Blood & Dust (10 page)

'Hey, that's not my worry. Taipan wants to go makin' any bit of trash he comes across-'

'Damn right it's no concern of yours,' Kala said. They walked spread out, as though through a
minefield, converging on Kevin's hiding spot. 'Go and bring the van down, close as you can.'

'You want this?' Nigel held out the rifle.

'Take it, we won't need it,' Kala said, but Acacia grabbed the gun and sent him on his way with a
jerk of her head.

Rocks and dirt cascaded where Nigel dug his way up the bank, but Kevin's concentration was on
Kala, reaching out toward him as though he was a frightened kitten, even as Acacia said, 'Careful,
girl, he's off his tree.'

'Kevin, come with us. We can help you. Honest. No-one's gonna hurt you.'

She was over-heating. An engine block boiling with oil. He could smell her, all coppery, rich
like freshly ploughed soil.

He moved and she stepped back. 'That's right. Come with me. We can get you cleaned up. Get you
sorted.'

'Jesus,' Acacia said, and her voice sounded so distant, as though she was speaking through a long
tube. 'He's got the tremors, got 'em bad.'

'Let's get him back to the house,' Kala said.

'Hold this,' Acacia said, passing the rifle to Kala.

Acacia stepped up, a blur of motion.

He was on the ground, staring at the night sky, and then her face was over him, filling his
vision. Something slammed into his chest, sank in, choking him from the inside out, and when she
pulled away, so he could see again, he realised there was a length of round, smooth timber in his
chest - a cricket stump.

Well and truly stumped.
He wanted to laugh at the absurdity, to share the joke, to stand
and grab Kala and kiss her and kiss her, but he couldn't move. Not so much as a twitch of a finger.
He screamed but the sound was only inside his head, over and over, louder and louder, until the
night came slamming down on him, starless and moonless and as silent as the grave.

Confused, he wishes for wakefulness, but sleep has him fixed to the trail of
dreams, and dreaming is remembering, even if the memories are not all his own.

Making love to Meg on a blanket beside the river

His father swearing under the bonnet of a truck

His mother stretching her back after an evening spent puzzling over the accounts at
the kitchen table, and smiling as he places a cup of tea by her hand

Mira grabbing his cock and licking her blood-smeared lips

A woman with purple eyes, whose name is Mother, tells him to take care. She's
afraid for what's waiting for him at Whitby Downs; she doesn't approve but she understands, and he's
thankful for that, it's all he hopes for from her; and outside a dingo howls and dogs whine and his
bike is waiting

The woman who is Mother tells him to take care. She's afraid of what he has
become, what he might yet become; and he is a she, which is confusing but only after, when he thinks
about it; and the words, spoken in farewell as a city door closes, spark such rage, such loss

Khaki-clad police bundle a crying Aboriginal girl into a cage on the back of a
ute as though she is no more than a stray dog and he screams at them to let her go and when they
come for him, he's happy, because at least they'll be together

There is much he does not remember, much that does not belong to him. He does not
recognise the abducted girl, yet, as the incident whirrs by, all red-washed and hazy like a scene
from a horror movie, he knows it is intrinsically part of him. She has been taken from him, and he
wants her back. Wants her back so badly he's prepared to not only die for her, but to kill. The
killing never ends. This, he realises, is what the woman with purple eyes feared most, for these
strange, anonymous ghosts inside Kevin's bloodstream, who are part of him, but not.

Kevin gasped awake, limbs and neck jerking. A door slammed.

Take care…

The sound so very far away; dream or real? Both? The scene resolved. He was back at the house.
The Dalek guarded him from the shelf.

Exterminate.

He closed his eyes against the memory of bodies, jumbled and lifeless.

When he opened them again, he realised he was naked and clean with an ache in his chest. Then the
hunger hit him, hit him like a road train. He doubled over, groaning with need. His senses surfaced,
tentative, disrupted. Daylight pressed down on the house, a fat man trying to choke him with thick,
sweaty hands.

A knock on the door. Kala - he smelled Kala.

He yanked the door open and stood staring, his muscles taut. Saliva flooded his mouth as Kala,
arm at full stretch, handed him a mug redolent of heady blood scent. Kevin snatched the mug,
unmindful as Kala pulled the door shut. He skolled the brew and lapped drops of scarlet from his
hands. He ran a finger around the rim of the mug and sucked it clean. He was still starving, the
sensation fighting against his own revulsion and fear.

Was he going to be added to the pile of bodies in the creek? Then why feed him? Why tell him
these things, show him these things, if all they were going to do was kill him? Surely Taipan
could've done it the other night at the silo. Or simply left him to Mira and this VS bunch. Only the
faintest trace of a wound showed where Taipan had shot him the night before but there was a new
wound, puckered and angry red over his heart. Out, caught behind. But the game wasn't over.

He dressed in clothes he found piled at the foot of the bed, trying not to think of their last
owner. He took a deep breath, then stepped out. Time for the next innings. Voices carried down the
hall and he paused, surprised at how clear the conversation was.

Kala: That was the last of the decant.

Acacia's gravelled bass: Taipan didn't give him enough. He needs to feed properly. He's caught in
the change.

Kala: We need more blood. You want to go milking?

Acacia: Cow's blood isn't enough, not for a pup in the change.

Hippie: Ain't much in the way of livestock around, anyway.

Nigel: Just put him on ice and let Taipan deal.

Hippie: He's dryin' out, man. Got the DTs real bad. It's gonna screw up his change if he don't
get fed.

Kala: Hippie's right, he needs fresh blood.

Silence.

Acacia: Don't look at me. He's already got Taipan's juice running through him. He doesn't need
mine to confuse things even further.

Another silence, then Nigel: Sorry, I won't bleed for Taipan's new pet.

Kala: We could make a brew, each of us.

Acacia: From the vein, girl. It's not just the go-juice he needs, but the
connection
.

Kala: Watch my back, 'Cacia?

Acacia: Sure.

Kevin couldn't stand it any longer. He walked into the living room. Four sets of eyes greeted
him, all scanning, curious, nervous. Nigel and Kala sat opposite each other across the coffee table,
a plate of sandwiches between them. Acacia leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded.

'Sleeping beauty awakes,' Nigel mumbled.

'How you feeling?' Kala asked.

'Confused,' he said.

Kala's hair hung loose and curling, her blouse knotted at the waist. Under it she wore a white
bra, bright against her dark skin. She smelled of musk, of earth; a current passed through his body.
'Still hungry?'

'What's happening to me?'

'You're changing, still,' Kala said. 'You need to feed.'

'I guess bacon and eggs is out of the question.' The joke came out flat and bitter.

'No longer a basic food group.' Kala gestured to the sofa. 'Sit with me.'

When Kevin didn't move, she walked over and took his hand, led him across and pulled him down
next to her. She undid her shirt. He felt the radiance of her flesh, dark and toned, and redolent in
the aromas he had come to recognise as distinctively
Kala
.

Her hand caressed his face, the heat intense as her pink palm and fingers brushed his feverish
skin. Her fingers caught at the back of his neck, pulling him down.

'Take your time. Be gentle. Acacia will watch over us, so don't be afraid.'

Acacia snorted behind him. 'Yeah, I love to watch.'

'It's okay.' Kala's voice quavered, her hand shook. The pulse in her neck beat like a bass drum.

Kevin shelved his shyness and buried his face in the crook of Kala's shoulder. He pushed the bra
strap aside. She held him against her, her breath catching. Her flesh radiated body heat; carried
the vibration of her speeding heart.

'Madness,' Nigel said, and stomped off, taking Hippie with him.

'What's his problem?' Kevin asked.

'Exactly that,' Kala said. 'His. He'll have to work it out himself. Forget him. I'm here, I'll
look after you.'

He felt Acacia step up behind him, but she and the room quickly faded as his senses submerged
into Kala, only Kala. His hands tightened on her firm body, desperate to feel her against him. His
tongue lapped her skin and he tasted salt and soap; he smelled coffee and Vegemite and a rising musk
that brought saliva gushing to his mouth. He kissed her tight flesh, burning against his lips. She
gasped. He licked the pulsing artery, felt her windpipe bobbing with her ragged breath. Blood rushed
through her carotid, thrust in a high-pressure stream from the heart. It thundered past like a coal
train, then ran back along the jugular. His kiss became more desperate, making her whimper as his
lips and tongue probed her skin. His teeth teased, drew a fold of flesh, squeezed, found the artery
and held its delicate rush. Squeezed harder. Her back arched, thrusting herself into him, her hand a
claw on his neck. There was a sudden throb of gum and tooth. She cried out under him. The gush
filled his mouth with salty life. He sucked and sucked, deluged in a scarlet flood that swept away
all reason, all awareness, sent him plunging into a whirlpool of desperate, crimson need. Buried in
Kala, taking her into himself, Kevin fell into her kaleidoscope of memories, living each moment as
though he was her, as they shuttered past, snap-snap-snap, dreamlike but all too real.

Everything is white except her and the road accident victim lying in the bed. Her
uniform, the walls, floor, sheets: white. The patient is surrounded by machines, tubes, stands of
dangling plastic bags.

Kevin's hand - the dark-skinned fingers long and thin, nails trimmed and neat, but yet undeniably
his -
reaches down to close the patient's staring eyes. The man blinks.

Snap

Taipan looms over him, thrusting, stoking the rising orgasm to the point where his body is just
one, long scream. Taipan's face leans close, fangs glistening with drool, and the pain and pleasure
take him higher than he ever thought possible.

Snap

The night is cold against his face, the bike vibrating between his legs, his hands clinging to
the solid mass of leather in front as they ride under a full moon.

Snap

The bike stands nearby in a pine forest, the needles spiky and cold under his bare flesh as
Taipan dribbles blood from his wrist into Kevin's hungry mouth. Two fingers of Taipan's other hand
work between Kevin's legs, igniting a second fire. His strength grows with every scarlet drop he
imbibes.

Snap

Taipan looks up, chin streaked with blood, eyes bloodshot, skin glowing. 'What did you just say?'

'I've had enough.' Kevin's voice is strangely yet familiarly feminine. 'I can't go on like this.'

Taipan answers, 'I need what they got.'

'I should be enough for you.'

Taipan stares and the accusation is plain enough to see.

Despair, fear, loneliness rise like bile. Without Taipan, what will he do? What will he be?

And then he gets the call - Taipan's call. And here he is.

Snap

Kevin stared up at the plastic light shade in the centre of the ceiling. He was on
the floor, pain in the back of his head fading quickly. Acacia stood nearby with a broken cricket
stump in one hand. She still had the pointy end, he noticed.

'Welcome back,' she said as she took a seat on the sofa.

Another piece of stump lay on the floor near him.

'Kala?' he asked, his voice thick, tongue heavy with blood aftertaste. His body was flushed,
excited, eager. Yet he felt ashamed; Kala's lifestream still eddied through him, the emotions raw
and powerful, making him feel like a trespasser. A trespasser or worse.

'She's okay. I had to let you know when you'd had enough, was all. Just a little whack. No
permanent damage done. To either of you.'

Kevin sat up, dizzy with the sudden movement.

'You might like to change.' Acacia pointed at his crotch with the stump.

Splashes of blood spotted his chest; the front of his jeans showed a moist stain. He felt the
cold stickiness followed by the burn of embarrassment in his cheeks.

'It happens, but it won't, not as often. After a while, it's all about the blood. Just the
blood.' She sounded sorrowful.

Kevin stood, grateful no-one else was around, and went to the bathroom. His nose twitched at the
assault of smells
- disinfectant, soap, a touch of wood rot, urine. He rinsed his pants, his groin, his face, aware of
red cheeks and lips all crazed in the mirror shards on the wall, the whites of his eyes showing
bloodshot and pink. He returned to the lounge room where Acacia gave him the once over, then
nodded her approval as he headed for the veranda. He hesitated at the door when he saw Kala
leaning against the railing. Low, grey clouds promised rain. Storm birds called, answered by the
harsh scream of a white cockatoo. It should have been just a normal day, an exciting day with the
chance of a break in the long dry, but given what had just happened - the clammy wetness between
his legs - it felt untrustworthy. You couldn't drink - feast - on someone's blood and then walk
out to an ordinary world.

Kala smiled at him, then turned away. 'You can get away with a bit of sunlight when you're green,
but the longer you go, the harder it gets. Just watch out that the sunburn doesn't creep up on you.'