call out to warn Rory and Gramps. I decided not to. No point in letting the apple-man know they were there.

  As I picked my way between the huge storage tanks, I peered desperately into the darkness. I didn’t want to miss seeing Rory and Gramps. If the apple-man had already found them, they might be somewhere nearby.

  Unconscious.

  Or dead.

  I felt panic in my throat and tried to force those horrible thoughts out of my mind.

  They were replaced by another horrible thought.

  What if I came face to mouldy face with the apple-man?

  I could run. I could try to save myself. But I knew I wouldn’t do that. There was no point. I’d never get back over the fence.

  Plus there was another reason.

  I’d had enough. I’d already lost my mother. I wasn’t losing anyone else. Not without a fight.

  I peered through the tangle of pipes and ladders ahead of me. Suddenly I almost wanted to see that ugly, white, mould-covered face gleaming in the moonlight.

  ‘You evil slimebag,’ I whispered. ‘If you’ve killed my step-brother and my Gramps, you’re dead meat.’

  I stuffed Mum’s shoe inside my shirt, gripped Gramps’ tyre lever and stepped into the darkness.

  THREE

  I clung desperately to the top of the ladder and beat on the door until I was exhausted. But it was no use. There was no way of opening it from my side. I looked down and groaned.

  Gramps was still climbing slowly up the ladder. ‘Hang on, Rory boy,’ he called in a faint voice. ‘I’m coming.’

  ‘Go back,’ I screamed. ‘I can’t get in.’

  Gramps didn’t take any notice. He just kept coming.

  I kept banging the door with the iron bar but it was shut tight. The filthy stinking apple-man was on the other side. I just knew he was. I was filled with rage. ‘Apple-head,’ I screamed. ‘I’m going to rip your ears off.’

  Without warning the door above me swung inwards and a dim glow of light filtered into the air above us. A shadowy figure stood there. ‘Got yooooooo … ’ it screamed in a savage voice. It stepped out. Onto nothing. The sound choked off as the figure began to fall. A hand grabbed my jeans and almost tore me away from the ladder.

  ‘Let go,’ I shouted. ‘Let go, you scumbag.’

  My fingers began to slip. The weight was terrible. In any second we would fall down onto Gramps and the three of us would plummet to certain death. I started to kick at the head beneath me.

  The figure below screamed in fury. ‘Where’s my step-brother, you overgrown apple?’

  ‘Dawn?’ I gasped. It was her. It really was. My step-sister. Big Bad Dawn. I was so happy. Help had arrived.

  Dawn grabbed the ladder with one hand and managed to get a foothold. Then she started to pull at my feet, trying to dislodge me from the ladder. She was trying to kill me. She didn’t recognise me.

  ‘Stop it,’ I screamed. ‘It’s me. Rory.’

  Dawn stared up through the shadows at my twisted ugly face.

  ‘Bulldust,’ was all she said.

  ‘It is him, sweetheart,’ came a weak voice from below.

  Dawn looked down and stared in amazement.

  ‘Gramps?’

  ‘The one and only,’ he chuckled.

  Yes – chuckled. I couldn’t believe it. With all this danger. With all this trouble. The three of us stuck up a ladder in deadly peril. In the middle of all this he could still chuckle. Good old Gramps.

  ‘Rory,’ shouted Dawn. ‘Where’s the apple-man? I heard someone scream. I thought he was killing you. I rushed here to save – ’ She was interrupted by a loud squealing noise.

  ‘Quick,’ I said. ‘Go down.’

  But I was too late. With a tortured howl of grinding metal the top of the ladder came away from the wall. Bolts and chunks of concrete fell into the darkness then splashed into the water below.

  ‘Aaghhh,’ we all screamed together.

  The ladder bent backwards and yawed away from the wall. We were stranded in mid-air as if we were at the top of a flagpole. A flagpole that at any moment was going to topple.

  ‘Don’t move,’ yelled Gramps. ‘Don’t move, whatever you do. The rest of the bolts will give way.’

  We couldn’t go up. And we couldn’t go down. And there was no way we could hang on for much longer.

  Suddenly I saw something – a long piece of thin timber was making its way towards us out of the door. Was it trying to push us over? Or was it the hand of help? I couldn’t see who was holding the other end. Could it be Dawn’s dad, Jack, come to save us? Maybe it was the police or a caretaker.

  Was it a friend?

  Or was it the evil, stinking mouldy apple-man?

  I grabbed the end of the waving strip of timber with one hand and hung on. Slowly the ladder began to move back towards the door. Someone – something, was pulling us in. We were nearly there. Closer, closer.

  Yes, yes. A cold damp hand reached out for me. I grabbed it and was heaved into a room. I lay gasping on my stomach and heard Dawn and Gramps scramble to safety. I sensed that it was Apple-head that had reeled us in. But I didn’t want to look at him. Like a little kid who thinks that they can’t be seen when they have their eyes closed, I refused to look.

  But I had to. I rolled over and stared. My heart missed a beat. The blood froze in my veins. We all gasped and shrank back in fear at the horrible sight.

  The wicked eyes of the appalling apple-man stared at us through a coating of wet, horrible mould. He held out his long crooked fingers and began to stagger towards us.

  I was paralysed. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Like a timid mouse before a snake I just lay there and quivered in terror.

  Dawn sprang to her feet. She bent down and picked up a length of chain and threw it at his rotting face.

  ‘Take that, you putrefied pile of poop,’ she screamed.

  The chain tore a track through the white mould on its head and revealed folds of sagging flesh. In an instant the mould spread across the track and reclaimed the skin for itself.

  The rotting figure staggered forward. It ignored Gramps who was feebly trying to regain his breath. It ignored Dawn as she searched desperately for something else to throw. It was me that it wanted. The iron bar fell from my trembling fingers as the mouldy creature staggered forward with outstretched hands. I fell back helplessly and pushed myself away. Trying to force myself into the wall – through the wall – to safety.

  Suddenly it leapt and pinned me to the floor. It reached into the blue refinery uniform and tore something from a hidden pocket. It waved it in my face.

  I blinked and tried to see what the monster was holding. It was, it was. It couldn’t be. Howard’s little apple-man. The horrible creature was clutching Howard’s apple-man. Even in my terror I could see that.

  The little apple-man’s head was split open. And was covered with worm tracks.

  This rancid, mouldy figure that was pinning me down was not Howard’s apple-man grown huge and come to life.

  So who was it? What was it?

  ‘Rory,’ it croaked. ‘Oh, Rory.’

  I looked into that decaying face – and for the second time in one week saw myself in another’s eyes.

  I let out one terrible, wonderful word. One wailing, despairing question.

  ‘Dad?’

  FOUR

  Even when Rory said the word, I couldn’t believe it. Rory’s father was the apple-man? This horrible pathetic stomach-turning walking fungus was Rory’s dad? I didn’t want to believe it.

  Yes, I was in shock. Yes, I was dazed and trembling. But I still had a mind of my own.

  I wouldn’t believe it.

  Then I saw the t
ears. Running down that awful face. Making little rivers through the white mould. And I knew they were a dad’s tears.

  Rory knew it too. He threw himself into Karl’s arms. ‘Dad,’ he sobbed. They held each other for a long time. It was a dad’s hug all right. I blinked back my own tears.

  Poor Rory. He’d waited so long to see his dad again. He must have imagined this moment a million times. But not even after eating pickled onions at midnight could he have dreamed it would be like this.

  I wished I could do something to make it better for them both. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Singer,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I called you a putrefied pile of poop.’

  Gramps struggled to speak. He was in shock too. ‘She – she’s sorry she chucked the chain at you too,’ he stammered. ‘Childish high spirits, you know.’

  Karl didn’t even hear us. He was staring at Rory. At Rory’s own sagging face which now had its own patches of mould.

  ‘Oh, son,’ croaked Karl. ‘I tried to keep you away. To scare you off. But all the time it was too late.’

  He put his face in his hands and puffs of white powder floated off him as his shoulders shook with grief.

  ‘It’s okay, Dad,’ sobbed Rory. ‘You didn’t know my apple-man was infected when you sent it.’ He paused, then added in a tiny voice. ‘Did you?’

  Karl took a painful breath. He shook his head and held up the remains of the apple-man. ‘I only discovered it was infected tonight,’ he said. ‘When I took it from your car.’

  ‘Point of order,’ said Gramps. ‘It’s actually Howard’s.’

  Karl stared at Gramps with narrow bloodshot eyes. Gramps shifted uncomfortably. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘Shouldn’t have interrupted. Sorry.’

  Karl swayed and for a second I thought he was going to faint. Rory grabbed him. Karl gave an anguished moan. ‘Not my other son too,’ he croaked. ‘Don’t tell me Howard’s infected too.’

  I didn’t want to tell him. Karl looked so sick and weak I was worried he wouldn’t survive any more bad news. But a father had a right to know. So did a brother and a step-Gramps.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ve just come from the hospital.’

  Rory and Gramps both groaned. Karl put his face in his hands again.

  ‘He’s not very far gone,’ I said. ‘Nowhere near as bad as …’ I stopped.

  Rory put his arm round his father’s shoulders. ‘Mum’s infected too,’ he said softly. They held each other for a long time. My eyes filled with tears.

  After a bit I pulled myself together. We needed information. Something was nagging at me. ‘Mr Singer,’ I said, ‘how did you know the apple-man in the car was infected?’

  ‘I didn’t at first,’ said Karl. ‘I went to your car to scare you away. I looked in the boot for some brake fluid to burn a message in the duco.’

  Karl paused for breath. Gramps gestured for him to continue. ‘It’s okay,’ said Gramps. ‘It’s an old car.’

  ‘I found the apple-man in the boot,’ continued Karl. ‘I saw the worm holes in it. And when I got back, there were creatures here.’

  I stiffened. Creatures?

  ‘Slobberers,’ said Rory.

  My insides froze. Suddenly I was aware of every tiny noise as I strained to hear something I’d hoped I’d never hear again.

  The slurping, sliming sound of slobberers.

  I looked at Rory and he looked away. I wanted to yell at him. He and Howard hadn’t ditched the apple-man after all. They’d hidden it in the car. And now the slobberers were back.

  I made myself control my anger. Blame wasn’t going to save our family. Anyway, I sort of understood. There was no way I’d have ditched Mum’s shoe under any circumstances. I gave Rory’s hand an understanding squeeze and turned to Karl.

  ‘Mr Singer,’ I said urgently. ‘We need to know everything you can tell us about the infection.’

  ‘I’ll explain everything,’ said Karl, ‘but not here. It’s too dangerous with the creatures about.’

  He didn’t need to persuade us. We helped him along a dripping metal tunnel that stank of diesel fumes. As I gripped his arm to take his weight I was shocked by how cold and saggy his skin was.

  I didn’t let him see me flinch. I wouldn’t if it had been my dad, and Karl was Rory’s dad which was almost the same.

  As we made our way down the tunnel, moving through faint patches of electric light and pools of darkness, Rory told him about our run-ins with the first slobberers and the steel sheep and the frogs and the snail and the root. Karl didn’t say much, just groaned sometimes. He might have said some other stuff, but I wasn’t paying that much attention.

  I was listening for other sounds. Sucking, slobbering sounds.

  The tunnel suddenly ended. In front of us was a metal wall with a round door in it. The door was studded with rivets and had what looked like a steering wheel in its middle.

  Karl tried to turn the wheel. Rory and Gramps helped him. ‘Air lock,’ wheezed Karl. ‘I chose it because nothing can get out. Luckily for us nothing can get in either.’

  The door swung open. We stepped through.

  We were in a room shaped like the inside of a giant baked-bean can. Loose planks of wood made a sort of floor. Standing on it were a few bits of office furniture.

  Gramps swung the door shut and turned a wheel on the inside.

  ‘Dad,’ said Rory, close to tears. ‘You can’t live in here. It’s too unhealthy.’

  ‘No, son,’ said Karl quietly. ‘You’ve got it wrong. I’m too unhealthy to live anywhere except in here.’

  Rory started to protest, but Karl held up a big spongy hand. ‘I’ll explain,’ he said.

  He sat down slowly on a narrow bed made from two filing cabinets and a padded insulation jacket like the one on our school water heater. He tried to continue but his head dropped and he slumped against the wall.

  ‘He’s unconscious,’ said Gramps. ‘Medics on the double.’

  We laid him gently on his bed. Rory and I squeezed his hands. It was like squeezing cold cooked cauliflower.

  ‘Don’t die, Dad,’ begged Rory.

  ‘Rations,’ said Gramps.

  The only food I could find was in tins. I opened a can of sliced peaches and moistened where I thought Karl’s lips would be with the juice.

  After a few seconds Karl opened his eyes.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said weakly. ‘I must have blacked out. I’ve been doing that a bit lately.’

  ‘Mr Singer,’ I said gently, ‘we need to know how the infection started.’

  Karl sighed and I could see he was making his mind go back to a place it didn’t really want to go. I hoped the infection would help his memory like it had Rory’s and not damage it like Eileen’s.

  ‘About six years ago,’ Karl began slowly, ‘we were stripping the refinery before it closed down. I was the safety officer. It was my job to make sure nobody got hurt or infected. Pretty funny, eh?’

  I hoped he wouldn’t try to laugh. He didn’t. He just took a wheezy breath and carried on.

  ‘I had to inspect an old tanker before a demolition team went in to pull out the pumps and stuff. That’s where I found it. In one of the bulkheads. White mould.’

  He stopped to catch his breath.

  Rory gave him a sip of peach juice.

  ‘I’d never seen anything like it,’ continued Karl. ‘Did some tests. Didn’t seem to be toxic, so I cleaned it out and didn’t think any more about it.’

  ‘Mr Singer,’ I said quietly, ‘were any of the other workers infected?’

  Karl shook his head. ‘None. I checked later. Dunno why they weren’t. I was probably the only one who touched the mould.’

  My brain was racing. Something clicked. ‘Were you very angry in those days?’ I asked.

  Karl looked at me for a long time. ‘Yes,’ he wheezed finally. ‘I reckoned it was my wife’s fault our marriage had ended. Eileen blamed me for having Howard adopted, even though we’d both made the decision. I was very angry with her
.’

  I looked at Rory. He was upset at what he was hearing, but he knew why I’d asked the question.

  ‘When the refinery closed five years ago,’ continued Karl, ‘I went back to be near Rory. I didn’t know I was infected. When I started to get sick, I tried to get treatment. The doctors told me it was a virus but they didn’t know how to cure it. I knew it was the mould. Bits would sometimes grow between my toes. I tried to cure myself with health food. Organic vegies. Goat’s milk. One day my goat Ginger ate one of my thongs and went crazy. Chewed her way into the drawer where I kept some of Rory and Howard’s old baby clothes. Ripped them to shreds and didn’t touch anything else. Then she ran off after the school bus.’

  I stared at Karl. My head was spinning as I digested this.

  Karl looked up at Rory. ‘I realised then that the virus was after you and Howard,’ he said. ‘I had to leave, for your sakes. I came back here to the refinery to try and find a cure. I couldn’t tell you in case you followed. That’s why I sent you both the apple-men. So you wouldn’t forget me. Stupid. It was stupid …’

  Tears made new irrigation channels through the mould on Karl’s cheeks. He struggled for each rasping breath.

  Rory gripped his hand. ‘It wasn’t stupid, Dad,’ he sobbed. ‘It wasn’t.’

  They were both so sad I wanted to stop the questions and hug them. But I had to press on. I could see Karl wouldn’t be able to talk for much longer.

  ‘Mr Singer,’ I said urgently. ‘You’ve been infected for five years. Rory’s been infected for only three days. Yet he’s almost as sick as you. Can you think of anything that has slowed down your infection?’

  For what seemed like an hour Karl just struggled for breath. Then at last he spoke.

  ‘Blue mould,’ he whispered.

  We all leant forward.

  ‘Blue mould?’ I said.

  ‘In the tanker,’ he croaked. ‘In the sick bay. I’ve been growing it. Only small amounts, though. Kills the white mould.’

  Gramps and I looked at each other excitedly.

  ‘Then the white mould kills it,’ continued Karl.

  Gramp’s face fell.