Jubilee Year Page 17

  He dropped to one knee to take a look underneath the vehicle. There was a large pear-shaped hole in the bitumen. The edges were still running with molten tar. He stood up and screwed up his nose. They must have brought takeaways for the road trip. The car stunk worse than a two-day-old barbecue.

  He stepped to the door and peered through the window at Candice sitting in the front passenger seat. A light breeze pulled at the white cotton dress the woman wore. He could tell by the way she allowed her blond hair to cover her face she was likely a little shy or a bit snooty. He tapped on the glass, then pulled back quickly. It was too late. The image was captured as fresh as a photo in his head.

  He had seen that Candice's right leg was missing. It had vanished completely. The driver's entire left side was one charred wound that had been seared closed; a mess of red burned flesh and seat melted together. In a different setting, he might have been looking at a macabre work of art. Between the two bodies, he could see the hole in the road. He turned and stumbled, doubling over to vomit on his sneakers.

  For one awful moment, Alistair thought he was going to be blinded by the oncoming headlamps on full beam. The police car hurtled by with its siren screaming and red and blue lights flashing. He watched the taillights disappear in the rear vision mirror.

  “The old man said the meteor came out of nowhere,” he said. “Only one they told me. And, they didn't see it coming.”

  He glanced into the rear vision mirror again and this time he saw that Storm was slumped across the backseat. Even the police car hadn’t wakened the boy.

  Storm woke with a start from his nightmare and lay where he was on the seat, staring out the side window. He could see emerald green lights with long shining tails streaking through the evening sky like sparking match heads flicked across the firmament. The bolloids had penetrated the cloud cover. He knew they would likely burn-up in the atmosphere long before they reached the ground.

  He wondered if they struck the surface of Mars. If so, they would be barely slowed by that planet’s thin atmosphere. If they were falling on Mars, then the scale of the meteor showers would be far greater than here on Earth, and both magnificent and terrifying to behold.

  33

  People Power

  “Are you planning to hide behind the seat for the rest of the trip?” Alistair asked, and he stifled a yawn. “We’re going to be in Coonabarabran soon.”

  Storm had been running the conversation with Martyn back and forth in his head. Trying to make sense of it. Why had Martyn not mentioned the fire? The giant was either completely insane or a cruel tormentor. Storm could not decide which it was. He had turned his thoughts instead to Davenport and the fact that he had never mentioned the fire either.

  “I don't understand why he never said a word,” Storm said.

  “Do you really believe they would have pushed you out of the plane over the outback? That makes no kind of sense at all. Why would Martyn expend the energy telling you all he did if he was going to have you killed hours later?”

  “Makes no sense to me,” Storm replied.

  “Mate, the way I see it—you either trust Martyn or you don't,” Alistair told him.

  “Maybe all Davenport cared more about was his orders to get you on a flight home without any complications.”

  Storm saw Coonabarabran's welcome sign ahead of them. They were on the slight descent to the bridge. Beyond the river, they saw street lights.

  “People like Davenport just follow orders,” Alistair continued. “So where are we going?”

  “My dad's house,” Storm said quietly. What Alistair was saying made sense, he thought. “Hey! You're not thinking about driving back to Canberra tonight, are you?”

  “Not really,” Alistair replied. “After I drop you off I plan to pull off the road and catch a few hours' sleep. I've done that plenty of times on long road trips.”

  “Why not stay the night at Pete's—I mean my dad's place? He's got a spare bed.”

  “That sounds a really good idea,” Alistair said. He gave Storm a tired smile. “I’m totally knackered.”

  “Do you mind driving past my girlfriend's house first?” Storm asked.

  Franchette's house was in total darkness when they pulled up at the front, but they saw the curtains were not yet closed.

  Storm rang the buzzer several times. No one came to the door. He had not really expected anyone would. If Franchette and Penny had been home, they must have left before darkness fell. When he got back into the car, he felt a heaviness settle over him.

  They found Pete on his back porch enjoying the cool evening air. He was only too happy to share his evening with a friend of Storm's. The fact Alistair had driven his son all the way from Canberra really impressed Pete. He took a flashlight out to the garden and dug up fresh potatoes and carrots for dinner. He found a loaf of sliced bread and a plate of cooked steak and sausages in the refrigerator and prepared a meal for his guests.

  Within an hour they were sitting down to what Pete called his simple fare. Alistair swore he had not enjoyed a meal so much for ages.

  After he finished eating, Storm left them to collapse in exhaustion on Pete's old settee. Pete and Alistair settled into a deep conversation that lasted into the small hours of the morning with many cups of tea along the way.

  34

  Things You Should Know

  “When were you planning on telling me you were thinking of enlisting?” Pete asked, the disappointment clear in his voice. “Stella tells me. Then, your friend Alistair mentions it before he leaves this morning.”

  “I tried,” Storm said. “But the last time I mentioned I was thinking about it, you thumped me!” He should have told him, but it was too late now.

  “I said to Alistair, I want to see you live a long life,” Pete said. “I said to him it isn't a good idea to invite yourself into someone else's fight. Not unless there's no way to avoid it.”

  “You were in the Army,” Storm said. “Just like Mum.”

  “Son—listen to what I am saying!”

  “It's a job, Dad.”

  “It's blood money!” Pete roared.

  He was immediately embarrassed by his outburst. Where the hell had that come from? He turned to Storm.

  “You know how I listen to the radio when I'm working on the car?”

  Storm nodded his head.

  “They've been talking about police raids up and down the country? Hundreds of people have been rounded up for questioning over possible terrorist links and un-Australian activities. That's what they are saying. God knows where they are keeping them all. The cells must be already overflowing with bloody protesters.”

  Storm didn't say anything. He was wondering where Pete was heading with his story.

  “Alistair said something last night that made a lot of sense. Come to think of it, he said a lot of stuff that makes sense. Anyway, when a country turns to war, it gets brutal on its own population.”

  Pete fell silent a while thinking about his conversation during the early hours with Storm's friend.

  “I found it hard to believe half the stuff Alistair was telling me. Did you know there is a full-blown civil war going on in the US? The TV, radio, and the newspapers haven't told us about that. The USA and China are both at war with their own people. How can a government make war on their citizens? And here we are eager to jump into a war between the US and China, Russia and Iran! What are they thinking in Canberra? We'll end up getting nuked. Things are just getting crazier by the day.”

  Storm told Pete about the road trip and Martyn's warning. He didn't mention Davenport. He didn't even want to think about the possibility he had got the man so terribly wrong.

  Pete listened until Storm's story was finished, and he asked a few questions here and there. Then he got up from the table and went to the refrigerator and pulled out two cans of beer. He offered one to his son, but Storm turned it down.

  “I'm really feeling like something stronger,” Pete muttered pulling the tab on the ca
n. “But this will have to do.” He chugged the contents down. Then he whistled for Champ.

  The dog pushed open the kitchen door and sat on its tail in front of him, resting his paws on the master's knees.

  Pete fussed over the mutt, stroking its coat and pulling on the long silky ears.

  Storm watched his dad in silence. He had seen Pete act like this plenty of times before, working things out in his head, like what it was he wanted to say.

  “You know, when I was a kid, a Jubilee was when the local church raised money by having a market day. That was the tradition. Grandmas would raffle their pickles and jam and that kind of thing. I thought the money all ended up in the hands of the Parish.

  “Jubilees might not have been big money makers for the church, but they would have seen a better return than they got from the average Sunday collection. The priest would look jolly, rubbing his hands and slapping people on the back.

  “I guess the church jubilee amounted to a bonus for the priests and the nuns. It meant they had extra money for repairs to their house, and if they were really lucky, they might be able to trade in their car for a later model and maybe have some left over to buy booze.”

  Pete rubbed his knuckles in the center of Champ's head. The dog loved it when he did that. He chuckled as he watched the reaction of the silly pooch.

  “I never heard of a Jubilee like the kind you said this fellow Martyn described to you. But you know what? I bet those priests had a good idea of what that was all about, and I bet they still do.”

  35

  The Sky is a Lie

  Pete was feeling vital again. He had work to do. Things were making sense at last. He considered how it wasn't smart to pretend life would go on as usual. He had come to the realization that before today he had might as well have been drifting through life with his eyes closed. Now they were open. He told himself he was not too old to change his ways.

  “What Martyn said to you about the solar system might explain the red sunsets and sunrises—the lights behind the clouds,” he said to Storm.

  Storm gave a nod of agreement.

  “That sounds right to me,” Pete continued. “We can't always trust what we see. Even our sky is a lie!”

  “He also said they can't hide what is happening for too much longer,” Storm told him.

  “Are they the lot Alistair called the ruling class?”

  “Martyn calls them elites,” Storm informed Pete.

  “I won't pretend I understand it all,” Pete said and he sighed. “But, I do get that there's a lot hidden from us. If somebody told me a few years ago, we would have a second star passing by Earth, I would tell them they were cuckoo. Now I'm thinking about finding a refuge chamber.”

  “What's a refuge chamber?”

  “A strong container used by miners to provide them sanctuary when there's an accident below ground. In some mines, they are over three thousand feet down. They are stocked with food and water, and they have quick-fill stations for empty oxygen cylinders too.”

  “Hey, Dad!” Storm exclaimed. “How about the Capria Slopes mine? That place is big, right?”

  “They do have the best chambers,” Pete said nodding his head. “But you would have to fight for a seat when the shit hit the fan. Even then, provisions would last days and not months!”

  “Then what do you think we should do?” Storm said, refusing to give up hope.

  “Do you really believe everything he said?” Pete asked him. In truth, Pete felt tired. But, the lives of the ones he loved most were at stake. He knew he could not let them down.

  “Yeah, well, I was beginning to think Martyn is totally insane and was playing some sick game with me,” Storm said. “Now I think about everything he said, and it all seems to make sense. That and the fact he was just too strange not to be for real. I don't know if that makes sense, but if you'd have been there, you'd know what I'm talking about.”

  “Do you know they are saying Siding Spring was a murder-suicide?” Pete asked.

  “That's what I heard on the car radio yesterday,” Storm said.

  “Well, yesterday I was down in the pub having a beer with a mate,” Peter told him. “There were a couple of farm workers standing at the table next to us. Turns out they were working right under Mount Woorat on that very day. We overheard them talking about how they were looking for runaways from the farm. They were working their way through the scrub running along the fence line of the property opposite the turn-off. They saw a truck parked at the intersection behind road work signs, road cones, and barriers and things. They took it to be a service truck from the council and thought nothing more of it.”

  He stroked Champ's head as he talked, more for his own comfort then it was for the dog.

  “They were talking about explosions they heard coming from the Mount. We asked them what kind of explosions and they said they couldn't say for sure. They said as soon as they heard the loud bangs the road workers packed up their gear. Then an SUV came flying down the hill and the truck took off after it. And, they said the whole thing didn't seem right. It was like they were making a getaway.”

  “You know, all we get on the news is that the police have a suspect. Just one suspect! And their investigation links the murders and the fire to what they are saying is a suicide. I think it's all too tidy.”

  “Yeah, that's what I think too,” Storm said.

  “Come inside,” Pete said, getting up from his chair. “I've got something to show you.”

  He walked down the hallway. When he returned, he dropped a map and a roll of papers onto the kitchen table.

  “Capria Slopes is about two hundred miles away. You will need a CB radio to listen to the trucker warnings about government roadblock along the way.”

  “A CB radio?” Storm asked in surprise.

  Pete allowed himself a smile. “That's how truckers are always up with whatever's going on.”

  “Oh, well, good idea,” Storm replied in agreement, but still not completely sure why he needed a radio.

  “And, you need a backup plan,” Pete told him.

  “Won't be needed,” Storm declared.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we have to be underground—in a refuge chamber. You said it yourself.”

  Pete ran through the details of the Capria Slopes mine, down to the names of the key personnel Storm might run into, their work shifts and their phone numbers. When he finished, he folded the map and slid it across the table, along with several old dog-eared company documents and an address book. He watched the boy’s eyes scan it all as he committed every detail to memory.

  Pete put the meat pies in the oven to heat and made a pot of tea for them both. Before he sat down at the table, he took a roll of notes out of his back pocket and pressed them into his son's hands.

  “It's best you take it,” Pete said with a sheepish smile. “You probably always thought I was a miser. Now you know. I never had much in my account to begin with.”

  “Dad, you keep that for yourself. I'll borrow Mom's car in the morning. We can buy everything we need together.”

  “No, it isn't like I'm going to be paying any more bills with this,” Pete said, shaking his head. “Not after today.”

  He turned at the sound of a light rapping on the metal side rim of the screen door. Pete gave a low whistle, expecting to see the dog's snout push around the corner. Instead, a voice called out.

  Storm pushed open the screen door and saw a young man with a worried look on his face in the light from the kitchen.

  “Is this the Elliot’s home?” The man asked. There was a trace of urgency in his voice.

  Storm grunted and nodded his head.

  “I'm Matthew.”

  Storm shook the hand thrust at him. “If you want Dad, he’s in the kitchen. I'll get him.”

  “I can't talk out here,” Matthew called out.

  “Oh,” Storm said, and he walked back to the door. “You better come inside then.”

  Pete stared in surp
rise at the young aboriginal man.

  “Hello, Mr. Elliot. I am Matthew Wanganeen. I have a message for you from your wife.”

  Matthew glanced at Storm. “And one for you from Penny Boulos.”

  “Is Stella all right?” Pete asked in alarm.

  “Your wife is fine, Mr. Elliot.”

  “You better sit down,” Pete said, pulling a chair out from the table.

  Earlier in the year, Stella had been diagnosed with a heart condition. It was not requiring urgent treatment, the hospital had told her. It was something to monitor—for the time being. Those last four words continued to haunt Pete.

  “Where is she?” Pete asked as Matthew sat down.

  “In Marsfield, with your daughter. I brought them to my home along with Penny and her parents.”

  “Michael is alive?” Storm asked in disbelief.

  “Yes, my uncle rescued him. Well—I suppose it’s more like he was kidnapped,” Matthew added with a strained laugh. “Dr. Boulos asked me to go to his wife's home and bring her back. I found Mrs. Elliot and Summer with her. She said the only way she was going with me was if they came too.”

  Pete drew a hand over his brow. “I thought you were going to tell me something terrible happened.”

  “Mr. Elliot, you can follow me in your wife's car. She told me she left it at her house.”