by JM HART
“I saw the bike on the lawn yesterday,” Daniel said. “Do you know whose bike it is?”
“What bike? I don’t know.”
The fireman turned and pointed to the sky-blue bike resting on the lawn. “What about your son. Can we ask him?”
“What?”
“Is that your son’s bike?”
“No. Now piss off!”
The door slammed an inch from the fireman’s nose. He walked down the porch stairs turned and looked back up at the roof. Shaun lay flat trying to melt into the roof and his cheek slapped against the warm roof tile. He heard something moving beside him and twisted his neck around to see a creepy, dark flickering cloud, caught in the stream of sunlight stretched across the sky. It was like looking through a microscope at squiggles of organisms. He blinked and they were gone. His skin crawled; the atmosphere was gritty and tasted metallic. He had tasted something like it before. Suddenly he found himself falling. Instinctively, to break his fall, he pushed his hands out in front, and something sharp jabbed and sliced into his palm. He winced in pain and pushed himself up. He glared at the blood in his palm, a gash clean and straight as a surgeon’s knife, right along an old forgotten scar. There was nothing on the roof that could have made a clean cut. Tiny black flickers like worms danced around his head. He waved his hands through them and they disappeared.
“What the hell?” he said. He looked back at the road. The fireman had picked up the bike, thrown it in the back of the Dodge and driven off.
“Shaun! Shaun!” his father yelled through the house.
Shaun stayed on the roof and waited for him to shut up. He felt the cool morning summer breeze dry the salty fluid from his body. Smoke rolled down from the mountains like a fog rolling in from the ocean. Shaun tuned out his father’s ranting. In the distance a black streaming cloud twisted hypnotically. It reminded him of something. It felt important but still nothing came. It had been like this on and off for years. It drove him insane.
He slithered off the side of the roof and back into the house through his bedroom window. He put on his t-shirt and jeans and slipped into his runners. He opened up his top drawer and stared at the leather pouch. He felt it with his fingertips and drew in a jagged breath. It was worn and shiny from his handling, and still had the smell of a tannery. He picked it up and felt the shape of the stones, shoved it deep into his front pocket and climbed back out the window.
*
Tim waded into the water. “Hey, that reminds me, K. You’re sleeping at mine tonight. We’re not going to have to deal with your mom at all.”
“Yeah, you’re right”.
They dove into the river and swam, using the tide to carry them across. Their bikes and clothes were gone. The bush was deathly quiet. The light was being sucked out of the day. They walked along the blackened trail and stopped where the anthill had been. “Something’s not right,” Kevin said. He walked on to the end of the track and stopped to look back at the charcoal trees. He didn’t need to hear Tim’s thoughts to feel his unease. They headed for the vacant lot; the tall grass had been burnt down to the ground. Barefoot, spiked vegetation jabbed their soles as they walked towards the empty street ahead.
*
Kevin saw Tim’s mother was in the kitchen gazing out the window. She saw them walk across the backyard and waved.
She smacked a kiss on Tim’s cheek before the back door closed. “Hi, boys. Sorry I missed you both last night,” she said, returning to her cooking. “I got home so late, I didn’t want to wake you.”
Puzzled, Tim’s eyebrows hiked up towards his hairline and looked as if his mom had lost the plot. His sister walked into the kitchen and bumped hard into his shoulder. “What was that for?” Tim said, rubbing it.
“Don’t you two start,” his mother snapped, rinsing broccoli. “There is enough violence on the streets. If you don’t have something nice to say to each other, then I’d advise you to say nothing at all.”
“I’m going to my room,” Kathy said. She paused just before the kitchen door closed, and beckoned to the boys to follow.
Tim’s mom wiped her hands on the tea towel and opened the refrigerator. “I’ve made some rocky road for you guys to take tonight.” She retrieved a Tupperware container and flashed it around the room.
“Kevin, your mom was looking for you. She was hoping you’ll be home before dark to pitch the tent. You’ll have to get a move on if you don’t want to disappoint her.”
Kevin finished the glass of water and put it on the edge of the sink. He gave Tim a confused look.
“Okay, Mom,” Tim said. “But we’re —”
Kathy launched back into the kitchen and pulled Tim out of the room before he could say anything else.
When they were out of earshot, Kathy said, “Where the hell have you been? Mom may think you were tucked in your bed last night, but I know you weren’t!”
“You’re crazy,” Tim whispered. “What are you babbling about — you came to my room to give me a tenner this morning, so you could go out with some douchebag.”
“That was yesterday, and where’s your bike? I saw you from my window walking along the street. And where are your clothes?”
“What! Yesterday! What’s today? So, that’s why my mom was here.” Kevin said. “We’ve lost a day. We’ve been gone over twenty-four hours. That’s why there was no smoldering bush. I’d better get home. Grab your tent.”
Kathy followed them to Tim’s room, watching them scramble around for the tent, flashlight, sleeping bag and pillow. “What do you mean you’ve lost a day? Tim! What’s going on?”
Kevin picked up his unopened backpack. His mom had packed extra things. He could tell by the way it was tied and bulging out the sides. She still treated him like a kid, which he found annoying. But sometimes it is nice, he admitted to himself. He felt a pang of sadness, thinking that she was trapped by her own fears. That’s the true plague, he thought and walked out of Tim’s room.
Kathy flicked the hall light on and off. “Guys? Guys?”
They stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to her.
“What now?” Tim asked.
Kath looked at them as if they were a pair of idiots. “You owe me that ten back, or I’ll let the cat out the bag,” she said.
“You can be a real bitch,” Tim said.
“Oh, and maybe you guys are used to hanging out in your underwear, but perhaps the few neighbors left don’t need to know.”
“Oh, shit,” Tim said, dropping his things in the hall.
They rushed back to his bedroom. Tim opened his drawers and fished out two pairs of cargo pants, one blue and one khaki and two white Bonds t-shirts. He handed Kevin a shirt and the khaki pants. Tim pulled on his sneakers and tossed a spare pair to Kevin.
Kevin’s nose wrinkled in disgust and his eyes began to water. “They reek! I’m not wearing them.”
Tim didn’t want to part with his Nikes. “Oh, man! Okay. You so much as scuff the toes, you owe me a new pair.” They grabbed their stuff and bolted down the stairs.
“Bye, Mom.”
Watching the news, his mother called absently, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” She heard them go into the kitchen and collect the rocky road out of the icebox. She remained in the plush leather recliner and pushed out her cheek for a kiss, not taking her attention away from the television. She was focused on the dark-haired reporter with the deep baritone voice. He was an American reporting a missing person.
“Over a year ago, Professor Ellen Freeman, a leader in genetics research, went missing from her lab and remains to this day unaccounted for. Twenty-four hours ago it was reported to police that her daughter was kidnapped. Her last known whereabouts was Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The police are questioning the young man who reported her missing and they are trying to locate her father. They are treating the circumstances as suspicious. With the majority of the police force dealing with the violent-infected, it’s unlikely there will be an extensive search conducted.”
“Hey, Kevin, didn’t your mom go to Carolina?” Tim’s mom said.
“Yep, and she never talks about it.”
Tim sat on the arm of the chair. “Wow, the girl’s gone now. I reckon the father did them in. What do you think?”
“Tim! That’s terrible. You have no idea what that poor family are going through. Don’t be so quick to judge.”
“Sorry, Mom. Let’s go, K.”
*
Most of the morning Shaun wandered around the semi-deserted city, staying away from places where people might recognize him, and he rode the trains all afternoon. I’m just the local bully, son of the drunkard. Son of a diseased woman who died, leaving me to defend for myself against what my father had become, a drunken thief. But dad hasn’t always been a drunk. His dad had loved her so much, his spirit had died with her.
Shaun enjoyed being on trains because he didn’t have to keep up an image and he mostly pretended to be asleep. Sometimes he could even believe his mother was sitting next to him. They used to travel into the city by train to see a movie before the cancer took over their lives. They would have lunch and buy a toy in the magic shop, or a book from the bookstore. He remembered walking into the grand old theatre, the walls lined with statues, his mother bought ice-cream, chocolate or popcorn, he stared at the statues wishing for them to move. They were the good times before she died. Shouts from the front of the carriage woke Shaun from his daydream. The passengers who had boarded the train at the last stop looked more than just tired. The train had only just pulled out of the station when they started arguing over who was going to get the window seat, and if the window should be open or closed. Then abruptly an old dude from across the aisle had stood up and slammed the window shut, pulverizing the guy’s fingers. Shaun wasn’t going to inhale the same air as those sorry-looking infected assholes any longer and jumped off at the next stop. Walking home, he picked up some groceries along the way.
He waited at the threshold of his home and listened; the house was empty. Satisfied, he hummed as he went into the kitchen and put away the bread, milk and Vegemite. He always felt better after riding the trains, but he decided he would give it a miss for a while, because more people were getting sick. And what was with the old dude’s black pupils. He had seen shows on the TV where morons tattooed their eyeballs, but this was different somehow.
*
From his bedroom Shaun heard the front door close. His father stumbled through the house into the kitchen knocking a glass off the bench. Drunk again, Shaun thought, as he changed the sheets on his bed. His stomach grumbled; he was starving, but he would wait for his dad to fall asleep. Shaun opened up his sock drawer and put the leather pouch way at the back, ignoring his tummy. Fuck him, why should I hide, he thought, making his way to the kitchen. He quickly cooked six pieces of toast and spread butter and Vegemite on three, and peanut butter and jam on the rest. He wrapped them up in paper towels, grabbed a bottle of coke and closed the fridge door with his foot before heading up onto the roof.
He heard the toilet flushing and leant over the edge of the roof. The back door opened and his dad, half-dressed, puffing on a cigarette, dropped a bag of rubbish into the bin. Shaun worked up a mouthful of saliva and let it hang from his mouth into a strung-out spit, and sucked it back up. He did it again, letting it grow a little longer, a little thinner and a little lower before sucking it back up. He did it again til it was too thin, too long and gravity took hold: it was heading for his dad’s back. His dad stepped forward and flicked his butt into the garden and the saliva splatted onto the pavement behind him. His dad looked up. Shaun had no time to move back, so he kept still, not wanting his dad to think he was frightened. I can take a good beating, he thought.
“You filthy bugger — you lazy good-for-nothing. Why don’t you piss off?”
“Why don’t you take a look at yourself, old man? I never understood what Mom saw in you. You’re a clusterfuck. Weren’t you supposed to be some big-shot professor? You’re a pathetic fraud. You let her die.”
“You ungrateful prick. I should have left you to die with your little girlfriend.” He picked up the shiny lid of the garbage can and threw it up into Shaun’s face. Shaun ducked and just missed being scalped, but the lid skimmed his cheek and sliced it open. Shaun dropped to his knees, holding his cheek, holding in the urge to scream with pain, because he wasn’t going to give his old man the satisfaction. “Fuck, you’re a dick!”
“Not so tough now are you, kiddo?” his father said, slamming the back door closed. The street was empty of all other sounds.
Shaun looked down at his hand, covered with blood. “Ah, shit.” He pressed it against his face, walked to the edge of the roof and climbed over the eaves and down the drainpipe.
*
Kevin and Tim walked as fast as they could down the quiet street. “What are you going to tell your dad about your bike, K?”
“I’ll just say I couldn’t carry all this stuff. That’s not going to be a problem, but something is … I can feel my dad … something’s not right, he’s worried.”
“Hey, look.” Tim pointed towards the row of houses.
“What?”
“On the roof over there. Some guy is on the roof.”
The fading light of the sun shone on a miniature flying saucer that shot up into the sky from the back of the house, smacking hard into the dude’s head. He had his back to Kevin and Tim so all they could see was a silhouette drop to his knees, going down like a bag of potatoes. They ran across the road, watching him standing at the edge of the roof, trying to steady himself before sliding dangerously down the side of the house.
“Hey man, are you okay?” Kevin called.
The guy turned around at the sound of Kevin’s voice.
Kevin continued to walk across the street and Tim grabbed his arm. “Wait, K, that’s the guy that kicked the shit out of me. Stuff him, let’s get out of here.”
“Chill, man, we can’t — he’s seen us, act cool.”
“You okay?” Kevin walking across the lawn. He could see the blood dripping between the boy’s fingers and face. Shaun pretended he didn’t recognize the other two boys. However, he couldn’t stop eyeballing Tim’s leg. Then Shaun staggered, trying to focus on his mobile phone; he was having trouble swiping it unlocked. The sound of a car coming around the corner and stopping at the curb seemed familiar to Kevin. He turned to see it was his dad. Kevin turned back to Shaun. “You’d better go inside and get some help. Are your parents home?” Shaun grabbed Kevin’s wrist with a vice-like grip and said, “No one’s home, so just piss off.” Then his legs buckled as he blacked out and collapsed.
“Wow.” Tim looked down at Shaun’s face. “His eye and cheek are already swelling. Look at that, he looks like he just went a round with Mike Tyson.”
A car door slammed. “Kevin!”
“Dad.” Kevin ran over to him. “Get your first-aid kit.”
“What?”
“Your first-aid kit.”
Daniel reached into the back of the Dodge and pulled out the green bag with a white cross on it from under the seat. “What happened?”
“He was on the roof and was hit by a piece of flying metal. His cheek’s cut and it’s bleeding pretty badly. He just dropped.”
Daniel knelt beside Shaun and went to work checking his vitals and looking for serious injuries.
Tim tilted his head towards Kevin, half whispering, “Irony or what!”
“Kevin, sit behind Shaun’s head,” Daniel said. “Hold the dressing against his cheek like this. Tim, call an ambulance.” Daniel handed his mobile over.
Kevin watched his dad go to work. As soon as Tim was through to the emergency operator he put the phone on speaker and Daniel took over. Shaun didn’t look so tough lying unconscious, Kevin thought.
It took a while for the ambulance to arrive and when it did it coasted silently down the street, afraid of the infected. The ambulance staff feared being hijacked for their drugs and equipment. S
haun was probably lucky they showed up at all.
There was a low-pitched buzzing high above that was getting closer. Nobody else seemed to notice. Kevin felt like he wanted to run, but he dared not move. He sensed long dirty fingernails plucking at his soul. He wanted to run screaming like a lunatic from the property. The urge was becoming so great he had trouble keeping still — his whole body itched. Out of the corner of his eye he believed he saw a curtain move inside Shaun’s house. Kevin kept looking straight ahead, acting as if he was watching the ambos crossing the lawn. The muscles in his eyes strained to see in his peripheral vision. Someone and something was watching them. A shadow, a dark mass inches from the ground, moving like a school of fish, curved and shifted around the side of the house, slithering out of sight. Kevin felt dryness in his throat. A heaviness he hadn’t detected until now came from the house. He concentrated on holding Shaun’s head, waiting for the ambo guy to take over, and soon as he did Kevin stepped back. His skin still prickled and his stomach churned. He could feel the haunting pulse of the house. He pulled his thoughts away. He was scared and wanted to run. In the back of his mind he saw a lemon tree, it grew and grew until he felt he was part of the tree and suddenly he could smell lemongrass and sage. He took in a deep breath and tried to calm down and focus on helping Shaun.
“Tim!” Kevin whispered. He tilted his head towards the house. “Someone’s watching.” Daniel was giving the paramedics a summary of Shaun’s injury and Kevin listened to his dad speaking, sounding muffled as if he was deep underwater. The ambos crouched beside Shaun and carried out the same procedures as his dad had previously done. Kevin watched, but heard nothing. They slid Shaun onto an orange plastic board and hoisted him up onto the gurney.
“Kevin,” Daniel said. “Kevin!” He put his hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed.
