Night Lights, page 6
She barked again, the kind of strained guard-dog howl she used when she heard voices in our street late at night. The kind of bark she used to warn us that something wasn’t right.
I called her back to me. She wouldn’t come. I doubted she could even hear me over the racket she was making. I tried not to picture some poor wild animal hiding in a hollowed-out log as Scout circled and pounced, trying to flush it out.
“Scout!” I called again.
Above her barking was another sound, a rhythmic thudding noise. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It might have been my own heartbeat in my ears, my pulse thumping at my temples.
“Scout!”
I was frustrated now. She was never this disobedient. Just as I started marching up the trail to find her, Scout’s bark was cut off by a high-pitched yelp. I stopped, my breath catching. Scout reappeared, a streak of chocolate and caramel fur, her paws thundering down the muddy trail. She almost knocked me off-balance as she tore past me and kept going.
“Jesus, dog! What the hell?”
I peered up the trail behind me, trying to detect any sound or movement in the undergrowth.
What did she see? Did something take a swipe at her?
A shiver rippled through me. The drizzly rain hissed like static.
“Scout!” I called.
“Scout!” my voice echoed through the trees.
But it wasn’t a faithful echo, more like something mimicking me in a crude way.
“Scout?” I repeated, my voice weaker.
The word echoed again. Closer this time.
I jerked around, scouring my immediate surroundings.
Is someone screwing with me?
Is that who Scout was barking at?
Maybe it was a bird. Lyrebirds imitated other birds, didn’t they? They could even imitate other sounds like chainsaws and car alarms. Could lyrebirds fly? Maybe that was what had disappeared up into the canopy. Maybe Scout chased one into the undergrowth.
Maybe.
My pulse kicked up a notch. I hurried down the trail after Scout, my footfalls clumsy and uneven. Panic rose in my chest and I forced myself to be more careful so I didn’t twist my ankle. Dad would shake his head in disgust if he could see me right now, freaking out about nature like it was trying to kill me. Uncle Marty would probably crack a joke though, to make me feel better. Nice one, Bear Grylls, he’d say. That’ll teach you to go outside.
I’d completely lost sight of Scout now. How far ahead did she run?
“Scout!” I called again.
“Scout,” something mimicked right behind me.
I spun around. “What the fu—”
The trail was empty. I detected a flicker of movement.
A tall shadow slipped behind a tree.
My breath stalled. I couldn’t blink, my eyes glued to the moss-covered trunk. A drip of water fell from my hair onto my lashes. My arms were too stiff to reach up and wipe it away.
Somebody’s definitely screwing with me.
I cocked my ear to listen for the snap of a twig, the brush of clothing against leaves. Maybe even a snigger.
Beneath the white noise of light rain, the bush was quiet.
Scout barked in the distance. It snapped me out of my stupor. I backed up a few steps, almost tripping on a tree root, before turning and stumbling down the muddy trail in the direction Scout disappeared. The further I ran, the more narrow and overgrown the trail became. My lungs were tight, my breath laboured. I hunted for my inhaler and yanked it out of my pocket with a jittery hand. It slipped from my grip and I fumbled for it, a clumsy hand-to-hand juggle before I managed to snatch hold. I only took my eyes off the path for a second. By the time I looked up, a shape had emerged from the undergrowth.
In my attempt to stop, my sneakers slipped. I skidded into the stranger with no chance of slowing. My body smacked hard – a dull thump, a solid head clash – and I tumbled straight over the top, landing awkwardly on my backside.
A male voice groaned. “What the hell, man?”
He stayed down for a second. Like me, he was probably assessing his damage. My elbow and wrist were tender from breaking my fall, but nothing felt sprained or broken. I’d probably have a killer headache soon. Right now my biggest grievance was sloppy mud seeping through the seat of my trackpants.
I hauled myself up, using the large fronds of a nearby fern for leverage.
“Were you following me?” I accused the stranger.
The guy struggled to his feet, his back to me. “Huh?”
He touched tentative fingers to the side of his head. When he pulled them away, they were smeared with red.
My stomach roiled at the sight of blood. I drew a sharp breath and looked away. It was then I noticed a meandering path cutting up through the ferns from the main walking track. It disappeared over a small rise into dense bushland. Did he come from there? If that was the case, he hadn’t been following me at all.
“You ran into me,” he said, turning around with a scowl. “How could I be following you?”
His face was familiar; it took a second for me to place him. It was the guy from The Flying Saucer, the one who’d been sitting at the counter yesterday with the bearded bloke.
He looked a couple of years older than me, with pudgy cheeks and a round belly poking out the front of his puffer jacket. His mop of blond hair was soaked through – he’d been out in the weather for some time.
“Your head is …” My voice trailed off as I indicated the cut on his temple. It didn’t look deep, more of a graze. Still, I felt guilty about the blood.
“No shit,” he said, dabbing his head with the sleeve of his jacket. “What are you even doing out here?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
He jerked his chin in the direction I came from.
“This section of the walking track is closed,” he said. “Didn’t you see the sign?”
I glanced past him at the narrow trail clogged with undergrowth. Did I overlook a sign when I was running?
The guy muttered an insult about “dumb-arse tourists” under his breath.
I bristled. “What are you doing here, then?”
His round face screwed up like a sulky kid. Even though he was taller than me and his frame much bulkier, he had the clear skin and plump features of an oversized eight-year-old.
“I’ve lived here my whole life,” he said. “I know which parts are dangerous.”
Dangerous? Was this guy serious? The rain had created a bit of mud and a swollen creek, but I hadn’t seen anything particularly treacherous.
“I was walking my dog,” I said. “I didn’t see a sign.”
Why was I even justifying myself to this stranger? He was out here on the closed bush track as well.
“Dog?” he said, holding up muddy hands and turning around. “What dog?”
He shook his head at me. Did he think I was lying? As if on cue, the sound of Scout’s collar tinkled on the track ahead of us. She appeared, tongue lolling and tail wagging. My chest expanded with vindication.
Nice one, Scoutsy.
The guy grumbled something under his breath and bent over to retrieve a grubby sports bag upended on the wet ground between us. The zipper was partially open, and when he snatched up the bag, a few items spilled out around our feet. I reached for a roll of duct tape and held it out to him. He yanked it out of my hand without a word, shoving it inside the bag along with a water bottle and a headlamp. As he tugged the zipper closed, some small black plastic boxes caught my attention. He saw me looking and abruptly pointed past me to where Scout was standing on the path.
“That’s the fastest way out of here,” he said. “Keep following this straight, and you’ll come out at the main road. Don’t take any of the side trails. Stick to this one.”
“Why can’t I go back the way I came?”
He scoffed like he couldn’t believe I wasn’t getting it.
“It’s closed.” He gestured again. “Go that way.”
I called Scout over to me and clipped the lead to her collar, ensuring she wouldn’t run off in the direction this guy was so intent on keeping us away from. He stood there and watched us leave, as if he didn’t want me to know where he was headed. I felt like a little kid being sent to time-out, the weight of mud in the seat of my pants only adding to the humiliation.
As we reached a bend in the path, I threw a quick look over my shoulder. The guy was still staring me down, his sports bag gripped in one hand. He lifted his chin like he was daring me to double back and challenge him. In truth, I was relieved there was another route out of here that meant I didn’t have to return to the cabin via the creek.
Something had freaked me out down there. I was quite happy never finding out what it was.
The walk back to Cooee Cabin was a miserable slog all the way back up Prospect Way from the bottom of the hill. I’d emerged from the bush at the main road into town, and realised how disorientated I’d become when I passed the sign for Mine Tours and had to double back to the turn-off. I conceded that running around like a loose cannon on a closed bush track probably was more dangerous than I realised, especially since there could be old exposed mine shafts dotted around.
By mid-afternoon my morning adventures had already faded, and I felt more than a little foolish for getting weirded out by whatever I imagined I’d heard earlier in the bush. After scrubbing my trackpants in the bathtub and hanging them up to dry, I tried to keep Nika entertained with card games like Snap and Go Fish while she was confined to her bed. Her eyes soon became watery and irritated with fatigue, so I let her sleep. The doctor wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly what she was suffering from, but he reminded Mum and Marty that kids pick up all sorts of viruses all the time. They needed to ensure she was well-hydrated and received plenty of rest, and they were welcome to bring her back to the medical centre in a few days if she wasn’t improving.
“He checked Nika’s temperature and it was normal,” Mum said. “She seemed to perk up while we were out, and now she’s crashed again this afternoon. She’s all over the place.”
My own throat felt raw, but I kept that to myself. One sick kid was plenty for Mum to deal with, especially while she was suffering from headaches herself.
Nika made it to the couch at dinnertime to nibble on dry toast and watch cartoons. When Marty noticed the rainclouds had finally cleared, he suggested we head out onto the verandah after we’d finished washing up. I was more than happy to escape the stuffy cabin for a few lungfuls of clean country air.
“Me too?” Nika said, a hopeful tremor in her voice. She reached a limp arm towards our uncle and wiggled her fingers.
“You aren’t well, sweetie,” Mum told her. “It’s almost time for bed.”
“I’ve been in bed all day,” Nika said, her voice catching. She appealed to Uncle Marty again, her lower lip wobbling.
“It’s a nice clear night,” he said to Mum. “Let her come out and stargaze for a little while.”
“It’s cold.”
“She can have a warm bath before bed.” Marty gave his sister a hangdog expression, clasping his hands together like he was begging. “Pwease?”
Mum tutted in a playful way. “Fine. Just while I run the bath. You’d better wrap her up like a burrito, though.”
“Can do.” Marty quickly obliged, prompting a muffled giggle from Nika as he swaddled her in a sleeping bag and carried her like a newborn. “Come on, my big baby.”
“Not a baby,” Nika said, wiggling her hand free to suck her thumb. That made us laugh. Even in her weakened state, my sister grinned at her own comic timing.
To my surprise, Dad trailed out onto the verandah behind us, one fist gripping a beer bottle, the other dragging a plastic garden chair. He’d been practically ignoring Marty since yesterday’s argument, and it was clear there was still tension there. I felt ashamed to think it, but my first impulse was to wish Dad would go back inside. Had Mum been in his ear about interacting with me more, forcing the kind of father-son bonding that came so easily with Zach?
Or was this simply Dad’s way of disrupting the time I spent with my uncle?
The light from the cabin windows didn’t reach any further than the verandah railing, the encroaching night-time absorbing all definition in the bush beyond. The last hint of dusk was visible behind Wooralla Ridge, a dusting of powder blue that created a jagged silhouette of the mountains.
“Let your eyes adjust,” I told Nika as Marty lowered her to the floor. Her sleeping bag rustled as she found her footing. Marty held her steady by the shoulders since her arms were tucked firmly inside her cocoon. “You’ll soon be able to make out more and more stars.”
“Are these the same stars Zach can see right now?” she asked me.
“It’ll be morning over there,” I said. “The sky will be blue.”
“Doubt it,” Dad said with a hint of bitterness. “Miserable and grey, more like.” He shifted, the plastic chair creaking beneath his weight. “Why would anyone bother with the place?”
To see something of the world, I wanted to say. To experience something new.
If it wasn’t Australian, Dad wasn’t interested. It didn’t seem to register with him that his bloodline was Irish, even with a surname like Murtagh and a son with flaming red hair and freckles.
“Look,” Marty said, moving Nika’s chin and holding his arm out straight. His finger traced a kite shape in the air. “There’s the Southern Cross. Can you see it?”
Nika wiggled a hand out of her sleeping bag and used her own finger to count the five stars in the constellation.
“And the two pointers,” I said, poking my own finger at the sky. The view was so clear out here without city lights and pollution. If I stared long enough without blinking, I could make out the dusty cloud of the Milky Way.
“That star is moving,” Nika claimed. “Look. Look!”
I crouched beside her and followed the line of her arm. I spotted the white dot she was referring to, moving steadily in a north-easterly direction.
“Must be a satellite,” I told her.
“Look at it go,” Marty said wistfully. We all watched in silence for a few moments as it glided across the black expanse.
Dad’s chair creaked behind us. He didn’t bother getting up to look for himself. I heard him swallow several times before speaking.
“It’s a plane,” he grunted, stifling a burp. “Satellites don’t have lights.”
“What difference does that make?” Marty said, glancing over his shoulder. “They’re lit up because their panels are reflecting sunlight.”
“Sunlight?” Dad scoffed. “It’s night-time, genius. The sun’s out on the other side of the globe.”
Marty glanced at me and it was a struggle for him to keep a straight face. “There’s no night-time in space,” he calmly explained. “While it’s night down here, satellites up there can still be illuminated by the sun.”
I sensed the way my father was watching him. It made me shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. There was nothing patronising in Marty’s tone; there didn’t really need to be. Dad hated being made a fool of. It’s something my grandpa used to do when he was still alive, the way he’d bring up Dad’s shortcomings after one too many whiskies. “Young Mick’s always been the dopey one,” he’d tell us grandkids with a wink, like we were some of his buddies from the bowling club. “My older lad, on the other hand … he’s got his head screwed on. Mick could learn a thing or two from him.”
I’d have almost felt sorry for Dad about having to put up with that sort of humiliation if he didn’t do exactly the same thing to his own two sons.
“It’s gone!” Nika said now.
I blinked and realised I couldn’t see the satellite anymore either. “Yeah, it disappeared.”
“That means it must have moved into Earth’s shadow,” Marty said. “Keep looking, we might spot another one.”
Quietening as we searched the heavens, I suddenly became aware of trilling crickets and chirping frogs, the unceasing soundtrack of the bush that seemed to fade into the background when your mind was elsewhere.
“There!” Marty said. “Gotcha.” He directed Nika’s sightline to another satellite, this time moving in a north-east to south-west direction. It tracked towards the horizon with a leisurely predictability.
“Wheeeee …” Nika said quietly, leaning her head back to rest against Marty’s ribs.
Just before the moving orb dropped out of sight behind Wooralla Ridge, it took a sharp turn and started gliding east.
“Whoa!” I spluttered. “Did you see that?”
“It changed its mind,” Nika said.
“It did!” I turned to Marty for confirmation. “It changed direction.”
My uncle straightened, tilting his head. “That’s strange. Surely it would keep orbiting on the same course at the same speed.”
Dad hauled himself out of the plastic chair, his interest piqued. He leaned his elbows on the railing beside me, his beer bottle thunking against the wood. It didn’t take him long to locate what we were looking at – the moving light was clear and dazzling, cutting an obvious path across the sky.
Then, as if it was bouncing off an invisible wall, the satellite changed direction again.
“It’s going straight up,” Nika said.
Marty made a distracted noise of agreement, his eyes glued to the sky above Wooralla Ridge.
The bright light seemed to grow fuzzy around the edges. I blinked a few times to clear my vision, the cold night air making my eyes watery. Nika reached a hand up to rub her own eyes, and I realised it wasn’t our vision that was faulty. The light was shifting and changing. Two vivid orbs emerged from the original satellite, one rising above it, the other dropping below. An organised line.
It had somehow split into three.
“Wha …?” I heard myself say.
Marty drew an audible breath.
The middle light seemed to pulse in a rhythm, brighter than the others. I blinked over and over again, attempting to focus. It suddenly occurred to me to take a photo or some video, something I could capture now and analyse later. As I reached for the phone in my pocket, all three lights shot off in different directions.
