The Worm King Read online

  Lord Brown held up a hand to shield his eyes from the beam. Car tires screeched nearby. Normally it wouldn’t raise an eyebrow but tonight the sound was ominous, like a metallic shriek leaching out of a wet, dying city. Light whipped between his fingers casting flashes of scowling mouths and disbelieving frowns, and in one of those flashes, a glimmer of recognition. Pinstripe? Lord Brown grimaced, which turned into a short, savage twitch momentarily contorting the whole left side of his face.

  The policeman took another step away and swung his beam back onto the girl.

  ‘Are you alright darling?’ The woman continued to inspect her daughter. ‘Why won’t she say anything!?’ She looked around the small but growing crowd, pleading. Lord Brown began sidling away. A man beside the policeman noticed the movement, and tapped the cops shoulder, pointing at Lord Brown.

  ‘Wait there will ya,’ demanded the officer, spotlighting the ground directly at Lord Brown’s feet. He turned his torch on the girl again. ‘You hurt love?’

  ‘No,’ she replied, squinting.

  ‘That man do anything?’

  ‘No.’

  The cop shrugged. ‘Seems fine to me.’ A car tooted in the distance. It was still beyond the park but nearer than the tire screech a minute ago. ‘You hear that?’ Seconds later headlights appeared at the eastern end. ‘Is that doctor over there?’

  A fat man kneeling at the fountain wall glanced around. ‘Yes. One minute, I will be.’ He continued to inspect a ladies foot while she sat on the edge of the fountain. One of the men next to the doctor was pointing his torch at Lord Brown, studying him closely . . . Pinstripe?

  The doctor lumbered over. The policeman said, ‘There you are mate. Take a squiz at her will you.’ He waved dismissively at the girl. ‘I’m gonna check that car.’ With that he turned and left. Case solved.

  The fat man dropped to his haunches before the girl. ‘How are you this evening madam?’ The other man with the torch, who still could be Pinstripe, stood close behind.

  ‘Fine thank you.’

  ‘No sniffles or upsets you need to tell me about?’ His droopy jowls wobbled when he spoke which made the girl smile.

  ‘No. I was helping someone with mad cow disease but I don’t think I caught it.’ Pinstripe didn’t have a hat, so maybe that wasn’t him after all.

  The doctor asked, ‘have you been eating a lot of hay, find yourself mooing sometimes, that sort of thing?’

  The girl looked worried. ‘No. Well, not really.’

  ‘Hmmmm. I think you’ll pull through.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Yep. Cut right back on the hay though. What you think?’ the doctor asked the man behind him.

  ‘Way less hay. I’ve pretty much cut it out completely myself.’ The Hat lowered his torch and stepped forward to grasp Lord Brown’s hand. ‘Good to see you old timer. I thought it was you! Keeping well?’

  ‘Splendid thank you.’

  Not pinstripe, one of his students, John. Eighty-seven.

  Ninety-nine. The rain was mesmerizing. You could almost count the drops but there were zillions of them; never-ending. The moisture poured down, churning through the atmosphere at a rate determining the prosperity and health of everything on the planet. Absolutely everything. Apart from the patter of wetness it remained quiet. Lord Brown let his head drift back and eyes close, so the only sensation came from the fat balls of water tap, tap tapping away. Was that another pause? It felt like there’d been a momentary gap in the downpour earlier, when he first met the girl . . . no, the flow was steady as a rock. A dripping, wet ball of rock in space. He smiled and the ting of drops hitting his teeth was refreshing.

  ‘Still with us?’ asked the Hat.

  Lord Brown opened his eyes. The girl and her mother had long gone. The huddled crowd were spread over the park like human jam. One hundred and eleven.

  ‘Let’s see what they’re arguing about,’ suggested the doctor. A stationwagon had parked up next to the footpath where just that afternoon Lord Brown had earned $22.30. Its driver was talking to the policeman and pointing energetically towards the east. The policeman shouted back at him, pointing in varying directions using both hands. Four other men stood around the pair, watching, with arms crossed.

  The Hat didn’t like it. ‘I don’t like this. There hasn’t been another earthquake in ages. If the house is still in one piece, we can get inside and get a bit more comfy . . . take the old boy back and get him warm.’ He nodded at Lord Brown.

  The doctor shook his head and gestured towards the stationwagon. ‘Why his car working and all the others not? And the power and the cars happen before the earthquake? We see what he’s saying, then go back.’ The Hat reluctantly agreed.

  The man who owned the stationwagon came from Parramatta and was in a panic. ‘We taste, is sea water. Is sea water! I know, I taste.’ Spittle flew from his mouth. Parramatta? How could seawater be knee-deep there? That was more than ten miles inland. So what would it be on the foreshore, and around the Harbor Bridge and opera house?

  Click, click, clickity-click . . . how many feet high? Click, click . . . a hundred plus . . . surely not!

  The man was frantic to get away but the policeman wanted to requisition his ancient wagon. ‘Listen mate. I need to get back to the station an’ get some help for this lot.’ He waved expansively at the people and trees behind him.

  ‘No, we go that way. That way!’ the driver pointed obstinately to the west, away from the coast. The passenger window wound down and a burka-clad woman peered out. A gaggle of children were crammed in the rear seat. ‘Kul wahid ma’it! Kul wahid ma’it.’

  ‘Fuck mate! How about you take me to the station and we’ll see from there.’

  ‘What you do? Kul wahid ma’it!’

  The doctor turned to the Hat, ‘Shall we go?’ Lord Brown fell in alongside, counting each step as they walked away through the rain.

  ‘Crazy mother,’ said the Hat as soon as they were out of range. ‘That guy an Arab?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What does “kul wah-head matty” mean?’

  ‘Everyone dead.’

  Chapter Nine

  Cruising

  “Pick up the phone

  I’m here alone

  Call anytime

  I lead a life of crime . . . ”

  A small part of Winston regretted asking for the stereo on, but part of him also passionately enjoyed the dulcet tones of Bon Scott so he was content with Leroy’s choice.

  ‘Could you turn that down please,’ called Astrid from the back.

  ‘We got a problem,’ replied Leroy, bringing the van to a halt.

  ‘No, it’s too loud. I think it’s making Mr Malisovich bleed more,’ she shouted.

  Leroy turned it down then swiveled in his seat. ‘The road’s blocked. Cars. Can see the hospital just up ahead but. See?’

  The Anzac General Hospital on Highway 32 was dotted with lights. They must have a backup generator because no other buildings were lit. Cars choked the road. A head popped out of a hemmed in mini and a pale face gaped back into the van’s headlights.

  ‘Whoa, no petrol either.’ Leroy leant forward, staring at the needle.

  ‘Turn it off,’ ordered Dick.

  Bon Scott died mid-chord and the drub, drub, drub of the VW spluttered out. Rain smacked the tin roof and cascaded down the windows. The glass quickly fogged over and soon they couldn’t see out at all.

  ‘You go down Orient Street, on the right,’ instructed Mr Malisovich. Astrid helped him out the back door. ‘It’ll take you behind the cemetery, then you should be able to loop back onto the highway.’ He gasped for air, sounding feeble.

  ‘Got her?’ asked Dick. Leroy held one end of the surfboard and Dick the other, while Asha lay on top. Winston had been relegated off stretcher duty.

  Where the hell was it? He fumbled through the pile of damp clothes. Shit!

  ‘Leroy!’ he called after them, ‘where’d you say it was?’

  ‘Under
the jocks, in the corner,’ came the yell back.

  Found it. Winston pulled out a petrol can with a big loop of thick plastic tubing tied to its handle. He closed the back door, leaving the three Girl Guides and dog to guard the van.

  It was surprising how many cars still had people in them. After two false starts he finally found an unlocked, unoccupied vehicle. His first attempt on a red Mitsubishi with a single woman in the driver’s seat was disastrous. He couldn’t see in properly, so pressed his face against her window which frightened her virtually senseless, and despite offers of assistance, her doors remained firmly locked.

  He arrived back at the van roughly ten liters heavier and only minutes before Astrid, Dick and Leroy returned from the hospital. The petrol transfer went smoothly, apart from half a cup Winston sucked down trying to get the siphon started.

  ‘Can we sit up front now?’ asked one of the twins.

  ‘Why not,’ answered Winston sullenly. ‘Maybe I should just run along behind.’ He spat on the ground, trying to get the taste of petrol out of his mouth but it stuck in there like glue.

  “Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap

  Dirty deeds and they’re done dirt cheap . . . ”

  Astrid was angry with Dick. ‘Did you have to just dump them like that?’ He ignored her, staring intently at the road. ‘The doctor said they’d been on the radio to Canberra and the power was out there too, but nothing from Sydney at all.’ Astrid sat next to Āmiria against one side of the back while Winston and Peanuts sat against the opposite side. ‘When we get back to the station we’ll be able to track your parents down,’ she promised, half-shouting so the twins in front could hear.

  ‘Can you drop me at my place on the way?’ asked Winston.

  ‘If you insist.’

  He did.

  The atmosphere in the van became damp and musty. Winston peeled off his wet jacket.

  Āmiria shone her torch on his lower arm. ‘Neat tat. Is that Popeye?’

  ‘Yep.’ He turned his forearm slightly so she could better see the badly drawn portrait of the indestructible sailor.

  ‘Wait on . . . ’ Āmiria bent forward for a closer inspection. ‘What’s “Syphich”?’

  ‘It’s supposed to be “spinach”, but I’m not a hundred percent sure. I got it done at a full-moon party on Koh Phan Ghan Island in Thailand two years ago. It was just there when I woke up the next morning. Thought it meant “spinach”, but the funny thing was, a fortnight after, I nearly got syphilis so maybe it stands for that. You know, one of those spooky ESP things.’

  ‘God almighty,’ said Astrid.

  ‘I don’t think it actually was syphilis. Well, for a while I was worried, I’ll tell ya. There was definitely something wrong down there, but seemed to clear itself up in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Didn’t you go to a doctor?’ Astrid asked, appalled.

  ‘Hate going to those bastards. Already got enough problems they can’t fix. “Hey Doc, I’m only four foot fucking two tall and now me knob’s falling off too!”’

  Astrid didn’t see the funny side of that.

  ‘What’s syphilis?’ called one of the twins from the front.

  No one answered. Āmiria eventually switched off her torch. ‘Are you a dwarf?’ He couldn’t see a thing but it didn’t take a genius to tell she was speaking to him.

  ‘Only half. My mother’s side’s all Pixie, except for a couple of uncles who are Leprechauns.’

  She laughed. ‘Must piss you off eh bro? Just yankin’ your chain, don’t worry ’bout it.’

  ‘Doesn’t worry me in the slightest. I’m bloody lucky. Things could be heaps worse.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘I could be a Māori?’

  “ Gettin’ robbed

  Gettin’ stoned

  Getting beat up

  Broken boned

  Gettin’ had

  Gettin’ took

  I tell you folks . . . ”

  Rain lashed the windscreen. Leroy drove slowly, easing the van gently down the eastern flank of the Blue Mountains, weaving his way between broken down cars.

  ‘Mr Snow?’ It came as barely a whisper, slipping mysteriously to him through cracks in the pounding rain and heavy metal.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘My sister likes you.’ One of the twins whacked the other on the arm.

  ‘Tell her I like her too,’ replied Dick.

  ‘We’ve got a present for you.’ She held out her hand.

  A Girl Guide badge dropped into his palm.

  Oh yes.

  “ Well it’s a dog eat dog

  Eat cat too

  The French eat frog

  And I eat you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Boom

  The house was decrepit, Astrid could see that plain as day. Nineteen-seventies brick housing commission, thrashed by welfare tenants for twenty years, then turned over to students to re-thrash for another twenty. A sofa had been dumped on the lawn and one of the front windows taped up with plastic.

  Leroy parked the Volkswagen in the driveway. The dwelling itself was dark although a dull glow lined the edge of the semi-attached garage’s roller door. ‘Wonder why they’re in there?’ murmured Winston as they piled out the back of the van. ‘My room,’ he pointed at the broken window. ‘The love nest.’

  Astrid shuddered. Occasionally he came across as roguishly attractive, in a way, with a sort of raw appeal she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Just not very often.

  The garage door began rolling up with a rusty, grating clatter and insipid light flooded out onto the weedy, gravel drive. A tall, skinny man in his twenties heaved it up as far as it’d go, then peered under the edge of the door, grinning at them. Beside him stood a much older man with long hair and an overcoat. The older man’s face was streaked with dirt and his hair matted. In the middle of the sparse, concrete-floored room, a keg rested on an empty crate. Next to the crate were three cans of baked beans. A larger, middle-aged man sat up rubbing his eyes; presumably he’d been asleep. A torch dangled from a length of rope tied to the roof, hanging almost directly over the keg and beans.

  ‘Well, it’s not much,’ announced Winston, ‘but I call it home. Come on in.’

  At first glance the grossly overweight Middle Eastern man who’d been asleep looked at least forty, although Astrid now realized he could be more late-twenties. He introduced himself as Azziz and turned out to be the only one of the bunch to show any modicum of hospitality, fetching a rug and pillows from the house for the girls to sit on, along with a flask of water even though it was tap, not bottled. The Girl Guides were struggling to stay awake.

  ‘Me and Azziz had a stroll down the park. Met the Lord,’ drawled the skinny man whose name she hadn’t quite caught but it might’ve been John Fat. He didn’t look at all Chinese though. ‘When we got back, part of the kitchen wall had caved in and some of the bricks in the lounge looked a bit ‘iffy, so we decided to move in here.’

  They’d all been drinking, that was pretty obvious. The old man sat in the corner with his knees hunched up, rocking back and forth. He kept muttering about trees, and watching the girls in way Astrid found extremely disconcerting. The trees? What on earth was the old fool talking about . . . ?

  Dick had a plan: ‘I’ll go with Leroy, get help.’

  Leroy: ‘Say what?’

  Winston: ‘Like those people you helped at Katoomba?’

  ‘Listen everyone,’ reasoned Dick, ‘this earthquake’s shut down the power, maybe right across the country. It’s certainly done something unusual to, well, anything apart from older cars. Probably hit a main transmission junction causing a big power surge which beams out in a pulse effecting vehicle electrics and everything within this . . . geometric radius.’

  ‘Is that beams like they use on Star Trek?’ asked Winston.

  Astrid had watched Dick prepare for camera many times and that was not the sort of insolent question you should be chucking at him. Sometimes he reminded her of an anima
l going through a metamorphous: starting with this brooding, unpredictable man who frightened many of the women at the station—men too, if truth be told—then this magic switch was flicked and a second later he turned into an eloquent, compassionate advisor to millions.

  ‘I don’t think this is a time for jokes. People out there could be in dire trouble,’ Dick replied gravely.

  The old man continued to cackle but at least he was now watching Dick, and not the girls. He appeared to be the drunkest of the three. Dribble ran freely from one corner of his mouth and it had an odd color, almost a greenish tinge. Something inside him must be really off. Trees hungry? Why on earth would the trees be hungry? What was he raving on about?

  2.45am: Dick and Leroy had gone “exploring” and Astrid began to wonder whether they’d even come back. She’d probably have to wait here until daybreak, and hopefully more cars will be back in action, and then make her own way to the station or her apartment in Leichhardt. No, definitely the station—these girl’s parents will be going spare with worry.

  ‘You think they’ll be back?’ John Fat asked Winston.

  So they also thought . . .

  ‘Snowballs chance in hell,’ replied Winston.

  Typical! She’d been left in the lurch. The dangling torch was beginning to fade too. At least the rain seemed to be easing so at a pinch she might be able to walk back into town although it’d take ages. The old man had started muttering again and looking up at the roof. Still on about tree hungry, the nutty old coot.

  Āmiria followed his gaze, puzzled. She hobbled across the garage floor on hands and knees, getting closer to listen. ‘Three hundred! That’s what he’s saying!’

  ‘Three hundred what, Lord?’ asked Winston.

  ‘Feet,’ he replied with disturbing clarity.

  Dick and Leroy returned in a bit less than two hours. They’d only made it as far as Penrith before being stopped by a policeman who said he’d been informed a huge wave had washed all the way up the Parramatta River. Because of the earthquake apparently, and phones and radios were patchy. His one didn’t work anyway. He’d been told to stop anyone going east towards the city, and no way was he going to let them past, according to Leroy.