Nature of Ash, The (10 page)

‘Yeah, Ash here.’

‘What the hell is going on?’ She sounds distraught.

‘Travis is right. We had no choice but to get off the train. It simply wasn’t safe.’

She’s silent for a moment, which I’m hoping means my words are sinking in. ‘Do you want me to get you picked up by the local police?’

Tempting though the offer is, now that we’re settled I just want some peace. ‘No, we should be sweet.’

‘Is Travis okay?’

‘Sweet,’ I say again, not wanting the poor schmuck to know she’s checking up. ‘Look Jeannie, we’ve got a fire, water, food and sleeping bags. We’ll ring you in the morning once we figure out exactly where we are. Okay?’

‘All right. But see you do. Things are imploding fast.’

I hand the phone back to Travis, who rolls his eyes and cuts her off as quickly as he can. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘She’s a total control freak.’

‘No shit?’ I laugh to soothe the sting. ‘I guess it proves she cares.’

Travis doesn’t bother to respond. He lobs his phone into the darkness. I hear it splash into the river.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘Fuck her. I’m sick of her telling me what to do.’

‘Are you stupid? That phone’s our only link to help.’

‘Who cares,’ says Travis. ‘I’ve got something much more useful.’ He reaches into his pack and produces a bottle of cheap whisky. ‘Ta da!’ Unscrews the cap and swigs it straight. ‘Ahhhhh. Now
that’s
more like it.’ Wipes spit off with his sleeve, then offers the bottle to Jiao.

‘No thanks.’ She curls up in her sleeping bag, pillowing her cheek on her hand. ‘Come on, Mikey. Snuggle up with me and get some sleep.’

Mr Casanova doesn’t need to be asked twice. He’s spooning her before Travis and I have downed another shot. They make me laugh, the people who think Mikey’s thick. The sleazy little opportunist knows
exactly
how to get his way. Before long he’s snoring, and Jiao’s breathing is so slow and easy she must be sleeping too. Travis and I meantime go shot for shot, until my gut is filled with liquid lava and the last few days have turned into a welcome blur. I lean against my bulging pack and close my eyes, only to force them back open when my brain goes into a spin. The next time Travis offers me the bottle, I shake my head.

‘I’m really sorry ’bout your dad,’ he says, his voice a little slurry.

‘Yeah, thanks.’ Above, the sky is lit with stars, ten times brighter than I’ve ever seen at home. ‘So where’s
your
dad?’

Travis chokes on his next shot. ‘Fucked off when I was six.’

‘Bummer.’

‘Yeah.’ He throws another hunk of wood on to the fire. A spray of sparks releases into the night. ‘I used to see him every holidays but he pissed off to Oz when I was twelve.’ He snorts, the sound real bitter, and sculls another huge mouthful of drink. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this to you right now, with … everything … you know … but sometimes I wish the bastard was dead instead of acting like I don’t exist. I mean, Mum’s okay most of the time — but she’s always feeling guilty about working, so she over-bloody-comper-compet—’

‘Compensates?’

‘Yeah, that’s the one!’ He slaps me on the back. ‘That’s why you’re at university, Brains, while I’m still unemployed.’

‘Doubt it. Hey, why do you reckon your mum’s being so nice to Mikey and me? She hardly knows us.’

He lets out an impressive booze-fuelled burp. ‘Hah! Now
there’s
a good question.’ He stares into the fire, his eyelids drooping as he sways. I wait for him to continue, but nothing comes.

‘Did you know she travelled all the way to Christchurch to tell me about Dad?’

‘Yeah. She was wound up like a bloody clock.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘How would I fuckin’ know? I’m only her disappointing son.’ He waves his hands around, all drunk and blustery. ‘She never tells me shit like that.’

He’s starting to get this real stroppy edge to his voice, so I back off. Whatever’s going on for him, now’s not
the time to tease it out. Besides, I need to take a crap. I grab the loo paper out of my pack and wander off into the bushes. By the time I get back to the fire, he’s flaked. I screw the cap back on to the half-empty bottle and drag his sleeping bag up to his shoulders so he won’t freeze.

It’s funny, when I was Mikey’s age I’d look at other people’s lives and wish they were mine. More money, a father
and
mother, a sibling who could do things on his own … I never stopped to think how lucky Mikey and I were to have Dad. He talked to us about everything (yeah, well, so I thought) and I never had to wonder if he loved us, because he’d say it every day. I don’t envy poor Travis one tiny bit: fuck knowing your father’s out there and doesn’t care.

Except, of course, I’m in exactly the same position with Mum. I snort aloud.

‘What’s so funny?’ Jiao scares the hell out of me. She slides out from under Mikey’s arm to snug up to the fire.

‘Life.’ I stoke the flames and edge up closer too.

‘I wonder if his mother knows how much he drinks?’

‘I wouldn’t be the least surprised.’

I close my eyes and listen to the river’s flow. It’s hard to believe there are the makings of a war out there — or that Dad’s gone — when here, right now, we could be on a summer camp.

Jiao clears her throat. ‘Thanks for getting me out.’

‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk.’

‘That’s okay—’

‘No it’s fucking not! Only six months away from home and I start acting like a fascist pig. It’s kind of scary how quickly other people’s attitudes can screw with you. Fact is, I never even noticed it with my mates
down south. But don’t get me wrong. I hate the way the UPR’s hoovering our resources and abusing human rights. And if they’ve had a hand in Dad’s death, I swear I’ll hunt the bastards down—’

‘When I first went to school I couldn’t understand why the kids hated me before they even knew what I was like.’ Jiao stares into the fire like she’s watching her memory play out in its flames. ‘I thought it was my fault, until I went home for the holidays and Mum explained.’

‘Yeah, but you’ve got to admit the way your country’s carrying on is fucked.’

‘Not
my
country. I live here.’ She reaches over for the whisky, unscrews the cap and takes a swig, shuddering as she swallows it down. ‘Do you have any idea how many people actually live in the countries that make up the UPR?’

‘What is this, a bloody demographics lesson? You think that makes it okay for your leaders to screw with people’s lives?’

‘You think the New Zealand government doesn’t?’ Her eyes tell me I’m thick as well as deeply flawed. ‘
You
try running a huge republic and keep the population fed and housed — and in control.’

‘Come on … it doesn’t mean the UPR has the right to come down here, take all our stuff and treat people like slaves.’

‘They have the right because your government handed them the key. The difference is, I see both sides. All the leaders of the countries that make up the UPR walk a tightrope — they’ve got Europe and the WA snapping at their heels. And the lives of some people back there
are
starting to improve.’

‘Yeah right. A handful of corrupt officials—’

‘Oh, very funny. As if there’s no corruption here.’

‘Yeah, but you’re missing the point.
They
didn’t just blow up my dad, did they?’

‘Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m not saying I want to live there. And I sure as hell don’t want the UPR to change things over here.’ She shudders. ‘But those people on the train were scary. Where’s our famous Kiwi charm?’

She’s got me there. I hate to think what would’ve happened if we’d stayed aboard. I stare into the fire, part of me pissed off that she finds
anything
to defend about the UPR, the other part kind of excited: I haven’t had such a good debate since last time I was home with Dad. My mates in Christchurch may know how to party, but we never talked politics until the torpedo-strike last week — and then it was a conversation mostly of expletives.

I try a different tack. ‘So what are you planning to do when you leave school?’

She scratches her head, like maybe she’s embarrassed. ‘Right now I’m swotting for a scholarship to university.’

‘To study what?’ I remember the books that fell out of her bag. A dead poet and Shakespeare. Bets are on it’s something totally useless in the real world.

‘Genetics,’ she says. ‘And then I want to go into research.’

‘What? To find the cure for cancer? Isn’t that what everybody says?’

She folds her arms across her chest, creating one hell of a cleavage. ‘If I tell you, you’ll laugh.’

‘Come on. I won’t. Hell, I’m the only boy at Canterbury studying speech therapy. They all think I’m a fag.’

‘Okay … but, if I tell you, you’re not allowed to give me shit.’ It’s the first time I’ve heard her swear. It must
be a big deal. ‘One day I’m going to prove there
is
a gene for being gay.’

You’re fucking kidding me!
Talk about a random goal given the state of the world. What about developing something that can feed everyone? Or fix up climate change? Or stop us behaving like psychotic pigs? It’s weird how you can look at someone and make a judgement but you never bloody know what’s in their head. Still, I can see why Dad liked her: he’d admire her originality and spunk.

‘Good for you, then.’ I don’t know what else to say, and I’m too bloody tired for another fight.

The whisky and the warmth are starting to take effect. God knows what we’ll do tomorrow, but right now I need to sleep. I chuck one last log on to the fire and curl up in my sleeping bag. The ground is hard, and strewn with stones that jab into my hip. ‘Night,’ I say.

Jiao’s still staring into the fire, probably worrying about her mum and dad. I should say something encouraging, I guess, but my energy has bled into the ground. Time to drown this shit-house day in sleep.

I WAKE TO FIND MIKEY
poking at the fire, doing a pretty good job of stoking it back up. Dawn is only just breaking, cool silver light nudging out the shadows among the trees across the river as the birds start up. I lie still, eyes closed again as I take in their song. There are hardly any birds at home, apart from the bossy pigeons and sparrows in the city centre. And the tui at the cemetery. A tear wells up under my lid and trickles down beside my ear. A great gloomy sadness has settled on me in the night, pinning me down.

Mikey starts to sing, under his breath at first, but soon his volume creeps up. ‘Y’aint nuffin’ like how-dog, crying all time …’ Honestly, if Dad was here he’d piss himself laughing. Mikey’s version of the old ‘Hound Dog’ song sounds more like a cat on heat.

‘Turn it down!’ Travis roars and pulls his sleeping
bag right up over his head.

I laugh. ‘Welcome to Mikey’s cure for hangovers, mate. Like shock treatment, only worse.’

Jiao lifts her head, her bright red hair sticking up in flaming tufts. ‘Hey, Mikey. Good work with the fire.’

He beams. ‘Morning, Jow Jow. You sleep well? You hungry?’ Talk about an obvious hint: that boy’s stomach rules his life. Feed him and he’s happy. Starve him and he’ll make life hell.

Jiao climbs out of her sleeping bag and stretches, her sweatshirt rising up to reveal a smooth belly. I’ve always fancied skinny chicks before but, actually, Jiao’s soft curves are rather nice. It’s like she’s comfortable in her own skin, not giving a bugger what other people think. Mikey obviously can’t resist her. He ducks over before she lowers her arms to plant a kiss on her bare skin.

‘Hey! That’s
not
okay.’ He nearly craps himself at the sound of my voice. ‘Apologise and don’t you
ever
do that again.’

Mikey’s more hang-dog than rock’n’roll hound dog as he mumbles his apologies to Jiao. He gives me the evils before he turns back to the fire.

Jiao tucks her sweatshirt into her jeans, which looks totally nerdy but I guess she wants to underline the point. ‘Morning,’ she says to me. ‘Did you get any sleep?’

‘A bit. Though bugger waking up this early.’ I sit up and check my phone for the time. It still shows no service. And bloody Travis’s phone is in the river. What a stupid jerk.

Now that it’s lighter we can see that the river is choked with slime and weeds, filthy from run-off. Bloody hell — we brewed a billy of tea with that crap last night. No
wonder it tasted like liquid shit. If one of us gets sick, it’ll be my fault. I should’ve known better: since when is
any
river clean enough to drink?

I don’t know how far we walked last night, but there’s no sign of the train or any tracks. There’s a band of scrubby trees, mainly manuka, on the far side of the river bank, that stretch up into rugged hills dotted with cattle and sheep. In the opposite direction the land is pitted with erosion, the flat grassland so overstocked with dairy cows it’s little more than mud.

‘Hey, you guys,’ I say. A plan has hatched inside my head. ‘If we can find the track the cows take to the milking sheds, we should be able to find the road.’

The others agree it’s worth a try. While we pack our things, we scoff down the last of our cake and, thanks to Travis, a handful of walnuts each. Not much to go on, but I can’t be bothered cooking and it’s better than zilch.

We head off across the fields, our noisy procession (thanks to you know who) scaring the shit out of the cows. And I mean literally. Cows can fire it out like a bloody hose. Mikey loves it, shrieking and leaping over the stinking piles as if he’s dancing some kind of Scottish jig to match his bagpipe voice. It’s crazy what keeps that kid amused.

We trek for about twenty-five minutes before Travis spots a gate that opens on to a gravel track. You’d think we’d been in the wilderness for days the way the others cheer and make a rush for it. Me, well, I am relieved. But, actually, the bigger problem’s up ahead. Once we
do
make it out to the main road, what then? I’m fast going off the idea of being trapped with Jeannie’s mum. I’m fast going off the idea of being with anyone at all. I
wish to god I could lick my wounds in peace.

Past the gate, there’s no stopping Mikey. He wants to run ahead, so Jiao agrees to go with him while Travis and I cart all the gear. Ten minutes later I scan the track ahead of us. Mikey and Jiao have disappeared over a rise.

‘Did you hear that?’ Travis stops and cocks his head. ‘It sounded like someone calling your name.’

I meet his eye, and both of us start to run, packs and bags slapping as we stampede up the rise. I crest the top seconds ahead of him, then stop to catch my breath.
Jeezus
. Jiao and Mikey are about five hundred metres away, staring down the barrel of a rifle aimed by a giant of a man on a quad bike.

‘Wait!’ I throw my hands up as high as I can, given I’m weighed down with all these fucking bags, and sprint for all it’s worth. ‘It’s okay,’ I yell, hardly able to push out the words. My arms are killing me. Eventually I’m forced to slow to a walk, overcome by stitch.

Jiao and Mikey have their arms raised in surrender and I can see the dark stain blooming between Mikey’s legs where he’s wet his pants. The man on the bike is wearing a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, muddy white gumboots and a blue overall, sleeves tied around his waist. He’s bare chested and pure muscle. And now he’s swivelled around to aim the gun straight at me.

‘I’m … I’m sorry to trespass. We had to leave the train.’
Oh god
… ‘We’re trying to reach the road.’

The man’s face is in shadow beneath his hat.

‘I’ve already told him that,’ Jiao whispers from the corner of her mouth. She’s shaking and her bottom lip is bleeding like she’s gnawed at it.

‘Shut up!’ The man jerks his gun towards Mikey now. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

Oh, here we go
. I put the bags down slowly and sidle over beside Mikey. ‘This is my brother Mikey. He has Down Syndrome. He’s perfectly safe.’

Mikey pipes up: ‘I’m a good—’

I squeeze his shoulder hard. ‘Shhh.’ This guy won’t understand a word Mikey says. All he’ll hear is crazy jabber. ‘Look, if you can just tell us how to reach the main road we’ll be off.’

‘What about
her
?’ Cowboy Tosser swings the gun back round to Jiao. ‘She looks like a UPR spy.’

I
want
to say,
You bet-cha,
’cause this is obviously such a strategic site
— but I’m guessing he’s not big on irony. ‘Nah, she’s cool,’ I say. ‘She’s just here to help me out with Mikey.’

‘Then show me what’s inside the bags,’ he barks.

Oh for Chrissakes
. Do we
really
have to unpack everything right here? ‘Sure.’ I nod to Travis, and we drag out all our pathetic belongings for display on the dusty track. There’s no way this jerk will be interested in any of it. Our pitiful food supply is unlikely to tempt anyone who lives on a farm, and even if our clothes
would
fit him, they’re all so bloody ancient I doubt he’d want them. But then Travis unloads his own pack and, bugger me, he’s got a bag of weed and another three bottles of the whisky stashed inside.

I kick the weed into the grass behind me and mutter ‘Sorry, mate’ to Travis as I scoop up the drink. ‘Here,’ I say to Cowboy Tosser, ‘you’d be doing us a big favour if you’d take these.’

Travis lets out a tiny squeak, but I spear him with a
quick ‘shut up’ glare. He sure as hell wasn’t joking when he said he liked to drink.

The Cowboy slowly climbs off his quad bike, ensuring all the while that the rifle doesn’t waver from its focus on Jiao. He opens up a saddle bag and jerks his head at me. ‘Put them in here.’

Up close he’s not old at all — about the same age as Travis and me, just twice the bloody size. I’m tempted to commend him on his thatch of chest hair. No wonder he doesn’t wear a shirt: vanity’s alive and well in Hicksville. And, hell, why not? Last count I only found two hairs on my puny chest. Shit, even Mikey’s hairier than me.

Cowboy Tosser peers into my face as I pack the whisky. ‘I’ve seen you somewhere before,’ he says. His squinty eyes take me in inch by inch. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Ashley McCarthy.’

‘Why do I know you?’

‘I don’t know.’

Travis pipes up. ‘You might’ve seen him on the TV news. His father was one of the union guys killed by the bomb.’

‘Bad people,’ Mikey shouts, before a shushing from Jiao shuts him back down.

The guy nods his head. ‘Yeah, I remember now. You dumped on the PM.’ He swings the rifle round as if he’s going to blow my brains out, then flips it over so it’s resting on his shoulder. He offers me his calloused hand. ‘Good one, mate. That weasel Chandler’s a lying prick.’

I shake his hand — not hard when every other cell in me is shaking too. ‘Thanks. Thanks for that. So you’re cool if we head off now? Just down this track?’ I sound like I’ve swallowed my own balls.

‘Yeah, no worries. It’s only about another one and a half ks.’ He turns to his bike, removes one of the whisky bottles from the saddle bag and hands it back to me. ‘Tax refund,’ he says, and grins.

I pass the bottle to Travis, who’s already repacking all our gear. Our hairy cowboy watches on, then climbs on to his bike and stows the rifle by his side. I’m tempted to do Mikey’s happy dance I’m so relieved. But as we trek past him, trying not to run, he idles the engine and calls out ‘Hey! You!’ We freeze.

‘Sorry to hear about your dad.’

Then he throttles up and rides towards the hills.

‘Fucking hell!’ Travis explodes as soon as he’s disappeared over the rise. ‘Talk about crap myself!’ He unearths the whisky again, taking one huge slug before offering it to Jiao and me. We both decline.

I rummage in my own gear to find some dry clothes for Mikey and help him peel off his pissy pants. Jiao’s so quiet I glance over to check on her. She’s shaking like a bloody leaf and tears are streaming down her cheeks. As soon as Mikey’s freshly dressed, I whisper in his ear. ‘Jiao needs a hug.’

‘Poor Jow Jow.’ Mikey wraps his chubby arms around her, and her head drops to his shoulder. She has a real good howl before she finally pulls away. ‘Thanks, Mikey. You’re a sweetie.’

The Hug-meister spits on his fingernails, then buffs them on his chest. ‘Me sweetie boy!’

I snort and shoulder the pack again. We divvy up some of our one precious loaf of bread, and I give my share to Mikey. Travis washes his down with another generous shot of whisky, and I’m starting to understand
why Jeannie’s so concerned about him. I mean, I
like
to drink but I don’t need to, whereas I’m guessing he does, every day. Maybe our cowboy friend has done us all a big favour by pocketing a couple of Travis’s bottles. One loose cannon is enough, and Mikey more than fits that bill.

True to Cowboy’s word we make it to the main road in just under half an hour. After another ten minutes, we reach a road sign pointing towards Whanganui.
Only fifteen more ks
. I check my phone again but there’s still no signal. I guess there’s nothing for it but to walk. Hitch-hiking, for one, is out of the question. The few private cars that pass are packed to the roof with passengers and gear, while the rest of the vehicles seem to belong exclusively to the army: Unimogs, four-wheel-drives, even the odd tank. Their drivers stare at us suspiciously but none of them stop.

Mikey’s starting to get whingey, so when we reach an overgrown lay-by I suggest we light a fire and cook some food. In no time at all we’re cooking up some porridge and scoffing it straight from the billy. We’re just finishing when the air is split by the boom of half a dozen fighters whizzing overhead. They’re painted grey, their tails sporting the red, white, blue and green logo of the Western Alliance.

Travis points to the vapour trail left in their wake. ‘They’re heading in the same direction as us.’

Jiao slaps a hand over her mouth. It’s clear she’s thinking her parents’ factory farm will be in the line of fire.

‘Nah,’ I say. ‘They’re probably just doing a tiki tour on their way north. Or they’re out for show.’ It’s
possible,
 
I guess. If only we had phone coverage to find out for sure. ‘C’mon, we need to get going. I reckon we should try to make it to Whanganui.’

Travis downs another sneaky drink. ‘It’s still about fourteen ks away!’

‘Do you have a better idea? If we make it to town, at least we’ll be able to find out what the hell is going on.’

‘We could try stealing a car.’ He’s full of surprises, our new friend Travis, just not the right sort. ‘I know how to drive.’

Okay, so I’m going to ignore that — for now — though I have to say I’m jealous. With petrol so scarce and so expensive I don’t know anyone my age who has access to a car, let alone anyone who knows how to drive. Even Uncle George, who inherited the car from his olds, only ever took it out when he had no other choice — and he refused to teach his kids, saying it was too hard on the planet. ‘Well, let’s start to walk and see how far we get,’ I say. ‘We really have no other choice.’ Besides, I need to get Mikey moving while he’s full of food.

We walk in line along the overgrown verge beside the road. The day is clear but not too hot, and once we get into a rhythm we move at quite a steady pace. Jiao takes it on herself to keep Mikey amused and buoys him up when he gets whiney, leaving me free to chase the demons in my head.

Last year — I guess it must have been when I was studying for the scholarship to uni — Dad came into my bedroom late one night. He sat down next to me and said, completely out of the blue, ‘Have you thought about the future, mate, when I’m gone?’

I told him not to be so ghoulish, but he persisted.
‘Sorry, Ash, but given Mikey’s needs it’s important we talk this through. It’s likely you’re going to have to be responsible for him for the rest of his life, and I’m worried about the implications of that for you. It’s going to be tough, and, considering the way the country’s going, you’ll not receive any support. You need to understand this. You’re all he’ll have.’

I brushed him off — I didn’t want to face it. But now his words hit me with the full force of reality. And I’m like some horn-bag who’s knocked up a girl then had the baby thrust on me — I’m expected to cope. I mean, I
love
Mikey, I really do, but the thought of piggybacking him right through life really sucks. What girl is ever going to want that crappy package deal? What employer? What best friend? And even if the insurance money
does
come through, with prices rising every day … I’m so totally fucked.