The Big Dry

by Tony Davis

  Most of all, he just wished Dad would come home.

  THIRTEEN

  George stared blearily at the window. A dull pink glow crept through the bars. It was morning again.

  He sat upright. His eyelids were gummed with dirt, his stomach rumbled. He remembered. The girl was still here. In their house.

  He looked at his bedroom door. The shelf that had been propped against it was now lying on the floor. He checked Beeper’s mattress. It was empty.

  George jumped to his feet. He heard a murmur of voices from the day room. He quietly made his way towards the bedroom door and listened. Beeper and the girl were talking, but George couldn’t make out what they were saying. He pushed down gently on the handle, but the door made a loud scraping sound as it swung in its warped frame. The voices stopped.

  George stepped into the day room with two sets of eyes watching him. ‘Don’t talk to my brother — ever,’ he said. ‘You have all day to get home before the curfew. So push off.’

  ‘Why don’t you go out instead?’ the girl said with a smile. ‘Find your father.’

  ‘And leave you here? Yeah, sure.’ George turned to his brother. ‘What were you telling her?’

  ‘He wasn’t telling me anything.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking you.’

  ‘Nothing, Torgie,’ Beeper said sheepishly.

  ‘Don’t say another word to her!’

  ‘Torgie?’

  ‘What!’

  ‘She’s right. We should go to the new hospital. Dad might be there.’

  ‘After what happened yesterday? No, we need to wait. I need to think. And I can’t do that with her in the house.’

  ‘You said you had worked out a better way to find him, Torgie. When we were out.’

  ‘Not now!’ George snapped. ‘I’ll tell you when I’m good and ready.’ Damn Beeper for remembering everything. The only thing George had worked out when they were outside was that they had no real chance of doing anything. The city was too big, too dangerous.

  The girl stayed sitting at the table. Beeper walked down the hall and fetched the red chair from their father’s room.

  George slumped on his seat. He couldn’t bear to look at his brother, nor the girl. ‘Put my mother’s dress back,’ he barked in her direction.

  Beeper carried the red chair to the front door, knelt on it and stared through the peephole.

  ‘Come to our room, Beeper,’ said George. ‘We’ll have some breakfast.’

  ‘I’m checking if Dad’s out there.’

  ‘No! Do as you are told!’

  The boys sat on the edge of George’s bed. George opened the first of two small tins of Orange Segments in Syrup. The second tin felt light. As George prised the lid off, the stink of rotten fruit hit him. He saw there was a small puncture on the side of the can, and he threw it against the wall.

  Nothing would go right. George dropped his head into his hands. He knew he would only make it worse if he lost control. He had to be calm. He had to be strong. He stomped across his mattress and picked up the tin. He took the towel he used to plug the gap under the door, and tried to wipe up the stinking mess he had made. Then he sat still and chose his words carefully.

  ‘After everything I’ve said to you … why did you talk to her?’ George asked, as he opened some peaches. There were now just five tins left. ‘What did you tell her?’

  Beeper refused to take the bowl George handed him. He shook his head.

  ‘Well?’ George said.

  ‘Leave me alone.’ Beeper’s cheeks and ears were bright red. He slid off George’s bed, sat down on his own mattress and curled up with his hands around his knees.

  George was too angry to ask any more questions. He heard the floorboards squeak as the girl headed from the day room towards the bedroom she had claimed as her own. He listened for the next ten minutes but heard nothing more. He had to find a way to get rid of her.

  Beeper stayed curled into a ball. George put his hand gently on his arm. ‘It’s going to be all right, Beep, I promise. Now eat this, please.’

  Beeper sat up and accepted the bowl.

  ‘We’ll get rid of the girl,’ George said, passing him three small biscuits. ‘Dad’ll be back soon, and it will all go back to the way it was. And then the rain will come. That’s what Mum used to say a long time ago: “The rain will come when you least expect it. And that will make it all the sweeter and cooler.”’

  Beeper stayed silent.

  ‘I’m sorry I yelled at you, okay.’ George was trying to sound like his father. ‘I know you’re only six. Tell me the thing in the world you most want to do and I’ll do it. I promise.’

  ‘To see Dad.’

  ‘Other than that.’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Well, think harder.’

  ‘Maybe …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Play my favourite game.’

  ‘We’d have to sweep up the patio and …’

  ‘Please!’

  ‘Okay, okay. Let’s go.’

  George opened the back door, stepped onto the patio and then coughed and spat. He was carrying a broom and two dust masks. He swept a thick layer of dirt and debris off the patio. He used a rock to scrape some lines on the concrete surface, marking out two large squares, end to end. He pulled a tennis ball from his pocket.

  The morning was already hot, and the air was dry and coarse. Beeper launched himself into the match as if they were playing the final of the World Handball Championships. He dived for shots. He shouted through his mask with glee when he hit winners. He seemed able to cover the whole court at once.

  George had less natural skill but was bigger and stronger. He was still angry about the girl, and worried she was stealing their food even as they played. He hit the ball more fiercely because of it.

  Every shot threw up dust. The boys wiped their eyes between rallies.

  ‘Your game point,’ sighed George, who served the ball as hard as he could. It bounced in the back corner of Beeper’s square. Beeper’s return was low and scudding. George forced his hand under the ball and sent it back even faster.

  Beeper dived, stretched out his arm, and struck a killer shot. He sent the ball back to George before rolling two or three times across the patio and leaping back to his feet.

  George tried to send back this shot but lost his balance. He ended up sitting on his bottom with his legs twisted and the ball trapped under his thigh. Beeper pulled his mask down and laughed.

  ‘Another game,’ George grumbled. ‘I can’t be beaten twice in a row by a six-year-old.’

  From the corner of his eye, George saw the girl’s face peering through the dirty rear windows.

  ‘Check this out,’ said Beeper, launching his Triple Beanstalk Spin Serve. The ball bounced even higher than the eaves. The girl walked out of the house and stood at the edge of their court.

  ‘Wait!’ George said. Beeper’s serve flew over him, hit the fence and bounced sideways into the yard. ‘If we’re lucky she’s come to tell us she’s leaving.’

  Beeper ran to fetch the ball.

  ‘I was coming to say you should let me play,’ the girl said. ‘I’m good at handball.’

  ‘This is a game for Beeper and me. Our ball, our court, our house.’

  ‘Can’t she play a bit?’ asked Beeper. He walked back to the patio and lifted the ball high above his shoulder.

  ‘No,’ said George. ‘We don’t even know her name. Serve.’

  Beeper served even higher. This time George had his timing right, and he thumped it back.

  ‘Her name’s Emily,’ said Beeper, jumping to his left to return the shot.

  ‘Is that what she told you?’ George said, smashing the ball back again. ‘How would we know if it’s true?’

  Beeper’s return bounced right on the sideline, and bulleted past George.

  ‘It’s what you can call me,’ said the girl.

  ‘I don’t want to call you anything,’ said George. He leapt off the end
of the patio to fetch the ball. ‘Except “the girl who left and never came back”.’

  ‘I’ll be leaving if I please, and I’ll be staying if I want to stay.’

  ‘You said you’d go this morning,’ shouted George. ‘You said you’d put back Mum’s clothes. You’re a liar as well as a thief!’ In his rage, he threw the ball in her direction as hard as he could. He never expected it to hit her, but it smacked her shoulder, then bounced into the air, over the barbed wire and into Mr Carey’s back yard.

  ‘Now we’ve lost our last ball,’ George yelled. ‘They never come back from there. And it’s all your fault.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ the girl said.

  She clenched her fists, and yelled, ‘I’ll make you sorry!’ Then she stormed through the house and disappeared out the front door.

  FOURTEEN

  ‘Everything’s going bad, Beeper.’ George flopped onto a chair and dropped his head onto the dining room table.

  Beeper paced to the kitchen sink and turned on the tap. ‘Shouldn’t have thrown the ball like that, Torgie.’

  ‘I couldn’t help it. What if she puts you in?’

  ‘She wouldn’t.’ Beeper was trying to strain water into fresh jars, but the tap gave out only a few drops.

  ‘How would you know?’

  ‘Just do, Torgie.’

  ‘I’ll make her pay if she tries,’ George said firmly, though he didn’t have a clue how. ‘You don’t understand anything about Welfare, Beeps. It’s got nothing to do with taking kids to places where they can be taken better care of. It’s …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s evil. That’s all I’ll say.’ George stood up. He remembered her words yet again: ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ She was going to make him sorry. There was no doubt about what that meant in George’s mind.

  The boys would have to leave the house again, and soon. She was almost certainly on her way to claim her reward. A white van would be driving up the hill before the day was out.

  When George joined Beeper at the sink — they would need to take as much water as they could — a trace of sugary lemon trickled through his blocked-up nasal passages. He was going to say something, but the smell lasted only a brief moment. It was probably just his imagination. He had to concentrate on the job in hand.

  ‘Just won’t answer the door, Torgie. Dad taught us that.’

  ‘Even if we don’t answer, Beeps, she can let them in. She knows how to unlock our front door. I don’t know how she does. But she does.’

  ‘She wouldn’t tell,’ said Beeper.

  George shook his head and stared angrily. ‘Dad left me in charge, and we’re not taking that risk.’

  They were able to fill only one jar before the drips coming from the tap dried up completely.

  In the bedroom, under a groaning ceiling, George put all their food, the can-opener, their dust masks and their one remaining plastic water bottle in his backpack. They had only four tins and one and a half packets of biscuits left, and he didn’t want the girl to eat them if she came back.

  ‘Come on, Beeps, time to make a run for it,’ George said, pulling the backpack onto his shoulders. ‘We’re going to hide in the picnic reserve. I reckon we can stay until dark if we have to.’

  In the old days, they would have slipped through a gap in the back fence, and run through the bush. Now the fence was all blocked up and covered with wire.

  ‘What if Mr Carey sees us, Torgie?’ said Beeper as they walked into the hall. ‘Will he tell the Welfare men which way we went?’

  George stopped. He hadn’t thought of that. Just then he heard a series of sullen, drawn-out piano chords. ‘Quick, Beeper,’ he said. ‘Now!’

  Out on the street, there was no-one in sight in either direction, though George still struggled to stop his legs shaking. They passed Mr Carey’s house and made their way down the hill in the direction of the sports stadium. Neither boy could help but examine the shape of every sand-covered car. Hoping.

  As they swung left to double back to the reserve, George made out two shapes in the haze ahead. A man and a woman were walking towards them.

  George didn’t think the couple had seen them, but his stomach turned somersaults. He grabbed Beeper’s hand. His first thought was to run home, but Welfare might be on their way. They still had to stay out all day, and at least George knew the bandstand had space underneath.

  ‘Quickly and quietly,’ George whispered to his brother. They darted down a small road to the side. They passed a row of burnt-out houses, and hid behind a car that was upside-down, like a dead turtle on its back.

  George watched the couple in the distance. They moved slowly, and carried large canvas bags. The woman’s hair was spiky; the man was bald and much taller. He held a length of wood in one hand.

  ‘Are they wanderers, Torgie?’ Beeper whispered a few moments after the man and woman had crossed the end of the road.

  ‘I don’t know. But I don’t want to find out.’ The boys waited for at least ten minutes to make sure the couple were gone, then nervously rejoined the road to the park.

  A few hundred metres along, they arrived at the wide and flat expanse of sand that was all that remained of the picnic fields. No-one was around. The boys stood next to a chained-up toilet block and stared across at the bandstand. It was completely ruined.

  George didn’t expect the roof to be still there, but the floor had caved in too.

  Their hiding spot was gone. George crankily took the water bottle from his backpack. He was about to offer a sip to Beeper when something near the bandstand caught his eye.

  A bundle of rags was blowing in the wind. Except there was no wind. And there was something inside the bundle. It was a man struggling to get to his feet. Beeper took a step towards him.

  George clutched his brother’s arm and pulled him back. ‘Haven’t you learned anything? It could be a trap!’ Almost as soon as he said it, George too sensed a need to walk towards the man on the ground. It could even be Dad.

  ‘Let’s be careful,’ George said, as they both edged forward. ‘If I say to run, Beeps, sprint away and don’t look back. If you have to, find a new hiding place without waiting for me.’

  The boys stopped a few metres away. ‘Is everything all right?’ George yelled out.

  ‘They’ve taken my money, and every bunny.’

  George and Beeper swapped glances, then charged up to the rabbitoh man. His face was bruised and cut. Dirt clung to his wounds. They helped him into a sitting position.

  ‘Is anything broken?’ asked George. ‘Can we get you something?’

  ‘I’ve still got my pride, I’ll be sweet.’ The man shuffled into the shade of the wrecked bandstand. ‘I was trying to catch some hoppers. But there are wanderers around, boys. A nasty couple — and out in broad daylight.’

  Beeper passed their water bottle to the man. He drank greedily. ‘A man with eyes as black as any I’ve ever seen,’ he said between gulps. ‘A woman with spiky hair. They would have happily killed me. Except that I gave them everything, even my boots.’

  His bare feet were spindly and black with ingrained dirt. ‘Whatever you do, stay out of their way,’ the rabbitoh man added.

  ‘He’s right, Beeper. We can’t hang around here.’

  ‘We should help him, Torgie.’

  George didn’t know what to do. He hated the idea of leaving the man here, but where could they take him? He had to keep his brother safe too.

  The rabbitoh man made the decision for him. ‘Get out of here,’ he said firmly. ‘Both of you. I’ll be all right. And boys …’

  ‘Yes?’ said George.

  ‘Bless you.’

  George left the drink bottle with the rabbitoh man, and made sure he could stand up and walk. He grabbed Beeper’s hand and the boys made their way back to the park entrance. They peered down the street from behind the toilet block. All was clear but George’s heart still battered against the inside of his chest. ‘Back up the hil
l, Beeper,’ he said.

  ‘But the Welfare men might be there.’

  ‘That won’t be a problem.’

  The boys ran down the side street and up towards the house as fast as they could. The tins in George’s backpack bounced around and bruised his back, and his legs were heavy in the heat. He struggled to breathe in enough air without filling his mouth with grit. He scanned the scene for any Welfare trucks or people.

  It was so unfair. The one safe place — home — was no longer safe because of that horrible girl.

  At the crest, Beeper ran into their front yard.

  ‘No, not there,’ said George. ‘Over here.’ He pointed to the shell of the house across the road. The house that looked like a skull.

  FIFTEEN

  The boys sat in the front room of the deserted house. They wheezed and spat as they tried to catch their breath after the run from the park. Beeper coughed up a blob of black muck. They had no water, and they were hungry, but at least they were out of sight of anyone.

  Every few minutes George peeked over the windowsill to check on their house. There was no sign of wanderers or Welfare.

  The boys had to keep moving around the roofless room to stay in the shade. Grit changed to sludge on their sweaty skin. Flies clung to their faces. George considered opening one of the tins but decided against it. He didn’t know how long their food would have to last.

  Eventually, he couldn’t hold out any more. They shared a few biscuits and a tin of Baked Beans in Rich Ham Sauce, taking it in turns to run their index fingers around the bottom of the tin to dab up the last bits of sauce.

  The wind picked up late in the day, driving hot sand through the empty windows and doors. The boys strapped on their dust masks and goggles. Beeper slipped into a light sleep as dusk approached, but George was too scared to take that risk.

  He sat numbly until a sound made him jump. It was a door slamming. ‘Beeper, wake up. Did you hear that?’

  Beeper opened his eyes. ‘What?’

  George peered over the window ledge. It hadn’t sounded like Mr Carey’s big steel door. ‘I think someone has gone into our house.’