Defender Read online

  The wind had changed at that moment, blowing Lacey’s hair back, and with it came a smell of eggs, rancid and sharp, as if the store had been built on top of a landfill, all the waste underfoot now rotting into a soupy, festering mess. The next second, the wind had changed again and the stench disappeared.

  They had spent the next hour loading their car with food and bottled water and tools and supplies and more food. Lacey hadn’t moved more than ten feet away from her grandmother the whole time, the wall of silence a teasing presence at her back, tapping on her shoulder, wanting her to turn and look and maybe find a line of corpses pressed up against the glass windows of the store, gaping in at her. There had been people lying in the aisles, mainly the household-hardware aisles where the claw hammers and hand saws were. At one checkout an employee was slumped over the conveyor belt, her long blonde hair trapped in the mechanism. Lacey hadn’t looked too closely at any of them, and her grammy had hustled her along quick-smart whenever they came across one.

  The entire trip had lasted two hours, and by the end of it Lacey had been glad to be back home, breathing in the dry desert air, the sweet scent of her grammy’s plants welcoming her.

  She could laugh about her childish imagination now, the silly fears she’d had while she was inside that store, but she couldn’t forget how intensely she had urged the station wagon to speed up, her grammy to drive faster, wanting as much distance as possible between her and that ghost town.

  She had already packed most of what she would take, and what that came down to was surprisingly little. Everything in the farmhouse had memories attached to it, and to carry things around simply for sentimentality’s sake seemed pointless. Lacey had been taught to use everything to hand; if there was no use for it, there was no point in keeping it. Her travelling gear had been sitting ready beside her bed for the past two months.

  She carted her stuff outside, stepping around the cat, which was daintily licking itself in a warm strip of sunlight at the top of the steps.

  ‘I hope this is everything,’ the tall man said, his pack open at his feet and the lid of one of his bike’s side-box thingies levered up.

  ‘That’s it.’ She dumped everything beside the rest of his belongings and dusted her hands off. ‘So where have you come from? Where you heading? Have you seen many other people?’

  He raised an eyebrow at her, then bent down and started stuffing her gear into his bag. ‘Sure, lots. Most of them dead husks, though.’

  She stared at him for a moment, lost for words. She licked her lips. ‘Dead as in killed themselves?’

  ‘Dead as in dead. Doesn’t much matter how it happened.’

  ‘Grams said everyone went crazy.’ She watched him carefully, wanting to see his reaction. He didn’t even bother looking up at her.

  ‘They lost their minds, all right,’ he said.

  ‘So you have been to the bigger cities, then?’

  He nodded, pulling the elastic cord tight on his pack and fastening the top.

  ‘There must be folks there, right? Communities and such?’

  ‘Cities are dangerous. Only people you’ll find there are scavengers, ambushers and those who haven’t got a civilised thought left in their heads. You don’t go in unless you have to.’

  ‘So where are they?’

  ‘I’ve come across settlements elsewhere, but they don’t take kindly to strangers stopping by.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He straightened and propped his hands on his hips. He regarded her for an uncomfortably long time with those watchful eyes. ‘Trust issues.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He looked past her to the house, squinted up at the windows, his eyes lazily scanning its façade before coming back to rest on her. ‘You’ve been here a while.’

  It wasn’t a question. She frowned, feeling defensive, and answered him anyway. ‘Yeah. We went out some when we still had gas,’ she lied. Grammy went out; Lacey wasn’t allowed. ‘To gather supplies and stuff. But never far. Never near to the cities.’

  ‘Wise choice. Look, here’s the deal. If you’re lucky enough to find somewhere you can stockpile and grow food and not be attacked for it, then it’s in a place that isn’t easily located. Kind of like here. In fact, it’s safest to stay away from other people altogether. I’ve seen men kill each other over a wrong word. I’m not kidding.’

  She believed him. Even suspected he didn’t know how to kid.

  ‘Still want to leave?’ he asked.

  Her chest felt tight. She realised she hadn’t taken a full breath since she’d started the conversation. She inhaled slowly, being careful not to suck it up in a way that revealed how much his words had affected her.

  She thought back to the very last phone call she and her grammy had received – something she did most days, and especially in the last few months, since her grandmother had passed.

  The telephone was a spin-dial, loud, and it had shrilled through the house like an alarm bell.

  Grammy’s voice came from the hallway: ‘Talbot residence.’ A pause, then: ‘Sweet One, calm down, I can’t hear you.’

  Lacey’s ears perked up. Grams only called her and Karey Sweet One. Putting down her bowl of Cocoa Krispies, she left the sitting room and wandered into the hall. Grammy had been wearing a housedress, one of her favourites, the one with the pink roses printed all over it. Work boots and socks made up the rest. Back then her hair had been short, grey but for two dark wings at each temple, soft as feathers.

  ‘No. She’s right here,’ Grams was saying. ‘Yes . . . Yes, of course we’re OK . . . What’s going on? I can hear the baby crying.’

  Lacey hadn’t made a sound as she came up behind Grammy, but her grandmother turned as if she’d sensed her. When Lacey saw her face, she stopped dead, fear slicing through her middle.

  ‘Grams, what—?’ But her grandmother’s hand snapped up, palm outwards, and Lacey immediately shut up.

  ‘What do you mean, David is—’ Grammy’s eyes widened and then narrowed into slits, lips disappearing as she pressed them into a thin line. ‘Yes, you told me the strange things Susan was saying last week, but I . . . No, I don’t have the TV on, but I can—’

  Lacey bit into the inside of her cheek, anxiously watching her grandmother. She didn’t know anything about a conversation Grams had last week about Karey’s next-door neighbour.

  ‘Listen to me, my darling,’ Grammy was saying. ‘Listen now. He doesn’t sound like himself. You need to—’ She paused to listen, shook her head quickly. ‘No! Don’t do that! Take Addison up to the top floor and barricade yourself in. I don’t care what he said! Do as you’re told. Do it. Do it right now!’

  ‘Let me speak to her,’ Lacey said, reaching for the receiver. ‘I need to speak to her.’ Something was happening, something that even Lacey’s nine-year-old brain understood as being Bad with a capital B. She needed to speak to her sister, but her grandmother caught hold of her hand and squeezed it so tight it made her wince in pain. Lacey’s face felt hot. Frustration pooled thickly in her chest and rose into her throat, almost choking her. Tears were close, but she swallowed them back.

  ‘Karey?’ Grammy said. ‘Karey, what’s going on? Speak to me.’

  Then she heard her sister’s voice, shouting, scared, so loud Grammy’s head flinched away from the phone. ‘Don’t come here, Grams! Don’t bring Lacey here! Something’s not right. It’s not just David – there’s stuff happening out in the street. He’s saying the scariest things. Promise me, Grammy! SAY YOU PROMISE!’

  ‘I promise, my darling! But I don’t know what—’

  ‘Oh my God! Oh my God, David! What’s happening! What’re you—’ Her sister’s voice cut off.

  Lacey didn’t care any more – didn’t care that Grams would have serious words with her later about her ill manners – she snatched the receiver out of her hand and pressed it to her ear. It was hot against her skin.

  ‘Karey! Karey, it’s Lacey! Hello? Karey?’

  Dead si
lence.

  She slammed the phone down, picked it up. Dialled her sister’s number from memory. Listened. Slammed it down again and dialled it a second time because her fingers were shaking so badly on her first attempt she might have misdialled.

  Grammy must have gathered by the look on her face that it wasn’t working. She had gone straight to the TV in the sitting room and flicked it on.

  Chaos. News channels filled with screams, crying, guilt-laden monologues of regret and despair and self-loathing, the rushing views of live camera feeds thrown from height and zooming incredibly fast as they plummeted to Earth; clips of frantic people running in front of speeding cars. Grammy had switched it off before Lacey could see anything else, and from then on it had remained turned off whenever Grammy was around. Even when Lacey sneaked a few minutes’ viewing time, none of what she saw made sense, most of the images just a jumble of confusion, their rambling commentaries filled with strange messages. She would hear the TV during the nights when Grams thought she was sleeping; Lacey would sit on the top of the stairs in her PJs, the shifting white-grey flashes from the TV shining out of the sitting room, the volume turned too low to hear. Soon even Grammy had stopped her secret TV-watching, as the networks shut off, one by one.

  Did she want to leave? he’d asked. Looking at the tall man staring back at her, waiting for an answer, Lacey tried to slow her breathing, make it look normal. Did she?

  ‘Yes, I still want to leave,’ she heard herself say.

  ‘Fine. Is there anything else you need? I want to leave sometime today.’

  ‘Oh. Sure. Could you give me five minutes?’

  He nodded, and she hurried away, shakily jogging up the steps and into the shade. Winding her way back through the house, sliding one hand along the walls to steady herself, she made a beeline for the kitchen, not pausing there but going straight out of the back door and into the yard. She dropped to her knees in front of the mound of dirt and flowering lantanas where her grammy was buried and panted for breath.

  ‘Maybe this is bad idea, Grams. A terrible idea. Jesus.’ She glanced over her shoulder to make sure he hadn’t followed her. ‘No, I can do this.’ She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Don’t be a wuss, Lacey. Come on. Suck it up.’

  When she opened them she found herself staring at the grave. Her breathing had levelled out. She felt calmer, steadier. ‘I’m packed, and I’m going. I can’t stay. I’ll die here.’ It suddenly felt silly talking out loud. She glanced awkwardly across the yard, first at the dilapidated fencing that was in desperate need of weatherproofing, and then at the pitted rust creeping up the poles of her swing set. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and forced her eyes back to the dry, greying soil in front of her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Grammy. I wish I didn’t have to leave you like this. I wish I could just lie down on the ground and go to sleep and when I wake up everything will be OK.’ The lantanas blurred in front of her and she glanced away again. ‘You know what the hardest part is?’ she whispered, staring fixedly at the seat of her swing, where she would sit as a kid and squeal, her grammy pushing her higher and higher, always higher than Lacey thought she’d ever dare push. ‘It’s not even leaving this place. It scares me, sure, but I’m OK with being a little scared. What bothers me most is leaving you here.’ For all her attempts to hold them back, tears spilled over and a sob caught in her chest. ‘I know you’re just a body under all that dirt, and I know you can’t even hear me, but I really don’t want to leave you here alone. It’s really hard to leave you all by yourself.’

  For the last two minutes of her allotted time, Lacey went over to her swing and sat there, nudging at the ground with her toe, rocking herself back and forth and imagining it was her grammy doing the pushing.

  CHAPTER 5

  The girl travelled light, for which Pilgrim was grateful. He had managed to transfer most of what he usually carried in his rucksack to the bike’s side panniers, had then shoved the meat packages and a limited assortment of cans and tins into the girl’s smaller rucksack, along with a wad of clothes for her, and stuffed the whole lot into his now almost-empty pack. When he next looked up, she was striding back towards him with a rifle slung over her shoulder and a box of spare ammunition. She handled the weapon competently, comfortably even.

  The natural naivety she wore folded back a little to reveal something tougher underneath. It surprised him; she’d been sitting out on the road with nothing but a flask of lemonade, after all, but someone, at some point, had taught her how to use that gun. The old battleaxe with the walking stick she had mentioned? He glanced over at the boarded-up window again, then back to the girl. It was a miracle they had both survived this long.

  ‘You any good with that?’ he asked, nodding at the rifle.

  ‘Good enough.’

  He grunted and held the rucksack up to her. ‘You’ll have to carry this while we ride.’

  She scrutinised the pack, sizing it up. Unslinging the rifle, she leaned it against the side of the bike and turned her back to him. He helped her slide her arms through the straps and lowered the weight on to her shoulders. It wasn’t too heavy, but he could hear her muttering under her breath about pack mules.

  ‘What’s wrong with your eyes?’ he asked when she turned back to face him. They were red and bloodshot. He hoped she wasn’t sick. That could be a problem.

  The girl wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffed. ‘Nothing’s wrong with them. I’m fine.’

  ‘Hm. Need any bathroom breaks before we go?’

  He was rewarded with an arched eyebrow. ‘I’m not three. I still have control over my bladder. I don’t need to go.’

  ‘That’s good. Don’t want to be five minutes down the road and you asking me to pull over.’

  He dragged his neckerchief up over his mouth and was mildly amused to see the girl pull out a long, thin cotton scarf and wind it around the lower part of her face. It was a dark red colour and had tassels. She also produced a pair of sunglasses and popped them on. They had big lenses. She resembled a baby fly.

  He had to stifle an urge to smile when she bent down to pick the cat up and ended up stumbling forward a few steps, unaccustomed to the weight of the pack. Even from behind her sunglasses, the irritable glower she sent him was discernible.

  He swung a leg over the bike and settled down, accepting the mangy fur-ball and setting it on the gas tank. Then he spent the next couple of minutes holding the bike steady as the girl struggled to climb on behind him.

  ‘Hold this,’ she said curtly, thrusting the rifle at him.

  She ended up half pulling his shirt off by the time she had managed to clamber on.

  She patted his shoulder. ‘All set.’ Her hand reached forward for the rifle, and he passed it back to her.

  He started the engine and felt the girl wiggle around behind him as she settled herself. It felt strange to have a warm, breathing person nudging up against him and even stranger to have the insides of her jean-clad legs pressed against the outsides of his.

  Don’t be getting used to it, Voice warned.

  ‘I won’t,’ he said, too low for the girl to hear.

  CHAPTER 6

  There was no conversation – the wind was too loud in their ears for that – but when they passed the signs for town, Lacey twisted to stare over her shoulder at the exit ramp. She couldn’t help shouting, ‘Look! That’s it! The marker! This is as far as I’ve been!’

  She laughed breathlessly, a thrill of excitement making her feel weightless, fidgety, as if she were embarking on some kind of organised trip that promised wonderful sights and the adventure of a lifetime or your money back. As she continued to stare over her shoulder, the bike’s passing having kicked up a haze of dust that obscured the town’s sign, her laughter grew hazy along with it.

  She must have been gripping the man too hard, because he shrugged under her hands, an irritable roll of his shoulders. Easing her hold, she settled back down, facing forward. For just a moment, she bowed her head and lightly res
ted her brow against his right shoulder. Maybe if she kept looking at the back of his shirt, she wouldn’t think about the distance stretching out between her and the only life she’d ever known, the miles racking up, the link between her and her grammy growing thinner and thinner, elongating like a piece of elastic. Soon it would snap, and all ties would be severed.

  Isn’t this what you wanted? she asked herself sternly. After years of worrying and wishing, there’s finally a chance of getting to Karey. To Addison. And now you’re getting cold feet?

  No, she thought. No, this is what I want. It is.

  She lifted her head, the rush of air hitting her full in the face and whipping around her sunglasses. Her eyes teared up. The wind flipped under her scarf and the tassels smacked her in the face. She struggled to tuck it inside her shirt.

  They rode for three hours, and she drank in the sights. They passed a burnt-out café and Lacey called out, ‘Look!’ and pointed. A trickle of smoke rose up from its charred roof. ‘People!’ she yelled, straining to see any movement inside the café as they swept by.

  The sign of smoke gave her hope. Things didn’t just set themselves alight.

  They went past a disturbing display of animal bones that some sicko had arranged in a bleached, jutting pyramid, and that slither of hope shrivelled up a tiny bit. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to meet the person who’d made that.

  Then came the billboard signs, each one defaced with jittery lettering dribbled in blood-like ribbons of red paint. The first one, for self-storage containers, had ‘Your all liars!’ scrawled across it. A little further along, ‘Death is a sweet release’ was painted over an advert for fast food. Next, a smartly dressed man advertising a firm of lawyers now advertised the phrase ‘FREE YOURSELF’. And on the final billboard, smeared across a close-up of a pretty woman with a brilliant set of white teeth, was a message in dried red scribbles: ‘LISTEN – The Darkness Speaks’, and next to it a sloppily painted spiral, going round and round and round.