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The Worm King Page 7


  ‘Help! Oh please, quick! Quickly!’ Her voice rang high and frantic. He lost sight of her as she moved behind the pumps then the beam reappeared, probing shakily along the side of the van. He finally kicked the plastic bag free and began waddling across the forecourt at top speed, already trailing Azziz and the Hat by a good ten meters.

  By the time he reached the van Azziz had taken the torch off Astrid and held it focused on Leroy’s bloodless face, pressed flat against the driver’s side window. Froth bunched at the corner of the Aborigine’s mouth and his right eye was stretched wide open, staring grotesquely through the glass at them. Winston gasped in shock and Astrid whimpered. Azziz thrust the torch at the Hat then opened the van door, holding up his left hand to prevent Leroy spilling out. The moment he reached in, Peanuts snapped viciously, growling with barred fangs forcing him to withdraw. Azziz immediately pushed the door closed, but gently, so it didn’t click shut. ‘Go round the other side,’ he ordered.

  Winston scuttled around then opened the door slowly, patting the passenger seat lightly, trying to induce the dog over. ‘Here boy, come on.’ Eventually Peanuts slunk across, head held low and wary. Provided the dog remained between himself and Leroy it might not attack.

  ‘Come on.’ He gradually coaxed the dog over, and very carefully, slid a hand up onto its collar. ‘I’ve got’im!’

  Azziz caught Leroy as he rolled out then lowered him to the ground. The Hat closed the driver’s door. Peanuts barked twice and Winston let go of the collar. As soon as he closed the passenger door the dog began howling, a far more disturbing sound than the barking.

  They stood around the body. ‘Heart attack?’ asked the Hat. ‘Does a stroke look like that?’ Lightning forked overhead, drops of rain began to fall and the dog wailed.

  Azziz opened Leroy’s shirt, checking his chest. ‘Wouldn’t think so. Seizure or overdose of some kind? I really couldn’t—’

  ‘Hey! You fūlla’s over there?’ Āmiria and the twins appeared from around the side of the pumps in the middle of the forecourt, making a beeline straight for the van.

  Astrid grabbed the torch from Azziz and raced towards them. ‘Didn’t I tell you to stay inside?’ she shouted, waving her arms to herd them back indoors before they could see the body.

  Azziz and the Hat lifted Leroy by the hands and feet, carrying him into the mechanics garage attached to the shop. Winston walked along behind. Leroy was a tall man so his afro skimmed the wet ground. Tools had been left scattered on the floor and the Hat tripped over, so they left the body where it fell because it didn’t seem likely anyone else would have a reason to enter. Azziz ferreted around until coming across an oil-stained tarp which he used to cover the body.

  Winston returned to the van and carefully opened the passenger door. Peanuts had quietened down. He closed the door then went in through the rear, feeling around in Leroy’s clothes until finding an old belt. Returning to the front, he attached the belt to the dog’s collar and led it back into the servo.

  Much later the twins were on the floor in the middle of the shop. Natasha wrote in the exercise book Azziz had given her, while her sister scribbled in a magazine she’d taken off the rack by the counter. A solitary lantern was left on, turned to its lowest setting and Natasha had the book pressed hard up against it.

  Everyone was supposed to have a quick nap before they drove on to Canberra but Winston lay restless, and unable to sleep. The others were scattered at various spots around the store, telling themselves they were dozing, although in reality all were wide awake, staring into the dark.

  The twins turned on a torch and got up to hunt for more snacks from the shelves. Winston heard Astrid speak to them quietly as they passed, saying she was sorry for shouting at them earlier but they ignored her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Flying

  Jean watched the match burn out. Her last one.

  She’d waited and waited and waited. Then waited some more. Waited up here on her hilltop. He said he’d come back, with an ambulance; promised he would.

  She stood, hands outstretched groping blindly.

  ‘You’re not going now!’ pleaded Hilda, invisible in the darkness.

  ‘I have to. They might still be down there.’

  The crowd that had huddled on the road above the Three Sisters visitor centre mostly returned to their homes when the tremors stopped. Jean, the elderly couple from number 28 and Mrs Cicutto had come to Hilda’s house because it had lots of room, and to be honest, Jean just didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Or today, or whatever it was. It’d simply stayed pitch black. As the dawn hour came and went with no sign of the sun, they’d become increasingly despondent. Old Mr Jensen who had early-onset Alzheimers stopped trying to sing songs to cheer them up. He kept forgetting the words anyway so that was a relief. Then his wife started praying which only became depressing. If Rufus were here, he’d know what to do.

  But her husband wasn’t here. He’d been cruelly snatched away last year by a tumor so it was all up to her now. Jean adjusted the back of her hair, pushing up and straightening the small bun with the pad of her thumb. She swiveled her hips slightly and drew her shoulders back, stretching. Yes, I feel strong. The pose reminded her of Marilyn Monroe and she smiled to herself. A smile in the dark is still a smile. This made her think of something Rufus used to say, about a tree falling in the woods and how you could only hear it if you were . . . but she couldn’t recall exactly how it went.

  ‘We can’t sit here forever. I’ll find the gutter on the road and follow it down. Only take me twenty minutes. Maybe they’ve gotten their television phones working.’

  She said goodbye to Hilda, Mrs Cicutto and the Jensens, then felt her way outside. After ten minutes on hands and knees she found the guttering in front of the house. What she really needed were her GnomeBoots, she thought, grimacing at the frightful pain in her knees. Rufus gave her the gardening knee-protectors for her sixty-third birthday, the year before he died. They sure would come in handy now.

  They were gone! Jean sat in the Three Sisters car park with her bleeding knees tucked under her chin, sobbing.

  Gone.

  Or had they ever been here? A flash of lightning cut across the sky, the first since the appalling thunderstorm they had several hours ago. That would’ve been useful when she’d been stumbling blind down the gutter. However the burst of light showed she was facing completely the wrong way—the visitor centre should be immediately in front of her, but it wasn’t there at all! Oh my! She had to calm down, and get a grip. Obviously she’d lost direction, most likely at the point where the gutter joined up with the car park. Two or three steps to her left, she’d caught a glimpse of a humpy shadow which stood out against the flat car park and looked a certainty to trip over if she kept going that direction . . . she crept forward, fingers reaching out hesitantly, terrified at what they might touch.

  Jean’s hand came to rest on Peter the Cameraman’s thigh. He was stone cold and she jerked back, before tentatively feeling again. This time she touched the wet channel six banner where it clung to Peter’s bulging intestines. She pulled away, rising and lurching backwards desperately sucking in breath.

  Now she ran fast, away from whatever THAT was. Well, her own geriatric, shambling version of the fast run but it felt good and quick, at least to Jean it did. The panic subsided a fraction but she couldn’t stop, had to keep moving and get away. It was like being back in her prime, with Rufus. He’d know what to do.

  He’d say run like the bloody wind, darling!

  She stumbled on across the car park and onwards further, past the grass verge, past where the lookout barriers used to be, then a few steps more and then . . . and then there was nothing and she fell, spinning in the air, head over tail into the darkness, her pitched scream swallowed by the abyss.

  ‘Ruffffuuuussssss!’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mulloolaloo

  ‘What was that?’ said Winston. A loud bang out of nowhere, on the ro
of.

  The Hat was talking about a nuke. ‘Yeah, apparently they do. Saved up all their pennies and got one. Oath, mate.’

  ‘Someone threw a rock,’ said Dick from the driver’s seat. They were on the northern outskirts of Bowral, heading south around midnight.

  ‘Tonga does not have the bomb,’ stated Winston.

  ‘They do,’ insisted the Hat.

  Dick thought an asteroid must’ve fallen just off the coast, near Sydney. It was the only thing that explained it being this dark. ‘The people at Mulloolaloo will be able to tell us. When these things land, they kick up a whole lot of seawater which gets up there in the atmosphere and swirls around and blocks out the sun for a while. Could easily have effects far as Katoomba. Canberra even.’

  Winston stared at the inky curtain beyond the front window of the van. ‘Seawater! You’re fuckin joking right?’ The man had no idea. ‘May as well have said Santa,’ he muttered.

  ‘What’d he say?’ asked Āmiria. From the rear the wind whistling through made it hard to hear, despite Dick’s resonant voice.

  ‘Dick thinks Santa did the Katoomba job,’ shouted Winston.

  ‘He did not!’ exclaimed one of the twins.

  The van swerved without warning, leaning precariously before righting itself as the wheel straightened. Winston looked up just in time to see a blurred figure jumping back from the road, arms raised, white palms facing the van and waving in the headlights for an instant before vanishing. Dick wasn’t stopping for anyone.

  They had to pull over to take bearings. An honest man would’ve said completely lost. They’d gone through Goulburn, past Lake George and it should be down a side road hereabouts, or so Dick thought. ‘Only been here a couple of times before and always in daylight. Never paid much attention to the name of the damn road either.’ He looked down, frowning whilst studying the NSW road map Āmiria had unearthed in the glove box.

  A sharp, pungent aroma wafted through the interior. The windows were lowered but without the van moving the smell lingered like a sticky, putrid blanket.

  ‘I think our friend done poopies again,’ sniffed the Hat.

  Lord Brown had diarrhoea. They’d had to clean him up only half an hour ago. Āmiria volunteered for the job, wiping him down with scrunched up newspaper. Winston wondered if Girl Guides were legally obliged to do stuff like that, when they join up, although neither of the twins had seemed in any hurry to take it on.

  ‘We’ll have a five minute stretch,’ announced Dick. He switched the van off and they piled out, climbing around Lord Brown who remained hunched up at the foot of Leroy’s mattress.

  ‘Urghhhhhhh,’ exclaimed Astrid in disgust, lifting her hand off the old man’s trousers as she jumped down. Winston tried with mixed success to suppress a laugh. He couldn’t help it: surprise diarrhoea was just one of those funny things. When it happens to other people anyway. He cleverly stifled the laugh by turning it into a cough, then gradually a clearing of the throat, which ended in a furtive chuckle. It proved to be exactly one step too far.

  ‘Think that’s funny, do you?’

  He knew the right answer must be “No”. Had to be. Or maybe he should go for a more elaborate lie, and . . . blame the dog! The pause was fatal.

  ‘Bastard!’ She clomped off to join those standing at the front around the lantern. Only Winston, Āmiria and Lord Brown remained at the rear. Half-way along the van she bent over to wipe her hand on the grass and he shone his penlight directly on her backside, then guiltily realized the shadow must proclaim exactly where the beam focused, so quickly swung the torch away, worried she’d come back and tear him a—

  ‘Listen Winston!’ Dick’s thick, raspy whisper was right in his ear. He must’ve snuck around quietly from the other side of the van and would’ve had to bend down nearly double, to get that close. If Winston expected a stirring motivational talk he was in for a disappointment: ‘You clean that cunt up or we dump him.’

  Charming.

  Āmiria led the dog around for a few minutes until it took a piss then she tied it to the back bumper of the van. The others were still up front arguing about which way they should go. ‘Why did Leroy really stay back with that dopey fūlla from the garage?’

  ‘Dennis?’ Winston sat next to her on the end of the mattress. Lord Brown had been rolled further inside to make more room.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘He wasn’t feeling well. Well, actually, he died,’ admitted Winston. The yarn the Hat had spun to keep the twins from finding out seemed redundant on the Māori kid; she was tough as nails, and besides, might even know something.

  ‘S’what I thought. Soon as you come back inside with the dog.’

  ‘Azziz thought it might be an overdose but we couldn’t find a needle or anything. Maybe he tossed it out the window after using it . . . seems unlikely though. You didn’t see him with anything like that did you?’

  Āmiria shook her head.

  Yesterday he’d given her a rundown on syphilis; now he’s asking her to be a drug snitch. It occurred to Winston that as a role model, he was pretty crap. Āmiria’s feet were considerably closer to the ground than his, which dangled in mid-air. His beam came to rest on a raw scratch that extended half-way up her shin. It looked deep and must’ve hurt like hell but he couldn’t recall her mentioning it. On a sudden whim of gratitude, he thanked her for looking after the old man.

  ‘Gotta look after ya Kaumātua.’

  ‘You Girl Guides—it’s twenty-four seven isn’t it?’

  ‘Ranger, you knob!’

  A shaft of light appeared and scrunching gravel warned the others were filing back. ‘Let’s go,’ ordered Dick.

  Mulloolaloo Observatory was down the end of a long, straight road which in the dark looked exactly like any other long, straight road.

  Āmiria first spotted the sign despite being crammed right near the back with Winston. She’d been kneeling, holding the side straps and rolling with the motion of the van; watching out the front window and over everyone’s heads. It turned out they’d all been looking on the wrong side of the road.

  Dick pulled up in front of the largest building. At least half a dozen lights were visible which made it the first substantial illumination Winston had seen since Katoomba hospital, apart from the occasional car and a number of houses that’d been burning.

  ‘Is power back on?’ one of the twins asked. No one replied.

  The door marked “Reception” opened and a guard emerged. He carried a torch almost as long as Winston was tall. Dick stepped out as the guard came over and Winston immediately lost sight of them both.

  ‘Hello there. Dick Snow. Channel Six. I’m after Li Sheng?’ His booming, confident voice would’ve been audible half-way to Sydney. The guard reappeared, shining his torch at Azziz in the passenger seat then into the back and finally onto Azziz again. The light dazzled Winston and for several seconds all he could see were sparkly bursting kaleidoscopes.

  ‘Could you wait here for a minute, thanks mate.’

  ‘Where’s he gone?’ Āmiria said. The reception door gradually shimmied back into focus and Winston saw the guard leaning through it, shouting something garbled with one hand cupped around the side of his mouth.

  He walked back over then disappeared down the side of the van. ‘If you wait here, Li Sheng will be along in a minute.’

  Dick spoke a few quiet words and the guard answered, ‘No, you all have to wait here. Won’t be long. What? I don’t know mate, right out.’

  Āmiria immediately opened the rear door and stepped out. Winston jumped to the ground too and in less than ten seconds, Astrid, the Hat and twins had also spilled from the van. Lord Brown remained inside. Only when Azziz emerged did the guard have any issue. ‘Hey! Wait there will ya?’

  ‘Certainly,’ replied Azziz nonchalantly, leaning against the front passenger door, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Dick!’ The tall Asian woman coming through the reception door smiled like a cat who’d just won the milk raffl
e. She wore a lab coat, white shirt and short pea-green skirt. Way short. Sensational set of norks too, and the top three buttons of her shirt were undone exposing the lip of a fine red lace bra. Straight off the cover of ScienceHo Monthly.

  ‘Sweet,’ murmured the Hat.

  Dick raced over and swept her up. They hugged, and you could certainly tell they’d met before. Instead of coming back to the van, Dick kept his arms around her and appeared to whisper in her ear. She spoke quietly in return, gazing up at him.

  An eddy of fine dust blew across the parking area. The lights from the windows seemed painfully bright and Winston wiped his brow. It was unpleasantly hot. Inland New South Wales usually felt warmer than Sydney but this was beyond the joke. Windy too, which made it impossible to hear what Dick and Li Sheng were saying. Sixty meters or so away, two men were working on a 4WD with its hood raised. A lantern was hooked onto the brace holding up the hood. Winston suspected they must’ve turned it off when the van arrived, or he would’ve seen them.

  Dick walked back looking smug, with Li Sheng trailing him closely. ‘It was a bolide, just as I thought,’ he told Astrid. Winston couldn’t recall him ever mentioning the word and from the interior of the van came the bubbly, squelching sound of Lord Brown relieving himself again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dinosaurs

  ‘One million, two hundred and eight thousand, five hundred and twelve,’ Lord Brown mumbled, grabbing the dark girl by the arm and pulling her close. The stomach cramps were killing him. Eating might help.

  ‘Food?’ he pleaded. She shook her head.

  He fumbled in his coat pocket, finding the remains of a mangled bacon and egg sandwich. Before it reached his mouth she struck his hand, sending the sandwich flying.

  ‘No!’ She frowned.