The cruiser we occupied was by far the largest of several flashy sea-craft I could see nearby. It was moored in a strange steel shed the size of two football fields, suspended out over water.
The industrial olive-green walls dipped below the waterline, a salt-rimed ring marking the tide. A wet-berth of four floating concrete gangplanks jutted at right angles from the shore, facing towards two huge roller doors, which I estimated led out to the ocean. Three vessels were tethered in their own floating rectangular docks – Seth’s cruiser, a Riva speedboat and an enclosed sleek catamaran designed for fast ocean travel.
The short jetties converged on a wide pier that ran the length of the shore. On my right in a corner L-section of building stood a dry dock where boats could be hauled up a ramp for hull maintenance. Barrels of marine fuel, coils of rope and other supplies were neatly arranged on the landing. And that was where I caught sight of the door embedded in the towering metal wall that led who knew where.
I hesitated, unwilling to desert Hugo, but aware that if I wasted time finding a way to help him, I’d damn myself. I vacillated in Seth’s lair, blood trickling from my arms onto the zebra-skin rug of the main salon as the guilt-laden seconds ticked by. The hide was already stained by splotches I did not wish to examine.
“Bear! Quit stalling and get the hell out of there.”
Smithy bellowed in my mind and whether I’d imagined him or not I clung to his psychic command. I didn’t care where that door went as long as it was away from here. Immediately, I despised myself for such selfishness. Seth was conveniently absent, which only served to make me more fraught. I’d left clear evidence of my escape all over his boat.
I ran out through the covered gallery via white leather benches to the very back of the cruiser, where three stairs dropped to the jetty. Vaulting from the boat, I sprinted along the pathway which joined the broader wharf and headed for the dry dock. I was too panicked to glance behind and see if Seth had come up on deck. There was no cover, nothing to hide behind.
If that door to the outside was locked, I was done for. Although, I was probably done for anyway. I had no clue as to my location. Seth had looked into my eyes, which meant access to my thoughts at his convenience. And given what Hugo had said about hostile nature, what other things lurked out there ready to pounce? But I could not think about Hugo or I’d turn around and go back for him. At last, I reached the ramp and scrambled up onto solid land. Still, Seth had not made an appearance.
The cavernous hangar echoed loudly with the thunderous sound of a downpour on the tin roof. Great. I had to flee through a hurricane. Dashing up the gentle slope into the alcove, I was surprised to discover the door barely hanging shut on a loose hinge, the lock ripped from the jamb. I pummelled it ajar and it was whipped away on the gale that blasted me like Thor’s hammer. I did not stop to ponder my good fortune.
The door led onto a gridded platform. Half a dozen stairs ran down to a lower walkway, which was suspended just above the water’s edge. There was no supportive railing on the exposed side of the staircase. I barrelled downwards, icy sheets of rain instantly drenching my clothes.
My eyes stung and I could hardly see in the murky afternoon light that better resembled night. The soles of my sneakers slid and I lost my footing, tumbling many stairs to the bottom. I landed hands thrust out, skinning one shin on the toothed edge of the tread. Hitting the slope, I rolled a few haphazard metres, until straggling reeds and a margin of stinking black silt stopped my progress.
I righted myself with a groan. Foul sludge that reeked of grease and rotting seafood soaked the seat of my shorts, blood from my gouged shin mixing with mud.
“Eww, gross.” I shuddered.
In front of me, there was a hole in the wall the size of a tractor tyre, where salt had corroded the cladding. Bending forward slightly, I squinted to peer through at lapping brackish water that stretched under Seth’s wharf. Something scurried in the cave-like black. I had no desire to establish what. Crabbing rearwards, I tried and failed to avoid attracting the creature’s attention.
A huge brown water rat poked its nose out, a putrid dead fish clamped between blunt, yellowing teeth. Rats were my greatest phobia. They never ceased to remind me of Bea’s simplest, yet most hideous implement of torture – a copper bowl with a depression for hot coals on top. The bowl was overturned on a victim’s stomach, and underneath it went a starved rat. As the embers glowed, the bowl heated downwards, forcing the trapped animal to eat its way through the victim or perish.
Confronted by the dogged survival instinct of rats, I always felt less somehow: as weak as Seth claimed I was. Everyone had a caving point, despite what we believed about ourselves, how brave and tough and enduring we thought we were. I hoped Seth never found out about mine. Simply seeing that copper bowl would crush any illusion of loyalty I had for my family.
The horrid rodent paused on its haunches, piercing me with beady pink eyes. Dropping the carcass, it bared fangs and let out a high-pitched squeal that sounded more like the scream of a baby. I didn’t need further encouragement to start moving.
Leaping to my feet, I scrambled desperately up the slippery bank, which graduated from sodden mounds of sand to large dunes dotted by scrubby thickets of beach grass. The storm raged, rain nearly horizontal on the ceaseless wind. I battled to make headway against howling gusts and impossible terrain that was strangely vaguely familiar.
Ahead loomed the highest ridge. If I reached the top, a wide view of the surroundings might help me decide which route to take. I tucked my head down onto my chest and thrashed upwards. All the while, the creeping sensation I was being followed refused to abate. Seth and his wrigglers had made me paranoid. Phantom tingles awoke in my knee and I stumbled up the steep incline. Reaching for a clump of grass to gain purchase, the blades were razor-sharp. I earned a nasty slash across my palm.
“Oh, for crying out loud. Cut me some slack,” I shouted at the wrathful sky.
In response, a faint noise gathered volume over the gale. A volley of rabid squeaks. My skin crawled and I didn’t dare look behind. I must not surrender to fear. Toiling onwards, the summit seemed further away with every plunge of sand-filled shoes. A dull roar behind snapped my head around to search for the source.
Above, a passenger jet climbed steadily skyward. Suddenly, I knew exactly where I was. This was the Kurnell Peninsula, the only remaining dunes within spit of the city and the airport. Seth’s marina was scarcely twenty kilometres from my home, tucked in an isolated part of Quibray Bay. Scanning the horizon, a twinkling contingent of planes circled in the rain-hazed distance. Across the bay, the oil refinery blazed with multi-coloured radiance. The road had to be over the rise. There were no welcoming lights sparkling along the shoreline below, the single source a bulb over Seth’s staircase. I realised too late that stopping to get my bearings was the height of stupidity.
A roiling wave of ugly grey and brown bodies, huge and swollen, surged up the hill. Rats: well fed on the litter of the harbour, the size of daschunds. Hell! They probably ate small dogs for a snack. Their eyes rolled back in their heads, red-rimmed, fangs exposed to tear me to pieces. They shrieked their hatred, oblivious of the downpour.
I abandoned the sham of self-control and scrambled for the peak. Seth could have me and murder me in whatever fashion he chose. Sobbing did not aid my ability to see. Wet clothes intensified the slog and two legs were a clear disadvantage. The horde of screeching beasts gained ground and numbers. They would be on top of me as soon as I breached the summit.
Over my shoulder, Seth’s boatshed stood impassive. He was nowhere to be seen and I was soon at the mercy of a gnashing tide of undulating terror, growing too huge to fight, their claws lengthening scimitars, their teeth those of raptors. I tried to leash the fear, aware now it made things worse, but I was bone-tired and running on empty. Finally breaching the miserable hill, I saw the road cutting a valley through this wasteland. Were I not about to become mincemeat for my worst phobia, I could have walked out.
I sank to my knees. Where was Seth? Why hadn’t he come for me? Perhaps he was observing, watching as the fiends finished me off and spared him the trouble. I covered my eyes with my hands and waited for the inevitable pain. They crashed into me with a ferocious grunt and I was airborne with the collision. Tumbling down the other side of the dune, they refused to let go as I bumped and cartwheeled, my eyes fused shut. I heard a loud snap – possibly a rib – and rolled to a tangled heap at the bottom.
“Too slow.”
Before I could get my bearings, I was yanked up and towed towards the road. Language cruder than a trucker’s cursed my the lack of speed as I was abruptly flipped over someone’s wide shoulder encouraging a scream at the sharp pressure on my rib. There was only one person I knew with such a comprehensive store of expletives. The elation dulled the agony spearing my lung with every jolt.
“Smithy,” I wheezed into his scapula, as he sprinted through the wilderness.
A quick crane of my neck revealed that we’d thankfully left the rats far behind. My Warrior was fast.
“What took you, Bear?” he asked, clearly hurt. “I’ve been waiting so long.”
“Waiting?” Conducting a conversation from this position was quite taxing. “How did you know—?” He gracefully hurdled a bush, hardly breaking stride. On landing, the breath expelled from my lungs with an audible ‘ughh!’
“Sorry. Long story short, the cats tracked the whereabouts of Seth’s hideout earlier. He wasn’t around. There was only one other place your guardians thought he’d be, much to their horror. The original plan was to corner him here, but Fortescue thought it too risky on his turf, especially once it all went to hell and they guessed Seth had you. Your butler’s a wily old coot. He came up with a better plan.”
Across the dash through several kilometres of dense scrub, Smith’s powerful athleticism never waned. It was a slightly nauseating and rugged way to travel, but I did not care. This amazing boy had come to save me.
“They had no idea he’d actually approach the warehouse. Or be so bold as to take you. When I found out they’d been so blasé about your safety … It was probably worse than an argument with the judge.” Smith and his father fought so ferociously, we sometimes heard them across the alley.
His breathing remained at an even tempo while we ran, his strong heart beating in time to each bump of my head. We finally emerged by the road. He gently set me down next to his idling bike, propped on its stand in the middle of the asphalt, and began to examine me with his eyes and quick hands.
“So much blood, Winnie,” he breathed in horror.
Smithy softly probed my ribs. Ticklish, I flinched.
“It looks worse than it is.” I held up my wrists to show him. “See? Already healing.”
“Fuck,” he spat venomously. “I hate that prick more than I hate the Crone.”
I thought of all the ways Seth had hurt me and shuddered to envision what his mistress could do. “That’s because we haven’t met her yet.”
He fixed me in a steely gaze. “I trust you gave him hell … little firecracker.”
The joy of Smithy’s arrival collapsed like a pricked balloon. Mortified, my mouth fell open and I rallied a lame apology. But what was there to say? Smithy had seen what occurred on Seth’s boat: me writhing and moaning around on the floor in my best rendition of a rapper’s groupie. If I didn’t hate myself before, his distressed face cemented it now.
“Smith,” I pleaded, “I wasn’t sticking up for him …”
He’d already turned from me and busied himself unzipping a large backpack that leaned against his Ducati, tossing the contents into a pile. I wanted to say sorry, needed to pour forth excuses and explanations, but it might make things worse. And I was too cowardly to admit even to myself, let alone aloud, that Seth’s touch stoked a fire inside impossible to quench.
The disgrace was so acute, I leaned against the bike lest I fall down. Smith was by me instantly. He raised my face with a forefinger beneath my chin. His thumb stroked my lips, concerned eyes searching mine to make it infinitely worse.
“Are you okay?”
I bleakly shook my head. “Hugo is trapped back there. We have to help him.”
“No, we don’t.” He released me and bent to grab a pile of leathers. “The only thing we have to do is get you inside to safety.”
“I’m not going anywhere without Hugo.”
“You have a cracked rib. Are you going to be okay to hang on? Do you need something for the pain?”
“I’m fine.” The stabbing in my side had lessened and I could inhale, but my fury peaked. “Hugo is not fine. He’s drugged and helpless. Smithy, we have to go and get him.”
“Put those on, please,” he said, offering the thick motorbike leathers. “We need to cover you up, as much as possible. Stop the beasties from getting you.”
I couldn’t argue with that and accepted the clothes. Hastily dragging off my sneakers, clods of sand dropped to the pavement. I buckled up knee-boots that were at least two sizes too big, and a heavily padded jacket which fastened under my chin.
“Please, Smith.”
I felt even shoddier, making it hard. He was just as bedraggled as I was. His biker’s gear stuck to every part of him, squelching when he moved. On his haunches, he rifled the rucksack for a growing assortment of items that he neatly arranged next to him, hair slicked back and droplets clumping his eyelashes.
“Listen to me, Bear.” Smith glowered up at me. “I was wrong not to let you read that diary. Then, I wouldn’t have spared a second getting you downstairs to safety and far from that wretch, rather than rummaging the place for useless guns. Number one, his stare entrances and I have no defences until you shut him down by claiming the stone. Once he sets eyes on me I’m toast for good. He can butter me whatever way he sees fit forever. Do you understand? Best I could do was make sure the door to the boatshed was easy for you to get through. Number two, Hugo can rot back there for all I care. How do you think Seth knew where you lived? Hugo is a traitorous bastard who deserves his punishment, not your pity.” His tone was unyielding and furious. “You are most important to me, you take priority. I’ll beg if I have to, please do as I ask.”
He was more precious to me than anyone and he didn’t require sorcery to make me feel that. My love for him overwhelmed. Smithy had never once broken his word to me across the years of ratbaggery. If he said he’d be there, he was. Drunk and stumbling or otherwise. If we planned a day together, he never failed to show, whether grounded and in trouble already, invoking the judge’s wrath for the trivial return of going on a run with me. I never understood what he got from our relationship. It was so one-sided. I couldn’t even invite him home for dinner. Beneath all the boozed-up bravado, emo camouflage and colourful language was a boy of steadfast integrity and genuineness. He deserved infinitely better than what I was giving him.
“What do you want me to do?”
He gave me a quirked smile, his warmth shining even in this dismal place. Collecting a helmet, he rose and thrust it at me. “Put that on.”
While I did as asked, Smith strode in a large circle around us with a squeeze-bottle in each hand, spraying an oily liquid as he went. He flicked open a Zippo and tossed it into the fluid on the ground. It didn’t seem possible that it could ignite in the bad weather, but high flames sprung to life and we were immediately at the centre of a fierce, bright perimeter.
“Don’t get too close in this wind. You’re banged up enough without burns. You’ve really given those healing advantages a work out.”
Smithy shook his head ruefully, returning to tenderly lift me under the arms and seat me on the back of his bike. He put my boots on the rests, making sure my feet were secure.
“We don’t have much time. I can hear Mickey and friends arriving. Can you reach Seth in your mind?”
“What?” I could not see properly through the visor’s dark tint and wrenched it open.
“Everything will be okay.” He reached out and lightly touched my cheek, where not an hour before, Seth’s fingers had rested. His hand slid to his side and he chewed his bottom lip. “You need to trust me.”
He slapped my visor closed. Horrid squeals reached us on the wind, one minute fading, only to blast closer with another gust the next. They narrowed the gap. And this time, by the sounds of it, the rats hemmed us in. The blazing wall burned lower, finally extinguishing in the rain. Through it, row upon row of deranged eyes.
Smith squashed his own helmet on and mounted the bike. “We can communicate via intercom.” His voice crackled over the speaker. He reached behind for me and positioned my arms around his waist, squeezing my hands between his. “Hold on with all your might, Bear.”
I tightened my grip about his hard belly as he bumped the bike from its stand and brought it vertical. My nerves were so taut, I felt they’d sever and unravel my control at any second. “Why aren’t we moving?”
He toed the gear and revved the engine, holding the bike steady as the wheel spun. The circle of fire burned lower, almost guttering out, a mass of fangs and claws waiting on the threshold. The rats would soon break through and still we weren’t in motion. Smithy fidgeted one-handed with something in front of us, but I could not see properly through the tinted perspex of my visor. It was all I could do not to bawl at him to hurry the hell up!
“Let’s make sure we get the attention we deserve,” I heard him mutter.
He tossed an object ahead in the darkness. There was a succession of low whumps and then massive fireballs eclipsed the night, incinerating an opening through the shrieking rats. Smithy launched the bike and we bulleted into the inferno. The motor wailed as he redlined through the gears.
We crunched over charred remains of dead rats, squishing any living ones that got in the way. The stench of burned fur and flesh almost made me throw up in my helmet. Ash rained from above and putrid soot clung to our clothes. Survivors swarmed in our wake, wildly hurling themselves at us as we sped past. They bounced off the thick leathers, unable to gain a hold with their teeth.
“Stay. Please.” Seth’s unspoken plea almost unseated me. His regret was plain and my heart swelled with sympathy.
“We have to go back. Seth’s all alone.”
“Make him follow,” Smithy ordered.
He accelerated, pushing the bike to its blinding maximum down the long, twisting road. The wind whistled around us in the lessening storm and he made no allowances for the greasy conditions.
“How?”
“I don’t care how. Just do it!”
I thoroughly deserved his anger. A confusing whirl of questions and emotion crowded my head. Surely Smithy realised Seth aimed to kill me? We wouldn’t have a hope of outrunning him, even with a head start and Smith’s exceptional riding skill. I fought the drowning need to give in to the death wish and go back to Seth. But not because Smithy asked, because I wanted to. My lack of devotion was inexcusable.
“Don’t you understand what he can do to me? I should not be anywhere near him.”
“I heard you in the bathroom, Bear! Every excruciating bit of it. It’s all I can do not to turn around and go and kill him with my bare hands. I don’t care what he can do to me. But I have to stick with the plan. And so do you.”
I withered with self-loathing, my traitorous heart a worthless, dried-up grape. My behaviour had cut him so deeply; it was plain in his voice.
The landscape gradually transformed. Rolling dunes were replaced by industrial complexes behind barbed-wire fencing and then huge, contemporary houses fronting Botany Bay. Streetlights became more numerous, highlighting the drizzle in a rapid series of yellow haloes as we blew by. In the distance, I just made out the misty, rainbow lights of the city, getting closer.
“Bear.” After an interminable absence of words, Smithy’s voice was soft over the speaker. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I mumbled, too agonised by guilt to say more. I could not stand the thought of hurting him.
“Please encourage Seth to pursue you.” This obviously cost Smith a great deal, but for some reason it was critically important our enemy chase us.
So be it – I would find a way, just to please him. “Okay.”
I adjusted my body to Smithy’s as we leaned low through turns, barely slowing our breakneck pace. He didn’t obey stop signs or traffic lights. I procrastinated, one moment reluctant to call for Seth, the next shockingly eager. Feeling this way was obviously not normal: who in their right mind would voluntarily draw near those awful seethers? Something else nagged at me.
Why wasn’t Seth already hot on our tail? It would have been piteously easy for him to recapture me back at his boatshed or at any point since our escape, yet there was no sign of him, as if he’d lost interest. I supposed this should be a good thing and ignored the stab of angst brought on by his indifference. How often did people who’d successfully fled from a captor turn around and rashly taunt them? Surely, he’d be suspicious of such an absurd bargain. I spoke in my mind anyway, feeling like some swindler psychic.
“Seth?” I waited. “Seth.”
“Keeper,” he mentally drawled. I shrieked in shock.
“You owe me a hearing aid,” Smith grouched. “I presume that means the arsehole is in the vicinity?”
“Oh, he’s not very friendly, is he?”
“Y-you …” I stuttered. “Don’t you want to kill me anymore?”
“As we’re in the mood for negotiation. How about I kill the whole lot of you? Starting with him.” The stakes were too high. “I’ll even throw in a bonus. That treacherous backstabber Hugo’s head delivered on a platter for you.”
Hadn’t Hugo all but tied me up in a bow and delivered me to Seth? Shouldn’t he have earned a pat on the back for a job well done? My confusion deepened. The thought of Seth anywhere near Smithy, should we fail in whatever mad strategy this was, threatened to shatter me to pieces.
I whispered through the intercom to Smith. “Please tell me we will not get caught.”
“I swear on my life,” he answered fervently. “I will not let you get taken.”
I noticed the subtle distinction in Smithy’s response. If he was so unsure of success, why were we baiting Seth? How could I decide what to do when I did not understand why I was haggling in the first place.
“You have five seconds,” Seth barked.
“Promise,” I murmured. “But don’t swear on your life.”
“I promise,” Smithy said.
“Fine.”
Seth’s triumphant laughter echoed in my awareness. “See you soon,” he said cheerfully, voice thick with implication.
“He’s coming,” I whimpered. “Go faster!”
Go slower, begged my deceitful inner voice. Arghh. I was going mad. It was like being torn in two. Euphoria competed with fear. We streaked through the streets, a virtual torpedo. The Sunday evening traffic became denser too, as we approached the city. And somewhere behind, Seth travelled in his vaporous state like silk on the breeze, unimpeded by such obstacles as buildings.
Smithy easily nipped and dodged through the flow of cars, to the alarmed blares of other drivers. No matter the velocity, as he bled every ounce of speed from his high performance machine, I was positive it wasn’t sufficient. Ordinarily, I would have found the trip exhilarating. Every time I’d asked to ride with Smith, Bea vigorously denied permission. If only she could see me now.
The feeling of unease refused to dissipate, worsening with every metre we took towards home. What would happen if we actually made it to the warehouse? Seth seemed supremely confident he would win and didn’t appear to be the type to lose too often. I scanned behind most of the trip, my body contorted to the rear.
“You know, we’d be far more aerodynamic if you would relax a bit and hug me closer, instead of impersonating a scarecrow. We’ve only got two blocks to go.”
Smith’s complacency worried me. Usually about this point in the movie, the hero got shot.
“Shhh, you’ll jinx us.” I smacked his helmet.
“Well, well, look who it is. I can see you, Keeper.”
“He’s behind us, he’s behind us.”
Smith swerved impossibly across four lanes of traffic to descend in the wrong direction down an on-ramp. The big motor whined in protest as we shot through one red-lit intersection after another, violently weaving, and missing oncoming cars by the barest of margins. Low-rise semi-industrial complexes gave way to skyscrapers that crowded midtown like giant trees as we headed towards Circular Quay and The Rocks.
“Bit of a daredevil, isn’t he? I can see why you like him so much.”
Seth was clearly keeping pace, no matter Smithy’s efforts. Where was he? I looked behind again but couldn’t see him.
“He’s speaking to me again. I can tell he’s caught up.”
“Have a little faith, Bear. We’re not done yet.” I couldn’t trust my ears; I thought Smithy actually sniggered. “Excellent. Get snug against me. Head down. Hang on!”
I whipped my head out to the side to check what excited him. Up ahead, a semitrailer had ponderously entered the crossroads we hurtled towards. Smithy didn’t falter. He also didn’t decelerate. The truck blocked access to our laneway, lumbering past too slow. At our current rate, we too would pass into the beyond – the eternal beyond, in a tortured mass of steel and blood at the shattering moment of impact. The ‘hang on’ bit came naturally; Smithy wore me like a second skin.
“Oh, he wouldn’t! Does he care about you at all?” Seth couldn’t disguise his disbelief.
“Shut up! Leave me alone.”
“Here we go!”
Smith disengaged the gears, slipping the bike into neutral and we began our glide towards imminent death. At least it was quieter. With my eyes squeezed shut, I felt the bike tilt almost horizontal and slide bumpily along the tarmac, clinging with my knees as metal screeched. If we made it through alive, I would throttle Smith for this! Bea was right, of course, motorcycles were dangerous! Especially with him at the handlebars.
I couldn’t help it, my eyes flew open just as we veered under the trailer’s carriage in a trail of sparks. The whole event seemed to take an eternity, but before I could blink Smithy planted his ground-side foot to shove the bike erect with a grunt. The engine growled back to life. After a tight corner, we fishtailed into our alley, streaking along its length, straight past the warehouse.
And straight by the weirdest scene of my very weird life.
