by Burns, Alex
We should have taken the usual route, gone back the way we’d come. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. Life is full of those big and small choices. Which street to choose? Which restaurant to eat at? Which university offer to accept? Which flight to book? If all goes well, then life goes on as normal. You have a nice meal at the restaurant. Nothing happens on your walk or drive down that particular street. Your flight lands safely. Sometimes we pick wrong though. The plane crashes. A wall collapses, crushing you on your walk to lunch. A murderous shooter chooses your restaurant as well. You never know which random little choice is going to turn out badly.
I stared out the window, looking at all the darkened windows. Normally by this time in the afternoon you’d see hints of flickering screens, kids coming home from school, people checking their mail or taking their dog for a walk… Instead all I could see were overgrown front yards and stray pets. A few houses had boarded up windows and a few more had smashed windows. An uneasy shiver ran down my spine. I glanced over at Mum in the driver’s seat. She had a determined frown on her face. I had no idea what she was thinking. I went back to staring out the window, but not really seeing what I was looking at. I tried not to think about anything. It was easier that way.
We turned around another corner and Mum swore.
“What?” I shot her an alarmed look.
Mum just jerked her head to what was in front of us. I quickly turned my gaze out the windscreen and gasped.
“What the hell is that?”
Mum slowed the van down and rolled to a stop. There was a pile of debris stacked in a haphazard mess blocking the street. I squinted at the blockade. Shopping trollies, branches, a couch, and some wheelie bins were blocking our way. There was no way around or through it.
“Who did that?” I asked quickly. “Do you see anyone?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t have a very good feeling about this.” Mum put the van in reverse and then swore again. Her eyes were glued to the rearview mirror.
“What now?” I swivelled around so I could see out the back. A line of men, all with guns, stood arrayed behind the van, blocking us in. Mum was breathing quickly, and I felt surely I would wake up soon and that this was not really happening.
“Stay calm,” Mum said, although she sounded anything but calm.
“What the fuck?” I yelped. “Can you just run them over and get us out of here?”
“They might shoot you.” Mum’s breath hitched in her throat, indecision written on her face. Her eyes still hadn’t left the mirror. I turned again to see what was going on and was met with the barrel of a shot gun in my face.
“Get out,” a surprisingly soft voice said. “Both of you.”
I tore my eyes away from the gun and focussed on it’s wielder. It was a young man, younger than me. Barely a man, really. He had a scruffy black beard and dark eyes.
“Now!” another voice barked. My shaking hands fumbled with the seatbelt.
“Keep your hands where I can see them!”
“I’m just undoing my seatbelt,” I muttered.
“Hurry up,” he snapped.
The man opened the van door and gestured impatiently for me to get out. Mum was getting the same treatment on the other side from a shorter, skinny, blonde man.
“Keep your hands up, both of you.”
Scruffy beard shepherded me around to where Mum was standing. She clutched my hand and pulled me closer to her. I could feel her trembling.
“Hands up, I said!”
Mum dropped my hand and we both raised them again.
“Any weapons?” the blond man demanded.
Mum and I both shook our heads, but it didn’t stop the two men from patting us down. Scruffy beard spent a bit too much time making sure I didn’t have a gun hidden between my breasts or between my legs. I squirmed and glared at him. He smirked at me and then finally dropped his hands and called something out to the men behind us.
A tall, broad Islander man sauntered up to us. There were about a dozen others standing around the van, looking at us and muttering to each other. They were mostly young. Half of them looked like teenagers, and the rest were barely twenty if they were a day. A couple of them might have been in their late twenties. One of them laughed. The sound rang discordant in my ears.
Scruffy beard and the blond took a step back but kept their guns pointed at us as the Islander stopped in front of us.
“What have you got in the van?”
“We don’t have anything,” Mum said, eyes narrowed at the man.
“Have you got any food?” the skinny blond asked.
“No,” Mum frowned at him. “We have -”
“Check the van,” the Islander said, cutting Mum off.
“Don’t, please,” Mum said quietly.
“Got something to hide then, do ya?”
“No - it’s just - it’s my daughter’s body. And my son-in-law.”
The Islander gave a curt nod to one of the other men. He pulled open the back of the van and peered inside, face screwed up.
“She’s telling the truth,” he called out after a moment. “Looks like two bodies. Smells like it too.”
“Anything else in there?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Check!” the Islander barked.
“Aw, man, do I have to? Robbie, you do it. I don’t wanna go near anymore dead bodies.”
“Just fucking do it, Thommo.”
“There’s nothing else in there, I promise. Nothing of any value to you anyway,” I said, heart pounding. What were they going to do with us when they realised we didn’t have anything they wanted?
“Where are you going?” he said, eyeing us with a slight sneer.
“Home. We just came to collect my daughter’s body so we could take her home and bury her.”
“Right… and where is ‘home’?”
“You wouldn’t have heard of it,” I said, my own lip curling slightly.
“Try me.”
“Up near Bendigo,” Mum lied quickly, cutting over me. I bit my tongue. “Lockwood,” she said, referring to a little town where my uncle used to live.
The man cocked his head. “What’s it like up there?”
“Do they have food?” the skinny blond asked eagerly. I was starting to wonder if he was naturally skinny or just really hungry.
“Much the same as here,” Mum said, her eyes still on the gun in scruffy beard’s hands. “Most people dead, a few clinging on. No one pointing guns at us though.”
“Damn,” the Islander muttered, ignoring Mum’s jab.
“Can you put the guns down please, it’s really not necessary,” Mum said in what I recognised as her ‘teacher voice’.
The Islander raised an eyebrow at her and then shrugged. He nodded at the others and they lowered their guns.
“Don’t try anything,” he warned.
“Jay, they must have food somewhere. And supplies.” Robbie, the squeamish one, sauntered up and started looked at us up and down.
“There’s a couple of sandwiches in the front of the van,” Mum said quickly, “but that’s all we have here.” She’d packed them for our lunch, but both of us had lost our appetite after dealing with Sarah and Chris. Skinny blond’s eyes lit up and he scurried over to the van. He yelled in triumph and held up the brown paper bag with the sandwiches. A few of the men converged on him and they started squabbling over their find.
“Look, all we want is to take Sarah and Chris back home and give them a decent burial, and have somewhere for their little daughter to pay her respects. That’s all,” I said tightly.
“That van looks all right,” Robbie said.
Jay the Islander sighed. “We don’t need to take their van. We’ve got our pick of vehicles around here, you idiot.”
Robbie scowled at him, then turned back to Mum. “How much petrol you got left, eh?” He spat a gob of spit at Mum’s feet. I could tell she was fighting the urge to tell him off, despite the guns.
“Enough to get home, t
hat’s all,” Mum said. “Please let us be on our way. We’re no bother to you.”
I glanced around at the men. Some of them looked bored. Half of them had wandered off when it become clear we didn’t have anything worth taking. I didn’t like the looks Scruffy Beard and Robbie were giving me though.
Jay sighed again and looked over at the van and then back at us. “All right,” he said softly. “You can go. Bury your dead.”
“Wait, Jay,” Robbie whined and stepped closer to me. I hastily stepped backwards. “Can’t we have a little bit of fun first? They’ve gotta pay their way somehow.” Quick as a snake, he reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me close to him. The stench of stale cigarettes, cheap whiskey, and unwashed clothes filled my nostrils. His other hand groped my breasts. I struggled against him, trying to break free, but it just seemed to excite the creep more.
“No! Stop it!” Mum yelled, reaching for me as well.
“Cut it out,” Jay growled. Robbie’s hands didn’t stop.
“Naw, Jay, c’mon. You can have a go too.” He squeezed harder, laughing. For a moment I was scared the big man was going to agree.
“No,” Jay said coldly, eyes narrowed at us. “I said cut it out.”
“Ah, fuck this.” Robbie pushed me away. “Bet she’s frigid anyway.” I stumbled and Mum caught me and pulled me close to her, wrapping a protective arm around my shoulders. She hauled me back to the van, glaring at the men still standing around. Jay waved them away from the van.
“You sure?” one of the men called out.
“Yep.”
Shaking, we both climbed in the van. Mum’s hand shook as she turned the key and slammed the van into reverse.
“Are you all right, Alice?”
“Yes. No. Fuck. Let’s get out of here before someone changes their mind.”
Mum reversed to the end of the street. I kept my eyes firmly on the men still standing around. Robbie pointed his gun in our direction and smirked.
I wanted to punch that smirk off his stinking face.
We got to the end of the street and Mum turned the van around, speeding back the way we came. We didn’t say anything for a few minutes, then I started laughing and couldn’t stop. Mum pulled the van over in an empty street.
“Alice?” She reached over and touched my arm. I leaned forward, still laughing. I laughed so hard, tears started rolling down my cheeks. Mum rubbed my back, going round and round in calming circles.
“I’m sorry,” I said with a hiccup. “I don’t know why I’m laughing.”
“We’ve had a shock,” Mum said quietly, still rubbing my back. I slowly managed to stop laughing and calm my breathing down.
“This world is fucked up. Let’s hurry up and get home,” I said. “Before anything else happens.”
Chapter Twenty
The blossom buds were emerging. Birds worked industriously, preparing their nests for the next generation. The magpies warbled at each other over our heads, and I caught a flash of blue as the fairy wrens darted around a wattle tree.
We stood huddles under the oak tree. The bare branches reached upwards to the blue sky. Soon enough it’s leaves would unfurl for another year, but not yet.
Mum had her hand on Charlotte’s tiny shoulder. The little girl peered down into the grave.
Carefully, we’d placed Sarah and Chris down there, wrapped in blankets. Mum dropped a handful of daffodils down on to the bodies. I stood slightly back, praying to I don’t even know what. I stared up into the empty branches, wondering if Sarah was somehow looking down on us. I’d never really believed in an afterlife before. I hoped there was one, but I’d never actually believed. It’d be pretty crowded these days if there was one.
Maggie and Horatio both sat still. Maggie was sitting almost on my feet, and Horatio was leaning on Mum’s leg. Jack stood slightly off to the side, leaning on the shovel. Andy rested his hand on Jack’s shoulder. Jack’s grandmother, Shirley, sat a few metres away from us, on the old bench, watching us with her hazy eyes.
“We love you, Sarah and Chris. You will remain in our hearts and minds, always,” Mum said, her voice wavering. Her hand tightened on Charlotte’s shoulder. She glanced over at me and nodded. I stepped forward slightly. I didn’t really know what to say. A million thoughts rushed through my mind, but none of them felt right.
“Goodbye,” I finally managed. I picked up a handful of dirt and let it trickle through my fingers, down onto their covered bodies.
Charlotte sniffed.
“Do you want to say something, sweetheart?” Mum leant down to Charlotte and rubbed her back. Charlotte bit her lip and nodded.
“Goodbye Mummy and Daddy. I miss you.” She looked back up at Mum for reassurance. Mum smiled sadly down at her.
My eyes burned. Jack handed me a tissue. I nodded my thanks, unable to speak. We all stood there in silence for a few minutes.
It was hard to watch Jack start to shovel the earth back into the grave, covering up my sister forever. I almost turned away, but then resolutely stepped closer to Mum and placed my hand on Charlotte’s other shoulder, squeezing it slightly. I owed Sarah that much.
Chapter Twenty-One
There was a knock on the door early the next morning. I yawned, stood up from where I was slouched over the kitchen table contemplating my tea cup and peeked out the window. Jack stood at the back door in his drizabone, holding a long dark bag in one hand and trying to fend of Horatio’s exuberant welcome with the other. Maggie stood slightly back, barking warily at the tall man.
“Morning, Alice. I thought it was about time you learned how to shoot,” he said when I opened the door. The two dogs pushed their way inside.
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Charlotte came running up and slung her arm around my waist, staring avidly up at Jack. “Can I learn to shoot too?”
Jack looked startled. I ruffled Charlotte’s hair.
“Not today, poppet.”
“Why not?” Charlotte whined.
I looked over my shoulder for Mum, but I couldn’t see her.
“I think I can only handle one student at a time,” Jack said, recovering slightly. “But I promise I’ll teach you how to shoot one day, Charlotte.”
Charlotte screwed up her face but then nodded, seemingly satisfied. She trotted off, with Maggie following her. Horatio looked hopefully up at Jack.
“Well?” Jack asked, still standing awkwardly in the door.
“Oh. Now?” I was still in my dressing gown.
“Might as well. Do you have something else on?”
I snorted.
“Let me get dressed and tell Mum.”
I hastily pulled on my old pair of jeans and a jumper. I glanced out the window - the clouds looked rather ominous, so I grabbed my coat as well.
I found Mum down in the veggie garden, in amongst the garlic plants, pulling out weeds.
“Jack’s here. He wants to teach me how to shoot.”
She sat back on her heels, looking up at me. She regarded me for a moment and then nodded. “Good.”
I’d half expected her to object. I blinked a couple of times.
“Um, okay then. I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Right.”
“See you later.” I turned and walked back towards the house.
Jack and I walked silently down the road, past the empty houses.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we got to the edge of town.
“Gun club,” Jack grunted.
I’d almost forgotten that Turalla had a gun club, even though I’d been listening to the shooters shooting their targets there my whole life. It was just apart of the background noise of Turalla. Cows bellowing, dogs barking, birds chirping, and gunshots on Wednesday nights.
I’d never set foot in the place before, despite driving or walking past it thousands of times.
“Were you a member?” I asked once we were standing in front of the gate. It was padlocked shut, but easy enough to climb over.
> “Nah,” Jack said with a shake of his head. “But I went a few times with mates. Remember Darcy Morrison? He was really into target shooting. I think he got to Nationals a few times.”
“Oh, wow!”
“Mmm… wonder what happened to him… he was living over in Perth last I heard.”
There wasn’t much to say to that.
The gun club was just a shed, with the shooting range out the back. It was deserted and untouched.
“They don’t keep any guns on the premises, so there’d be no point anyone robbing the place,” Jack said, reading my mind.
We set up outside. Jack pulled a couple of guns out of his bag and showed them to me. He reeled off a bunch of names and stats that went in one ear and out the other.
“Here, you have a go.” He handed me one of the guns. I eyed it warily and then accepted it, not entirely sure what to do with the thing. It was heavier than I was expecting. I held it like I thought I’d seen in the movies. Jack scoffed and moved behind me, using his hands and body to position me correctly. I’d been doing it all wrong, apparently.
“That’s better,” he said, once satisfied. He stepped back and then fished around in his pocket for something. “Almost forgot, here.” He handed me some ear plugs. I put them in wordlessly.
I aimed at a tin can, squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the trigger. The excruciatingly loud crack of the gun made it through the ear plugs. I took a quick step backwards as the gun kicked back on my shoulder. It hurt.
I opened my eyes. The tin can hadn’t moved.
Jack laughed at me.
“Helps if you keep your eyes open,” he said. I poked my tongue out at him like the mature adult I was.
“Where’d I hit?” I asked, taking one of the earplugs out.
“No idea, somewhere over there,” he said, waving off into the distance. “Try again.”
And so I did. After a few shots, Jack showed me how to reload the gun. It wasn’t as complicated as I’d assumed. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air.
“I hit it!” I yelled in surprise after my sixth go at hitting the can.
