Red
SOME OTHER BOOKS BY LIBBY GLEESON
Novels
Mahtab's Story
the Hannah series
Love Me, Love Me Not
Dodger
I Am Susannah
Eleanor, Elizabeth
Picture books
I Am Thomas
Clancy and Millie and the Very Fine House
Amy and Louis
The Great Bear
Look! A Book!
First published in 2012
Copyright © Libby Gleeson 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The
Australian Copyright Act 1968
(the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone:(61 2)8425 0100
Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218
Email: [email protected]
Web:
www.allenandunwin.com
A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the
National Library of Australia
www.trove.nla.gov.au
ISBN 978 1 74175 853 5
Teachers' notes available from
www.allenandunwin.com
Cover and text design by Sandra Nobes
Cover photo by Susan Gordon-Brown (girl) and Steven Siewert (background)
Set in 10 ½ point Century Old Style by Tou-Can Design
This book was printed in March 2012 at McPherson's Printing Group,
76 Nelson St, Maryborough, Victoria 3465, Australia
www.mcphersonsprinting.com.au
Contents
MUD. INHER MOUTH, HER NOSE AND HER EYES. MUD IN
her hair and caked on her neck and her arms. Mud filling her shoes and seeping through her clothes. She lay sprawled on her side, a garbled, barely distinct sound coming from her:
âJaymartinjaymartin'
. One eye opened, then the other. She coughed, spat, tried to clear her throat. Mud was stuck to her tongue, her gums and the top of her mouth. Still she said the words
âJaymartinjaymartin'.
She tried to sit up, but her left shoulder and arm ached and needle-sharp pain stabbed her fingers, her palms and the backs of her hands. Sand and stones tormented her broken skin. She fell back. She pushed herself up on her other elbow.
âJaymartinjaymartinjaymartin.'
Her world was mud and pain.
⢠⢠⢠⢠â¢
âWhat's your name?' A boy was sitting on a kitchen table floating in a muddy pool.
At his feet was a child's doll, the head lolling to one side. Hair as pale as straw hung off the scalp, its eyes loose and drooping.
âJaymartinjaymartin.'
He stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. âShut up that stupid talk.'
She fell sideways, her body shaking. She covered her face with her hands. Light rain was now falling.
He went back to his table.
The girl turned away from him. Screeching seagulls swooped out of the low grey cloud. She heard crashing sounds and voices calling as she dragged herself up onto her knees. Like a swarm of scavenging animals, men were pushing aside planks of wood and sheets of tin. They moved around the broken walls of brick. Then came the roaring, deafening sound of a helicopter, blades whirring, turning above them. Huge up-drafts of wind tossed mud and water flying. What did it mean? What was happening?
He asked her again, âWhat's your name?'
âName?' Her voice was oddly high-pitched like a small child's.
âJaymartinjaymartin
,' she began and then stopped. This time the boy repeated, âJaymartin? What do you mean, Jay Martin? James Martin?'
âI don't know.'
âBut that's a bloke's name. It can't be yours.'
She spat mud from her mouth. âHave you got any water? A drink.'
He nodded. âWater. What a joke.' He held his arms out to the rain. âAt my place. You can come with me, if you like.'
Like? What did he mean? She felt nothing.
She dragged herself free of the mud like someone crawling out of quicksand. She followed him past a wardrobe with the door hanging loose, a cupboard spewing folders and sheets of paper, a couch with its cushions floating on the sea of mud.
Everywhere people were bent over the mounds of brickwork that had been houses. They were pushing aside smashed-up stairs, digging at heaps of battered machinery and twisted metal. Everything tossed and broken.
Over the soft sound of rain came the cry of a lone dog and the constant harsh call of gulls.
⢠⢠⢠⢠â¢
She walked slowly, every muscle in her body screaming out to her to stop. What had done this? Earthquake?
Bombs? She stumbled over mounds of rock and mud, leaning for a moment against a tree trunk torn from the ground.
The boy kept turning his head to look at her. The rain ran down over his head and plastered his straggly brown hair to his back. He led her around more muddy pools, past an upturned boat to his place: the shell of someone's house, roofed with sheets of tin.
âMy palace,' he said, and he bowed low as if he was showing off something fantastic. She stepped around the upturned bath and the broken filing cabinet and flopped down onto a sandstone block. Across from her, a car was wedged where a wall had been, as if someone had driven it into the house and then couldn't back it out. The bonnet was crushed and one of the wheels was twisted and buckled.
âThat's where I sleep,' the boy said. âBetter than the hard ground.'
He bent to pick up a bowl of water and passed it to her. Ignoring the pain that racked her hands, she gulped it, as if she hadn't drunk for a long time. Some of it splashed down her front.
âYou hurt me.' She touched her face where he'd slapped her.
âYou were talking rubbish, babbling that name. Who is he?'
âI don't know.'
âWhat's
your
name?'
âI don't know.'
What was her name? Why was this other one in her head? Jay Martin. James Martin? She started again, softly, saying it over and over.
Whack
. The boy came forward and slapped her again.
She fell back.
He seized her elbow and dragged her onto her knees.
âShut up! Stop your gabbling. You sound crazy. You're gunna have to use your brains.' He squatted, his face in close to her. âThere's lots of people everywhere dead and missing and everything's wrecked.'
She noticed the blue shadow of a bruise down his left cheek.
âWhat's
your
name?' she whispered.
âPeri.' He drew back from her. âSorry about that. I had to get you to shut up. But I'll do it again if you start.' He pulled his wet T-shirt off and wrung it out. âYou've got blood on your arm and you should clean up your hands. Bathroom's over there.' He waved his hand to the opposite brick wall, where buckets filled with water were lined up.
She went slowly across and chose one, scooping up water and splashing it on her face and on her arms. Thin brown trails ran over her pale skin as the caked blood washed away. She poured some of the water into another small bowl and soaked her hands. Peri came and crouched beside her. âLooks like you put up a fight against a barbed-wire fence.'
Slowly, wincing, she washed dirt and sand from the cuts and torn patches of skin.
âYou've got blood too.' She pointed to his knuckles and an angry slash across his hand.
âNah, it's nothing.'
When she had finished she sat back on the block of stone and blew on her aching fingers. âWhere is everyone? Why is everything wrecked? What happened? Where are we?'
