Carnies Page 23

  ‘Now,’ he said in a low voice, ‘I’d like the rest of the camp to gather together, please.’ He looked around.

  ‘This building is too small, though. Perhaps your house?’

  She nodded. Above them there was a rhythmic hollow patter on the wooden roof, as rain fell again. It seemed symbolic to David somehow, portentous. A cleansing.

  ‘Good. Let’s go and spread the word, shall we?’

  He reached to put the finger back in his pocket, but hesitated, then pulled the ring from it, wiped some blood from the gold and placed it on his own finger. It clinked against his wedding ring. For a split second he had a vision of his wife Christine, smiling on their wedding day. Then another vision of her, overlayed on the first, splattered with her own arterial blood. He blinked both images away.

  He took the fortune teller’s hand firmly in his, with the knife still in the other, and led her out into the camp to gather her flock.

  Appropriate word, his father’s voice said with a soft chuckle. A flock. Like lambs to the slaughter.

  -39-

  The van’s windscreen wipers tried in vain to clear the rain off the glass. But all they managed to do was smear the accumulated dirt across it in a series of parallel arcs, which obscured the highway ahead of them. This made Paul quite nervous. Alvan was going at a fair clip, but the little man seemed unperturbed by the lack of vision. Perhaps he was used to it. His silver van didn’t appear to have ever been washed, except by the occasional downpour.

  ‘Shit,’ Alvan grunted as he looked at the dashboard.

  ‘What?’ Paul asked.

  ‘Petrol. We’re running on fumes.’ He reached forward and tapped the fuel gauge. ‘If that.’

  ‘Oh, great,’ Paul sighed. ‘Maybe I should go on ahead on foot?’

  Alvan thought about this for a moment. ‘No, we’d better stick together,’ he decided. ‘Strength in numbers. And anyway,’ he pointed out, ‘how far would you get on that leg?’

  ‘It’s healing,’ Paul protested, but he knew Alvan was right. It would be quicker to stop and get some petrol.

  ‘In any case,’ the little man said as he peered out of the windscreen, ‘the petrol station is on the way. It’s right here, in fact.’

  Paul looked out too, and could just make out the sign that hung above the road. Once again he had that eerie feeling of déjà vu, of an echo of a past life. He’d been here before, twice: once on the way to Tillbrook for the very first time, driving David’s car, and once the next day on foot. It almost felt like his life was rewinding, going back over everything that had happened for another look. It was unnerving.

  The van pulled into the petrol station and stopped next to the bowser. Alvan stopped the engine and hopped out of the car, keys in hand. He ran around to the side of the car and opened the petrol tank, put the cap on the flat roof, then jogged over to Paul’s window.

  ‘Put twenty bucks in it,’ he said, puffing a little. ‘I’ll go and pay now to save some time.’

  Paul nodded and opened his door, stepped out onto the bitumen, then limped over to the petrol tank. He regretted leaving his cane in the van as he grabbed the petrol pump from the bowser. He inserted it into the tank and squeezed the lever. There was a pause, then the numbers on the bowser spun around to zero, and the petrol flowed.

  It took less than a minute to reach the twenty dollar mark. The price of petrol down here was pretty steep. He shook the nozzle a few times, rattled it against the edges of the tank, withdrew it and put it back on the bowser.

  That was when he smelled blood in the air.

  He turned in the direction of the wind, and saw the young man stumble from the bushes next to the petrol station. His light-brown beard was flecked with blood - his own. Paul recognised him from the carnival. It was Toby, the one who’d overseen his first - and last - day of work at the carnival. He clutched his side as he staggered into the open, and his eyelids flickered. He was covered in dirt and scratches, and had obviously run through the woods to get here. He saw Paul, and headed towards him, but his legs gave out and he collapsed face down on the pavement.

  ‘Christ!’ Paul gasped, and hobbled over to Toby. He was still not able to put much weight on his sore leg. He knelt down and turned him over. He wore the same home-repaired clothes that most of the carnies wore, and the side of his thick woollen shirt was soaked with blood. ‘Christ,’ he said again, under his breath this time. He pulled off his own jumper and pressed it against the bloody spot. The young man cried out a little when he did so.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Paul said as he kept pressure on the wound. He turned his head towards the petrol station building itself. ‘Alvan!’ he yelled. ‘Alvan!’

  Alvan came out of the station, looking a little confused. Then he saw the man on the ground and ran towards them. Behind him, station owner, Noelene, had come out also. She walked over, her head cocked with annoyed curiosity. Paul heard a young voice from his right.

  ‘Toby!’

  He looked over and saw the little girl he’d met a few days earlier, Sarah. She ran over to her brother, her hair flying behind her.

  When Sarah called his name the woman froze for a moment, then ran too, frantic.

  Sarah reached them first and fell to her knees on the bitumen. It must have hurt like hell, but she didn’t seem to notice. ‘Toby!’ she wailed, tears running down her face. She reached out to touch his face. ‘Toby!’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Paul tried to reassure her, but she paid him no attention as she stroked her brother’s cheeks.

  Alvan arrived then, and stood over them. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he breathed. ‘Toby? What happened?’

  The young man’s eyes were unfocused, but he understood. ‘Two men,’ he breathed. ‘Attacked the camp. God, the Billys...’ He coughed a few times, and there was some blood in it. Sarah cried even harder. He turned his head to face his sister. ‘It’s all right, Sair,’ he said to her, smiling a little. ‘It’s all right.’

  She cried harder still.

  Her mother came up behind Alvan, and peered over his shoulder. Her expression was tentative, afraid.

  Toby didn’t seem to notice this, but instead turned his attention to Paul. ‘They heard me. One threw a knife at me, got me across the side. It burned, silver...’ He flinched as Paul pressed against the wound. ‘The other one came after me. I ran. First I just ran away, but after a while... after a while I ran... home,’ he finished, closing his eyes.

  ‘T... Toby?’ Noelene spoke at last, her voice shaky and soft.

  The young man’s eyes opened again. ‘Mum?’

  And then she was on her knees, at his side, cradling his head in her arms, rocking him, crying as if she hadn’t cried in years. Perhaps she hadn’t.

  ‘He’ll be okay,’ Alvan told her, putting a hand on her shoulder. Then he turned to Paul. ‘We have to get him inside. Then we have to go.’

  Paul looked up at him and nodded. He turned to the little girl. ‘Sarah?’

  She turned her tear-filled eyes from her brother’s face and looked at Paul, blinking.

  ‘Sarah, I need you to press this against Toby’s side,’ he told her, nodding at the jumper. ‘Keep pressing it, really hard. Okay?’

  She nodded and sniffled a little, but the expression on her face was strong, determined. She seemed a good kid, and Paul thought she’d do the job, scared or not.

  Once Sarah had her little hands pressed against Toby’s side, Paul released his jumper. His hands were smeared with blood, but moved around to the young man’s head, edging his mother aside. He slid his hands under Toby’s armpits, as Alvan walked around and took his feet. They looked at one another, gave a tiny nod, then lifted.

  The short walk to the building was awkward. Paul still couldn’t put much weight on his leg, and Alvan wasn’t very strong. Sarah had to hurry to keep up, as well as maintain the pressure and keep the blood-soaked jumper in place. Noelene ran ahead and opened the doors, holding them as they carried her son inside. She pushed past them, went to the back
of the store and opened another door, this one marked PRIVATE.

  ‘In here,’ she said, breathless, tears still flowing down her cheeks.

  They managed to get the young man through the door, beyond which was a small living room with a large couch that almost filled it. It was bright orange, upholstered in a rough corduroy, and looked like it had travelled through time from the seventies almost without a scratch. They lay Toby down on the couch. He drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes muttering incoherent words before lapsing back into silence for a while. Once he was down, Alvan turned to Noelene.

  ‘Do you know first aid?’ he asked her.

  She nodded with a shaky smile, her uneasy eyes unable to meet his. ‘We get all sorts of injuries here. Seen some shockers over the years.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘You should be able to bandage him up. Make sure you wash the wound thoroughly first. Hopefully that’ll get rid of most of the silver residue.’

  ‘Silver?’ she asked, her voice small and afraid. ‘My god...’

  ‘Why so shocked, Noelene?’ Alvan asked, his tone a little cruel. ‘Isn’t this what you and your little club wanted?’

  She shook her head. ‘No...’

  He laughed without humour. ‘You people were so brave in theory, but when it comes down to the nitty gritty, you’re cowards. And now someone else is doing your dirty work for you, and you’ve lost your nerve.’

  ‘Alvan,’ Paul murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t...’

  ‘Be careful what you wish for,’ Alvan continued, ignoring him. Noelene was crying again now. ‘Isn’t that what they say? Isn’t it?’

  Sarah looked up at the little man. Tiny streaks ran down her cheeks. But she wasn’t crying now. ‘Please,’ she said in a small voice, ‘please don’t yell. Please?’

  Alvan looked at the little girl, then at her mother, and fell silent. He took a few steps back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I...’

  ‘Come on, Alvan,’ Paul said, still leaning on his shoulder. ‘We have to go.’

  The little man turned to Paul, his eyes confused for a second. Then he blinked once, twice. ‘Yes. Yes, of course,’ he said finally. He turned back to the family, mother and son and daughter. ‘I...’ he started, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

  They left without another word, left Noelene to care for her son. Paul hopped towards the door back into the petrol station, Alvan at his side. They closed the door behind them. The sign on the door said it all: PRIVATE.

  Yeah, Paul thought, as it should be.

  -40-

  It took longer than David had expected to gather the carnival folk together. That was one disadvantage of the confusion he’d caused by removing Amos from their midst. Nobody knew who to listen to, who to follow. It was chaotic, which was fine at first, when he’d wanted them that way, but now it was interfering with his plans. He had it all mapped out in his head, like an orienteering plan, each waypoint following the one before it. But getting to the next waypoint was much slower than he’d anticipated, and it was bothering him more than it really should have.

  Stop fretting, his father’s stern voice ordered him. It’s not important.

  ‘Yes it is,’ he replied, mindless of the other carnies in the room with him, who were looking at him with a combination of curiosity and fear. He was surprised by the number of children here, and animals too. But then again, they were all animals, in one form or another.

  He sat in a large chair at the end of a roomy audience hall, which made up the majority of the building they were in. This was Amos and Rachel’s house, but it was closer in function to a town hall, with only a small domicile at the rear for the two to live in. It would hold all the carnies, even if a few hadn’t already been picked off by David and his assistant.

  Speaking of which... David looked around, concerned, wondering where Tacker had got to. He’d told the man to fetch, but that had easily been an hour ago now. He could have run to town and back again in that time. What could have happened to him?

  Don’t rely on him, his father cautioned. He’s more like them than like you. He’ll turn on us.

  ‘Tacker? No, he wouldn’t,’ David said. ‘He’s a good boy. Like me. Like...’

  Like Paul? The voice was cold now. Blood may be thicker than water, but even that wasn’t strong enough to hold him, was it?

  That shut David up. He sat there for a moment, thoughtful.

  You cannot trust anyone, David. Anyone except me.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, as if in a trance.

  Do you trust me, son?

  ‘Yes.’

  Good. His father’s voice softened then. You are a good boy, David. You always have been.

  David frowned. ‘But...’

  But?

  When he spoke again, his voice was soft, like a child’s.

  ‘But why did you hit me, then?’

  There was a long silence in his head. David waited for an answer. He knew there had to be one. A good one.

  To make you good, his father said at last. The way a smith takes a hammer to his steel and creates a sword. I didn’t beat you, David. I forged you.

  ‘Forged...’ he breathed. ‘Yes...’

  Without that, you’d have ended up like Paul. Swallowed by the demon.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Rachel stepped close to him. She’d been overseeing the arrival of the carnies. They came in fits and starts, three or four at a time, then none for minutes afterwards. She’d told a number of the senior carnies to gather everyone here for a meeting, and let word travel by itself. She said it would be quicker and easier that way. David was beginning to doubt that, though. He looked at her, a little disoriented.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you all right?’ she repeated, a strange look in her eyes. What was it? Concern? No, impossible. ‘You carry something,’ she said softly, frowning. ‘Something that weighs you down.’

  David’s laugh was harsh. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong, my dear,’ he said, confident.

  ‘Couldn’t I?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s twisting you, David,’ she said, moving another step closer. ‘Can’t you see that? The change, the physical change, usually takes weeks, or even months, and is a smooth and functional transformation. In you, it’s happened in a matter of days, with no rhyme or reason. If it continues, it may destroy you, like a cancer.’

  ‘A cancer?’ he asked, incredulous. ‘No, you are the cancer, you and your demon friends here. Spreading from person to person, corrupting all that you touch.’ He glared at her. ‘Never speak to me that way again. You hear me?’

  She nodded and stepped back, but somewhere in her eyes was a glint of a tiny victory. She’d hit a nerve.

  David shrugged. If they were a cancer, then he would be the scalpel.

  A large carnie came into the hall, the first for quite some time. He was alone.

  ‘Carl,’ Rachel whispered to him and looked around.

  ‘Is that it?’

  Carl nodded, but his eyes did not met hers.

  A note of despair crept into her voice. ‘The Billys?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ David said, his voice light. ‘We killed those two bumpkins at the gate getting in here. I’m sure Carl here found their bodies.’

  The big man nodded, his eyes angry. But he didn’t act. None of them did, not while their precious leader’s bitch was in his control.

  ‘And Toby?’ she asked, hopeful.

  Carl shook his head. ‘I found some blood, and two sets of tracks. I followed as far as I dared, then came back.’

  David laughed. ‘Ah, that must be the peeping tom I sent Tacker after. Don’t worry, they’ll be back. He’s an excellent retriever.’ That made him laugh even more.

  ‘So this is everyone, then,’ Rachel said, turning to David.

  His laughter stopped, like a switch had been flipped inside his head. He was serious. ‘About time,’ he muttered, then stood up.

  ‘Good folk of Dervish Carnival,’ he announced, ‘
I think you all know who I am. Or at least, you all think you do. But you’re wrong.’ He held up his hand and displayed the ring he wore there now, the ring that he’d removed from Amos’ hand, along with the finger that bore it. There was a gasp from the crowd.

  ‘Your manager is gone,’ he said. ‘And now I shall take everything he had.’

  Their reaction surprised him. He’d expected furious protests, anger, rebellion. Instead, they all seemed to shrink back, cowed by him. He didn’t understand at first.

  But his father did. It is the power of death, he explained. By killing their leader, you have become their leader. The same way some heathen tribes believed they could gain the strength of their enemies by consuming their flesh.

  David grinned. He rather liked that idea. For a moment he looked around the room, and considered actually leading these creatures. He would be a god unto them, to command and control as he saw fit. He could refashion them in his own image. Bring them back to the path of light.

  And the woman... he glanced across at Rachel, at the swell of her breasts beneath her heavy jumper, the hollow of her neck just above the collar... He was a little light headed and his breathing was ragged. Yes, he could do this. He could...

  No! The voice in his head was so loud that it hurt him. He flinched and staggered back, closing his eyes and clapping his hands to his head. The first commandment, boy, is: ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me’. Do not be tempted by power over these monsters. Do you want to lead them? To lie with one of them? To be one of them?

  ‘No...’ he mumbled, then louder. ‘No!’

  He opened his eyes, and saw the creatures looking up at him with frightened curiosity. They seemed docile enough, but he knew better now. Any sign of weakness would be seized on, any vulnerability would be exploited. He straightened himself, returned his hands to his sides and smiled.

  ‘However,’ he continued as if nothing had happened, ‘this gathering is not quite complete. In particular, we still have one person unaccounted for. One very... special person.’