9. FISTICUFFS AND FERINE
The next morning, Aunt Bea dropped me off at school, kissing my cheeks like a Russian diplomat before driving off to her meeting at the Town Hall. The Barn Dance was in two days time, and Aunt Bea had volunteered to organise it, like she did every year. No wonder she was so tired!
It was chilly: little bouquets of my breath puffed from my mouth and nose as I trudged through the main gate. Most of the kids were playing football on the field. But three tiny familiar figures wrestled on the far side of the playground. Nothing unusual in that; probably just a game of pre-school bull rush. But, as I squelched my way across the muddy football field, I saw what was really going on.
I bolted over. Tim, sweaty and bone-white, had pinned Joke's arms behind his back like a prisoner and was dragging him through the bark-covered ground to the monkey-bars against the high mesh fence that marked the school's western perimeter.
Atop a treated pine log, facing the boys, sat Mark. Attracted by the commotion, some of the kids had fanned out on either side of Mark’s log-throne in a V-shape. Joke struggled, his face mashed against the mesh fence. But Tim was much bigger, and held him fast.
"Stop!" I shouted, and skidded to stop half way between the fence and the log. Mark sneered. Then he stood up, strolled over to Joke and punched him once – hard - in the kidneys. The lookers-on stood mute, transfixed. "Passengers, all of them," I muttered to myself.
Joke slumped against the fence, curled up in a whimpering heap at Mark's feet. For a terrible moment, I thought Mark was going to stomp on him. I gasped, and Mark chuckled, then lowered his boot.
The crowd - now almost the whole class - remained motionless. Even Nicky just stood there, eyes glazed, absorbing the spectacle.
I rushed over to Joke and hunkered down beside him. "You OK?" I asked. He didn't answer, but flinched and curled up like a wood louse.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Tim sneaking up from behind me. "You proud of yourself, tough guy?" It was bad cop-show dialogue, but it seemed to fit the scene.
"Very," said Mark, grinning like the town idiot I knew he was not. "Pumpkin-patch forgot his place. He needed a lesson."
"Lesson?" I snorted, pivoting to my left. "And what lesson, oh guru, have you imparted today? How to bash up a defenceless boy with help from a brainless stooge?"
Some of the kids, including Nicky, seemed to stir from their stupor. Robotically, Tim marched over to Mark, stopping a foot or so behind his leader. Classic henchman. Tim looked seriously ill, so anxious that he was walking on the spot grinding his teeth.
"Space-cadet," said Mark, irked at the crowd's laughter. "For a defenceless dust mote, your little Pumpkin-patch has got a big mouth. Perhaps he'll keep it shut from now on."
"Is this what it's all about?" I said, incredulous. "Speaking in assembly? If that were a crime, you'd have been locked up long ago."
Nicky guffawed, and Mark scowled. Tim snarled at Nicky, until Mark waved him back. Nicky fell silent. What was going on with Tim? As far as I knew, he had never hit a girl. If anything, he had always got on well with Nicky. Perhaps he'd forgotten his meds.
To break the tension, I spoke again: "What's Joke ever done to you, Mark?"
"He exists," snapped Mark. "He fouls my air supply with his blabberings. Thinks he's too smart for the rest of us. Refuses to follow the rules."
"Whose rules?" I asked. "Yours?"
"Of the jungle, mate. Survival of the fittest."
"And you, protected by your pet-thug, think you're the fittest do you?"
Tim growled, like a wounded dog, and prowled forward, his left shoulder now in front of Mark's chest. Mark didn't beat him back him this time and smiled innocently.
"I was born to lead, Paddy," Mark said, narrowing his eyes. "It's in my genes. Just like poverty is in Joke's genes and madness runs through yours. Still sleepwalking, little psycho?"
I'd stayed over at Mark's house once, and Aunt Bea had told the Barkers about my condition just in case they found me snore-prowling around their estate. But now I resented him knowing about it; knowing anything private about me at all. Mark couldn't keep a secret.
Breathing deeply, I held my ground. The other kids seemed to know where this was heading and moved closer to the action.
Joke stopped whimpering and sat up.
"Paddy, let it go," he whispered.
"I thought you'd learned your lesson," snarled Mark. "Keep your bloody mouth shut." Without warning, Tim vaulted forward and kicked Joke in the small of his back. Both victim and aggressor howled: Joke in pain, Tim in what sounded like pleasure.
"Take it easy Tim," said Mark, his 100 watt smile faltering a little, his dimples disappearing. "We don't want to inflict permanent damage."
"Keep your hands and feet to yourself," I ordered Tim. The hulking boy's face was a mask minted from an alloy of contempt and outrage. I turned back to Mark. "Keep your dog on a leash. Otherwise, you might be the one who gets the lesson."
"I'd like to see you try, Paddy," said Mark.
Tim had retreated again to stand behind Mark. He shook violently. Suddenly, his eyes clouded over, like a fog had rolled out of his skull. Tim cocked his head acutely. Red liquid seeped from the tops of his eyes, staining the foggy-whites pink. He did not blink the droplets away. Then, horribly, he opened his mouth.
Tim's gums were black and his teeth were sharpened daggers! He stared ravenously at the back of Mark's unprotected neck.
Some kids in the crowd had spotted the change and thrummed with whispered excitement bordering on the glee of a Colosseum of fans watching a lion pick gladiator sinews from its teeth. Why weren't they running for their lives?
"Mark," I said, palms upturned. "I need you to do something for me." I was channelling a hostage-negotiator I'd once seen in a movie: submissive and reassuring.
"Huh - why would - ?
"Just listen," I soothed. "Stay still. You're in danger." I scanned the circle of dullards standing around us. Not a brain in their collective heads. Heads all within striking distance!
"Danger!" Mark scoffed. "You're the one that's in danger - of a good whipping by my true mate Tim. You had your chance, but you chose Joke. And I can hold a grudge. Forever."
"Listen to Paddy," squeaked Joke. "He's not having you on."
"I'll do as I please," said Mark. "I've had enough of all this talk."
Tim gnashed his sable inky teeth and clasped his right hand around Mark's shoulder. From where I stood, Tim's grey hands looked like they had moulted scales, and his fingernails were green-black claws. Tim lent over to savage Mark's neck.
Pricks of sunlight pierced the clouds. My shadow fell across the monster's face. I leapt forward, and shunted Mark to the side, slapping Tim’s cheek. The monster staggered back, then lunged forward with a leonine roar, tossing Mark across the playground. As he flew through the air, Mark squealed, then hit his head on a wooden bench and fell still.
Joke scrabbled to his feet and ran to me. "What's going on?" he whispered. "What's wrong with Tim, and with the others?"
I hadn't been watching the class. Nicky and the others weren't doing anything. It didn't look like bravery. Nor did it seem like fear. They just stood there like human-shaped trees, eyes cast down to the ground, moaning and swaying like...
"Passengers!"
"On what?" cried Joke.
"I'll explain later,” I said. “No time. Need you to distract the others and get them the hell out of here. They're Imperilled!"
"Imperilled?" asked Joke.
"Use your head," I said shoving Joke towards Nicky. "Do it now."
Joke ran through a small break in the circle between Nicky and Anthony. I turned back to the Blackgum. Joke and the rest of the playground faded into stark irrelevance.
"What are you?" I asked the monster with Tim's face.
"You know what I am," hissed the thing. "And I know what you are. Knew as soon as I tasted your shadow."
A thin stream of purple pus leaked fro
m its lips. "What do you want?" I asked, trying not to let my voice quaver.
"Stop stalling. You know that too. My master will reward me handsomely for a Smith-Soul. I might be permitted to feast on all of these Passengers," it said licking its lips at the circle of kids. The Zealtor might even reward me with the soul of that spoilt brat," it said pointing its right claw at Mark's motionless body. "He's got Forger blood, that one. I can almost taste him from here."
"Leave them alone," I said, trying to sound authoritative. The Blackgum thought I was a Smith, the only reason he hadn't devoured me on the spot. I needed more time. I needed help.
"Make me." Without further ado, the Blackgum lurched forward, much faster than I expected, and seized my right elbow, almost wrenching my arm from its socket. I screamed, and flailed at the monster's legs with my feet. But the beast was too strong.
"Not so powerful," tutted the Blackgum, sounding almost disappointed. "Not a full Smith?" he said, the stench of his fish-paste breath almost as debilitating as his grip on my arm. "A Novice, is it? No mind, you'll do as an appetiser."
The Blackgum lifted me, off my feet, gripped my neck with his free claw and opened his filthy maw, presenting his cutlery-drawer of teeth. "Let me go," I gasped, kicking at his stomach, trying to prise his claws off my neck.
"So weak. I forget what it was like to be human."
"You were a good bloke once, Tim. Don't do this."
"This isn't some fairy story," growled the creature. "Little Timmy won't stir, or rise up to drive me out. He's gone. Dead. Forever," spat the Blackgum, and I knew it was true. "He was stupid and scared and useless, like all of you. Easy pickings for my master," it said, and threw back its head. A forked, blue-green spike erupted from the back of Tim's head and swatted me, almost playfully, with its dull edge. I screamed.
The monster’s grip had cut off the circulation of blood to my head. I was woozy, like my head was an aspirin, slowly dissolving in a jug of coppery water. It was useless. I couldn't overpower the monster. Time slowed down, and I became very aware of my surroundings: the kids standing around wide-eyed, the overgrown weeds poking through the fence.
The monster's mouth-spike shot out again. I yanked my head back from its barbs, my eyes scrolling heavenward. From the big gum tree shading the monkey-bars, a magpie watched my struggle indifferently. I jerked my head to the left, just avoiding another strike.
Like a high definition camera, I saw incredible details of the ground beneath my swinging feet. Red ants crawled over the carcass of a fallen praying mantis. So much wildlife living around us right under our noses and over our heads. Life and death above and below; unnoticed, till now.
Life! Wildlife! That was it - the Ferine!
I jagged my head to the right, and the monster smirked. It was playing with its food, savouring my struggle. "Ferine, help me," I whispered under my breath, trying, without knowing how, to direct my thoughts, wiggling my eyebrows, as if to amplify the thoughts.
"Why should I?" squawked a voice above me. Somehow, I knew it was the magpie.
"What's in it for us?" boomed a tiny red soldier ant, dismantling an antenna from the alien head of the dead mantis.
"What will you give us?" whispered the Lantana weed, its voice silky, a soft rustling of air through reeds.
"Whatever you want," I yelped. "Just help me."
"Will you cede us this territory?" cawed the magpie.
"What?" I asked. Dark splotches splashed across my vision. I was not in the strongest of positions to haggle. "Yes. Of course. Whatever. It's yours. Take it."
"So quick to deal with us, is he?" asked the ant. "How can we trust him?"
"I swear, on my honour as a Smith. But only if you hurry. Do it now."
I began to black out. The sucking blood rush in my ears stopped and an unbearable silence descended on me like a bell jar.
Then came a disturbance.
From the bark covered ground beneath the monster's feet, a crackling began, that quickly grew into a flatulent rumble. The monster's grip loosened, and I wheezed in a lung full of air. I squashed open my eyes just in time to see what looked like a white grooved arrow erupt from the earth and embed itself deeply in the monster's right upper thigh.
The monster dropped me, and I crashed to the ground, an insensible lump. The beast roared, and clutched at its thigh, trying to dislodge the thick gum-tree root. But the more the monster pulled, the deeper the tree root burrowed.
The monster pushed its leg down on the root. The root slithered under the monster's skin and up into its guts. Gouts of black blood flooded down the monster's torso and onto the ground, steaming as it ate its way through the bark. Its blood was acid.
"Nice try, Smith. I'll be with you in just a second," said the monster, wearily winking at me like a department store elf on Christmas Eve. As he opened his winking eye, however, a blur of black and white careened into the monster's face, then shot back up into the gum tree.
"My eyes!" screamed the monster, falling onto his knees, driving the writhing root up through his back with the force of its fall. "My eyes!" It began to struggle blindly to its feet.
A drop splashed onto my head. I looked up at the tree where the magpie sat, cheerily chomping down the monster's peepers. My scalp tingled where the teardrop of eye-juice had broken, and I wiped it quickly with the back of my hand, which also started to sting.
"Sorry," sang the magpie, husky and hearty. "I'm a messy eater."
"No problem," I said. The monster struggled upright, then fell again. A red-metallic river spouted from the ground and engulfed the thrashing creature. I squinted and saw that it was no brook or stream. It was a vast army of fire ants.
"Be careful," cawed the magpie. "Ants get a bit carried away when the mood takes them. Some of the younger ones are none too smart, if you catch my drift."
I leapt onto Mark's log, then vaulted up onto the monkey-bars, pulling myself up onto the horizontal ladder at its apex. Upside down, I scanned the battlefield. There was now no sign of the other kids.
The Blackgum fought the ant horde. All over, its bare skin had erupted into open, bleeding sores where the ants had stung it thousands of times. I reminded myself that this thing wasn't Tim. My friend had been dead, possibly since the party. But it was still a nightmare to watch.
The creature's wails gave out as the ants demolished its throat and voice-box. It tried to squash its attackers, but two reinforcements arrived for each crushed comrade. The monster again attempted to scrabble to its feet. But another tree root shot out of the earth and pierced the creature's side. The barbed roots of the gum tree were strong enough to break concrete. The monster fell back to the ant-carpeted ground thrashing in agony.
"I can't see you, Smith" hissed the Blackgum, its voice projected from the tip of its half-devoured sting. "But I smell your fear. It won't be long till you die at the hands of my Zealtor."
"You are the only thing dying today," I said, then looked away as the ants ate into the monster's heart. With a hideous death rattle, the monster finally perished.
I clung on. Eventually, the sated ants receded, and the roots ploughed back into the earth. Gingerly, I dropped from the monkey-bars and inspected what was left. A skeleton of gnawed bones. Bones only slighter larger than my own.
Poor Tim! He'd been a bully, sure, but no-one deserved to go like this. Body-snatched by a Blackgum, then munched and torn apart by wild things.
"I've got to get out of here," I mumbled to myself, my ears ringing. "Too much death."
"Eye, Eye, Captain," squawked the magpie.
"What?" I said.
"Don't you get it? Eye eye! I gots its eyes!" cawed the magpie and then cackled at the hilarity of its quip.
"Not funny," I said, sobbing for my dead friend.
"Ferine jokes never are," said a familiar voice. I turned. Mr Seth carried a large brown brief-case under his arm. He nodded curtly, then stooped down, gathered up Tim's grey-white bones, and bundled them into his case. H
e snapped his case shut and scooped it up by the handle.
The old man swept me up with his free arm. With not a hair out of place, Mr Seth strode for the gates, ignoring the jubilant Lantana shoots sprouting up and down the field like a Mexican wave.
The school-yard reeked of compost. I was thankful, knowing it masked far fouler scents.