Flight of the Fantail E-Book

Steph Matuku

• Herausgeber: Huia Publishers
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

A bus full of high school students crashes in remote bush. Only a few of the teenagers survive; they find their phones don't work, there's no food, and they've only got their wits to keep them alive. There's also something strange happening here. Why are the teenagers having nosebleeds and behaving erratically, and why is the rescue effort slow to arrive? To make it out, they have to discover what's really going on and who is behind it all. Why are the teenagers having nosebleeds and behaving erratically,and why is the rescue effort slow to arrive? To make it out, they have to discoverwhat's really going on and whoisbehind it all.

Leseprobe

First published in 2018 by Huia Publishers

39 Pipitea Street, PO Box 12280

Wellington, Aotearoa New Zealand

www.huia.co.nz

ISBN 978-1-77550-352-1 (print)

ISBN 978-1-77550-362-0 (EPUB)

ISBN 978-1-77550-363-7 (Kindle)

Copyright © Steph Matuku 2018

Cover images:

Background © Peter Bowers

Bus front © Ryan Richards / Unsplash.com

Bus corner © Simon English / Unsplash.com

Bus body © sasun990 / Shutterstock Images LLC

This book is copyright. Apart from fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without the prior permission of the publisher.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.

Published with the assistance of

Ebook conversion 2018 by meBooks

To Dallas, who read it first.

And Bub, who hasn’t … yet.

I am grateful for support from Creative New Zealand, Te Papa Tupu, the Māori Literature Trust, Sue Copsey, Maureen Lee, Bryony Walker and the rest of the fab team at HUIA.

Also, a massive shoutout to The Brentwood Collective and Whiti Hereaka – thank you, x.

Note: contains violence.

1

The old bus swung around a tight bend on the winding mountain road, and the class erupted into thrilled shrieks and raucous laughter.

Devin’s bag on the seat next to her tipped, spilling toiletries everywhere. She hurriedly stuffed the bottles and tubes back inside, but she wasn’t fast enough. Idelle had already snaked her hand through the gap in the seats and made a triumphant snatch. She inspected her prize, a mocking grin on her perfectly made-up face, her long brown curls still glamorously obedient even after a sweaty six-hour bus ride.

‘Chemical-free deodorant?’

Next to Idelle, Chantelle tittered behind a manicured hand.

‘It’s not strong enough,’ Idelle smirked. ‘You still stink.’

‘Give it back.’ Devin held out her hand half-heartedly. It was a token gesture rather than a demand, and Idelle and Devin knew it.

‘Say please.’

‘Please.’

‘Sweet as, Stinky.’

Idelle threw the bottle high over Devin’s head. It sailed through the air, smacked Mrs Harlow’s sunburnt shoulder and plopped into her lap. She twisted round and glared down the aisle.

‘Whose is this?’

‘You can tell it’s Devin’s, Miss,’ shouted Idelle, ‘because it doesn’t work.’

Chantelle collapsed in a fit of sycophantic giggles.

‘Sorry, Miss,’ said Devin automatically. It was pointless narking on Idelle. She’d just get mad.

Mrs Harlow heaved up out of her seat and strode down the aisle, the innocent deodorant held in front of her like a weapon. Devin waited, resigned. Mrs Harlow went straight past her and stuck her face into Idelle’s. Idelle squeaked in surprise and quickly tried to cover up with a winning smile.

‘If I catch you playing silly buggers one more time, Idelle Watkinson, you are off this trip. I don’t care if we have Search and Rescue airlift you out or we throw you in the back of some pig-hunter’s ute. It’s all the same to me. You got that?’

The winning smile turned into a scowl. ‘Yes, Miss.’

Mrs Harlow dropped the deodorant onto Devin’s bag and went back to her seat.

Idelle stuck her tongue out at her back.

Eva was watching from across the aisle, a sardonic smile on her face.

‘What d’you think you’re looking at?’ Idelle demanded.

Eva gave Idelle a lazy once-over. ‘I’m not sure,’ she drawled. ‘A slut?’

Mandy, sitting beside Eva, laughed. ‘A stupid slut?’

‘A stupid, ugly slut?’

‘A stupid, ugly, boring slut?’

Chantelle stood up, her face as red as her skimpy tank top. ‘You better shut up, you … you …’ She lowered her voice to a hiss, casting a quick glance in Mrs Harlow’s direction. ‘You muggly futt!’

‘Or what?’

Eva surged to her feet, eyes flashing. Her short black hair was sticking up where she had been leaning against the window, and there was a red mark on her cheek.

A voice yelled, ‘Chick fight! Chick fight!’

It was Jahmin, conducting with an invisible baton and urging the other cheeseballs around him to join in. Eva made her fingers into the shape of a gun and shot Jahmin through his frizzy ginger head. He cheerfully blew her a kiss, nudging Liam next to him. But Liam was scowling across the aisle, either at Rocky or Eugene, Eva couldn’t tell. Both boys were oblivious anyway. Rocky was jabbing at his phone, frowning, while Eugene was happily chanting along with everyone else, the upturned collar of his denim jacket not quite concealing the bruise along his jaw.

Chantelle waved, blushing prettily. Eva rolled her eyes and sat down again.

‘Shut up!’ Mrs Harlow roared.

The chanting ground to a halt.

The bus climbed higher and higher. Mrs Harlow left her seat to have a quick muttered conversation with the driver. The narrow road wasn’t tar-sealed, and the long, hot, dry summer had left the surface cracked and dusty.

Eva’s stomach did an uneasy flip-flop as the bus swung close to the crumbling edge, giving her a glimpse of a river, creek, whatever, glinting between scrubby bush and the feathery tops of tree ferns far below.

She pasted a bright smile on her face. ‘Hope you packed your wings.’

Mandy gently squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll fly together, babe.’

‘Love you.’

‘Love you too, you muggly futt.’

Eva laughed. ‘What the hell even is that?’

‘Clearly something totally amazing.’

‘Oh, clearly.’

Mandy started plaiting her long blonde hair, leaning forward to look past Eva so she could use the window as a mirror. Several clumps of loose clay fell from the cliff face to the road. The bus lurched and Mrs Harlow, who was returning to her seat, stumbled, clutching wildly at the seats.

The new kid, Theo, gave a muffled ‘Ooof!’ as Mrs Harlow knocked him in the face with a large breast. His book and glasses flew to the floor, and Idelle and Chantelle nearly fell off their seats with hysterics as Mrs Harlow tried to regain her footing, looking remarkably like a cartoon character skating on a banana peel.

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched whine from the ancient bus engine and a high-pitched scream from Awhina. Awhina was always top of the class, always perfectly co-ordinated in immaculate vintage clothing, and never, ever screamed. She leaped at the bus driver in a swirl of blue paisley, and grabbed his shoulders. She screamed again, ‘Help! Help me!’

The bus pitched violently sideways and scraped against the cliff. It ricocheted off and swung back again. Now everyone was screaming, bags and belongings falling everywhere.

With a startled cry, Mandy tumbled out of her seat and into the aisle. From her position on the floor, she could see the bus driver slumped sideways, his eyes closed and blood trickling from his nose. Awhina was trying desperately to grab the steering wheel, but the driver was in the way.

Mandy crawled down the aisle towards them. Fighting for balance as the bus swung this way and that, she seized the big man around his shoulders and yanked him back as hard as she could. It was like wrestling with a sack of spuds. Awhina snatched at the wheel and managed to get some control.

‘Can’t you stop it?’ Mandy cried.

‘His bloody foot’s stuck!’

Mandy looked down and saw the driver’s foot wedged against the accelerator.

‘The brake! Hit the brake!’

‘I can’t!’

There was a tight bend ahead. The bus was going too fast. There was nothing they could do.

As the bus left the road in a clatter of gravel and soared through the air, Mandy turned to find Eva. She wasn’t screaming. She looked bewildered and beautiful.

Mandy closed her eyes. Eva was the last person she ever saw.

2

Devin’s scream lasted for as long as it took the bus to catapult over the edge and hit the bottom. She must have blacked out because when she next opened her eyes, there was water up to her chin. The front third of the bus had been torn away completely and water was pouring in from all directions. Spluttering, she thrust her foot against something soft – she didn’t know what and didn’t want to either – and pushed up and out through a gaping hole. For a moment the mangled remains of the bus bobbed beside her, before she was carried ahead by the current.

What had been a sparkling green ribbon far below was a massive waterway up close. Devin hurtled past slick rocks and overhanging trees. She tried to swim for the riverbank, but there was too much wild water. It wasn’t anything like doing a lap in the school pool. She switched to dog-paddling, frightened that she wasn’t making any progress at all. Something slammed into the back of her head and she went under again, clutching out wildly. Her numb fingers connected with fabric and she snagged it, pulling it to her. It was a bus seat, foam filled and buoyant enough to give her tired body a break. She clung to it and kicked, making for a gravel beach up ahead.

She almost missed it. It took a superhuman effort to haul herself up onto land.

Devin lay on the gravel, sobbing and retching, her long blonde hair in rat-tails around her face, the river just inches from her nose. She forced herself onto her elbows, and there was the bus, moving slowly and majestically downriver. Scrambling to her feet, she frantically scanned the beaten-up metal for any sign of her classmates. A hysterical cry burst from her, a scream that made no sense. There was no response. The bus surged around a bend in the river and was lost from sight.

‘Oh my God,’ Devin whispered. The walls of the gorge appeared to tilt inward. The sliver of blue sky was so narrow and the rushing water so deafening, she wasn’t sure if God could even hear her at all. The whisper became a shout, ‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!’

When her shouting eventually subsided into harsh hiccups, she heard a rasping cry. She choked down a sob and listened intently. There it was again. The end of the little beach was piled with driftwood as high as her head. She stumbled over to it. A boy lay entangled in the driftwood, a stain of red floating around his submerged legs, water splashing up into his face.

Devin stared at him. Rocky Rewiti. She’d hardly spoken two words to him in all the years they’d shared a school, had been too aware of her own status as an Untouchable to even moon after him as many girls did.

He tried to sit up but couldn’t quite manage it, and she suddenly realised how silly it was to just stand there when he so obviously needed her help. Awkwardly, she slid her hands under his armpits, and dragged him out of the driftwood and onto the beach.

He lay back against a smooth boulder, wincing and holding his leg. His jeans were slashed right across the calf and his face was contorted with pain.

‘I’m not the only one,’ Devin said, her voice quavering. ‘I thought I was the only one.’

‘I didn’t. I heard you shouting.’

Devin wiped the snot away, rubbed her eyes. ‘Your leg.’

Rocky gingerly pulled open the gaping denim and peered inside, before biting his lip and sinking back against the rock. ‘It’s pretty bad.’

Devin tentatively put out a hand. ‘Can I?’

He didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes. She gingerly inserted two fingers in the ragged material and pulled. The denim ripped further, and she was able to tear down along the inside seam and expose the wound. The water had turned it bloodless and white. The gash was deep, but no major arteries had been hit.

‘You need a bandage.’

‘I’ll just pop down to the chemist then, shall I?’

The stitching along the bottom ribbing of her sodden sweatshirt was coming away. Devin yanked it off and wound the blue band tightly round the gash. Rocky gasped and clenched his fists, his face turning pale under his tan. She patted her snarled hair, pulled out a black hair slide and fastened it over the end of the fabric to hold the makeshift bandage together. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked. She nodded, satisfied.

‘You probably need stitches, but that’ll have to do for now.’

Rocky opened his eyes and let out a long, shaky breath. Devin realised he’d been holding it throughout her clumsy nursing.

She sat back on her heels and shivered. Although the summer sun was shining brightly, the river was cold and she was soaked through. She took off her torn sweatshirt and hung it on the pile of driftwood. Shoes and socks followed. She paused, her thumbs hooked under the elastic of her trackies, and cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks colouring with the familiar hot sensation she detested.

‘I have to take my clothes off.’

He smiled weakly, raised an eyebrow. ‘Sorry, but I’m not really in the mood.’

Devin swallowed, her mouth strangely dry after all that water. ‘We’ll get hypothermia or something.’

‘True, that.’

Devin looked at the sky, the cliffs, the river. ‘You should … er … take yours off too. Jeans’ll take forever to dry.’

‘Wait.’ He leaned back, raised his hips, felt in his back pocket. ‘This might help.’

On his palm, the sodden remains of a small joint, and a red plastic lighter.

Her face lit up. ‘Sweet.’

3

With the last of his strength, Liam kicked out the emergency exit window, shoved a spluttering Jahmin into the open air and scrambled up next to him. The front of the bus had been torn away, and the back section was now on its side, pitching and bucking its way downriver. The two panicked boys sprawled precariously on top, clinging to the window frame.

‘Was there anyone else alive in there?’ shouted Liam. Blood was trickling into his eyes. He must have cut his head, but he hadn’t noticed, couldn’t even feel it.

‘I dunno! I thought I heard someone, but I’m not sure.’

Liam lowered his torso back through the empty window, Jahmin grabbing one of his legs to keep him steady.

The black water surging through the bus was littered with debris and the noise was deafening. Liam thought he saw something pale fluttering a few seats back. He squinted, and made out a hand moving, and an arm wrapped tightly around the back of a seat.

He pulled himself up and shouted, ‘There’s someone in there!’

‘Bro, you can’t go in!’ Jahmin yelled, his hand still clamped around Liam’s leg.

‘I can’t not go, man!’

‘Don’t!’

‘I have to.’

Liam became extraordinarily calm. Once, when his old man had come home for Christmas after months in some dusty war zone, Liam had asked him why he did it. How could he leave his family and friends and his easy, comfortable life, to help a bunch of strangers far, far away? His dad had twisted the top off a bottle of beer, sculled back a long swallow, and finally said it was what he had to do to go on living with himself. It hadn’t made much sense at the time, but it did now. This was what he had to do, or he’d regret it forever.

‘Liam!’

Liam had already shaken off Jahmin’s hand. He crawled along the top of the bus, clutching at whatever handholds he could find, his legs spread wide for balance. He skirted around one window and made his way to the next. Most of the safety glass had shattered into little cubes, and he was able to punch through it and lean down into the dark.

‘Hey! Hey!’

All he could hear was the water smashing against the side of the bus. He shouted again. The bus scraped past an outcrop of rocks and lurched alarmingly, tipping him further in. He grabbed onto a seat, pushed back, and managed to keep some kind of balance. Maybe he’d made a mistake; maybe he hadn’t seen anyone at all?

He was about to twist up and out when he spotted a figure, almost concealed among the twisted mass of seats and metal. It was Eugene. A purple bruise on his jaw stood out in stark relief to his white, terrified face.

‘Help!’ Eugene spluttered, water dashing him in the face. ‘My leg’s stuck!’

Liam stretched out his hand. With a massive effort, Eugene unhooked his arm from the back of the seat and reached for Liam’s. Their fingers touched.

Above him, Liam could hear Jahmin shouting something. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.

‘I can’t reach!’ Eugene cried.

Jahmin was now screaming the same word over and over, and the bus was gathering speed.

Liam hesitated.

‘Please!’ Eugene’s outstretched arm was shaking with effort.

Liam pulled his hand away and swung himself up into the open air.

Jahmin was still clutching the window frame, his wide-eyed gaze fixed downriver. The gorge had narrowed, the current was rushing faster and faster, and there was a terrifying booming noise. The bus was hurtling towards what looked like thin air.

Only it wasn’t. It was a waterfall.

Liam reached for Jahmin’s hand and held on tight. Together, they jumped.

4

It was the smell of wood smoke that finally brought Eva back to the here and now. She’d been lying on a small rocky ledge in a daze, hypnotised by the sunlight sparkling off the river. Looking at the water was infinitely better than being in it, scrambling desperately for the bank. She didn’t want to think about that. And she especially didn’t want to think about Mandy falling away into nothing. Mandy hadn’t packed her wings after all.

The smell conjured up memories of bonfires on the beach at Nan and Poppa’s bach. She’d spent every summer there until she was twelve. Then Nan had died and Poppa had sold the bach to go live in Aussie. Summers thereafter were spent holed up in her bedroom, avoiding her parents as much as possible.

Wood smoke. People.

She sat up, suddenly conscious of being very wet – and she really needed to pee. Miraculously, apart from a sore hip, she had escaped unharmed. She slid off the ledge and onto the rocky scree below.

The scent of smoke was coming from downriver. Just as well, as the route upriver was blocked by a cliff face jutting into the water, powerful eddies swirling at its base. She stumbled over the rocks on wobbly legs, her wet jeans soon beginning to chafe her inner thighs. She peeled them off and tied them around her waist. It was a relief to come across a scraggly clump of bushes. Even with no one in sight, she would have felt weird peeing in the open.

A movement caught her eye – a grey backpack bobbing in a little rockpool. She edged down to it, arms outstretched for balance as her wet sneakers skidded on river stones worn smooth by the current. It was only after she’d snagged it that she realised it was Mandy’s. Somehow this didn’t surprise her at all.

With the backpack slung over her shoulder, she kept close to the water’s edge in case something else had washed up, but there was nothing.

A wide stream brought her to a halt. On the other side, a little peninsula protruded from the cliff with a mound of driftwood as high as her head.

Eva sank to the ground. She clutched Mandy’s backpack to her chest, her mind blank with indecision.

And then a familiar figure edged around the pile of driftwood. Eva’s pulse hammered hard against her temple as Mandy waved at her. ‘Eva! Eva!’

Except it wasn’t Mandy. It couldn’t be. Mandy was gone.

Eva’s eyelids fluttered and closed as she pitched forward in a dead faint.

5

For Theo Brannigan, falling off a cliff was as easy as closing his eyes.

Typically, he’d been head down in another gory murder mystery, fairly certain he’d picked who the serial killer was, torn, as always, between self-congratulation and annoyance that he knew how it was going to end. Then he’d got a face full of Mrs Harlow’s boob, the bus had given a tremendous lurch and he’d woken up … here.

He was on a ledge, perhaps a metre wide, covered with scrub and dense spiky flax, his feet dangling over the riverbank. His head hurt. He reached up, and his trembling fingers came away red and wet. He sat up, confused, taking in his surroundings.

Behind, a cliff rose almost vertically, up and up to the peaceful blue sky. To his right, a wall of rock. To his left, the ledge opened out onto a loose clay slope dotted with bushes and flax. It was scarred by sweeping skid marks and littered with bits of bus, bags, luggage and crumpled piles of clothes. The bank at the bottom of the slope had collapsed, the crumbling brown clay turning the river cloudy.

Solving this mystery was easy. Everyone had joked that the old bus was only held together by rust and hope, and from the looks of it, the front had pretty much disintegrated. The back end was nowhere to be seen.

Still dizzy, Theo crawled off the ledge towards the wreckage, grabbing at the tough flax leaves for balance on the steep slope. And then his fingers wrapped around something soft. He instinctively flung it down, and wiped his hand convulsively on his thigh.

It was an arm. A floppy, freckled, female arm, torn off from the shoulder, bloody tendons and sinew dangling like wet strings. As Theo vomited into the flax, he decided that blood and gore weren’t really his thing after all.

6

Devin plunged into the stream and swam over to the narrow beach on the other side.

She hesitated for a moment before touching Eva’s shoulder.

‘Eva?’

Eva’s eyes opened and she whimpered. Devin untied her jeans from her waist and dropped them onto the backpack, then helped Eva to her feet. She led her into the water and, struggling to remember those compulsory lifesaving lessons at school, swam her over to the other side. They negotiated the driftwood pile, and Devin guided her over to the fire. Eva slumped in front of it, apathetically lifting her arms as Devin stripped off her wet shirt.

The flames were barely discernible in the sunlight. Devin had built the fire against the rocky cliff face, which was dotted with scraggly flax plants. The rocks radiated an intense, shimmering heat that was helping to dry the remains of Rocky’s skinny joint and their assortment of clothes slung over a makeshift driftwood clothesline.

Devin sat with her back against a smooth grey log, pale and ill at ease in her baggy, ladybird-patterned undies and grimy beige bra, her arms covering as much of her body as possible. Rocky sprawled unselfconsciously in tight boxer shorts, the ragged blue bandage wrapped around his lower leg. Eva’s arms were wrapped around her knees, a blank-eyed fashion model in a black-and-white polka-dot bikini.

‘We should complain to the bus company,’ Devin finally blurted. She immediately whipped a hand up to cover her mouth. Her voice had sounded much louder than she’d intended. And what a dumb thing to say, with people hurt and dead and everything! ‘Sorry. I just … I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry.’

Eva didn’t even look up, but Rocky had a tiny smile on his lips.

‘It’s all good,’ he said. ‘Got to deal with it any way you can. Jokes are a coping mechanism, you know? You’re in shock. We’re all in shock. Look at Eva. She’s in la-la land.’ He raised his voice, clicked his fingers. ‘Yo. Evs. Come in, Evs.’

Eva didn’t answer.

‘She had a backpack,’ Devin said. ‘I’ll go get it. Could you …?’

She indicated Eva morosely staring at the flames.

‘I’ll watch her,’ Rocky said. ‘Make sure she doesn’t commit suttee.’ At Devin’s blank expression he added, ‘You know, widows throwing themselves on their husband’s funeral pyre.’

Devin felt stupid. It was a feeling that came and went quite frequently, especially in the classroom. Suttee? Was that French? Awkwardly, she got to her feet and backed off behind the pile of driftwood, not wanting Rocky to see the saggy wet bum of her undies drooping down.

Rocky eyed Eva. A sparkling drop of water fell from her spiky black hair and traced its way down her thin back, green and blue veins clearly visible under translucent pale skin.

‘Everything will be fine, Evs, you’ll see,’ he said, trying to inject a light, hearty tone into his voice. He sounded a bit like his Uncle Timoti, who was something high up in the Anglican Church and did all the family weddings and funerals in the same fake jovial manner. Rocky lapsed into silence. Who was he trying to convince? Her or himself? He glanced down at his leg again, looked away. He didn’t want to think about it.

A few minutes later Devin returned, self-consciously holding the backpack in front of her near-naked body. In lieu of a towel, she used her hands to wipe the wet off her body, scattering silver drops. She squinted at the nametag swinging off the shoulder strap and read out the name: ‘Mandy Woods’.

Eva stiffened. A harsh cry broke from her and then she was scrambling, crablike, over the loose gravel. She snatched at the backpack, leaving deep scratches across Devin’s wrist. Devin was so startled she fell backwards, landing hard on her bum. Rocky reflexively jerked to move out of the way and roared with pain.

Eva scuttled away, clutching the backpack to her chest. ‘Don’t touch it! It’s not yours!’

‘Evs.’ Rocky’s voice was firm and steady, although his teeth were gritted and a red bloom now darkened his bandage. ‘We have to open it. There might be a phone or food or something.’

‘No! It’s Mandy’s. She might come back for it.’

Eva bit her lip hard, and let out a guttural moan. She slammed her fist against her forehead, again and again.

Rocky threw Devin a panicked look. Devin blinked, realising that Rocky wanted her, needed her, to intervene. Forcing herself not to rub her bruised bum in front of two of the most popular kids in school, she went over to Eva and placed her hands gently but firmly on her arms, keeping her still.

‘She can have it when she gets here, but we need it now. Okay?’

Eva resisted for a moment and then all at once released the backpack and buried her face in her hands. ‘She won’t come back. She won’t. She’s gone.’ Her shoulders heaved.

Devin hesitated, then reached out and patted her shoulder.

‘Oi!’ Rocky hissed. ‘Get a move on!’

Devin jerked her hand back as if she’d been burned. She backed away, holding the backpack tightly in case Eva changed her mind, unzipped it and tipped the contents onto the gravel. It was a proper waterproof camping daypack, and apart from Eva’s wet jeans, which Devin had stuffed inside, everything was dry.

‘Muesli bar! Yay. Notebook, pen ... and … phone.’ It was a girly phone, pink with glittery diamantes stuck all over it, and the screen was blank.

‘Chuck it over.’ Rocky held out his hand.

Not trusting her aim, Devin handed it to him instead.

Rocky inspected it closely. He shook it, pressed buttons, and finally began pulling it apart.

‘Wallet, cosmetic bag with …’ Devin unzipped a colourful plastic-coated bag and peered inside, ‘... painkillers, plasters, antiseptic cream, nail scissors, nail file, sewing kit …’ She saw a box of tampons and cleared her throat, ‘... girl things.’

Rocky clicked the phone back together. He vigorously slapped it on his palm, checked it again. ‘Still dead. Needs a charger. Damn,’ he muttered.

Devin continued her inspection. ‘Plastic bag with … a cardy.’

She shook out the crimson wool cardigan and smiled. Underneath was a shiny red apple. She held it up triumphantly.

Rocky snorted. ‘Is that it? No pie or anything?’

‘Sorry.’ She unzipped a tiny pocket. ‘A bracelet. Pretty.’

Eva’s head shot up. ‘Give it!’

Devin, mindful of her scratched wrist, handed it over at once.

Eva loved Mandy’s charm bracelet. It wasn’t one of those tacky ones strung with charms that were found in the front windows of every cheap jewellery store in the country; it was a gorgeous, old-fashioned bracelet made of heavy silver links, with a heart-shaped clasp and little charms swinging cheerily.

She’d never seen Mandy without her bracelet. Wearing jewellery was against school rules, so she carried it with her, in her bag, her pocket, her pencil case. It was like a diary, Mandy had said, and the charms were like bookmarks, reminding her of special chapters in her life.

Eva had saved for ages to get Mandy the four-leaf clover with a little diamond winking like a tiny dewdrop, for her sixteenth birthday. And next to it was a charm she’d never seen before. A silver pair of angel’s wings, each feather arranged like a fan.

Eva held it tight, brushed it against her lips. It was a sign. She knew it. Mandy was watching over her.

7

The blood oozing from Theo’s scalp dripped down his face and into his eyes. He gingerly explored the mushy spot on his head, encountering a loose flap of skin the size of his palm. He lifted it, and let out a squeak of pain so high-pitched that he inadvertently giggled, amused at how much he sounded like a panicked mouse.

His vision was blurred, partly because he’d lost his glasses and blood had congealed in his eyelashes, but also because he’d lost so much blood that he was woozy and lightheaded. So it took him a few moments to realise someone else was there on the slope, a girl crouched next to another girl sprawled in the dirt. He squinted, and eventually could see that the girl lying down was too twisted and broken to be anything but dead. There were other bodies too. He’d mistaken them for crumpled bundles of clothing.

His mouth was too dry to yell out, so he raised a trembling hand to attract the crouching girl’s attention – he couldn’t quite remember her name – when he realised what she was doing. He stopped, hand in midair, mouth wide. She was going through the dead girl’s pockets.

She suddenly turned and looked in his direction. Theo ducked back behind a clump of flax, the tall seed heads concealing him from view. The girl turned back to the broken body in the dirt, slid something off its arm – a bracelet perhaps, or a watch – and pulled it over her own, holding her wrist up to the sunlight to admire the effect.

Theo watched, stunned, as she leisurely stood up and went over to another body and felt in the jacket pockets. He sank back into the flax feeling sick and dizzy, and when he tried to get up again, found that he couldn’t.

Nobody had ever accused Idelle Watkinson of being sensitive to the needs of others. She had long believed that the world existed purely for her, with her friendships and home life just part of a script that provided background drama for her own starring role. The only thing that mattered to Idelle was Idelle.

Chantelle dying had fascinated her. The way the eyes had glazed over as the living spark within faded, the way the breath had faltered and then stopped, easily and sweetly. It wasn’t at all how Idelle had imagined dying would be. Part of her wished she could watch Chanti do it over again.

As she slid the bangle off Chantelle’s arm (she’d always liked it, and she was sure Chanti wouldn’t mind her having it), she sensed someone behind her. She turned, but there was no one there.

For a long moment, Idelle contemplated the tall flower heads of flax swaying gently in the breeze, and then turned her attention to the other bodies. When she was done with them she’d go through the bags.

She smiled.

It was almost like shopping.

8

The white light of the full moon barely penetrated the thick canopy. In the thick of the bush it was so dark it was like being blind.

Liam and Jahmin lay back to back in a dry hollow under the trees about twenty metres from the river. A soft carpet of leaves helped to insulate them, but the night air was still cool. Their heavy outer clothes were draped optimistically over bushes to dry. Liam could feel Jahmin shivering. He was clad only in a damp cotton singlet and a pair of boxer shorts. Liam was luckier. He had on a light woollen singlet, and even though it was damp it provided some protection from the cold.

‘You saved my life, bro,’ Jahmin said. His teeth were chattering. ‘I dunno what to say, but thanks.’

‘Don’t thank me yet. We’ll probably die of exposure.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s gotta be better than drowning.’

Eugene’s face swam into Liam’s mind. He squeezed his eyes tight. Multi-coloured stars burst behind his eyelids, wiping Eugene away.

‘Who was in there?’

‘What?’ Liam said, although he’d heard what Jahmin had said. He was just stalling.

‘Who was it, in there?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Liam said. His voice sounded like it was bubbling through water, swallowed up by the river. ‘I think it was Eugene.’

‘Oh.’

‘I couldn’t reach him.’

‘Nah, of course. Don’t feel bad. You did what you could.’

‘Maybe I could have done more.’ Liam took a deep breath. ‘Maybe if it was someone else, I could’ve tried harder.’

Jahmin yawned. ‘Maybe. But you can’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.’

Liam didn’t reply. He levered himself upright, accidentally elbowing Jahmin in the hip. ‘What was that?’

‘Ow! What was what?’

‘Like … rustling.’

‘It’s me. Shivering. I’m freezing.’

‘No, out there.’

‘I didn’t hear anything.’

Liam cocked his head to one side, listening intently. He knew there was nothing to worry about – no snakes, no bears, no leopards, no scorpions. He’d been deer hunting with his father a few times and had kipped down in the ferns more than once with no worries at all. The worst he’d ever seen was a whitetail spider, and that had been easily dispatched with one stomp of his tramping boot.

He lay back down. ‘Never mind, probably just a possum.’

Jahmin’s voice sounded worried. ‘Possums don’t attack people, do they?’

‘Are you kidding me?’

Jahmin was a city kid through and through, and Liam had heard all about Jahmin’s single big adventure in the wild. He’d crashed out in a bus shelter after a late-night art gallery opening, and someone had tucked a five-dollar note into his hand, thinking he was homeless. Liam had seen it, framed, on Jahmin’s bedside table, living proof he was hard as.

Jahmin laughed. ‘Yeah … nah. I dunno.’

‘I guarantee you’ll be safe. Can’t say the same for the bush, though. Dad reckons they’re destroying our forests.’

‘As long as they’re not destroying me.’

Liam burrowed into the leaves. Jahmin finally stopped shivering and his breathing slowed and deepened.

Liam sat bolt upright. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t hear that.’

Jahmin groaned. ‘No.’

‘There’s something out there, man, I’m telling you. Maybe it’s a pig? Wild pig.’

‘They don’t attack people, do they?’

Liam hesitated ‘Nah. No way.’

‘Then I don’t care. Night, bro.’

There was silence and then a tiny snore. Exhaustion had won and Jahmin was asleep. Liam lay rigid, his eyes wide, straining to hear the crack of dry branches underfoot.

He shivered, squeezed his eyes tight shut, and concentrated on listening to his heartbeat. Soon he too fell asleep.

9

Devin woke first, her muscles aching from all the unaccustomed exercise in the river the day before and a night spent lying on the cold, hard ground. Eva was still curled up like a cat, Mandy’s pink cardy balled up under her head. Rocky was half lying, half sitting, against the same smooth boulder, snoring gently, jeans bunched behind his head, his clothes draped over him. Devin could see his bandage, stiff with blood. The skin around it was a dark purple.

Devin shivered and experimentally puffed out her breath. Not cold enough for it to turn to steam, but cold enough. The fire was nearly out but the embers were still hot, and after a few minutes of blowing and fanning and feeding it with little dry sticks, it burst into life again.