Chapter Twenty-nine

Friday, 8th November

Early next morning, Jack was reminded of the summer storms of his childhood as he and Caitlin drove through biblical rain, windscreen wipers slapping uselessly against the onslaught, and the wind howling like a demented banshee as it tried to hurl the car airborne. He couldn’t see the potholes now lurking beneath a rampaging river, but they were still trying to demolish the suspension nonetheless. Frogs enthusiastically leaped from the verges to play Russian roulette between the whooshing wheels.

Jack could barely hear Caitlin above the rain drumming on the roof when she asked, ‘Do you still think this is a good idea?’

Jack shrugged. He’d thought it a brilliant idea yesterday as he sat waiting for the glazier to replace the smashed window at The Beacon. The plan was to check out all the perpetrators of the more outrageous death threats. By virtue of their brick-hurling, the anti-5G crowd had reserved themselves a place high on Jack’s list.

It had been years since Jack had been to Mullumbimby, with its quirky shops, on-trend cafés and historic pubs strewn along the main drag, accompanied by the occasional scent of marijuana emanating from hemp-clothed locals walking barefoot down the street. Mullum had always been given a bad rap as the anti-vax capital of Australia. Sure, there were anti-vaxxers here, but they were a noisy minority among a broader community of those who liked an alternate lifestyle or who just wanted to live in one of the most beautiful places on the planet. But it was that noisy minority Jack was wanting to find today, with the hope the anti-vaxxers could lead him to the anti-5G crowd and to the brick-hurlers themselves.

The best place to meet the Mullum locals was at the farmers’ market. At least that was Jack’s excuse to visit them. He’d always liked the markets although, admittedly, not when it was pissing down with rain.

They aquaplaned through the town centre and joined the flotilla of cars heading to the showground. Miraculously, as they parked the car in a minor tributary, the rain stopped so abruptly the silence was disconcerting – it was as though someone had pressed pause on the weather app. The storm clouds skidded away, replaced by coalescing patches of blue sky.

When Jack stepped from the car, both his feet disappeared deep into mud so squelchy it sucked at his legs and threatened to rip off his shoes whenever he tried to move.

Caitlin took one glance at the sludge oozing up his ankles and said, ‘I’ll mind the car.’

The demographic had changed since Jack was last at the markets. A new breed of customers had spent a great deal of money to look like they didn’t have much money. Boho was in, no matter what it cost, and Jack’s crisply cut, collared shirt was out.

The market was hectic despite the weather. Tables strained under mountains of fresh produce – mung beans and sprouts, honey, roasted coffee beans, sourdough bread and exotic fruits, some of which Jack had never seen before. He wandered from stall to stall, happy to be back in this buzzy, vibrant place. He was about to submit to the temptation of an apple and ginseng juice when he spied the anti-vaxxers. They had a stall hemmed in between organic cheeses on one side, and crystals of all sizes and hues on the other.

Two pairs of pale-blue eyes watched eagerly as Jack approached, their owners springing up from chairs in unison and smiling at him. Each had a single waist-length blonde plait, his intertwined with red, yellow and green ribbons. They could have been brother and sister. She wore a white T-shirt emblazoned with ‘Freedom of choice is our birthright’. Whatever was written on the man’s T-shirt was obscured beneath a woolly beard.

‘Hi,’ said the young woman, ‘are you here to find out about the dangers of vaccines? If so you’ve come to the right place.’

‘I’m interested in 5G,’ said Jack.

Their smiles broadened further.

‘That’s great,’ she said. ‘I’m Jessica and this is my brother, Matty.’

‘Jack.’

She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, ‘They’re trying to control us with our phones.’

A loud ringtone pierced the air, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt. It was Jack’s phone. As he took it from his pocket, Jessica and Matty both frowned and took giant steps backwards.

Jack shrugged apologetically and accepted the call. ‘Ricky, can I call you back in a minute.’

‘Don’t bother. It’ll be TAILS.’

‘What?’

‘Jack, have you been asleep for the last ten years? The memory stick, it’s TAILS. Look it up.’ Ricky hung up.

The siblings now kept plenty of distance from Jack, their enthusiasm rapidly waning.

‘Sorry about that,’ said Jack, and put the phone away. ‘I’d really like to meet with the leader of your group. If you have one.’

Jessica looked hesitantly at Matty, who nodded. She said, ‘That’ll be Lars. He’s kind of our local guru. He organises the meetings and manages the Facebook page, that kind of thing.’

‘How do I find him?’

‘You could make an appointment. He’s a dentist in Byron. Lars Nielsen.’ She picked up a leaflet from the table and offered it to Jack. ‘If you join our anti-vax action group, he’ll give you a discount. And he’s holistic.’

Jack ignored the offer. ‘Can I sign up online? Using my phone?’

Jessica shook her head, lips taut, her smile deep in cold storage.

Ten minutes later, as Jack sloshed back to the car carrying two juices so green they could only have been made by pushing The Hulk through a blender, Jack tried to remember where he’d heard the name Lars Nielsen before.