Blood & Dust. Jason Nahrung
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this,' Acacia said, passing the rifle to Kala.
Acacia stepped up, a blur of motion.
He was on the ground, staring at the night sky, and then her face was over him, filling his vision. Something slammed into his chest, sank in, choking him from the inside out, and when she pulled away, so he could see again, he realised there was a length of round, smooth timber in his chest - a cricket stump.
Well and truly stumped. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity, to share the joke, to stand and grab Kala and kiss her and kiss her, but he couldn't move. Not so much as a twitch of a finger. He screamed but the sound was only inside his head, over and over, louder and louder, until the night came slamming down on him, starless and moonless and as silent as the grave.
ELEVEN
Confused, he wishes for wakefulness, but sleep has him fixed to the trail of dreams, and dreaming is remembering, even if the memories are not all his own.
Making love to Meg on a blanket beside the river
His father swearing under the bonnet of a truck
His mother stretching her back after an evening spent puzzling over the accounts at the kitchen table, and smiling as he places a cup of tea by her hand
Mira grabbing his cock and licking her blood-smeared lips
A woman with purple eyes, whose name is Mother, tells him to take care. She's afraid for what's waiting for him at Whitby Downs; she doesn't approve but she understands, and he's thankful for that, it's all he hopes for from her; and outside a dingo howls and dogs whine and his bike is waiting
The woman who is Mother tells him to take care. She's afraid of what he has become, what he might yet become; and he is a she, which is confusing but only after, when he thinks about it; and the words, spoken in farewell as a city door closes, spark such rage, such loss
Khaki-clad police bundle a crying Aboriginal girl into a cage on the back of a ute as though she is no more than a stray dog and he screams at them to let her go and when they come for him, he's happy, because at least they'll be together
There is much he does not remember, much that does not belong to him. He does not recognise the abducted girl, yet, as the incident whirrs by, all red-washed and hazy like a scene from a horror movie, he knows it is intrinsically part of him. She has been taken from him, and he wants her back. Wants her back so badly he's prepared to not only die for her, but to kill. The killing never ends. This, he realises, is what the woman with purple eyes feared most, for these strange, anonymous ghosts inside Kevin's bloodstream, who are part of him, but not.
Kevin gasped awake, limbs and neck jerking. A door slammed.
Take care…
The sound so very far away; dream or real? Both? The scene resolved. He was back at the house. The Dalek guarded him from the shelf.
Exterminate.
He closed his eyes against the memory of bodies, jumbled and lifeless.
When he opened them again, he realised he was naked and clean with an ache in his chest. Then the hunger hit him, hit him like a road train. He doubled over, groaning with need. His senses surfaced, tentative, disrupted. Daylight pressed down on the house, a fat man trying to choke him with thick, sweaty hands.
A knock on the door. Kala - he smelled Kala.
He yanked the door open and stood staring, his muscles taut. Saliva flooded his mouth as Kala, arm at full stretch, handed him a mug redolent of heady blood scent. Kevin snatched the mug, unmindful as Kala pulled the door shut. He skolled the brew and lapped drops of scarlet from his hands. He ran a finger around the rim of the mug and sucked it clean. He was still starving, the sensation fighting against his own revulsion and fear.
Was he going to be added to the pile of bodies in the creek? Then why feed him? Why tell him these things, show him these things, if all they were going to do was kill him? Surely Taipan could've done it the other night at the silo. Or simply left him to Mira and this VS bunch. Only the faintest trace of a wound showed where Taipan had shot him the night before but there was a new wound, puckered and angry red over his heart. Out, caught behind. But the game wasn't over.
He dressed in clothes he found piled at the foot of the bed, trying not to think of their last owner. He took a deep breath, then stepped out. Time for the next innings. Voices carried down the hall and he paused, surprised at how clear the conversation was.
Kala: That was the last of the decant.
Acacia's gravelled bass: Taipan didn't give him enough. He needs to feed properly. He's caught in the change.
Kala: We need more blood. You want to go milking?
Acacia: Cow's blood isn't enough, not for a pup in the change.
Hippie: Ain't much in the way of livestock around, anyway.
Nigel: Just put him on ice and let Taipan deal.
Hippie: He's dryin' out, man. Got the DTs real bad. It's gonna screw up his change if he don't get fed.
Kala: Hippie's right, he needs fresh blood.
Silence.
Acacia: Don't look at me. He's already got Taipan's juice running through him. He doesn't need mine to confuse things even further.
Another silence, then Nigel: Sorry, I won't bleed for Taipan's new pet.
Kala: We could make a brew, each of us.
Acacia: From the vein, girl. It's not just the go-juice he needs, but the connection.
Kala: Watch my back, 'Cacia?
Acacia: Sure.
Kevin couldn't stand it any longer. He walked into the living room. Four sets of eyes greeted him, all scanning, curious, nervous. Nigel and Kala sat opposite each other across the coffee table, a plate of sandwiches between them. Acacia leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded.
'Sleeping beauty awakes,' Nigel mumbled.
'How you feeling?' Kala asked.
'Confused,' he said.
Kala's hair hung loose and curling, her blouse knotted at the waist. Under it she wore a white bra, bright against her dark skin. She smelled of musk, of earth; a current passed through his body. 'Still hungry?'
'What's happening to me?'
'You're changing, still,' Kala said. 'You need to feed.'
'I guess bacon and eggs is out of the question.' The joke came out flat and bitter.
'No longer a basic food group.' Kala gestured to the sofa. 'Sit with me.'
When Kevin didn't move, she walked over and took his hand, led him across and pulled him down next to her. She undid her shirt. He felt the radiance of her flesh, dark and toned, and redolent in the aromas he had come to recognise as distinctively Kala.
Her hand caressed his face, the heat intense as her pink palm and fingers brushed his feverish skin. Her fingers caught at the back of his neck, pulling him down.
'Take your time. Be gentle. Acacia will watch over us, so don't be afraid.'
Acacia snorted behind him. 'Yeah, I love to watch.'
'It's okay.' Kala's voice quavered, her hand shook. The pulse in her neck beat like a bass drum.
Kevin shelved his shyness and buried his face in the crook of Kala's shoulder. He pushed the bra strap aside. She held him against her, her breath catching. Her flesh radiated body heat; carried the vibration of her speeding heart.
'Madness,' Nigel said, and stomped off, taking Hippie with him.
'What's his problem?' Kevin asked.
'Exactly that,' Kala said. 'His. He'll have to work it out himself. Forget him. I'm here, I'll look after you.'