Vulture's Gate (8 page)

Callum peered closer at the little illustration beneath the writing. It was of a hovering bird. ‘That's their way of letting me guess about Vulture's Gate, I suppose. I never cracked the reading thing but I always liked the symbol they taught me for Vulture's Gate.'

‘And these?' asked Bo, pointing to a little trail of arrows and circles that ran down the side of the pole like hieroglyphics.

Callum grinned. He knelt at the base of the pole, where Mr Pinkwhistle had danced, and began scrabbling with his bare hands at the dry red earth. Bo knelt beside him and helped.

It was only twenty centimetres beneath the ground – a sealed metal box. They lifted it out together and dusted off the surface. There was a digital lock on the front but Callum knew the code and in an instant he had the lid open. Inside was a bag of donuts, dried-food parcels, six bottles of water, two packets of rehydration salts, a small roll of gold and a toy penguin.

Callum snatched up the toy and hugged it. ‘I can't believe it! Peggy! She survived!' He laid the penguin in his lap and gently touched its belly where a small digital device was neatly embedded. The screen lit up and two men stared out. Bo peered over Callum's shoulder as the digital message began to play.

Callum pointed at each of the men. ‘The one with smooth black hair, that's Ruff. And the one with the thick reddish beard, that's Rusty.' He turned up the volume so their voices reverberated across the desolate site.

‘Callum, if you're listening to this, you'll know we came back to find you,' said Rusty, ‘We bribed Outriders, we interrogated Outstationers, but we lost your trail. We've waited three weeks, hoping for news of you, but we can't stay longer. The Colony don't want to rebuild the Refuge so we're going back to Vulture's Gate.' He began to cry. ‘Cal, darling, we will never give up hope. We'll come back to the west when we can, to search. But if you hear this and you have any way of getting word to us, know that we'll come running for you, son.'

Callum played the message over and over again until Bo could mime every word his fathers spoke and she longed for him to turn it off. Finally, he tore open the bag of donuts and handed one to Bo. ‘I knew they wouldn't give up on me,' he said, crowing between mouthfuls.

Bo took a bite of her donut and spat it into the dirt.

‘What are you doing?' asked Callum, snatching the treat away from her.

‘It tasted queer. It made my teeth tingle. That crunchy white stuff, it burns.'

‘That's sugar. And it tastes fantastic,' said Callum, through a crowded mouthful. ‘This is the sort of food those kids in your storybooks eat all the time. Not crocodile and weeds.'

Cautiously, Bo leant forward and took another small bite from the ring of sugar and dough that Callum held in his fist. She scrunched up her nose in distaste and Callum laughed. He stuffed the rest of the donut into his mouth and dusted sugar from his fingers.

‘Callum, I think we should go now,' said Bo. ‘There's nothing else here.'

‘I want to camp until they come back.'

‘We can't,' said Bo. ‘There is no shelter, no good hunting, and it's too close to the road.'

Callum bowed his head and played the iPenguin message again, holding the small toy close to his face and studying his fathers' image. Bo remembered the way she had gazed at Poppy's picture, hopelessly longing for him. But it was different

for Callum. His fathers were alive. Somewhere out there, they were waiting for him.

‘If only the old-tech ways still worked, we could get a message to them,' he said. ‘But everything's broken. It's hopeless.' He glanced around the barren landscape and the wreck of his old home. ‘I don't know how to reach them.'

‘I do,' said Bo. ‘We're going to deliver the message ourselves. We're going to Vulture's Gate.'

12

EVIL ANGELS

Callum watched Bo from across the campfire.
He didn't understand her. He'd always imagined that girls must have been sickly, unreliable creatures that spent a lot of time screaming and crying. But Callum hadn't seen Bo cry once and he couldn't help but trust her.

Now, as he pushed at the coals with a stick, he felt something kindling deep inside, a beacon of hope rising from the wreckage of his old life. Bo drew a map in the dry desert soil and using the GPS in the Daisy-May and the notes that Callum's dads had left in the security box, she mapped out a route across the continent to the city on the far east coast.

‘The Daisy-May runs on cactus juice,' she said. ‘She has a mini-still built into her so we can feed her and make some fuel. But I don't know if she will get us all the way across the country. She's more of a show pony than a workhorse. We need to find succulents for her every day and we'll have to take her slow and steady. She'll burn out if we push her too hard.'

Callum looked down at the map in the dust. Then he turned on the iPenguin and watched his fathers' message again. ‘We have to make it. With or without the Daisy-May.'

The next morning, Callum packed what useful things he'd managed to salvage from the ashes of the Refuge. He made sure Peggy the iPenguin was stored in the pannier opposite Mr Pinkwhistle and tucked the other things in around her. He didn't like the way the raptor swivelled his skull-like head towards Peggy and bared his shiny, sharp teeth every time Ruff and Rusty's message played.

Callum didn't look back as the Daisy-May sped away from the Refuge but he knew that part of who he used to be was behind him in the ashes, the best of his childhood lost to him. He hooked his arms tightly around Bo. Even if she was a girl, he knew she understood what it meant to lose your home.

The road through the desert ran like a long, black crack across the landscape. The Daisy-May flew over the weathered bitumen, as if barely making contact. The terrain began to change quickly, drifts of red sand blowing across the road. They travelled at such speed that every day yielded new terrain. Every evening they fossicked for succulents for the Daisy-May's still before curling up on their catskin rugs to sleep.

One evening, a week after they'd left the Refuge, they camped by a salt lake. It was covered by a thin sheen of water that shimmered orange and blood-red at sunset. Bo cooked up the last of the dried crocodile meat, salting it with lake water.

After eating they lapsed into a companionable silence, but when the moon rose and the first nightbird of the evening wheeled overhead, Bo looked up from the campfire and frowned. Grabbing her string bag of weapons, she walked away from the camp and smoothed out a section of earth, clearing rocks and debris with the butt of her gun. Then she lay down on the ground and gazed up at the swirling, starry night sky.

‘What's wrong?' called Callum.

‘Shush, they'll hear you,' she said in a loud whisper. ‘They're dangerous.'

Callum tiptoed over and lay down beside her, mystified by her fear. Their shoulders touched and he felt that peculiar rush of blood that being close to Bo triggered in him. The desert earth beneath them was cool, but beside him Bo's skin felt as though it was shimmering with heat.

‘What are you thinking?' he asked.

Bo didn't answer straight away. She kept staring up at the stars, as if she was searching for something.

‘What are you thinking?' she echoed.

‘I've told you, you can't answer questions with questions. I wasn't thinking anything. I'm not always thinking. Sometimes I'm just being. You're the one that's lying there with a gun.'

Bo shifted her shoulders, making a little space between her and Callum but he moved closer so they were touching again. He took hold of her hand and held it tightly.

‘You must be easy to pick up with a heat sensor. Mr Pink–whistle's internal screens must light up fierce when he sees you.' As he spoke, Callum became even more aware of the patch of skin where their bodies met, the way their fingers enmeshed. He gazed up at the nightbird that hovered over their heads. Suddenly, Bo pulled her hand free of his grasp and raised her gun, staring hard into the night sky.

‘What are you going to do? Shoot the stars?'

‘No, the nightbirds,' said Bo.

‘Nightbirds! We can't eat them, they're too stringy.'

‘They are not for eating. Only killing.'

Callum sat up. ‘My dads used to take me outside to watch them fly over the Refuge. Rusty said they only flew at night, because people had gone on crazy killing sprees when the plague happened so the birds learned to stop flying during the day. But they can't hurt us any more, Bo. And they're beautiful. It's wrong to kill beautiful things. See, they look like black angels.'

‘They're not angels. They're evil.' She lifted the gun, took aim and fired.

Callum ran to where the wide-winged creature lay bleeding in the dust.

‘Don't touch it!' shouted Bo. ‘Poppy said never to touch birds. They're poisonous. You should never eat them, or their eggs. Never touch anything they've touched. I used to have the Wombator bury them for me. And I never touched him. Poppy said everything with wings is dangerous.'

‘That's old superstition. No one gets the plague now.'

‘But you said there are no women. No girls. They were the ones that died.'

‘Are you afraid of birds?'

‘I'm not afraid. I shoot them because they're evil. All winged creatures are horrible,' she said. ‘They make a fluttering noise and it fills your head until you feel mad and tortured. Wings make my flesh creep.'

Callum left the corpse and lay back down beside her without speaking. Bo clung grimly to her pistol but when another nightbird wheeled overhead, she didn't fire. He didn't know what to say to her. She seemed foreign again but also forlorn. He turned and put his face against hers so they were almost touching. Then he blinked slowly, his long eyelashes brushing against her cheek.

‘What are you doing?' she asked.

‘Giving you a butterfly kiss.'

‘What is a butterfly?'

‘It's a tiny insect with soft wings. That was meant to feel like the brush of its wings.'

Bo put a hand to her cheek. ‘Why did you do that?'

‘Not everything with wings is horrible.'

At dawn, the salt lake was coppery pink. For the first time since they had met, Callum woke before Bo. He sat up and scanned the lake. There was something moving across its surface, as if walking or gliding on the water. He blinked and realised it was Mr Pinkwhistle. What was he doing up before Bo? He never went anywhere before she activated him for the day. Then Callum realised the roboraptor had something in his jaws and was shaking it, as if trying to snap it in two. Suddenly, Ruff and Rusty's voices drifted across the lake.

‘Peggy!' shouted Callum. ‘He's killing Peggy!'

Bo was beside him in an instant, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She whistled for the roboraptor and he came skittering across the pink lake, sending thousands of flecks of silvery water into the air.

‘Bad!' she shouted as he skidded to a stop in front of them. ‘Bad food!'

In his mouth were the mangled remains of Peggy the iPenguin. Fragments of Ruff and Rusty's voices squeaked out of her interface and then they stopped altogether.

‘Drop!' said Bo. But it was too late. One of Peggy's glass eyes dangled from its socket and a long, thick wad of stuffing fell from her body. The interface in her belly was completely shattered. Callum stared down in horror at the tangled mess. Mr Pinkwhistle's long tail swished back and forth, as if he was pleased with himself.

‘I'm sorry,' said Bo.

Callum couldn't tell her it was all right because it wasn't. Peggy was the last token of his lost childhood and now she was gone. He turned away and trudged back to the campsite. He didn't want Bo to see him cry.

He barely noticed when Bo came up behind him and touched his shoulder. She didn't say anything but she stood close to him. Gently, she took his head in her hands. When their faces were almost touching, she brushed his cheek with her eyelashes, a butterfly kiss that swept away the last of his tears.

13

THE HIDDEN VALLEY

Callum kept a close eye on the Daisy-May's sensors,
and while Bo focused on the road he watched to make sure they were safe. When the monitors indicated another vehicle approaching, he tapped Bo on her thigh. She steered the bike off-road so they could wait in sheltering scrub for the strangers to pass. It slowed their progress and the days slipped into weeks but they didn't want to risk making contact with anyone. Red sand was replaced by sandy yellow soil. Occasional gum trees began to pepper the roadside. Finally the country turned from desert scrub to forest.

One warm afternoon after a long day of travel, they found a sheltered dry riverbed in which to camp. Bo lifted Mr Pinkwhistle out of the pannier and set him on a rock to soak up the last of the day's sunlight before sending him out to hunt. Callum was anxious that they start scouring the surrounding country for succulents to feed the Daisy-May's still and was glad to see the roboraptor disappear into the scrub.

They returned to camp as darkness fell with only a small string bag of plants, to find Mr Pinkwhistle waiting for them, pawing the ground miserably and loudly gnashing his metal teeth. He'd been unable to catch anything for their dinner and he let out a whirr of embarrassment when Bo stroked his spine.

When Mr Pinkwhistle was calm again, Bo pulled the top from her water flask and licked the last drops from its rim. Then she flopped down in the sand and stretched out on her back. ‘I don't think we'll make it at this rate. We'll starve before we reach the city.'

‘When we get to Vulture's Gate, there'll be plenty of food,' said Callum. ‘My dads will make sure of that. The Colony has storehouses full of stockpiled food.'

‘But we've still got hundreds of kilometres to go and we've almost no food and no water. We spend so much time travelling or looking for plants for the still that we don't have any time to find food. Mr Pinkwhistle can't do all the hunting by himself. We need to stop and make a camp for a while.'