“No. It’s like the baby...Eddie. They’re just getting sick and dying. Three children and an old lady.”
Maggie thought of the sirens she’d heard back in town and a cold finger touched the base of her spine. While she was getting petrol and talking to Jackson, people were dying. Children were dying.
“What does Doctor Cole think? Does he have any idea what’s causing this sickness?”
Harness leaned back on the couch and rubbed his brow. “Not really. He thinks it looks a bit like flu, but it’s killing people too fast.” He stopped and looked at Maggie again. It was more than weariness that cast a shadow around his eyes. At first, she’d assumed the look was exhaustion, but now she thought it was sadness.
The two sat silently as the storm howled, windows creaking as if threatening to break. There were so many questions. So many things she wanted to ask. How could four people just get sick and die within hours of each other? And why was he telling her all this? She wanted to ask but couldn’t bring herself to fire questions at him. “Have you eaten anything today?”
He gave her a tired but relieved look and shook his head.
“All right. I’ll make us something.” Maggie didn’t wait for an answer. She left him sitting on the couch and hurried to the kitchen.
Going about the mundane task of making sandwiches gave her something to do with her hands while she tried to make sense of the situation. Grabbing the bread out of the cupboard and ham and cheese from the fridge, she began assembling the sandwiches.
What could make people so sick so quickly and why here? Why Eddie? Then there was Harness. She wasn’t sure why he’d come to her, but the haunted look in his eyes told her he needed her help in some way. She hadn’t known him long, but Harness Gibson didn’t strike her as the vulnerable type. It was clear that seeing those children had taken its toll.
Maggie took a quick sip from her wine glass and then returned to the lounge room with two plates. She placed one on the coffee table in front of Harness.
“I hope you like ham and cheese.”
“Yes. Thanks.” He pulled the plate onto his lap, but just stared at the food.
Maggie sat down and put her plate on the table. She didn’t feel particularly hungry but forced herself to take a bite.
“What happens now? I mean, if something is making people sick, shouldn’t you notify someone?”
“Yes. Doctor Cole called the Health Department.” He rubbed his chin. “They’re sending someone tomorrow. The lab results on Eddie won’t be ready for a few days, but the doc’s been to the coroner’s office in Perth trying to hurry things up. When Eddie seemed like an isolated case, there was no rush.” Maggie stopped eating and stared at him. He registered her shock and stopped.
“No. It’s okay, Harness. I know what you mean. No one thought… I don’t think anyone thought others would get sick too.”
“Yeah, but now things have changed. Whatever this is, it’s killed four people in twenty-four hours.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“Tomorrow we’ll have to close the school and any other place where people gather. Sorry, Maggie, but that includes your café.”
She nodded. “You think this thing’s going to spread?”
“I’m not taking any chances.” As he spoke, he picked up the sandwich and took a bite. “Nice,” he said around a mouthful.
Maggie watched him eat. He’d braved the storm to be with her. Maybe like her, he needed someone to turn to. She thought of the way he’d slipped his hand around her waist and kissed her. The hint of lemon-scented soap and the rasp of his stubble against her cheek. Only last night they’d been on the verge of something, she wasn’t sure what, but for a while it seemed full of promise. Now they were talking about how many children had died. The cold finger that touched her spine earlier crawled its way up her back.
Harness stuffed the last morsel of bread in his mouth then Maggie cleared away the plates. A few minutes later she returned from the kitchen to find him trying to use his mobile.
“I think the storm is interfering with the phones. I gave Jackson a ring just before you showed up, nothing but static,” she said.
Harness stood and put the phone in his pocket. “Look, Maggie, I’m probably needed back in town. The station could be trying to reach me. I can’t afford to drop off the radar during a crisis.” He shrugged. “Sorry.”
Maggie knew he was right, but couldn’t help feeling disappointed. She wanted him to stay, but what she needed would have to wait.
“That’s okay. You go and do what you have to do, but… be careful.” Already heading for the door, her words stopped him. He turned as if to speak, but instead placed his hands on her shoulders. For a second, the intensity and fatigue vanished from his features and dimples appeared. He leaned down and kissed her, his lips touching hers for the briefest of seconds
“There’s a town meeting tomorrow at noon in the church hall. Can you be there?”
“Yes, of course.” She was surprised at his sudden change of direction.
“Okay, good. I’ll see you there. Make sure you lock up when I go.”
Maggie stood at the door and watched him hurry down the drive with the wind whipping his clothes. As he pulled out, he gave a wave before his taillights disappeared into the night. With the warmth of his kiss still tingling her lips, Maggie stared out into the darkness and had the distinct feeling something sinister was looking back.
****
With the exception of a few blossoms here and there, the Stone Flower vines were stripped bare. Another morning revealed the aftermath of a stormy night. Only storm wasn’t the right word for the recent weather, not really. It was more like nightly gales that blew up out of nowhere, battering Thorn Tree with growing intensity. This time, Maggie didn’t venture further than the deck, worried that whatever killed the cat had been back in the night. She remembered the way she’d felt watching Harness drive away. The almost physical sensation of eyes crawling over her skin. It was as if something was crouched, hidden in the darkness– watching. Maggie wrapped her arms around herself. In spite of the sun, she couldn’t shake the chill that seemed to have taken up residence in her bones.
Before going back inside, she glanced at the remaining buds still clinging to the vines. Something about the toughness of those few flowers comforted her, not even the fierceness of the storm could kill them. Surprised by her own sense of whimsy, Maggie grabbed her cup from the table and opened the back door.
She needed to reach Jackson before he left for work to let him know the café would be closed. Setting the now cool mug on the counter, she picked up her mobile. Remarkably, there was no trace of static on the line.
When Jackson answered, his voice was clear as a bell. “Maggie, are you okay?” She couldn’t help being touched by the concern in his voice.
“I’m fine. I just want to let you know that the Hawk’s Nest won’t be open today. Sorry about the short notice, but I couldn’t get through last night.”
“I thought as much. I heard about those kids and Mrs Loggie.” He took a breath. “This is getting weird.”
“Wait. What do you mean, Mrs Loggie? What’s happened?” For a second, there was silence, and Maggie thought the line had gone dead.
“She died yesterday.” There was a rustle, as if he were moving the phone from one ear to the other. “I’m not sure of the details, but with all those kids dying I guess they think whatever killed them might have got Mrs Loggie too.”
“Got Mrs. Loggie?” She heard herself repeating his words, not really able to take in their meaning.
“Yeah. My dad wanted to leave town and meet up with Mom and Asha, but Gran refused to budge. Said she won’t run away. This whole thing is making her a bit crazy. She’s kind of freaking me out.” He sounded jittery, almost out of breath.
“Jackson, I’m coming into town to sort a few things out. There’s a meeting at twelve, about the… deaths. Can I come over and talk to your gran when I’
m finished?” It was an odd request, as she’d only ever seen his gran a few times and had been struck by how dark and traditionally Indian the woman looked in comparison to the rest of her family.
She expected Jackson to laugh and ask why; instead, he simply said, “Hang on, I’ll ask.”
There was a long pause. Maggie could hear a door opening and the echo of distant voices.
When Jackson returned, he sounded calmer. “She says to come at one o’clock and wear red.”
“Did you say to wear red?”
“Yep. Wear red.” He gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Don’t ask. It’s better to just go along with it.”
Maggie hung up, not really sure what she hoped to achieve by talking to Jackson’s grandmother. The idea was spur of the moment, but maybe the old lady could shed some light on what was happening. After all, she’d been the first person to know something was wrong … That morning, after the first storm, Jackson said his grandmother was worried about his little sister. If the old lady knew what was killing people, Maggie owed it to Eddie to find out.
Before going upstairs to get ready, she made another call. The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity. Just as Maggie was about to hang up, a voice answered.
“Yes?” It was a man. Maggie guessed it was Cilla’s husband. She’d met him a few times when he dropped by the café to speak to Cilla, but she couldn’t think of his name.
“Hi, is Cilla there?” she asked.
“Who’s this?” His voice was hoarse, almost gruff.
“It’s Maggie. I just wanted to let her know that the café is closed and I’m not sure when we are going to be able to reopen. Sorry it’s so last minute, but...” she paused, not really sure how to explain.
“Okay.” Maggie waited, but he didn’t continue.
“Is Cilla okay?” Maggie wasn’t sure why she asked, only that there was something off in the man’s voice, as though he wasn’t really listening to what she was telling him.
“No. It’s Robert.” His voice caught, as if he was having trouble speaking. “He…He. He died.” A sob, painfully clear. The rawness reminded Maggie of the way Tess sounded when she held out her dead baby in the street the other night.
“I’m so sorry—”
“I have to go.”
The line went dead. Maggie stared at the phone as if it were something alien sitting in her hand. He died. The words rang in her head. Then, for some reason, her mind threw up the man’s name. Shane. Shane Edgell. She thought of calling back and asking if there was anything she could do to help, but didn’t think she could bear to hear another of Shane’s sobs. Not when all she could think of was Eddie and how his little lifeless body felt in her arms. She wondered when he would be released for burial and her mind conjured up the image of a tiny white coffin. When they should be marvelling at his first smile, they’d be burying him. Maggie put the phone in her handbag and went upstairs to get ready.
Maggie turned on the shower and waited until it was running hot before tossing her pyjamas on the floor and stepping in. Harness said three children and an old lady – Maureen– died. Was Robert one of the children he’d mentioned last night? No, Maggie spoke to Cilla moments before Harness arrived, so whatever happened to the boy came later. With Robert, that made five dead in less than three days. She tipped shampoo into her hand and lathered her hair, raking her nails back and forth over her scalp. She didn’t know much about viruses, but this one was attacking the most susceptible and killing fast.
She rinsed her hair and then began scrubbing her body with a washcloth. Eddie was a new-born, Robert had severe asthma, and Mrs Loggie was undergoing chemotherapy for cancer. Maybe the other children were also vulnerable in some way?
Maggie stepped out of the shower and towelled herself dry. Her skin tingled from all the scrubbing but her mind felt clearer. She thought about Jackson’s strange request to wear red and slipped on jeans and a red T-shirt. As she was dressing, it occurred to her that, as far as she knew, no one had let Ollie’s boss know what was happening. She didn’t have the Chapel’s number in her phone, but she was sure Tess had given it to her when she was pregnant so she could let his employer know if Tess went into labour or to get hold of Ollie if his phone wasn’t working. Tess was good like that, she thought of everything. Maggie shut her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Her chest was tight with the build-up of emotion; the temptation to give in to despair beckoned. It would be easy to crawl back into bed and wallow in grief. If it’s like this for me, how must Tess feel?
Maggie forced herself to keep moving. She found the number on a yellow Post-it note sticky taped into her address book. But when she rang, the call went straight to voicemail. Leaving recorded messages was a pet hate, an act that always felt stilted and uncomfortable. Not sure what to say, she stumbled out a message and left her number.
The drive into town was uneventful. Clear sky was visible between tall stands of gum trees, the road scattered with fallen leaves and small branches. Except for the now ever-present crows dancing along the bitumen, the countryside had a deserted feel that reminded Maggie of a movie about the end of the world. She watched a bird swoop low, almost crossing in front of the car before settling on the twisted branch of a wattle tree. It was as if the creatures were gathering in Thorn Tree. Maybe they sensed death?
Two storms in three nights, both times people– children – became sick or died. Could it be a coincidence? The dream she’d had the night Eddie died came to mind. She remembered the frightening grey figure, the way it jerked towards her. As impossible as it seemed, the storms, the dream and the deaths all felt connected somehow.
As she neared town, fields and bush land gave way to houses and rainwater tanks. Homes on the outskirts of town sat on larger blocks than those in the town proper. Many properties had cows, sheep, or even ducks roaming freely on grassy fields. Others were alive with plants, vegetables and fruit trees. Maggie loved this part of living in a small town: the expanse of space and the ease at which people and animals intermingled. Things she usually took the time to appreciate seemed isolated and fragile as she tried to make sense of the tragic circumstances enveloping Thorn Tree.
Entering the town, everything appeared surprisingly normal, if a little quiet. It wasn’t until she drove along Prosperity Street that the scene shifted. The clear sunny sky was a stark contrast to the flat, mostly empty street. Shops were shut, Closed signs hanging on almost every door save the pharmacy, where a line of people trailed out onto the pavement. As she passed the small crowd, a woman holding a toddler in her arms turned and stared at Maggie, their eyes making contact. For a brief second, Maggie thought she saw panic in the woman’s gaze.
Around the corner, Sutton Street buzzed with movement. The Caravan Park was alive with people busily packing cars, trailers and campers. Maggie noticed an elderly woman in orange walking shorts and a frilly blouse folding deck chairs, a white and blue surgical mask covering the lower half of her face. A pudgy bald man, also in shorts, loaded the chairs into a trailer. He, too, wore a surgical mask. A knot of dread twisted in Maggie’s stomach, making her grimace and grip the steering wheel.
Cars crawled forward, moving only centimetres before grinding to a halt. After five minutes of tapping the steering wheel and cursing under her breath, she decided it might be quicker to walk. Finding a parking spot was easy when everyone was hell-bent on leaving. Maggie pulled in opposite the library and locked the car. The air thick with the stench of exhaust fumes, Maggie clutched her handbag and crossed the road. A pool of what looked like vomit ran in wet splashes across the pavement in front of the library. Covering her mouth and nose against the sickening smell, Maggie stepped onto the road and picked her way around the mess, trying not to gag.
As she made her way along Sutton Street, Maggie realised the congestion was caused by of vehicles waiting in line at the petrol station. Both bowsers were in use, the one nearest the street blocked by a green four-wheel-drive. A skinny man wearing a large straw hat shuffle
d towards the car, struggling with an armful of snacks. Behind him, the driver of a white pop-top van beeped his horn, the sound shrill and urgent over the hum of engines.
The guy in the straw hat stopped. His mouth moved but the beeping continued, drowning out his words. Grimacing and jutting his neck forward, the man used his free hand to fling a can of cola at the white pop-top van. The impact split the can, cracking the windscreen and sending a spray of brown foam fizzing over the bonnet of the van.
Without realising it, Maggie gasped and stopped walking, watching open-mouthed as the crazy scene unfolded. The beeping ceased. The driver of the pop-top, a stocky bear of a man, jumped out of his vehicle and charged the older guy in the straw hat, driving him into the rear of his 4WD. The straw hat flew off the older man’s head, revealing a wisp of fluffy white hair. The bigger man roared something unintelligible and held the now struggling old guy by the throat, jamming him against his vehicle before delivering a sickening punch. Maggie heard a crack, almost as loud as the sound of the can hitting the window. The older man’s nose pumped blood in a jet of bright splatters covering his mouth and chin.
Pop-top’s wife was out of the van screaming, her voice mingling with the older man’s wails. Barry, the owner of the petrol station, appeared in the doorway of the petrol station, a cricket bat held out in front of him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Barry bellowed.
The bigger man released his hold on the smaller man’s throat and stepped back, his wife clinging to his bicep. The older man’s nose, shiny with blood, looked strangely flat on his face. His eyes were wide as his legs buckled and his butt hit the concrete. Maggie watched horrified as the elderly man licked his bloody lips and dabbed his fingers in the rapidly spreading liquid.
A few people left their cars to gather near the entrance to the petrol station. A chubby girl in a strappy top, shoulders pink with sunburn, held up her phone.
“Look what he did to my car!” pop-top shouted as his wife pulled him towards their van.
The Stone Flowers Page 8
