by C. B. Harvey
He’d swapped one compound for another.
“Who are you people?” growled McGuire.
“We are God’s Children, just like you,” answered the woman, smiling at McGuire’s scowl. “But my name is Cho Hee.” She held out her hand, which McGuire reluctantly accepted.
The returnees were busy unloading boxes of food from their quad-bikes. “You attacked a military compound,” observed McGuire. “Isn’t that a bit, uh, foolhardy?”
Cho Hee laughed. “You’d rather we starved?”
“There must be other ways of getting food.”
“What do you suggest? Cannibalism?” she said, her smile unrelentingly fixed. “But you’re correct. We did have an ulterior motive.”
“Which was what?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure I can tell you that. I’m sorry.” Still fucking smiling.
McGuire shrugged and looked around himself, at the individuals carrying boxes of food, at a scruffy group of kindy-aged ankle-biters receiving a school lesson from a matronly-looking woman with her hair in a bun, at the laughing, happy people. “God’s Children,” he mused.
“Exactly,” said Cho Hee excitedly. “The day of the gun and the bomb is coming to an end. God wills it.”
McGuire spat a trail of bloody saliva onto the ground. “Does He now?” he said, wiping his mouth. “You could have fooled me.”
“Yes,” said Cho Hee, blinking in surprise. “Why don’t you ask Him?”
MCGUIRE’S FILTHY BOOTS echoed across the ornately patterned floor. He’d returned the pieces of Ned Kelly’s armour to his backpack, and he felt them scraping impatiently against one another as he strode. He hadn’t entered a church—let alone a cathedral—for many years; not since his parents’ funeral, in fact. He was half-surprised he hadn’t simply burst into flames as soon as he set foot inside. As with the exterior, it was clear that someone was looking out for the place. Even the fragile processional doors through which they had entered, formed chiefly from a stained glass rendering of the story of Paul’s Damascene conversion, were intact. Occasionally he spotted kneeling parishioners engaged in prayer or other reflective supplication. They all wore the same self-satisfied look that had crossed Cho Hee’s face when the pair of them had entered the building.
“No sign of God,” observed McGuire.
Cho Hee glanced at him. “You’ll see Him soon enough. All you have to do is open your heart.” She closed her eyes as she walked.
McGuire grinned. “Of course.”
They continued in silence, eventually reaching the altar. A figure clad in dog collar and black pulpit robes, who had been filling the stone font with stagnant-looking water, turned at their approach. She was portly, rosy-cheeked and elderly. McGuire watched as she reached reflexively for a shotgun propped against the altar.
“Who the fuck is this?” she said, levelling the gun at him. He could see a portion of the lizard-scale tattoo peeking over the edge of her dog collar.
“Reverend Sarah, this man is McGuire,” said the younger woman firmly, bowing slightly. “He single-handedly destroyed a tank. Without him, none of us would be here.”
“He looks familiar,” said the woman. She was frowning, staring at him intently with azure eyes. “In a bad way.”
“He is a valiant, honourable man, Reverend,” responded Cho Hee.
Reverend Sarah continued to view him sceptically. “What does he want?”
“He wishes to commune with Our Lord.”
“No shit?” The Reverend gestured with the gun. “Door.”
The three of them made their way around the far extent of the pulpit to a heavy oaken door. This led down an oak-lined corridor, terminating at several more doors. A burly guard blocked their progress, a bandolier strung across his bare chest, Uzi in his hands. McGuire wasn’t surprised to see the tattoo again.
“Reverend.” The guard bowed and leaned over to open the door behind him, and they stepped into a wood-panelled room. McGuire took in a mahogany chest, luxuriant leather armchairs and an extraordinary oil painting of a magpie rendered in shades of reds and blacks. A pool table had been shoved against the furthest wall.
A group of greasy-looking men and women dressed in denim and leather were gathered around a muscular figure on the floor, clapping and whooping. The man on the floor was performing press-ups, the veins on his enormous, exposed biceps throbbing with each push. The spectacle was all the more impressive because the man wore articulated braces on his legs, which creaked with each push-up.
“...Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!” yelled a bloke in a bandana, snapping a stopwatch to a halt. “Three minutes and five seconds.”
The figure on the floor pulled himself to his feet with the help of some of the onlookers. One of the men handed him a towel, with which he proceeded to wipe his face and shaven head.
“Here is Our Lord,” said the elderly Reverend, gesturing to the muscular man.
The figure turned in surprise, his glistening chest and shoulders dominated by the tattoo of the lizard scales.
“Hello, Trex,” said McGuire.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said the man.
“THEY THINK YOU’RE God?”
“Uh-huh. Pretty much.” The room had been cleared of Trex’s henchmen and women, and Cho Hee and the Reverend had bowed solemnly and departed. Now Trex sat behind the enormous mahogany desk, toying idly with a Newton’s cradle. Behind him, mounted proudly on the wall, was Trex’s notorious hand scythe, with which he had won many arguments quickly and effectively, if not eloquently. McGuire paced the room, struggling to contain his incredulity.
“Fuck me. How did you do it, Trex?”
Trex leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin ruminatively. “Well, y’know me, always one for the business opportunity.”
“What’s with those lizard tattoos they’ve all got?”
Trex’s eyes glittered. “Do you like ’em? It’s my logo, mate. I use it as a mark of, y’know, fealty. So people know who they follow, and I know I can trust ’em. I am Trex, the fearsome Tyrannosaurus Rex—hear me roar!” He chuckled to himself.
McGuire rubbed his scar through the grimy bandage. “Tell me how you did it, Trex. I’m intrigued.”
Trex puffed his cheeks. “That last job at the airport. Fuck me. My legs got fuckin’ shot to fuck.” He moved the wheeled chair so that McGuire could see the braces on his legs more clearly. “Gotta wear these fuckin’ things now, like some fuckin’ cripple. Doesn’t impede me overmuch, though. As you saw.”
“Fuckin’ annoying nevertheless,” observed McGuire.
“Fuck yeah,” acknowledged Trex. “I only got away ’cause Big Foot shoved me on the back of a fuckin’ luggage cart. The gang was just a mess, loads of ’em dead, you AWOL.” He sniffed. “I just laid low. Fortunately for me, you went and turned into some sort of fuckin’ celebrity villain out in the Bush. Really took the heat off the rest of us, thank fuck. Gave the cops and journos something to concentrate on.”
“And then the epidemic happened?”
“The Cull. Decimated the Melbourne gangs, us included. In the end there was just me, Spider, the Kendalls, a few others.” Trex fixed him with a steely gaze. “Ritzo.”
McGuire smiled sweetly. “Yeah, we met up. Chewed the fat.”
“You had a fun barbie, by all accounts. You should meet my man Rudy, he likes fire a lot. And I mean, a lot. Useful bloke, as it goes.”
McGuire raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You heard about our little tête-à-tête at the museum, then?”
Trex chuckled. “It’s a small city, McGuire, and there aren’t many people left. Word gets around. Dead Kelly walks, for fuck’s sake. How long were you out in the Bush? Eight months? Hunted by every fucker from here to fucking Katoomba? If I hadn’t known you for years, I never would have thought it possible. But here you fuckin’ are. In the flesh. Unbelievable.”
McGuire nodded impatiently. “Whatever, mate. I wanna know the rest. How did you set t
his up?”
Trex shrugged. “Figured if I was gonna start a religion, I needed a church. You gotta look the part, don’tcha?”
“A big fuckin’ church.”
Trex seemed surprised. “No point in thinking small.” He smirked. “Isn’t that what we always said?”
“And it worked? It looks like it worked.”
Trex frowned. “What is it the Bible says? If you build it, they will come?”
McGuire grinned. “That’s Field of Dreams. It’s a fuckin’ Kevin Costner movie. But I get the gist, mate.”
Trex gestured expansively with his enormous, calloused hands. “Whatever. People were desperate, searching. There’s been this almighty global catastrophe. There’s no food, no water, no TV, no internet. It’s all gone. And when something like this happens, a figure is meant to emerge, y’know? A religious figure.”
McGuire couldn’t help but snicker. “A saviour?”
Trex leaned forward in his chair. “That’s it exactly,” he said, waggling a finger. “A saviour. That’s what I am. They’re my, uh, flock. I look after ’em. Make sure they’re protected, fed, that they’ve got shelter, warmth.” He motioned vaguely towards the window. “You saw the school?”
“Yeah, I saw the fuckin’ school, Trex. Fuckin’ mental. And in return they worship you?”
Trex pursed his lips. “I think it’s a pretty good deal, don’t you?”
McGuire shrugged. “Looks good to me. You’re making enemies, though.”
Trex waved his hand dismissively. “You mean the fuckin’ military? They’re a right fuckin’ mess, mate. You saw ’em yourself. Barely any of ’em are professional soldiers. Few nice toys, I’ll give you that—but most of ’em are shot. That posh dweeb that leads them is about fourteen. But yeah, they’re a pain in the arse, that much is true.”
“What about the other gangs? There must be others. Couldn’t just be you and Ritzo.”
“Well, you very kindly eliminated Ritzo’s little outfit, but then that was hardly anything to write home about. A few spotty adolescents. The Kendalls have fucked off somewhere else, so they’re not an issue. But you’re right, there are others. Thing is, I’m driving the competition, if you get my meaning. It’ll just be me eventually. No worries.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yeah. The mission you blundered into the middle of. It wasn’t just about grabbing food. It was sort of a recce. We were looking for information. Weaknesses, that sort of thing.”
McGuire smirked. “Didn’t feel the need to be more discreet, then?”
Trex sighed. “Yeah, well. That’s not the way we roll. You gotta think big. Anyway, turns out there’s some canisters in the compound. Nasty ones.”
McGuire nodded. “I know the ones. Draped in a tarpaulin like they were trying to cover ’em up, but the skull-and-crossbones are a bit of a fuckin’ give-away.”
“Cho Hee reckons it’s nerve agent. Hit ’em, and that’ll be the end of the compound.”
“Oh, yeah, Cho Hee. One of your more devout followers.”
“So what d’you think?” enquired Trex, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm.
McGuire looked baffled. “About what?”
“My plan,” said Trex, a look of disappointment creeping across his broad features.
“Uh, yeah. Great plan.”
Trex beamed. “Glad you think so, dude.” He relaxed back in his chair again, putting his humungous hands behind his head. “So, the issue now is you. Do you want in? We could use someone like you.”
McGuire licked his lips, amused. “You’re offering me a job?”
Trex nodded. “I know it’s difficult, mate. You’re no longer Top Dog. Things got shifted around a bit. That’s a hard call. But it doesn’t need to be weird. You could be my lieutenant. I’d give you a lot of power, mate. It’d be pretty cool, trust me.”
McGuire smirked. “I didn’t realise the post-apocalyptic world would be so jam-packed with fuckin’ career opportunities.”
Trex laughed. “For men of our talents, the world is now officially our oyster, mate.”
McGuire continued. “’Cept, the thing is, like you I’m really just interested in information. Knowledge is power and all that.”
“Oh, yeah?” Trex looked suddenly suspicious.
“Yeah. I wanna know who betrayed us. Who betrayed me.”
Trex laughed unconvincingly. “The heist from Hell? The fuckin’ thing with the bulldozer? Jesus, mate, that’s pre-history now. Didn’t you notice? It’s the fuckin’ Day of Reckoning out there. Events have moved on, bro’—you should too.” He rapped his hands playfully on his braces. “Look at me. I could be fuckin’ bitter, but I’m not.” He gazed steadily at McGuire, his grin rigid. “I just get on with it.”
McGuire returned his stare. “Ritzo said it wasn’t him.”
Trex narrowed his eyes. “You believe him?”
“He was negotiating for his life.”
“I wouldn’t believe anything that little shit said. Especially if you had ’im on the rack.”
“So you know he was lying to me? You know that for certain?”
Trex stood up, his braces squeaking. “Is this what this is, McGuire? A revenge thing?”
McGuire held up his hands, palms outward. “I didn’t say anything about revenge.”
“I’ve got my own army, in case you didn’t notice,” said Trex angrily, pointing out the window. “Half of them are former gang members, the rest think I’m fuckin’ God. Any attack on me and they’ll tear you limb from fuckin’ limb.”
“Whoah man,” said McGuire, his tone managed, eyes scanning Trex intently. “Why’re you so sensitive?”
“What did Ritzo say?”
“He said he didn’t know who betrayed me. But that there were rumours...”
“Rumours?”
“About Lindsay.”
Trex’s expression abruptly transformed from fury to incredulity. Then he clapped his hands together triumphantly and smiled. “I knew it—this is what this is really about, isn’t it? Fuckin’ Lindsay.”
McGuire swallowed hard. “Is she alive? Where is she?”
Trex shook his head. “Lindsay. I should have known.”
“I need to know where she is,” said McGuire. He couldn’t keep the urgency out of his voice.
Trex leaned on the desk. “I’ll tell you what. I’m a magnanimous God, as it goes.” He took a walking stick from a hook on the wall and swaggered toward the door. “Let’s have ourselves a little deal. Yes, I know where she is. And I’ll give you someone to take you to her.”
Trex leaned out the door and called out, “Mate, can you come in here a second?”
A squat, thickset man entered, the top of his sweat-stained shirt unbuttoned, revealing the familiar scaly tattoo.
“Baxter,” said McGuire quietly.
“Fuck me,” said Baxter incredulously, a grin spreading across his compact features. “So it’s true. Dead Kelly walks.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” muttered McGuire.
Trex clapped his hand on Baxter’s shoulder, looking for all the world like a proud father. “You know what, Kelly? The thing about Baxter here is that he’s completely and utterly unique.”
“Is that right?” said McGuire in low tones.
“Uh-huh.” Trex nodded emphatically. “His life hasn’t been altered one jot by the apocalypse, has it now, Baxter, old son?”
A looked of confusion rippled across Baxter’s face. “I don’t understand, Trex.”
Trex flashed a grin. “Don’t worry, mate. What I mean is, you’re the go-between. The messenger, moving between different gangs, between different tribes. Just like you always were.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Baxter with relief, grinning ruefully. “Our man on the ground.”
Trex laughed and squeezed Baxter’s shoulder with synthetic affection, “That’s what we always say, isn’t it, mate? Our man on the ground. I’m telling you, Kelly, we’ve got every angle covered.”
McGuire was shaki
ng his head. “For fuck’s sake, Trex. Just tell me where she is. I’ll go on my own.”
“Uh-uh,” said Trex, with mock sternness. “You go without him and they’ll kill you as soon as look at you. You need Baxter. He’s your passport, mate.”
“For fuck’s sake,” said McGuire, sotto voce.
“Baxter, I want you to take McGuire to see Spider.”
Baxter’s puzzled expression had returned, his gaze shifting between Trex and McGuire and back again. “Really? Uh, okay, boss.”
“Spider?” responded McGuire, askance. “What the fuck is she doing with that fucker?”
Trex looked steadily at McGuire, all humour gone. “Listen, Kelly. I told you. Things have shifted. That’s who she’s with now.”
McGuire’s eyes flashed. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”
Trex shook his head. “I’m sorry, man. It’s just the way it panned out. It’s a different world.”
McGuire had unconsciously picked apart the bandage on his hand, exposing the curved scar. “The fucker,” he said disbelievingly, staring at the wound.
Trex nodded emphatically. “Yeah, well. No argument here. That sap has been a pain in my backside for as long as I can remember. An irritant, know what I mean? Little things. A raid here, a raid there. And that’s your side of the deal, mate.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I want him gone, I want his gang wasted.”
McGuire nodded slowly. “Maybe.”
Trex chuckled. “You can’t lose, mate. This way you can knock off Spider and get your lady love back. Revenge and romance, you gotta love the combination.”
McGuire continued to stare at his scarred hand for a moment longer, then offered it to Trex. “Okay. You got a deal.”
Trex clasped it. “You have my word, mate. And my Word is Law.”
CHAPTER SIX
“THIS IS SO fucking cool.”
Baxter was grinning from ear to cauliflower ear as he gunned the X-Trail down Flinders Street and right onto Batman Avenue. In the old days the journey probably would have taken ten minutes by car; now, what with negotiating the rubble and abandoned vehicles, it took three times as long. Baxter kept looking excitedly to McGuire like some fucking cocker spaniel, then making lame-arse attempts at conversation. McGuire countered now and again, but otherwise maintained a stoic silence, his eyes playing on the fragmenting world around them. Eventually Baxter ceased gabbling, but the adoring grin remained.
