Game Theory (30 page)

‘Don't worry,' I say. ‘Keep going.'

She obeys, her face twisted in concentration. More blood is spilled but so much of me is hurting that I barely notice. And then my hands are free. I can hardly work my fingers because they're so numb. Dixon is moving.

‘Give me the gun, Phoebe,' I say, and she presses it into my hand. I almost drop it. The safety, I notice, is off. I get to my feet
and my legs only just support me. I step back a couple of metres and watch Dixon twitch, one hand pushing against the floor as he tries to lift himself into a sitting position. I hold the gun in both hands and aim the barrel at his chest. I remember all the times I'd vowed I would kill the guy who had taken Phoebe. That I could empty the chamber then reload and do it all again. But I don't feel like that now. His face is a mess, red and ruined. But I also know he is not finished, and that if he is able to get to his feet, somehow get the gun back, then this time there would be no hope of salvation, no chance to wait for the cavalry to arrive. This time he would kill us.

So I shoot him in the foot.

I
try
to shoot him in the foot, but my aim is not good and I smash up his ankle instead. It dissolves into a mass of blood and bone splinters and the sound makes my head throb so much I can barely see. I think I hear Phoebe scream. Or it might have been Dixon.

‘I need something to tie him up with, Phoebe,' I say. ‘Can you find anything?'

I see her leave the room out of the corner of my eye, but I don't let my gaze move from Dixon. He's not struggling anymore. He is slumped and seems unconscious, but I can't trust my eyes. I have the feeling that if I was to stop concentrating, if I was to flick my gaze away for even an instant, he would rise up from the ground and have his hands around my throat, like in some bad thriller. So I watch and wait for Phoebe to return.

She comes back with a pack of cable ties. The pack has already been opened, presumably for my feet and wrists. I take a couple and move carefully over to Dixon's body. I put out a foot and nudge him, but he doesn't respond. I back away until I'm at Phoebe's side.

‘I want you to take the gun, Phoebe,' I say. ‘Hold it in both hands and move around to the side. Keep it aimed at his legs. I'm going to turn him over so I can tie up his hands behind his back. If he so much as moves, I want you to press the trigger, okay? Don't think, just fire. Can you do that?'

She nods, but her eyes are wide. I position the gun in her hands, which actually shake less than mine did. Then I squat beside Dixon's body and push him over. For a moment his arms get caught and I have to manhandle him to get both hands behind his back, but I manage. I use two ties and ratchet them as tight as I can.

‘He has house keys in his pocket,' says Phoebe. It's the first time she's spoken since this began. ‘We need them to get out.'

I put my hand into Dixon's trouser pocket, find the keys and pull them out. He doesn't move and I step back. Sweat drips from my forehead. I think about binding his feet but his shattered ankle makes it unnecessary. I take the gun from Phoebe's hand. For the first time I feel the beginnings of relaxation.

‘Let's get out of here,' says Phoebe. ‘Now, Jamie. Please. Before he wakes up.'

I nod, but I don't move my eyes away from Dixon's body.
Phoebe takes the keys from me and I pick up the backpack. We leave the room and I close the door. Phoebe locks it. And then, suddenly, we are running up stairs, through another door, down a brown, dank corridor and out into sunshine. It's like a blow between my eyes and I stop for a moment, blinking. There is nothing in front of me except trees and an over-arching sky. Phoebe grabs my arm.

‘C'mon, Jamie,' she says. ‘Let's go.'

I hitch the pack over my shoulder and we run away from the house. I turn back. The place is old, almost ruined. Some windows are missing and those that remain are cracked. Phoebe and I step out through a broken gate and onto a rutted track. It leads in one direction only. We walk. Only later do I realise that Dixon's car must be somewhere. But I don't see it and even if I had there's no way I'd go back into the shack to find car keys.

We walk in silence for half an hour before we come out onto a small bitumen road.
It's extremely narrow and it seems unlikely we will encounter any traffic. There are no signs telling us whether we should turn right or left. Phoebe turns left and I follow. Up to this moment, I have not trusted myself to speak. And no words seem adequate for the situation, anyway. But the longer we say nothing the more unnerving I find it.

‘We made it, Phoebe,' I say, as if to prove the inadequacy of words.

‘Yes,' she says. She doesn't look at me.

‘Why did you do that?' I splutter. I don't want recriminations, but I can't help myself. ‘Don't get me wrong, Phoebe. You were brilliant back there. But why do that with the drink when he was about to leave? Was it to protect Summer's money? Because if it was, that was dumb and you know it.'

Phoebe says nothing for a few seconds. Then she stops and faces me.

‘He was going to kill us, Jamie,' she says.

‘How do you know that?' I reply. ‘He said he was going to leave us while he got away. If he intended to kill us, why wait? He had you for days and he could have killed me easily back at the place where we met. He had the money, after all. No. I believed him.'

Phoebe looks at me for a moment and then starts walking again. I skip to catch up with her.

‘Hold my hand,' I say.

‘Not now,' she says.

I wonder if either of us will recover from this. We walk in silence for a couple more minutes. When Phoebe speaks again, she does so without looking at me, almost as if she's talking to herself.

‘I spent days with him,' she says. ‘And he was crazy. I know he was. You can't spend that amount of time with someone and not find that out. He wanted to be liked. No. He wanted to be
loved
, and admired. That's why he kept us alive, so we could be his audience, so he could keep playing games with you. But he was going to kill us. It was all a fairy story, Jamie. Leaving the country
so we could go on with our lives and he would be safe overseas? Why leave if no one could identify him? And if he got rid of us, then he'd have nothing to worry about.'

I don't say anything. I wonder what happened to my sister. She is someone else now. She has grown up and it is reflected in the way she speaks. She is seven, going on thirty. I find this sad. I think also about what she has just said. It makes sense, but it's still only guesswork. How can a seven year old be so cynical?

‘He bought two cans of petrol,' she says. ‘Brought them into the house and put them in the front room. I saw them. I don't think he was planning on driving somewhere where there are no petrol stations. So what was he going to use them for?'

She isn't expecting an answer and I don't give one. I think about a house way out in the middle of nowhere. I think of petrol splashed around the place, a glowing cigarette end thrown onto the porch and the whoosh of flame, the house erupting. I think of the time it will take for anyone to even notice the fire, let alone get a fire engine out there. And when it does there would be nothing left except a pile of smouldering ash and, maybe, somewhere deep down in the cellar, a jumble of charred bones. It's warm with the sun on my back, but I shiver. I reach out my hand and this time Phoebe takes it.

‘How did you survive, Phoebe?' I ask.

‘Game theory,' she says. ‘Think about what the other person wants and then use that to your advantage. Dixon wanted me to love him, so I did. Dixon wanted me to be a cute little girl, so
I was. Did you really think I would have chosen that dress, Jamie? He gave me choices, so I picked the one he wanted me to pick. And I was sweet and loving and I asked for fairy stories and he believed me. He trusted me. I think that was the only mistake he made.'

I keep walking and thinking. All this time I believed I was on a mission to save my little sister's life and all the time she was saving mine. And I think about loss of innocence and I wonder if I will ever get the old Phoebe back. But these are things to consider at another time.

For the moment I am happy to walk towards home, with the sunshine on my back and the weight of my sister's hand in mine.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Barry Jonsberg's YA novels,
The Whole Business with Kiffo and the Pitbull
and
It's Not All About YOU, Calma!
were shortlisted for the CBCA awards.
It's Not All About YOU, Calma!
also won the Adelaide Festival Award for Children's Literature and
Dreamrider
was shortlisted in the NSW Premier's Awards.
Being Here
won the Queensland Premier's YA Book Award and was shortlisted for the Prime Minister's Award.
My Life as an Alphabet
won the Gold Inky, the Children's Peace Literature Award, the Territory Read, Children's Literature/YA Award and the Victorian Premier's Literary Award, and was shortlisted in the Prime Minister's Literary Awards, the CBCA awards, the West Australian Premier's Book Awards and the Adelaide Festival Awards.

Barry lives in Darwin. His books have been published in the USA, the UK, France, Poland, Germany, Hungary, Brazil, Turkey, China and Korea.