Carnies Read online

  He glanced at his watch. It was midnight. He looked behind him, to the seats in the back of the car. He’d packed all of his and Paul’s belongings in there, ready for the trip home. He didn’t intend to spend one more night in that damned motel room. The spare cane lay across the clothes and bags, just visible as a black line in amongst the colours. He suspected Paul would need it.

  A tap on his window made him jump. He looked across, startled, and saw the pockmarked face of Tacker peering in at him, a thin smile on his lips. Breathing a small sigh of relief, he opened his car door, and the biker stepped back to let him get out.

  ‘You made it,’ he said.

  ‘No shit,’ Tacker laughed. ‘Wouldn’t miss this for the world.’

  ‘Miss what?’ David asked.

  Tacker stood there grinning, his head cocked to one side. Then David noticed the noise. It was a low buzzing, like a swarm of bees, but it became louder and deeper, and he realised what it was.

  Motorcycles. A lot of motorcycles.

  A dozen headlights speared out of the darkness, splaying left and right as the riders twisted their handlebars viciously, stirring up clouds of dust in the night air. They were all headed for the car park.

  ‘Oh my god...’ David breathed.

  ‘Hey, I thought you’d have been happier, extra manpower and all,’ Tacker said, though his smile clearly showed that this was exactly the reaction he’d hoped for.

  David watched them approach with increasing horror.

  ‘Not only that,’ the big man, Goon, said from behind them, his approach masked by the noise of his fellow pack members. ‘You get a free fuckin’ set of steak knives.’

  ‘Well, not exactly,’ Tacker said, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. ‘But close enough.’

  David could only stand there, aghast. His plan was going to hell in a hand basket.

  ‘Come on, Hampden,’ Tacker said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go get your friend.’

  ‘Brother,’ David mumbled.

  ‘Whatever.’

  The bikers escorted David up the slope to the car park, marching him like wardens guiding a prisoner to the electric chair. He slipped into a kind of dismayed daze, and had to force himself back into the here and now. Put it away, David, he told himself. Jam it into the Worry About It Later box. This doesn’t change the plan from your perspective. It just gives you more leverage.

  By the time they got to the gate, the rest of the bikies had parked their rides and were approaching the carnival on foot. It was quite well lit in the car park, where overhead spotlights shone like a collection of tiny suns, so David could see the array of weapons that the gang was carrying: baseball bats and pieces of wood, pipes, chains... He looked for guns, but didn’t see any. That comforted him a little, but he was sure they had some firearms hidden nonetheless.

  The carnies had also gathered at the gate, in reaction to the obvious looming threat. It seemed word had spread fast through the tents, as there were more than twice as many carnies as there were bikies. Most of them looked to be much smaller than the leather-clad army advancing on them, so David was confident of their chances if worst came to worst. The bikies stood aside and Tacker and Goon passed through the crowd. David found himself face to face with the carnies.

  The two groups stood there for a while, eyeing each other off. Then the carnival manager, Amos, walked to the front of his little cult. His face showed no sign of fear or trepidation. In fact, he seemed irritated more than anything.

  ‘You again,’ he growled at David, as if The Pack wasn’t even there. ‘What do you want?’

  David tried to speak, but nothing came out, his mouth dry. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘I... I want you to release my brother. I know he’s there.’

  Amos nodded. ‘This time you’re correct, yes. He’s with us.’

  ‘Let him go,’ David demanded, his voice low. He was pleased to have his suspicions confirmed. If he’d been wrong, this whole debacle would have been for nothing.

  ‘He’s here of his own free will, Mr Hampden,’ a woman said, stepping up behind Amos. It was the fortune teller again. ‘He’s not a prisoner.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Goon growled on David’s left.

  David considered this. It was possible that Paul had been brainwashed or something. He knew he’d have to tread carefully. He glanced behind him at the horde of bikies - difficult to do when you’re wearing hobnail boots.

  ‘Can I see him?’

  ‘Of course,’ the woman answered, smiling. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘Trap!’ Tacker muttered in his ear.

  David was inclined to agree. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ he said to the fortune teller. ‘Bring him here.’

  ‘You’re in no position to give us orders, Mr Hampden.’ Amos stepped forward, chin raised.

  ‘No position?’ David looked back at his army and laughed. ‘I think I’m in the perfect position to give orders. Now tell the Jonestown brigade to back off, and bring my brother to me.’

  ‘How dare you!’ Amos took another step forward. Behind him the rest of the carnies did the same. David heard a rustling and clinking from The Pack, and realised they were mirroring the carnies. He was no longer afraid. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, making him feel invincible.

  ‘Wait,’ a soft voice called from inside the gate, and the manager turned to look.

  Paul came walking out through the carnies and stood next to the fortune teller.

  ‘I’m here, David. There’s no need for this,’ he said, his voice quiet and calm.

  David stepped forward and looked at his brother. He seemed to be okay, if unshaven. But there was something in his stance, something in his eyes... something wrong.

  ‘What have they done to you, Paul?’ he asked, his voice betraying a mixture of anger and concern.

  Paul smiled. ‘Nothing bad, Dave. Just given me a new life.’

  ‘Come with me,’ David said, trying to sound as soothing as he could. ‘You don’t belong here.’

  ‘You have no idea where I belong!’ Paul said, anger flaring in his eyes. ‘You don’t even know who I am. Even before we came here you didn’t have a clue.’

  ‘Come with me, Paul,’ David repeated, sterner this time. His patience was wearing thin.

  ‘No,’ Paul replied.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard him,’ the woman at his side said, still very calm.

  Tacker spoke up then. ‘Shut your fuckin’ mouth, bitch!’

  She smiled at the tall man, but there was steel in her eyes. ‘I’m sure you think that’s an insult.’

  ‘Fuckin’ A,’ Goon said, and pulled out a hunting knife that was almost as long as his forearm.

  David glanced around and saw that the other bikies were following the big man’s lead. It was like watching a glass fall off a table, knowing what would happen but being unable to do anything about it. But then he realised that the glass had fallen the minute he’d hired Tacker and Goon to back him up. The bikies never had any intention of leaving in peace.

  Take cover, he thought.

  ‘For Alfie!’ Tacker screamed, flicking his switchblade open and charging.

  ‘Alfie!’ the rest of the bikers roared, following their leader.

  David scrambled aside as the horde surged forward. The noise was almost unbearable. He heard battle cries that seemed more at place in Middle Ages warfare than in a car park in a present-day Australian town. He managed to keep his feet as he got clear of The Pack, not wanting to see the slaughter of the carnies but unable to look away.

  Then something odd happened, something he didn’t expect. The carnies didn’t break and flee. They didn’t stand their ground, either.

  They charged also.

  As they came forward, running low along the ground, David saw that the carnies didn’t look quite right. Their backs seemed too arched, their heads turned upwards at unnatural angles and their arms were in the wrong places. It looked painful somehow, but they didn’t
seem to be in any discomfort. Quite the opposite, in fact. They moved with a speed and grace that took his breath away. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t...

  It wasn’t human.

  As the first wave of carnies leapt at The Pack, letting loose a high-pitched ululating bellow, their teeth bared, David at last understood what the group of people who had brought him here in the first place had meant, and why they feared and hated these people... these things... so much.

  It wasn’t a cult, not at all. It was something much, much more than that, something David had never imagined could exist in the world he knew. He remembered the occasional drunken rants his father used to give, to his wife and children if they were around, or just to an empty room if he couldn’t find an audience. Incoherent ramblings about demons, devils and animal spirits that were a splinter in the eye of God. As much as he’d respected his father, as much as he’d inherited his beliefs over the years, he’d never truly believed in any of the darker imagery that had occasionally reared its seven ugly, ten-horned heads.

  Until now.

  The bikies’ cries of rage and defiance quickly curdled into screams of pain and terror. What began as a charge became a massacre. David found himself all but hypnotised by the chaotic, bloody dance that was unfolding there, in a mundane car park under a dozen bright halogen bulbs.

  A biker staggered backwards with his entire cheek missing, red-stained teeth and gums visible through the ragged hole in his face. Another was being torn to ribbons by three of the carnies. Strips of flesh flew into the air, leaving a fine trail of black blood behind them. Everywhere he looked he saw death.

  And he couldn’t look away. God help him, he couldn’t look away.

  Male and female carnies alike were cutting through The Pack like a scythe, toppling them one after another. He caught a glimpse of Tacker and Goon retreating, panicked, using their own gang members as shields as they struggled to get to their bikes. He almost hoped they’d make it. As vicious as the two men were, they paled in comparison to these... these monsters.

  Something at the corner of his vision caught his attention. He turned and saw Paul standing there, apart from the battle. No, ‘battle’ was too civilised a word for it. Away from the slaughter. The bloodbath. Paul looked on in a daze, his expression probably a mirror image of David’s. Two men at the edge of a murderous clash - the two men who had caused it all in the first place. David shook himself out of the trance he’d been in, and reminded himself why he’d come here in the first place.

  He stumbled across the car park, keeping well clear of the many small fights that the whole melee was made up of, and ended up behind Paul. He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, but Paul didn’t react.

  ‘Paul?’ he said, trying to make himself heard over the racket, but not so loud as to attract the attention of the creatures. He had to do this while they were distracted, otherwise the whole sorry mess would be for nothing.

  ‘Paul?’

  Still no reaction.

  ‘Paul, come on. Let’s go.’

  ‘Go?’ Paul’s voice was distant, vague.

  ‘Yes, go,’ David said. It took a great deal of effort to keep the stress from his voice.

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘Home, Paul. Let’s go home.’

  Paul spun around then, his eyes blazing, his teeth bared in a vicious sneer.

  ‘I am home!’ he snarled, and lunged at David’s neck. The pain burst in his flesh like a water balloon, soaking him, as Paul’s teeth sank into the soft meat of his throat. He felt a gush of hot liquid run down his neck and chest. Screaming, he bit down on his tongue, and his mouth filled with blood, the copper-bitter taste overwhelming almost every other sensation. His world faded, turning grey at the edges, then black. The only thing he could see now was the top of Paul’s head as his brother continued to tear at his throat, growling as he did so.

  As he lost consciousness, his last thought was simple, and very sad: Too late...

  -25-

  The rage left Paul as fast as it had arrived, like a bolt of lightning passing through his body and out of his feet. It left him raw and shaking. He opened his mouth, releasing his brother’s throat from the death grip his teeth had taken on it. He staggered backwards, away from David, aghast. His brother stood there for a few moments longer, his face ashen, his shirtfront soaked in a dark liquid that continued to bubble and flow down from the jagged wound in his neck. Then his eyes rolled up, and he folded backwards, tumbling to the ground. He hit the slope at the edge of the car park and rolled down and away, vanishing from the overhead lights.

  Paul stood there for a while longer, looking at the spot where his brother had fallen and vanished. There was blood all over the gravel, staining the pebbles. David’s blood.

  I killed him.

  The thought echoed in Paul’s head, over and over again, overwhelming everything else.

  I killed him.

  He barely noticed that the pitched battle that had been taking place around him had abated to a few minor scuffles. A few gang members were still fleeing. He didn’t hear the dozens of victorious howls. All he could see was the blackened gravel, and all he could hear was his own voice inside his skull.

  I killed him.

  Somewhere to his left, he registered Amos talking to the rest of the carnies.

  ‘Cost?’

  ‘We’re all okay. A couple of cuts and scratches, nothing that won’t heal up in a few hours.’

  ‘And them?’

  ‘Six dead. The rest gone.’

  ‘Any infections?’

  ‘No, sir. The ones that got away, got away clean.’

  ‘Good.’

  A hand touched Paul’s shoulder, and Rachel’s voice came to him as if from a great distance.

  ‘Paul?’

  I killed him, he continued to think. He said nothing.

  ‘Paul, we have to leave now,’ she said, her hand still on his shoulder. ‘It’s dangerous to stay here.’

  I killed him.

  ‘Paul?’

  ‘I killed him,’ he said out loud, still looking at the gravel. ‘I killed him.’

  She glanced at the spot where his eyes were fixed, sighed as she saw the blood.

  ‘Paul, it can’t be helped now,’ she murmured. ‘What’s done is done.’

  ‘I killed...’

  ‘He killed himself,’ Amos interrupted, walking up to them. ‘We didn’t ask for a fight. They attacked us.’

  ‘I...’

  The carnival manager slapped him without warning, hard. There was a loud crack and Paul’s head snapped to one side. His ears were ringing, and his left cheek was on fire.

  ‘Get a grip, Hampden,’ he growled, ‘or we’ll leave you here with your brother.’ He bared his teeth. ‘In the same manner, in fact.’

  Paul looked at Amos, tears burning his eyes. ‘Fuck you,’ he hissed.

  ‘Better.’ Amos nodded. ‘Anger will get you moving. We don’t have time for remorse. Later perhaps, but not now.’ He turned to Rachel. ‘Take him back to the caravan. Leave him there while we gather what we can. We’ll have to come back for the rest tomorrow.’ He shifted his attention to the rest of the carnies. ‘Grab what you can carry!’ he called to them. ‘We move out in half an hour!’

  The carnies moved off at once, not questioning the order. They never did, Paul noticed. The alpha male was to be obeyed at all times, no matter what. Only Rachel seemed to question his judgment, and even then only on occasions. Paul envied that - the respect and the power - not to mention the alpha female’s companionship. A sudden horrible image struck him: Rachel naked on all fours, soaked in sweat, with Amos behind her, taking her like an animal, snarling and growling. He shook his head, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the picture in his mind. It stirred up emotions inside him, revulsion and anger. And jealousy.

  ‘Come on,’ Rachel said, taking his elbow and guiding him away from the bloodied car park, away from the remains of the slain bikies, towards the gates.

  H
e looked down at the bodies as they passed them.

  ‘What about them?’ he asked. ‘We can’t just leave them here.’

  Rachel hushed him. ‘It will all be taken care of,’ she said.

  Paul didn’t have the energy to argue the point. They passed through the gate and soon reached the big caravan where he’d slept the night before. He didn’t even notice the short journey there. His feet seemed to move by themselves, and his mind was clouded with a bitter mixture of thoughts and feelings. Rachel led him up the metal steps and opened the door for him.

  ‘Just relax in there for a while,’ she told him. ‘We’ll be back soon.’

  Then the door closed, and he was engulfed by darkness.

  ‘What happened?’ Ben’s gruff voice rumbled from the shadows. ‘It sounded like a fight.’

  ‘A fight, yes,’ Paul said, numb. His legs folded and he sat down hard on the floor. The impact sent a pulse of pain up his spine. He scarcely felt it. ‘A fight.’

  ‘I thought so.’ There was a rustling as Ben sat up, then came a little closer. ‘Are you all right?’

  Paul nodded, then realised the man-beast wouldn’t be able to see the gesture. ‘I’m okay,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t sound okay.’

  Paul didn’t say anything for a few seconds. ‘Why weren’t you there?’ he asked finally. ‘I would have thought...’

  ‘That I would have enjoyed it?’ Ben finished for him.

  ‘Paul, my act in the freak show tent is just that. An act.’ He sighed. ‘I have no stomach for violence.’

  ‘I hear you,’ Paul said, miserable. He saw his brother’s face in his mind again, drained of blood, unconscious, just before he fell. He pushed the image away, and decided to change the subject. ‘Ben, I’ve been meaning to ask you...’

  ‘How did I end up like this?’

  There was a sudden flare of light, as Ben lit up his gas lamp. It blinded Paul for a moment, but after a blink he could make out the huge, shaggy creature sitting there, looking at Paul.