Crow Country (13 page)

T
hey had to wait a week, until Saturday, when Craig and Amanda and Lachie would all be at the football. Bethany had gone back to university; Walter heard Lachie telling someone in the corridor at school. Not so long ago, Sadie would have envied Bethany that long trip back to the city, but not now.

‘You guys not coming?' Ellie raised her eyebrows. ‘
Again
? Not interested in the triumphant march of the Magpies into the finals? You realise if we beat Donald today, Boort will actually be in the semis next week?'

Walter shrugged and stared at the carpet.

‘We've got stuff to do,' said Sadie. ‘We need to work on that project.'

David put his arm round Ellie. ‘They'll be all right. Leave them to it, eh?'

‘We don't have much time,' warned Sadie, as the door shut behind Ellie and David. ‘The game'll be over in a couple of hours.'

Walter slung a backpack over his shoulder. ‘Better get moving.'

Sadie locked the door and dropped the key into her pocket, and they set off, heading inland, across the railway tracks, away from the town and the Little Lake, toward the Invergarry homestead.

‘Any crows talk to you this week?' said Walter. ‘They give you any more clues?'

Sadie shook her head. Walter began to whistle between his teeth, a monotonous insect whine like a miniature trail bike.

‘Stop it,' said Sadie.

Walter stopped.

After a pause, Sadie said, ‘Are you nervous?'

‘Nah,' said Walter. He jammed his fists into his pockets. He was walking so fast Sadie could hardly keep up.

‘What's in the bag?' she panted.

‘Nothing,' said Walter. ‘Yet.'

Sadie had a few moments of panic when she thought they'd taken the wrong road. She'd checked the map, but had forgotten to bring it with her.
She
was scared, even if Walter wasn't. Breaking into other people's houses wasn't the way she normally spent a Saturday afternoon . . . Maybe it would be a good thing if they
were
lost. Then they could go home, or go and watch the footy after all, have a sausage in bread and cheer on the Magpies.

She was almost disappointed when they reached the gate, with its crooked sign announcing
Invergarry
, and a battered milk can for a mailbox.

They stood by the side of the road, staring at the sign.

‘What if they're home?' said Sadie. ‘What if they haven't gone to the game after all?'

Walter shrugged. ‘Say you've come to visit Lachie.' He looked at her sideways. ‘You guys are kind of friendly.'

Sadie was stung. ‘Not
now
. Not since they yelled at us. Not since they wiped their boots on the stones. Not since they shot the crows.' Listing the Mortlocks' crimes fired her resolve, and she grabbed the top of the gate and clambered over. ‘Come on.'

Walter landed with a thud beside her. A deeply rutted dirt track unspooled from the gate, stretching between flat paddocks dotted with grey sheep.

‘Pretty long driveway, hey,' said Walter after fifteen minutes.

Sadie quickened her pace. Surely they must come to the house soon; they couldn't have missed it. But the track seemed to go on forever, a salmon-coloured ribbon winding through the scrubby grass.

At last they came over a shallow rise, and the homestead was revealed on the crest of the next hill: a square, grey box, surrounded by lawns and flowering shrubs, a splash of lush green in the midst of yellow-grey paddocks. A small dam nearby was ringed with eucalypts, their trunks gnarled and twisted, their frayed crowns whispering in the breeze. A flock of cockatoos wheeled across the winter blue, their wings dazzling white in the sun, and dis- appeared over the horizon.

It was so beautiful. And the Mortlocks owned it all, further than the eye could see. Maybe if this was her backyard, she'd want to protect it, too.

Walter scanned the area outside the house. ‘No cars,' he said. ‘No one home.'

He broke into a trot as he set off down the gentle slope, his bag swaying on his back.

The garden was surrounded by a low stone wall with a wooden gate. Walter lifted the latch.

‘What are you
doing
?' said Sadie.

‘Gotta check no one's home.' He marched up to the front door and buzzed.

Sadie's heart hammered as they waited in the silence; but no one came.

‘Okay,' said Walter. ‘Now we go round the back.'

They flitted around the side of the house. Walter peered through the glass in the kitchen door. ‘Can't see anyone.' He moved from one window to the next, trying each sash in turn. At last he gave Sadie a thumbs-up. He'd managed to shift one up a few centimetres. ‘Gimme that box; I need something to stand on.'

‘This is burgling,' said Sadie. But she fetched the box.

‘Not if they leave the window open.'

‘I don't think that's right,' said Sadie doubtfully.

Walter climbed onto the box and gave the window a good shove. With a creak of protest, it slid up. Walter pulled himself onto the sill and wriggled inside. There was a loud thump and some swearing.

Sadie hugged her hands beneath her armpits and glanced around anxiously until Walter's curly head reappeared.

‘Easy,' he said. ‘I'll open the back door for you.'

A minute later, Sadie tiptoed into the Mortlocks' kitchen. It was vast and old and lined with crooked cupboards. A long wooden table ran down the middle of the room, heaped with papers and fruit bowls and a pair of shoes that someone hadn't finished cleaning. Little rooms led off in all directions – a walk-in pantry; a funny little room with a sink and haphazard shelves stacked with crockery; a space crowded with boots and hats and coats and umbrellas; a glassed-in verandah. Everything was still and musty and cold, but scrupulously clean. Pictures hung on faded wallpaper. Shabby roses on the carpet had been almost trodden away. The canvas backing showed along the centre of the hallway.

‘Where do you reckon we ought to look?' Walter's voice was hushed.

‘How should I know?' Sadie shivered. Though the house was empty, she felt as if a crowd of ghosts were watching her. She walked down the hall, peering through doorways. The first room held a TV, leather couches, trophies on the mantelpiece, school photos of Bethany with her two blonde pony-tails, and Lachie, freckle-faced and hair sticking out. Sadie ducked out of the room, feeling embarrassed.

In the next room, a sewing machine sat on a bench under the window, neatly folded bolts of fabric were arranged on shelves, and a naked dressmaker's dummy stood by the door.

‘Nothing there,' said Sadie in a hushed voice. Her toes curled inside her shoes. The longer they stayed there, the deeper they crept into the house, the more convinced she was that this was a mistake.

Walter called softly from further down the hall- way. ‘In here.'

He'd found a room with a huge fireplace and a pool table, overhung with fringed lights. The room was as dark and hushed as a church, the walls lined with sepia photographs in heavy wooden frames.

There was a photo of two soldiers posing stiffly in uniform. There was a bridal couple, the man's face half-hidden by a moustache, the bride in a froth of creamy lace, clutching her bouquet under her chin and looking scared. A family group stared solemnly at the camera, the baby just a blur where he'd wriggled at the wrong moment. A gold-edged diploma from the Tonic Sol-Fa School of Vocal Music, for Felicity Mortlock. A medal with a letter signed by George V, thanking Edwin Mortlock for dying for the Empire. A medal for George Mortlock, elaborately framed and mounted – For Acts of Gallantry and Devotion to Duty Under Fire. A map of Invergarry, showing the dams and the homestead and the Boort road – Lake Invergarry was shaded in blue. It was the history of a family, generation after generation, ranged on the walls.

But the room didn't tell the whole truth. Sadie knew that. Beneath the proud photos and the certificates lay shame, and stories never told. Where was Gerald Mortlock? Where was the Raven family, who'd lived and died here, too? And beneath that lay yet another layer of history, deep and still as rock, alive as the land itself . . .

Walter breathed, ‘Here.'

Sadie joined him before a glass case in a corner of the room. Two stuffed wallabies gazed mutely, mis- erably, back at them. A set of labelled rocks. A piece of coral ringed with cowry shells. The bleached skull of a bird. A pipe and a black silk tobacco pouch.

Sadie whispered, ‘Those belonged to Mr Mortlock . . . Gerald Mortlock, I mean.'

Walter pointed with a shaking hand.

Right at the back of the cabinet, almost invisible in the shadows, was a pile of bones.

A shock like an electric jolt ran through Sadie's body. Without intending to, she groped for Walter's hand, and he gripped hers, both of them mute with horror.

‘What are you doing here?'

Lachie stood in the doorway, his fair hair tousled, his blue eyes blazing. He snapped on the lights, and Sadie and Walter flinched from the sudden glare.

Sadie faltered, ‘We were just – looking.'

‘How did you get in here?' Lachie stalked forward. Sadie shrank back, but Walter stood his ground.

‘The back door was open,' he said defiantly. ‘Go and look, it's open.'

‘Yeah, it's open
now
,' said Lachie. ‘But I didn't leave it open. I locked it up myself. Came back to get my footy boots and I find a couple of dirty little thieves have broken in.'

‘We're not thieves,' said Sadie. Her tongue felt thick inside her mouth.

‘Liar,' said Lachie.

Sadie saw his eyes flick to Walter's hand clutching hers. She gripped Walter's hand even tighter and stared back at Lachie.

‘We didn't touch nothing,' said Walter.

‘Because I got here in time to stop you clearing the place out,' said Lachie. ‘You think the police are going to believe you?'

Walter caught his breath. He muttered, ‘No need for that, mate.'

‘I'm not your mate,
mate
.'

‘You think this is going to make you look tough?' said Sadie, shrilly. ‘You think your dad'll be impressed? You think Nank and Hammer and Troy and Jules will think you're a hero? Me and Walter aren't exactly armed robbers.'

Lachie blinked, then recovered. ‘Doesn't matter. You're still criminals.'

Sadie flung out a finger to point behind her. ‘Where did those bones come from?'

Lachie screwed up his face. ‘I dunno. A kangaroo or something. Who cares?' He took another step forward. ‘You better start thinking about what you're going to tell Brad Ringrose down at the police station. Better think about calling your lawyer,
mate
.'

Quick as the flash of a lizard's tongue, Walter moved. He shot round the other side of the pool table and darted for the door, yanking Sadie with him. Lachie dived sideways and grabbed at Sadie's jacket, but with a desperate wrench she wriggled free and pelted down the hallway after Walter. Lachie hurtled after them. Sadie and Walter skidded across the linoleum floor of the kitchen and flung themselves at the open door, at the square of cool air, at freedom.

'R
un, run!' yelled Walter. He let go of Sadie's hand and they raced across the yard. A dog began to bark wildly; they veered away from the sound, away from the farm buildings, sprinting in the opposite direction from the way they'd come, weaving between the gum trees and across the paddock.

Sadie's heart drummed in her ears, a stitch burned her side. She looked back. ‘He's not following us!'

Walter slowed down, glanced over his shoulder. ‘Oh, yes, he is.'

And then Sadie heard it too: the whine of the trail bike.

‘Split up!' Walter shouted, but they kept running side by side, racing across the hill. A wire fence loomed ahead and Sadie slid to a halt – what if it was electric? But there were no warning signs, and Walter was already scrambling through.

‘This'll slow him down,' he panted, and Sadie nodded, tangled in the wire; she had no breath to reply. She wriggled through to the other side, and then they were off again, running until it seemed their lungs would burst.

Behind them, the angry buzz of the trail bike rose and fell. Sadie's frantic gaze swept the horizon. Where were they running to? Deeper and deeper into Invergarry, deeper into Lachie's territory? She wished she could remember the map. Her breath tore in her chest.

Wah! Wah!

High overhead, the black dot of a crow circled in the pale blue sky.

Sadie threw up her hands. ‘Help! Crows, help us!'

Wah! Wah!
The crow's cries were sharp and harsh. It glided nearer, and dipped its wings like a signal.

‘Walter! This way!' Sadie shouted, and stumbled after the big black bird. The noise of the trail bike grew louder; it was getting closer.

The crow wheeled above them, cawing. Its cries could have been a warning or a command. Sadie ran on blindly, letting the crow lead her. Suddenly she realised they were headed for the dry lake. She'd never approached it from this side. But there was the caked yellow sediment, flaking in the sun like the scales of some prehistoric beast. And now she knew where they were running to, where the crow was taking them.

Waah-waaah.

The crow gave a cry of satisfaction and swooped down to perch on one of the stones in the ring. It folded its wings and stared at Sadie with a glittering eye as she ran, panting, down the slope of the hidden valley. She stopped herself just outside the circle. ‘Can I? Are we allowed?'

The crow inclined its head, giving permission, and Sadie threw herself inside the shelter of the stones. She called to Walter, ‘We'll be safe now!'

Walter flung himself into the circle, and bent to catch his breath. ‘You kidding? We're not safe here. He's still coming.'

They couldn't see Lachie, but the drone of the bike was louder than ever.

‘This is Waa's place,' said Sadie. ‘The crows will protect us—'

Walter shook his head. ‘Lachie doesn't think this is a magic place. It won't work . . .'

The bike's engine revved and snarled, and sud- denly the bike itself flew over the top of a ridge and roared down onto the lake bed, spraying yellow mud.

Waah! Waah!

One, two, three more crows fluttered down to perch on top of the stones. Sadie swung round. Every stone in the circle was crowned with a sleek black bird; more crows flapped overhead, cawing. She gripped Walter's arm.

‘See? I told you they'd look after us!'

The bike roared up. The sun glinted on Lachie's hair; he hadn't stopped to put on his helmet. He halted the bike about fifty metres away and revved the engine.

‘What's he going to do?' muttered Walter.

‘He can't do anything!' said Sadie. ‘He can't get us now! The crows are guarding us.'

Walter squinted across the lake bed. ‘We're trapped here.'

‘It's okay,' said Sadie. ‘He'll go, he'll leave.'

But even as she spoke, Lachie revved the engine to a deafening roar, and drove the bike straight at the stone circle. Sadie screamed, Walter yelped, and they jumped back, pressing themselves flat against the rocks.

‘What's he doing?' shrieked Sadie.

‘Trying to kill us!' shouted Walter.

But Lachie wasn't going fast; he edged the bike forward, nosing it toward the rocks as if he meant to guide it right inside the circle. Then at the last instant he nudged the bike against one of the sacred stones. He drew back and butted the rock again. It wobbled.

‘He's trying to knock them down!' Sadie screamed.

The crows rose in a cloud, flapping and cawing, and circled above the ring. ‘Stop him!' shrieked Sadie. ‘Can't you stop him?' If only the crows would fly at Lachie, attack him, make him stop!

Again Lachie drew the bike back, and again drove it forward. There was another sickening crunch as the front tyre knocked the tall stone off-balance. It lurched sideways, and Lachie hastily revved his engine and retreated out of the way. But the stone didn't fall. Lachie spun the bike, spraying an arc of yellow mud high behind him. He lined up the bike again to take another run at the unsteady rock.

‘
Stop it!'
screamed Sadie.

Beside her, Walter stooped, and threw some- thing.

The clod of dried mud shattered as it hit Lachie on the arm. He shouted out in shock. The bike slewed from under him on the slippery surface, and crashed over, flinging Lachie sideways. The bike's wheels spun, spitting pellets of mud into the air. The crows sent up a deafening, discordant chorus, their cries of
wah! wah!
overlapping in a panicked din.

Lachie lay on the ground, unmoving.

Sadie broke out of the circle and flung herself down beside him. Blood trickled down his face; his eyes were closed. He'd been thrown clear of the bike, which still roared and bellowed like a wounded creature a few metres away. ‘Lachie? Lachie?'

‘Oh my God.' Walter hugged his arms round himself, his face ashen. ‘I didn't mean it. Is he dead? Is he dead or what?'

‘He's hit his head on a rock, I think.' Sadie felt sick. Blood was pooling beneath Lachie's head, matting his hair. The memory of Jimmy Raven flashed into her mind, the sticky blood, the dreadful weight of his dying, and for an instant the world shimmered, wobbling like the dislodged stone. The two times blurred, between Sadie now and Sadie then, between Jimmy's body and Lachie's, between the darkness and the day. She lowered her head as the light throbbed and the crows' cries echoed around her.

Walter grabbed her shoulder. ‘Sadie, we got to get out of here!'

Shock returned her to herself. ‘
What?
We've got to help him!'

‘What do you want to do, carry him back to town?' shouted Walter. ‘It's gotta be an accident; we got nothing to do with it. If he's hurt bad, if he dies – if they find out we were in his house, if they find out I chucked something at him – oh man. Oh God.'

Gerald Mortlock's voice echoed in Sadie's head.
It was an accident, I swear to God!
The same panic, the same despair . . .

Was it the same story, playing itself out again? Was it her fault? She couldn't let the same thing happen again . . .

Walter sank to his knees on the yellow mud and buried his head in his arms. ‘You don't know what'll happen to me. They'll send me away. They'll lock me up. I'm on my last chance.' He raised his head and stared at Sadie with haunted eyes. ‘If they lock me up again I'll kill myself.'

‘We can't leave him here!' Sadie was weeping. ‘If we leave him here, he
will
die!' She tried to lift Lachie's head. He moaned, his face drained of colour.

The story tells itself again . . .

The three of them were in the grip of Crow's story, just as Gerald and Clarry and Jimmy had been. But Crow couldn't see, Crow couldn't help them. Sadie was the only one who knew; it was all up to her.

The world spun before her eyes. She tried to say, ‘Walter – you can't – we have to—' But her voice clogged in her throat, as if the yellow mud choked her. The crows shrieked overhead, their calls rose and fell as their wings sliced the air like razors. Black filled the sky; black filled Sadie's eyes.

She heard Walter cry her name, very far away, but she was falling down a tunnel and everything was black.