Carrier (15 page)

I didn't bother correcting him. The less they knew about us the better.

‘Where's my dingo, Emma?'

‘She's in the cab,' Laurie cut in, meeting my gaze with soft eyes. ‘I'll take care of her. That's a promise.'

The car creaked and bounced as Barry climbed onto the tray and leant over Patrick, casting a shadow over his face.

‘Let's see if we've got a Carrier here.'

‘He's clean,' I said, trying not to shout, lest I stir the hellhounds again.

I watched, breath held, as Barry ripped open Patrick's worn, flannel shirt, the buttons pinging against the metal tray. Torchlight beamed against his chest down to the hollow of his belly and back up over his shoulders. The man roughly rolled Patrick over and checked his back.

Mosquitoes buzzed in the light. I heard a soft moan and a curse and craned my neck in time to see Patrick's eyes flutter open.

‘Patrick!'

He mumbled,
‘George'
and
‘James'
, his brothers' names.

Barry turned to face us, shining a torch beneath his chin so that the cruel, hard lines of his face were accentuated and a little frightening.

‘We got a clean one, boys.'

The man who had earlier held my face nodded, smiling again.

‘Boss'll be as happy as Larry. Put him in shed two.'

They slid Patrick off the tray without bothering to catch him and he fell to the ground, on his knees and face. Barry gripped Patrick by the collar of his torn shirt and yanked him to his feet and I watched, horrified, as he delivered a hard slap against Patrick's left cheek, causing Patrick to bite the dust again.

‘No!' I fell forward, tripping over my bound feet, and landing face first in the sand beside Patrick. Barry's laughter, a creepy, half-giggle half-snort, filled my ears.

‘Lena,' Patrick whispered, now fully awake. He was coated in dust but I could still see the redness from Barry's slap darkening one side. The blood from his head wound had completely dried, matting his hair.

I spat the dirt from my mouth.

‘Are you okay?' I whispered. Grains of sand scratched at my teeth and coated my dry tongue. I needed water. Patrick would need it even more than me.

‘I'm fine. Did they hurt you?'

I shook my head. ‘They've got dogs, lots of them. Don't try to run. Promise me.'

Patrick nodded, his eyes fixed on my face like he was trying to memorise it.

‘I won't leave without you, Lena.'

I wanted to say so many things right then. I wanted to tell him his dad was dead, because he had a right to know. I wanted to tell him that the past twenty four hours were the best in my life and that I wished I'd kissed him in the cave, but no words came, only tears.

‘Steady on there, Juliet. Let Romeo breathe,' someone said and all of the men laughed.

‘Alright, time for the star-crossed lovers to part in sweet sorrow,' said the blond.

More laughter followed but I tried to ignore them and instead concentrated on Patrick's eyes, holding them as firmly as possible with my own.

‘We'll find a way out,' he whispered, and when he tried to give me a smile of reassurance, I saw that one of his front teeth had been chipped in half. ‘And you will meet my brothers, I promise.'

My cheek ground against the dirt as I nodded my head.

They hoisted Patrick to his feet first, before slashing at the ropes that bound his ankles. He didn't run or struggle; he just turned his head to glance back at me once more before he was led away behind the closest shed.

At least he is alive
, I told myself, as I was raised to my feet and the rope around my ankles cut. He wasn't a Carrier and those men seemed happy about that. Maybe we were going to be okay. When we passed the shed Patrick had been led behind, I soon realised I was headed someplace else.

‘I'm clean too,' I said, blood rushing to my feet while I walked, making them tingle. ‘I should be back there with him.'

Laurie urged me along with a tug of my arm. ‘We know you're clean, otherwise you'd be dead by now. But we're not about to throw you into a shed full of blokes, are we? Clean or not, you'd be eaten alive.'

‘I'd give a month's worth of rations to see that,' said Barry with a gravelly laugh, but the blond smacked him across the head with the end of his shotgun, making a clunk sound. Surprisingly, Barry remained on his feet. The guy had a skull of iron.

‘Am I going to the women's shed?' I asked in a trembling voice.

Laurie and the blond shared a sideways glance before Laurie shook his head.

‘Love,' said the blond, ‘if we had female quarters, we men here would be
a lot
happier.'

‘Yeah, morale would be up by five hundred per cent,' said Barry to which the others murmured in agreement.

A cold chill stirred the blood in my veins. Was I the only female here?

‘Calm down, love,' said the blond, sensing my distress. ‘Nobody is going to hurt you.'

After we passed the row of sheds, I was led through some bushy scrub which opened to a long garden path, lit up by what must have been solar lights.

The path led to the front yard of a house, its windows warmly lit with soft light, as though a golden heart was beating inside of it; completely at odds with these hard men and their savage sounding dogs. It was a cosy, inviting house, not like our perpetually dark house with boarded up windows. I could imagine a family living here, a mother, father and their children.

Please let there be women here.

We took a narrower path, lined with succulent plants, and climbed the four wooden steps of a veranda. As I dragged my feet, I felt a sickening panic rise up in my throat. What did these people want from me? Who was this Luke they were bringing me to?

Laurie wrapped his knuckles against the screen door and a burly man with a white beard answered. Tattoos decorated both arms and his face was inked with a spider's web. When he saw me, his eyes widened and his hard face softened into a smile that revealed several missing teeth.

I glared back at him and his smile widened.

‘She's clean?'

‘Well she didn't die on the journey back, so, yeah, she's clean. The boy she was with is clean too,' said Laurie.

The man nodded. ‘You still have to have a good scrub, first.'

‘B…before what,' I stammered.

Somebody nudged me in the back and I fell forward, tripping over the welcome mat. The tattooed man caught me before I fell.

‘Easy, mate.' He eased me to standing and patted my shoulder. ‘You need a wash before you meet my kids. That's all I meant. You look like you were dragged face first in dirt for half a mile.' He eyed me from head to toe. ‘You'll need a good feed, too. Skin and bone is no good.'

He shouted orders over his shoulders and I could have sworn he mentioned eggs but I was too busy staring over his shoulder at the lit up rooms of his home. I'd never eaten chicken eggs before — if that's what he'd meant by eggs — only falcon and emu.

‘Well, come in then,' the man said, before stepping back. Despite the promise of food to ease my growling belly, I dug my heels into the welcome mat and protested.

‘We'll untie your hands once you're inside, okay? Come on.'

I stopped struggling at the promise of free hands. The ropes were burning into my skin and had already worn red bracelets into my flesh.

Tentatively, I took a few steps forward. I couldn't help but admire the interior of this home, so bright, so well lit, the different pieces of furniture somehow put together in a way that was casually appealing. We had odd furniture at home, nice enough, but because of the lack of light, it all remained unappreciated.

Catching a whiff of the savoury cooking smells, my nose led me forward. Nothing had ever smelt so good and I could imagine it only tasted better. My mouth watered and my stomach growled, making me think of Patrick. Right now he was in a cold, dark shed while I was inside this beautiful house about to eat eggs. It was unfair.

‘Shower first,' the bearded man said, blocking my way to the food.

Laurie steered me left where the carpet gave way to black and white tiles which continued through to a large, square room that, judging by the washing machines (we had one that we'd never used) and the huge sinks, was a laundry.

‘In there — ' the tattooed man pointed at a pale green door, ‘ — is a shower, loo and all the rest. Get yourself scrubbed up and then you can have a feed. You've got five minutes.'

I met his gaze; his blue eyes were bright and clear. His weatherworn face seemed kind. I wanted to believe in his kindness.

‘Will Patrick be getting some food?'

‘Of course, love.' The man smiled and then shook his head as if I'd said something silly. ‘All our men get a good feed. They need it for training and for battle.'

‘Except Carriers,' Barry said, from the veranda where he was smoking a rolled up leaf with the blond guy. ‘Food's wasted on them fuckers.'

The boss gave Barry a stern glare and flicked his head in the direction of the others.

‘Alright you lot, cut her ropes and clear out. I'll take it from here.'

Barry stuck his head in. ‘She might try to bolt on you, Boss.'

‘Don't question me, Baz. She's a kid for shit's sake. Now cut the friggin' ropes or you'll be out on your ear.'

It was getting harder not to like this guy.

Laurie nodded to the blond, who came toward me with a knife, his big knuckles bulging as the blade hacked through the tough rope.

‘Easy, Mattie,' said the boss. ‘First fucking female in five years and you'll slash her wrists.'

Mattie wedged a hand between mine, to ensure I didn't get cut, and continued sawing until the ropes fell away and my hands came apart.

I cried out with relief and rubbed at my burning wrists.

‘Now piss off, the lot of you,' the tattooed man, who I now presumed was Luke, said to the men, before indicating with a nod that I go clean up.

‘Make sure you wash everywhere,' Barry called through the slit in open door. He wore a filthy grin that made me feel like a thousand ants were crawling on my skin.

Laurie stepped out and pushed Barry down the veranda steps. ‘You dirty bastard.'

Luke threw me a grimace. ‘Pardon all the French, mate. But you're probably gonna have to get used to it around here, with all us blokes.'

I shrugged. My own mother had a filthier mouth. And I couldn't talk. My first word was a swear word, the f-word. Mum said Alice had taught me.

The man stepped into the bathroom, drew back the mauve shower curtain and turned on the taps. From behind the walls a deep, rattly groan sounded.

‘Pipes are pretty rooted,' he said with a shake of his head. Clouds of steam rose to the ceiling while water gushed out of the showerhead.

‘You've got running water?' I asked in disbelief.

‘Rainwater tanks and solar power,' he said with a nod. ‘You'd better get started. The hot doesn't last for long. Shampoo and soap is in the shower and there are some clothes near the basin.' He pointed at a pair of small army fatigues and what looked like a black singlet with a frangipani print on the front.

‘These were my wife's clothes, they should fit. Same size as you, she was as small as a bird,' he added, his rough voice softening.

‘Will Patrick be okay?' I asked, my words catching in my throat. ‘I don't want him hurt.'

The man sighed and his face relaxed into a kind smile. ‘Nobody will lay a hand on him, I promise. He's part of the family now, as are you.' He frowned and said, ‘Now get in!' before stepping out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

Hurriedly I stripped off my clothes. They were stiff with dirt and sweat. I caught a glimpse of my skinny, naked self in the tall mirror on the back of the bathroom door, the bony image blurry with condensation, before I entered the shower.

At first the water felt too hot against my skin and I jumped back out, my wet feet slippery against the shiny tiles. But after dangling a foot and then an arm and the other foot and so on, I eventually submerged myself fully beneath the hot stream. It felt like thousands of tiny, pin-sized fingers, massaging my scalp and the aching muscles beneath my skin. A deep sigh escaped my lips.

There was a narrow blue bottle with lavender blooms on the label and a large cake of yellow soap in a dish. I twisted the cap on the bottle and sniffed. The scent of wild lavender filled my nostrils and I hurriedly squeezed some of the thick, purple gloop into the palm of my hand and began to lather my body with it and then my hair.

After I rinsed off all the foam, my skin and scalp tingled in a way it'd never done before. For a while I just stood there, allowing the warm water to wash over me until its temperature started to cool, after which I turned the taps off.

Cool air bit into my skin when I stepped out from the behind the shower curtain. Shivering, I gratefully wrapped a thick, brown towel that hung from the nearby railing around my body. After rubbing myself dry, I felt slightly warmer and hurriedly dressed in the man's wife's clothes. He'd been right. They did fit, perfectly in fact.

I rubbed at the mirror with my towel, clearing away the steam.

My face had a pinkish tint, but my eyes had sunken shadows beneath them. I was probably dehydrated. I licked my chapped lips and winced at the cut on the inside of my top lip from when Patrick's skull had collided with my teeth in the back of the vehicle.

Somebody knocked on the bathroom door and I hastily hung the towel on the rail and scooped my dirty clothes into my arms.

‘Are you done?' It was the tattooed guy. He pointed to a basket beside one of the washing machines. ‘Leave your clothes in there. Streak will wash ‘em later. Food's ready.'

I stepped out of the bathroom, running my fingers through my wet hair and ruffling it up.