23

DREAMTIME

My head is killing me. Before I can remember what happened or where I am, I hear the noise of a cheering crowd. I open my eyes, and I’m in the dark. The air smells stale and dusty and I’m tied to a chair, but there’s a window in front of me and I can see into the circus tent. The lion tamer is holding up a flaming hoop. Suddenly, a door opens behind me and a light is switched on. It hurts my eyes.

‘Welcome to BIGTOP’s first-aid caravan,’ sniggers a voice. My head is throbbing and I’m finding it hard to keep my eyes open.

‘Who are you and why are you doing this?’ The circus ringmaster is standing in front of me.

‘They call me Ringmaster and you have something we need,’ he says, walking from one side of the caravan to the other.

‘I’ll give you anything, just let go of my friends,’ I beg.

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,’ he laughs, spinning around and rubbing his chin. ‘You see, I already gave you a chance to save your friends, but you were playing dress-ups, weren’t you?’

I shake the chair, trying to loosen the rope.

‘Be careful,’ warns Ringmaster. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a remote control. ‘If I press this, the platform holding your friends will collapse. This could be the first time that an audience has seen a crocodile perform an authentic death roll!’

I start shaking again. I can’t let this happen.

‘Settle down, dear boy,’ says Ringmaster. ‘You’ll be free to go as soon as I have what I need.’ He walks over and puts his hands on my shoulder. ‘I know who you really are, Dylan Conlan. Or should I say, Deadly D?’

‘How do you know that?’ I demand.

‘We have ways and means beyond your understanding. There is nothing on this entire planet that BIGTOP does not know about, you silly boy. And of course we know that your DNA is valuable to BIGTOP. Do you know what BIGTOP stands for?’

I don’t know and I don’t care. I just want to get out of this joint.

Ringmaster continues. ‘BIGTOP stands for Biological Investigation Group to Organise Prototypes.’

‘What’s a prototype?’ I ask, struggling with the ropes around my body.

Ringmaster likes this question. ‘It’s a starting point,’ he answers. ‘We use your DNA to make a clone of Deadly D. If we don’t like our first try, we make another clone, then another and another. You know how it goes.’

I feel sick. ‘But Deadly D is gone. I can’t turn into him anymore!’ I say.

Ringmaster laughs. ‘We’ll be the judge of that. With our technology, we can bring Deadly D back to life. We want to clone another kind of Deadly D. A kind that puts the ‘dead’ in Deadly. Our creation, ‘Deadliest D’, will form part of a super-army, designed to take over the world!’

Ringmaster leaves the caravan and Socks and Jocks walk in. There’s no point fighting them — I can’t win. Socks is carrying a plastic dish with a thin white stick inside. It looks like something we’d use in science class.

‘What are you doing with that?’ I ask.

‘We just need to scrape the inside of your mouth. It’s how we harvest your DNA,’ he smiles.

I’ve actually seen people do this on those cop shows. It doesn’t hurt, but I still don’t want BIGTOP cloning me.

‘Open your mouth and say “ah”!’ giggles Socks.

I clench my mouth shut. I’m not giving these crazy clowns what they want. No way. They try to tickle me, they try to make me sneeze with pepper, but nothing they do will force me to open my mouth.

‘Ok then,’ says Jocks. ‘The sleeping gas it is.’

Socks pulls a large purple flower from behind his back. He brings it close to my face and a fine mist shoots from the middle of the flower. It travels into my nostrils and before I know it, I’m snoring my head off.

It’s a dream but it feels real — very real. I’m walking through the bush. I don’t have any shoes on and I can feel the sticks and leaves from the uti tree under my feet. I hear voices up ahead. Mum and Nanna walk towards me, laughing and smiling.

‘Hey, what are you two doing here?’ I ask.

They don’t stop — they just smile and point, showing me which way to walk. It feels like I’ve been walking forever when two dragonflies buzz around my head and lead me the next part of the way. Lake Moondarra appears out of nowhere. The water is purple and shiny. I’ve never seen it like this before. Someone is sitting near the water with a fishing rod. This time, he’s waiting for me. When he sees me, he smiles.

‘Come fishing with me,’ says Dad.

He’s still got those footy shorts on, like the ones in the photo. I sit down next to him and look at his face. I’ve got his bushy black hair, squinty eyes and his skinny legs. Bet he used to shake those legs real good.

‘Dad, please come back,’ I say.

He smiles and looks out to the lake. ‘I’m not here for long, but I want you to know I’m always watching you. Remember what I told you last time? You’re a strong boy.’

‘But Dad, how do I get out of this mess?’ I ask. ‘I don’t have the stone anymore.’

‘Stone? You don’t need no stone,’ Dad laughs. ‘Your blood’s stronger than some silly stone. You’ve had it in you all along, boy!’

‘Had what in me?’ I look at him, confused.

Dad puts his hand into his fishing basket and pulls out a tattered and dusty photo of Deadly D scoring a try for the Broncos. It’s got tyre marks on it as if it’s been run over by a thousand road trains.

‘Be him again,’ Dad says, pointing at the photo. ‘Be him and inspire our people! Always remember who you are and where you come from.’

A tear drops from my eye and lands on the photo, making a dusty red streak. I realise that I never lost my powers. I’ve just been telling myself that I can’t do things that I actually can.

Dad puts his arm around me, and then he starts to fade. ‘Be strong, son. And be him again,’ he repeats.

I reach out for him but I clutch thin air. He’s gone.