Survivors of the Sun

by Kingslie, Mia

  ‘Can I sit in it?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘Of course you can, how about you pop the hood for me.’ She had no interest in motors, but people hid things in the weirdest places, and who knew what useful things they might find.

  She had never seen a motor like this, a huge oval shaped flat container in the middle with yellow tubing and funny bits on the side, that reminded her of the suction parts of a milking machine. Out of habit, she wondered about the water in the radiator, but dismissed that as soon as she had thought it, no, no good, chances were that there was anti-freeze in it, left over from winter. Then she flipped off the lid of the window wiper reservoir, leaning in across the motor to sniff at it. It smelt faintly of chemicals, definitely something added to aid with keeping those windows smear free and pristine clean. ‘Bug Off’ probably. She wiped her oily fingers on her jeans and dropped the hood shut.

  Then she checked out the trunk. A couple of blowflies flew out, they had come from the rattan picnic hamper that sat in a pool of stinking liquid, partially dried in places, with grey dusty looking mold spreading in all directions. A quick look inside the hamper revealed the putrefied remains of a picnic. Three tomatoes lay semi deflated, skin crinkled and paper thin, chicken bones sticking up through the disgusting mess. She flipped the lid shut and checked under the blanket where she found two bottles; a bottle of champagne, and a bottle of red grape juice. Why the champagne bottle hadn’t exploded in the heat was a mystery to her.

  She sat down between Deedee and Rebecca but it really was no cooler there. She looked at her watch, half tempted to call it a day and head back to Stolen Canoe Point. Still an hour before they had to turn back.

  ‘You know, these are real expensive cars,’ Jamie said, as he slid down between them.

  ‘Not any more,’ Georgia thought, feeling a tinge of guilt at having smashed the window. But given the circumstances, was it really wrong? At least now they had another lighter, and two bottles of drink and…,

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ Jamie asked, pushing a panting Badger away, as she tried to settle on his lap. ‘It’s too hot, girl. Go sit under the car.’ Badger looked at him with mournful hurt eyes and flopped down next to Georgia’s feet.

  ‘First I am going to get this bottle open,’ she said, as she braced the blade of her knife under the cap, and then...,’ she paused as the lid popped free and red liquid fizzled over the top. ‘Then after we have all had a drink we will carry on.’ She passed the bottle round.

  ‘Yuck,’ Deedee said wrinkling her nose. ‘It’s hot.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s wet,’ Georgia said, laughing at Deedee’s expression ‘and full of vitamins.’ When they had all had a drink, she tipped the last of it into her spare plastic water bottle and screwed the cap back on. No point in carrying a glass bottle around.

  As they continued on their way, heading into secondary forest growth, Ant complained bitterly about the fact that she was now sharing her basket with an overly warm bottle of champagne. Then all of a sudden they were out from amongst the saplings, confronted by the metal barriers of an overpass.

  The sudden sensation of wide open spaces and the immensity of the structures that made up the intersecting freeways was oddly disconcerting; a jolting reminder of civilization that once was, and now was eerily still. But habit dies hard, and Georgia automatically grabbed for Deedee’s arm, wanting to stop her from clambering over the barrier. A momentary panic as the dogs raced ahead unchecked onto the freeway. Then in the same instant, she stilled her hand, feeling almost foolish. There was no danger of anyone being struck by a car, and there never would be again.

  They clambered over the barrier, looking for a road sign, and then, as it quickly became clear the asphalt was too hot for the dogs to walk on, they crossed over to the median strip, now a thick tangle of parched weeds.

  ‘Keep looking,’ Georgia said, ‘there has to be one somewhere.’

  Clearly it had not been peak hour traffic down here when Three-eighteen occurred. But even so there were still about three or four dozen cars scattered the length of the freeway, and a couple on the overpass itself. There had been a couple of accidents, a three car nose to tail pileup, and a Fed Ex truck that had crashed into the barrier and flipped on its side, the ‘picked over’ contents scattered across the freeway, but there was nothing to compare with what they had seen up in Kansas City.

  They had been walking for only ten minutes or so when Deedee suddenly cried out, ‘over there, look I see one.’

  Sure enough, in the distance as an onramp disappeared out of sight they could just make out the top of a familiar green signboard. Then there were signs all over the place. East 54 Jefferson City and West 54 Camdenton and a white sign that simply said Y. Rebecca kicked at the asphalt as Georgia carefully wrote everything down.

  Later back at Stolen Canoe Point they could work out where exactly this was and how this road related to where they needed to be.

  ‘Okay, now we can head back.’ Georgia had expected enthusiasm at this announcement at the very least, but all she got was resigned nods of agreement. Which was pretty much how she felt herself. They had come a long way to find a freeway sign, only to turn back immediately, and head back. A bit of an anticlimax really.

  They took a different way down to the freeway this time, crossing at a point where traffic had been a little heavier. Perhaps because of build up at the traffic lights, which now swung uselessly above them. Birds seem to have taken to nesting in them and a crow took great offence at their presence.

  Here the asphalt was littered with broken glass from cars, and possessions scattered everywhere. In fact there were quite a few vehicles here, cars that had failed to deal safely with the sudden loss of power; crashing into the barrier and each other.

  It looked as though a rioting mob had swept through here. The sense of Deja vu made her nervous and the two vultures circling above did not help. As they walked further along she saw what the vultures had been circling over.

  A black woman lay slumped, face down, over the hood of a car, arms stretched out. Her face was hidden beneath the thick tangle of tight curls spread out in a fan shape, the ends lifting unnervingly as the wind tugged at it. They could only see part of her, a van blocking their view, but clearly the woman was dead. A ghastly dark patch spread out beneath the woman’s head, and the faded pink of her t-shirt. They walked a few more steps, Georgia holding her nose, expecting any moment to be assailed by the ungodly stench of death. She didn’t really want to look, she had seen enough death, but as they stepped nearer to the van, she caught sight of the skin tight shiny brown leggings she was wearing and the dark congealed blood that had dripped down across the grill and onto the bumper bar.

  She began motioning Rebecca and the Apaches off to the side of the road, hoping they hadn’t as yet noticed the body.

  ‘That person has no pants on,’ Deedee exclaimed, ignoring Georgia’s frantic gestures.

  ‘Who has no pants on?’ Jamie asked, still a few steps behind Deedee.

  Georgia, with mounting horror had just realized the same thing. What she had taken as leggings was bare skin. The buttocks and legs were completely naked, the skin tight and shiny, the odd color she suddenly realized was sunburn. As they drew parallel with the car, she saw the reason for the woman’s unnatural pose and she wanted to scream. Thick yellow rope was wrapped tightly round her wrists, stretching her arms out as though she had been crucified, the taut rope snaking down and knotted under the wheel base.

  She stood motionless for a moment, the enormity and the implications of what she was witnessing overwhelming her. Someone had done this! This woman had not simply lain across a car and for whatever reason died. She had been murdered and…, She felt her stomach rising. Mustn’t think about it!

  ‘Don’t look,’ she said, heading towards the barrier, ‘we’ll go round through the trees.’ There was a nagging feeling as they climbed over the barrier. This had happened recently, there was no sign of decay and…, Oh Jesus what
if the person who did this was still around?

  She slid the shotgun off her shoulder, turning to look at Jamie and Deedee. ‘On Guard,’ she hissed, her heart thumping loudly, blood pounding in her ears. They did not question her, their bows seeming to appear in their hands, as they nocked arrows into place.

  They had reached the trees now. Suddenly she heard a sound ahead of them, further into the trees; a muffled crack that could have been the sound of a twig being stepped on.

  Georgia crouched down, nearly losing her balance with the weight of her pack, urgently indicating to the others to do the same. Jamie and Deedee immediately sunk down into the grass, bows ever at the ready.

  Rebecca however remained standing. Georgia reached up, tugging at Rebecca’s t-shirt, wanting her to get down. There was another crack, barely perceptible this time, but closer. They froze, staring into the undergrowth, ready to fire if need be.

  Georgia’s heart leapt into her mouth as something rustled mere feet ahead of her. Then Millie came bounding into view, tongue lolling, all happy and excited at this new game.

  There was an audible sound of relief from all of them.

  ‘You stupid girl,’ Jamie whispered. ‘We could have shot you.’ Millie blissfully unaware of any of this, stood on her back paws, lavishing Jamie with sloppy licks.

  Georgia turned to Rebecca. ‘Next time I tell…,’ she began, but Rebecca was no longer standing there. Looking wildly around, she caught sight of her clambering back over the barrier.

  ‘Rebecca, you come back here right now!’ She demanded, anxiety tightening her voice. But Rebecca did not appear to hear her, or more likely did not want to hear her. Either way she kept on walking. She leapt after her, the Apaches close on her heels.

  ‘Rebecca, stop,’ she called again, trying to keep her voice low. They caught up with her on the verge of the road.

  ‘Are you crazy,’ she hissed. ‘It’s not safe here, the person who did that,’ she said, pointing in the direction of the dead woman, could still be around.’

  Rebecca looked at her briefly, her expression unreadable, then turned to walk away again. Georgia grabbed her arm, turning her roughly around.

  ‘We can’t stay here. We need to get away now.’

  Rebecca pulled free of her hold and darted off between the cars.

  ‘Forget the woman,’ she called after her, ‘There is nothing we can do for her, she is dead, and…,’

  She turned to the Apaches, ‘Stay close to me,’ then shotgun in hand, she followed Rebecca, threading her way between the cars. She was so angry that she was ready to slap her.

  Rebecca reached the car and reached out to touch the body.

  Georgia was horrified. ‘Rebecca, get away from there right now,’ she shouted, catching her shin on a bumper, and nearly falling, righting herself at the last minute.

  But Rebecca was not listening, she had begun sobbing uncontrollably, tugging at the rope. Georgia reached Rebecca, and caught hold off her, pulling her back, away from the dreadful obscene sight.

  ‘Help me, he’s not dead,’ Rebecca suddenly pleaded. ‘He’s still warm.’

  Georgia stilled, then slowly she turned to look over at the inert bloodied body, her eyes now seeing the undeniable truth, that this was indeed a male, then she looked back at Rebecca who was frantically picking at the knots.

  ‘He is still warm,’ she cried again, help me.’

  ‘Of course he is,’ she thought, near to tears herself, she couldn’t bear to see Rebecca so distressed. If it wasn’t for the midday shade of the overpass he’d have been cooked by the heat. She reached out a hand, to feel for a pulse, to definitively prove to Rebecca that he was gone, when he spoke. The words were barely above a whisper, raspy and stilted. But he spoke, ‘I’m not dead.’

  Chapter Fifty Seven

  Deedee screamed and Georgia jumped, snatching her hand back in shock.

  ‘Oh my God, you’re alive,’ she exclaimed, then grabbed at the nearest rope and began desperately to untie one of the knots. She gave up almost immediately,

  ‘Your knife,’ Jamie, ‘give me your knife.’ She watched as he scrabbled at the catch of the sheath clipped to his belt. It seemed to take forever until he finally pulled it free and handed it to her, then with shaking hands she began sawing through the rope. Her hands coming into contact with the burning hot surface of the car as slowly the rope began to part. The cut pieces twining back as she kept hacking.

  Finally it sprang apart. It had seemed to take forever, but in truth it was probably no longer than thirty seconds before they had him free. He screamed once, as Georgia and Rebecca lowered him to the ground. She hastily shrugged her pack of her pack, practically flinging it in Deedee’s direction.

  ‘Deedee, Grab the blanket out of there.’

  She squatted down by the youth, seeing his face for the first time as she quickly ran her eyes over his features, checking out his injuries. From the wispy down on his chin, that was struggling to be a beard, she judged him to be not much older than Rebecca herself, maybe fourteen or fifteen. Clearly he had put up one hell of a fight before being tied up. She doubted even his mother would be able to recognize him like this.

  One eye was nearly swollen shut, his face a mass of dark purple bruising, the skin split in places. She saw now that most of the blood had come from his nose, and a long gash across his forehead that probably needed stitches. His face was blistered, possibly from the heat of the hood of the car, and his lips were badly cracked. But what stuck her over everything else, was how painfully thin he was. He seemed to be all hips and elbows and knees.

  ‘Thank you, thank you,’ he kept mumbling as they carefully maneuvered him onto the blanket which had been spread out. Then he suddenly went very still and for a moment Georgia thought he had gone unconscious or even died, but as she checked his pulse, which was somewhat erratic, he croaked out, ‘I’m still alive.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Georgia asked, more to keep him talking, than a need to know. Isn’t that what they say, keep them talking, don’t let them go to sleep?

  ‘Joshua,’ he rasped, his voice barely audible.

  Georgia nodded, as she tried her best not to look at his nakedness. Even so she could not help but notice that his inner thighs were badly scratched, and that there was a telltale smear of blood where blood should never be on a youth. Her stomach turned with the shock of it, and she felt a sudden cold anger at what had been done to this boy.

  She helped him sit up, unscrewing the cap of her water bottle and offering it to him. He clasped hold of it, and as he began to bring it to his lips, he lost hold of the bottle and it slipped to the ground. ‘Sorry,’ he croaked, as Georgia snatched the bottle back up before too much spilt out. ‘Can’t feel my hands.’

  ‘God no, I am sorry, I didn’t think. Let me help you.’

  He drank thirstily, water dribbling down his chin, but after a few more sips Georgia pulled the bottle away from his lips.

  ‘More, need more.’

  ‘Not just yet, let that settle, if you drink too fast, you might throw it all up.’

  Ant chose this moment to leap out of her bag, determined to see for herself what all the fuss was about. She seemed to sense that he was hurt, and while she skittered around him, wagging her bottom (as only a Boston terrier can do), she did not attempt to jump up at him. Even so, Georgia called to Deedee to come and fetch her.

  He seemed to perk up just a little as he watched Ants antics. ‘Cool rescue dog, he rasped, not quite a St Bernard, but…,’ his voice tailed off, and his shoulders began to shake and Georgia suddenly realized he was crying. Tears were good, good for the soul, and it meant he wasn’t dangerously dehydrated.

  He wiped the back of his hands across his face, smearing blood and tears, wincing with pain, ‘I thought I was going to die,’ he gasped, as the sobs began to subside. ‘If you hadn’t come when you did….’ He took a deep breath, then looked up at Georgia, his bloodied matted hair hanging over his forehead.

&nbs
p; He shook his head, his one good eye seeming to have trouble focusing and for a moment she thought he was going to pass out but then he began speaking again, his words slow and laborious, almost a whisper.

  ‘I thought you were them, coming back to finish me off.’

  ‘Them?’ Georgia asked, for some reason she been thinking that this had been done by one crazed person, a solitary predator.

  ‘Yeah, there were five of them, I reckon, maybe more.’ Georgia had trouble understanding him, and leaned in as he kept on speaking.

  ‘I was searching in the cars for food, and stuff, never even heard them coming. They took my backpack, everything I owned, even my shoes, Brooks Adrenaline Gts, they were too.’

  ‘Too bad, good shoes are hard to find,’ She guessed from the almost reverent way he had spoken of his shoes that they had been really special, maybe they were a designer label.

  ‘Ain’t that the truth.’

  ‘So when did this happen?’

  ‘Last night, real late, and when I became aware again this morning, the sun was already high in the sky. I kept calling out, hoping someone would find me, but when I heard you guys coming, I panicked, that’s why I was playing possum.’

  Georgia gave a dry laugh, trying to hide her feelings. ‘Nearly a little too well,’ she said as she unscrewed the top of the water bottle. ‘You had me fooled.’

  She allowed him another few sips, trying to think of what else she should be doing, when suddenly he rolled onto his side, his arms folded against himself, gasping and moaning. ‘What’s happening?’ Georgia asked, terrified that he had internal injuries and that his intestines were ruptured, and the water was killing him.

  ‘Cramp,’ he gasped, ‘shoulders, real bad.’

  She knelt down attempting to gently massage his shoulders, but as soon as she touched him, he cried out again, ‘no! Too painful,’

  She sat back on her heels, looking over at the others, standing silent and pale as ghosts or sentinels, looking as shocked and helpless as she felt. She knew that the cramping was a result of circulation coming back to his arms. That combined with dehydration. In the old days before Three-eighteen she could have helped him with the muscle cramps, a teaspoon of Vegemite stirred into a cup of hot water would have stopped them in under five minutes. But in the here and now, all they could do is wait for them to pass.