Arrival (7 page)

‘To do what?' said Peter. ‘Lock us up in the departure lounge and force us to read Shakespeare?'

‘That's why we're going early,' said Jordan, flicking her braids out of her face. ‘So we can have a look around first and try to figure out what's going on.'

‘We need to be careful riding in,' I said. ‘If we get there and there's a bunch of security guys –' ‘Mate, it's an
airport
,' Peter interrupted, looking over his shoulder at me. ‘What are they gonna do? It's not like we're sneaking onto private property.'

I just shrugged at him and kept riding. He was probably right. But the closer we got to the airport, the edgier I got. If this
was
just some twisted joke, then whoever was behind it was clearly messed up in the head. Definitely not the kind of person I wanted to be running into on an airstrip in the middle of the bush.

And if there really was some evil psycho cover-up going on, then we were riding straight into the middle of it. And there was no way that was going to end well.

‘Almost there,' said Peter, as we came up on the last bend in the path. ‘What do you guys want to do? Just ride straight in or – whoa.'

Peter skidded to a stop at the edge of the clearing, and Jordan and I pulled up behind him.

‘Well,' he said slowly, ‘doesn't look like we're going to have any trouble getting around airport security.'

I looked out across the clearing. The airstrip was completely empty. All the aircraft had been flown out. The luggage carts and the refuelling equipment that'd been scattered around the runway when we arrived were gone too.

There was no sign of movement anywhere. All the lights were off inside the little grey terminal building, and even from this distance I could see that everything had been bolted shut.

‘Maybe they're just closed for the night,' Jordan said, but I could tell from the look on her face that she didn't believe that any more than I did.

No-one was coming back here in the morning.

Phoenix Airport had been completely abandoned.

Chapter 9

S
UNDAY
, M
AY
10
95
DAYS

‘You were right,' I said to Peter as we wheeled our bikes out into the clearing. ‘Me and my mum… you said we were the last ones coming.'

‘This isn't exactly what I meant,' said Peter, looking uneasy.

‘The man in the recording said it too,' said Jordan. ‘He called you the
final arrivals
, right?'

‘Coincidence,' said Peter under his breath.

The sun was starting to disappear behind the trees now, casting long, dark shadows of us and our bikes out over the tarmac. We walked across to the terminal building, and I leant up against one of the tinted windows at the front, trying to get a look inside.

‘See anything?' asked Peter.

‘Nope, too dark.'

Jordan walked across to the bolted front entrance. She grabbed onto the doors and shook them as hard as she could with both hands. No good. She shrugged. ‘Worth a shot.'

‘Don't worry,' said Peter, digging in his pocket and pulling out a paperclip. ‘I got it.'

He untwisted the paperclip and crouched down in front of the door, poking the little metal stick around inside the lock. He kept glancing up at Jordan out of the corner of his eye, like he wanted to make sure she was watching. But after about twenty seconds, Jordan left him to it and started walking along the length of the building, looking for another way in.

‘Careful,' I called out as she headed around the corner.

‘Yeah,' she nodded, smiling back at me before disappearing out of sight.

‘Crap!' said Peter, still stooped over the front entrance. ‘The end just snapped off inside.'

‘Do we really want to break in here?' I asked.

‘What if someone catches us?'

‘Relax, mate,' said Peter, his eyes still fixed on the keyhole. ‘We'll make sure we leave everything just the way we –'

SMASH
!

I leapt to my feet and Peter whirled around.

Jordan was standing next to what was left of one of the windows, clutching a big stick with both hands.

‘What?' she said, like what she'd just done was as normal as opening a door. She bashed the stick against the window frame a few more times, clearing the shards of glass from around the edges.

‘Come on,' she said, tossing the stick aside. ‘Let's have a look.'

Peter muttered something about almost having the door unlocked, and followed Jordan through the broken window. I clambered in after them, slicing my knee on a bit of glass that was still sticking up out of the frame.

The room was pitch black, and I could only just make out the shapes of Jordan and Peter moving in front of me. I fumbled around on the wall for a light switch, but couldn't find one.

‘Guys,' I whispered. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?'

But the words were drowned out by a loud clunking sound. I jumped about a metre into the air as the lights suddenly flashed on all around us. Peter swore loudly. Jordan's head whooshed around, looking for the culprit.

But there was no-one else there.

‘Lights must be running on a sensor,' said Peter, straightening up and squinting against the sudden brightness.

Breathing heavily, I stared out across the white room, wondering why it was taking my eyes so long to adjust. A second later, I figured out what the problem was.

There was nothing to see. The whole building had been emptied out.

Furniture, rubbish bins, vending machines – everything was gone. All that was left was a couple of marble counters concreted to the floor and the now-empty rack on the wall that had been lined with bike helmets the day we arrived.

We were silent.

I circled one of the counters, heart pounding, half-expecting to find someone lying in wait behind it.

Don't be stupid,
I told myself.
This place was locked
from the outside.

On the far side of the counter was a door marked STAFF ONLY.

I glanced back at the others.
Try it?

Jordan nodded.

I turned the handle and the door opened with a click. The lights switched on as I stepped inside. Nothing in there either. Just an empty wall cabinet and couple of coffee stains on the carpet.

I walked back out into the main room, shaking my head. ‘I don't get it,' I said in a low voice. ‘Why go to all the trouble of building this place if you're just going to pack up and leave it all behind?'

‘Doesn't make any sense,' Peter admitted.

‘Definitely doesn't look like they're expecting anyone else to be coming in, does it?'

‘Or out,' said Jordan darkly.

Peter shrugged. ‘Plenty of other ways to get in and out.' He walked over and looked out the window. ‘What's the time?'

‘Quarter to seven,' I said, checking the useless mobile phone I still carried with me out of habit.

‘What do you reckon?' Peter asked, turning to Jordan. ‘Head back out and look for our stalker?'

‘Yeah, let's go,' she said.

I followed behind, keen to get out of there. The lights clunked off again as we left. Good. The last thing we needed right now was for someone to come and bust us for breaking and entering.

The sun had disappeared almost completely by the time we got back outside, and the bushland around us was just a blur of black. I scanned the trees, but I couldn't see any sign of –

‘Look,' Jordan whispered, grabbing my arm. ‘Over there!'

A narrow beam of light was glinting across the tarmac at the far end of the airstrip.

‘A torch,' said Peter. ‘That would've been a smart idea.'

‘Yeah,' I said, suddenly realising how stupid we'd been not to bring any of our own.

I squinted in the direction of the torchlight, but it was impossible to tell who was out there. Whoever it was, they had to have seen us breaking into the terminal building. But they weren't coming any closer. They were just standing there, shining the torch around. Waiting.

‘That'll be them,' I said, kind of embarrassed at how shaky my voice was all of a sudden.

‘Come on,' said Jordan, striding out across the tarmac as though she did this sort of thing all the time.

Peter and I trailed along behind her. The end of the airstrip was further away than it looked, and the closer I got to the person with the torch, the more I realised that Peter wasn't the only one who'd been hoping that none of this was real.

As we closed in on our mystery informant, the beam of torchlight suddenly swept across the airstrip and landed right on top of us.

‘Hey,' said Jordan irritably. ‘Get that out of my face!'

But the torch kept shining straight at us until we got to the end of the airstrip. We stopped about five metres away from him, and he flashed the light at each of us in turn. Then he swung it around, lighting up his own face like he was about to tell us a ghost story.

I rubbed my eyes, still half-blind from the torch.

It was Crazy Bill.

Chapter 10

S
UNDAY
, M
AY
10
95
DAYS

‘You?' said Peter, like there'd been a mistake.

Crazy Bill grinned, his disfigured face scrunching up like a piece of paper. He bent over and put his torch down on the ground between us so that we could see each other properly. With a grunt, he straightened up again and stared at Jordan and me.

I tried not to breathe in too deeply. It was painfully obvious that Bill still hadn't washed since the last time we'd seen him.

‘Knew you'd bring him,' he said, pointing at Peter. His voice was harsh and gravelly, like whatever had scarred him on the outside had damaged his insides as well.

‘What's that supposed to mean?' Peter asked, his nose crinkling slightly.

Crazy Bill grunted again. He threw back his shoulders and gritted his teeth, and for a second I thought he was going to take a swing at Peter.

Then he slouched back down and started muttering to himself. ‘Yes, yes. It's always the same.'

I took a couple of steps back. This guy was clearly unhinged.

‘Why don't you tell us why you brought us here?' Jordan asked in a slow, gentle, talking-to-crazy-people voice. ‘What did you want to talk to us about?'

Crazy Bill turned to look at Jordan, but didn't say anything. His eyes sort of glazed over and I couldn't tell if he was figuring out an answer or if he just hadn't heard the question.

A minute went by in silence.

‘Wait a sec,' said Peter. ‘If this was you all along – how did you deliver those messages in the first place? How did you get into our houses?'

Bill snapped out of his daze. ‘Used a key,' he said impatiently, as though this should have been obvious. ‘Needed to bring them together.' He stretched out his hands to point at Jordan and me.

‘Why us?' I asked. ‘Out of all the people – I mean, if there's something going on here, then you need to tell someone who can actually fix it!'

‘
You
need to fix it!' Crazy Bill barked. ‘Both of you. Together. I need your help.'

‘You need
their
help to save the world?' said Peter, sounding offended that the smelly homeless man was leaving him out of his plans.

‘No,' said Bill. ‘Not the world. First you help me.'

‘Help you do what?' asked Jordan.

Crazy Bill went quiet again. He let out another long, gruff sigh and put his face down in his filthy hands. When he finally spoke, it sounded like he might be about to cry.

‘Please, I n-need –' he said, the words catching in his throat, ‘It's almost t-time. This is not – this is non-n-negotiable! I need to leave – I need to go back!'

‘Go back where?' asked Jordan softly. She stuck her arm out a bit, and then held it in mid-air, like she was debating whether she could bring herself to actually reach out and comfort him.

‘Hang on,' Peter cut in, ‘what about the recording you sent us? If you're saying it's real –'

‘Of course it's real,' Bill snapped.

‘Well, shouldn't that be our first priority then?' Peter asked. ‘Assuming you have any proof that this is actually happening. If we've only got a hundred days before Tabitha blows up the world or whatever –'

‘Ninety-four,' Bill corrected him, ‘point two.'

Peter stared at him for a second. ‘Uh, okay. Whatever. What I'm saying is that if there's really some massive global threat out there, then shouldn't we deal with that first before we worry about getting you a plane ticket back to wherever it is you've –?'

Crazy Bill let out a sudden howl of frustration that stopped Peter mid-sentence. He screwed up his face and gnashed his teeth like this whole conversation was causing him physical pain. Peter leapt back, ready to run for it if he had to. I stood there, rooted to the spot.

Bill clenched and unclenched his fists a couple of times. He took a deep breath, recovered himself, and said, ‘If I provide the evidence, if I answer your questions, will you agree to help me?'

‘Of course,' said Jordan.

‘Okay,' said Crazy Bill wearily, running a hand through his greasy hair. ‘Okay then.'

Silence fell again. Bill looked back and forth between Jordan and me.

‘All right,' I said, when it seemed like no-one else was going to say anything. ‘Well, for a start, who's Tabitha? The recording you gave us said something about someone called…'

I trailed off. Crazy Bill was shooting me an irritated look, like he couldn't believe I was wasting his time with such a stupid question.

‘No, that's not right,' he said, pacing like a caged animal. ‘But you haven't found – no. No, that's not what you should be asking. It's not –' Suddenly, there was a burst of light from behind us. Crazy Bill held up his hands to shield his face.