Blood & Dust (30 page)

'Just you?'

'You can drive.'

'Gee, thanks. But seriously. You're sure Jasmine has them?'

'That's what the dream said.'

'How much do you know about her?'

'Bits and pieces. I mean, before all this crazy shit happened, we just knew that someone had
bought Whitby Downs. Some eccentric bird from the coast who swans around in a Jaguar, of all things.
She turned it into some kind of fancy rehab joint, that's what people said. Got its own chopper pad
and everything, so the rich and famously fucked-up don't have to be seen by us yokels. We called it
the asylum. It still runs sheep, though, and cattle. They buy groceries and stuff in town. Hey,
maybe I could sneak in that way and smuggle Mum out?'

'Have a lot of late night shopping in Upper Bum Fuck, do you? Sorry, I know it's your home. I
mean, I'm from the sticks, too; I can't throw stones. But, it's like, y'know, how long do you want
to wait for them to run out of eggs or whatever?'

'Fair enough. So what do you know about the joint?'

'Well, from the road, it's no different to any other station, but once you get in you'll see the
difference - fences, lights, guards.'

'That's some rehab.'

'It is, kind of. Jasmine Turner is this kind of guru. She's run these places all over the state.
Fangers fly out from the coast to relax and recuperate and enjoy the veins.'

'So who is she?'

'I only know what Tai has told me, which usually amounts to "fucking bitch", but she's
definitely old blood. Among the first to come out here, looking for a clean start, or a clean
getaway. I guess that VS mob would call it
lebensraum
.' She rolled her eyes.

'No idea how many goons she's got working for her? Any of those Gespensten-stuff-alls that you
guys are so worried about?'

'Gespenstenstaffel. Almost all red-eyes and fangers. But no, she's unlikely to have them. Not
that it matters.'

'Why's that?'

'We're here.' She steered off the road and pulled up on the verge.

His gut lurched. They'd turned the final corner and he could see the humped ruin of the servo
and, farther back from the road, the iron roof of his house glinting in the moonlight.

They sat in the silent dark, waiting for their eyes to adjust, building up the courage. He could
feel the presence of Jasmine's base, kilometres to the south, looming up on his horizon like some
towering wreck of a castle on a mountain top. Its shadow stretched all the way to here. Was Mira
sitting in that upmost turret with a telescope? Was his mother in the dungeon?

'Why doesn't it matter how many men Jasmine's got?' he asked again.

'Because she's old,' Kala answered, and her voice was flat with resignation. 'She's so old she
can take you out with one hand and still serve tea and scones with the other.'

'Oh,' he said, and opened the door. 'At least I get scones, though, eh?'

They crept through the scrub alongside the verge. The ruined service station didn't
look as if it'd been touched - no signs of a clean-up. They crouched beside the fence, their backs
to the ruins that still smelled of charcoal. The house sat silent and dark. Glass glimmered
underneath - the windows of his Commodore most likely; his parking spot was nearest the servo, but
it might've been the family sedan. There was no sign of his father's work truck. They scrambled over
the fence and sneaked, crouching, to the bare Hill's Hoist, as though that slender pole could
somehow hide them; could deflect the bullet or the net or whatever the expected ambush might offer.

Kevin sniffed for any scent out of place. His ears ached with the effort of listening for the
betraying boot scuff, the creak of a leather sole or brush of cloth from a man moving against the
stiffness of a long watch. Nothing. A plover's ratchet cry was the only sound to break the silence.

Kala hugged him, her hands firm and warm on his shoulders, sliding around his waist, the firm
length of her body pressing against his back.

'It's cold and you owe me dinner,' she murmured in his ear, but her levity seemed forced and
foreign.

An engine carried through the stillness. Miles away, but his fear flared and he wished they'd
hidden the ute farther off the road. The distance back to the vehicle felt massive, as though they'd
parked it in Melbourne. The few spindly trees in the yard offered the only cover. Not enough.

Kala hung back as he dashed to the back stairs. He paused to again test the air with nose and
ears. Still nothing. He gestured for her to join him, then, one slow footstep after another, he
crept up the stairs and listened at the door. No television. No radio. Nothing that smelled like
fresh cooking. The house felt empty, unlit windows staring out. He turned the door handle. Locked.
Tried to get his keys from his jeans pocket without jingling them. His only memento, he realised:
the keys to his house and his car. The metal rasped as he inserted it, sounding as loud as a
hacksaw. The tumbler clicked like an axe falling. He paused, hand on the door knob, Kala waiting at
the bottom of the stairs. A vehicle came down the main road from the south, slowed slightly as it
approached the T-junction, but drove past.

Kala smiled gamely as the noise of the car faded. He motioned for her to get ready, then pushed
the door open. The smell of detergent met him, a faint odour of old roses, eucalyptus that made him
think of his mother and the oil she dabbed on her collar to help her breathing when she went to bed.

He stepped in, tensing as the floorboards creaked, but he could feel the emptiness. He waved Kala
up. He pulled the door shut behind her but didn't lock it in case they had to leave in a hurry.
Again. He turned on the light. The room was as he remembered it and that threw him; surely, after
all that had happened, something should've changed? He felt as if he was breaking in rather than
coming home.

They walked into the living room.

No notes for him. No 'back in five minutes', no 'gone to Meg's for dinner'. No welcome home
banner and his friends jumping out: Surprise!

'She's not here,' he said.

'That doesn't mean Jasmine has her. Let's look around, maybe there's a message.'

'Why would she do that? It's not like she'd expect me to come back. I'm probably all over the
news by now.'

'Why? What have you done?'

'Let me see. Attacked my girlfriend, helped kill two families and some cops. That's enough,
surely?'

'Could you have stopped any of it? Did you honestly have a choice?'

'A man's always got a choice.'

'To live or to die, that's the only choice you've been given. Maybe you haven't noticed, but the
normal rules don't apply to us.'

'They have to,' Kevin said. 'They're the only rules we've got. If I let them go, what have I got
left?'

'You've got me,' she said, and hugged him fiercely. She pressed her lips to his.

For a long, long moment, he did nothing but stand there, his body warming with the heat of hers.
She pulled back, eyes questioning, and his hands, seemingly of their own volition, moved to embrace
her, pulling her hips hard against his. His face lowered to hers and he kissed her. Her lips opened
to him instantly, beckoning his tongue. Hunger stirred.

'No teeth,' she whispered awkwardly, a hand pressed against his mouth.

He stood very still as he fought to rein in his emotions, his hunger, and was rewarded with the
sensation of his fangs retracting into his gums. Kala's breath wafted warm across his face and then
her hands slid under his shirt, clawing at his chest, rubbing his nipples. Her mouth opened to his
again. He picked her up easily and took her into his room. He lowered Kala gently to the bed. She
lay there, eyes shining in the gloom, open and trusting and yearning. He took off his shirt and then
crouched over her, unzipped the tracksuit jacket slowly to reveal her naked chest. She sat up to
shed the top - something heavy hit the floor, she told him to ignore it, it was nothing - and pulled
him down on top of her. His lips found her throat. She tensed when he nibbled, but his fangs stayed
sheathed as he concentrated on his lust. He found her nipples with his teeth and tongue, lapping
sighs from her. Her back arched, her fingers twined in his hair.

He pulled her pants down, revealing a dark thatch. He probed her belly button and inhaled the
musk of her awakened sex. His tongue found her, opened her, delved into her. Her pelvis rose to meet
him. He teased her velvet lips with his teeth between greedy strokes of his tongue. He hit her clit
and she gasped. She flowed, the chemical sex washing over him, drowning all thought and reason. He
delicately thrust a finger, then two, into her and she pushed against the intrusion, taking him
deeper. He heard, felt, smelled, tasted her orgasm.

He sat up and reefed open his pants, thrust them down. She guided his cock into her. Her heat
closed around him. Her knees moved up, her thighs clenching around his hips.

'Fuck me,' she whispered, and he hurled himself into her, losing himself in the moment of
abandon. Kala shuddered under him, her fingers digging into his shoulders and back, legs wrapped
tightly around him. He came quickly in the wash of her second orgasm, submerged in the sensations of
her body.

Their breathing slowed, finding a common tempo, and her muscles slowly released him. Kevin slid
from her and lay beside her, sweat cooling between them. He heard another car approaching. He heard
Kala's heart, the intake of her breath, the gentle squeak of the bed as she adjusted her position to
better stroke his cheek.

'Was it all right, without the blood?' she asked.

'It was perfect.' In the moment he said it, it was true, but in the heartbeat after, he felt like
a liar, because he remembered the intensity of feeding from her, of being totally immersed in her
and how she had lingered afterward. All he had now to show for their time together was a sticky cock
and a hunger that ran like a wire from his gums to his gut.

She kissed him and he said, 'I should get up.'

'You gonna cook that dinner now? I'm starving.'

'Once I've caught my breath. Must be a tin of something out there.' She slapped him playfully,
then tracked a short, rough-nibbled nail down the veins of his forearm. 'Maybe something a little
juicier?' That look, from under her long lashes, teeth biting her bottom lip.

His insides churned, stirred by lust and nerves: could he do it? Blade or teeth?

-
You need to get yourself one'a these. Cleaner, eh
-

The motor got louder. White light splashed across the window as the car approached, coming from
the township.

'Better get dressed,' he said, quickly sliding from the bed to look for his jeans.

A flash of disappointment on her face, then she said, mischievous again, 'Your mum? That'd be
embarrassing, eh?'

'I'd live with it, if it meant she was free.' He delved in the dark, hauled his jeans up, felt
again the guilty stickiness between his legs. How long before even sex became obsolete? How long
would it take for blood to become his only pleasure?

She rolled, her body painted in the wash of the headlights. He wished for a camera to record her
dark curves outlined in that soft light. 'You're gorgeous, totally gorgeous.'

Kala smiled at him, teeth so white in the gloom. 'You better be careful. Keep saying things like
that and I might get the idea you like me.'

'Nah,' he said and hauled on his shirt. The car pulled up out the front of the house. 'Shit!
They've stopped here!'

Her smile vanished. The fear on her face drove a shard of ice into him.

'VS?' she asked.

'No idea. We'd better get out of here - fast.'

The front gate squeaked.

The snick of a pistol's slide being drawn back sliced through the suspense. Kala had a small
pistol, as big as her hand, the kind of thing Sean Connery might've used in his 007 days.

'Where the hell did that come from?' he whispered.

'Tarps. Guns. We're regular Boy Scouts, eh? Can we get out the back?'

'No cover,' he said. 'Fuck - the light! We left the light on!'

'Could they have seen it from the road?'

'Hell, yes.'

Footsteps on the stairs. Cautious. Quiet. He could only just hear them over the drumbeat in his
ears.

He ran to the living room and turned off the light.

The footsteps stopped.

Kala crouched in the hallway; pistol aimed at the front door.

Silence, then the clink of keys. His breath caught. The front door pushed open, cautiously,
faintly bumping against the wall.

Meg's voice: 'Hello? Is anyone there? Kev, is it you?' And he heard the fear, the suspicion, the
excitement. 'Kevin?'

'I'm here,' he said, aware of Kala standing straight and tucking the pistol away.

Meg appeared in the entry. He raised an arm against the sudden brightness when she hit the switch
by the door. Her gaze found him, her face a beaming smile, and then it froze and slowly faded as
Kala walked across the room to stand beside him while he hastily did up the last of his shirt
buttons. Kala's hand touched the small of his back, the softest of endearing touches.

'What are you doing here, Kev? Everyone's been looking for you, you know.'

'I just wanted to know if you and Mum were okay.'

'Oh, we're fine,' she said, a hand going to the bandage on her neck. 'Thanks for asking. How are
you?' Her gaze wandered over Kala, no doubt noting the girl zipping the jacket up all the way to the
neck.

'I'm okay.'

'So it seems.' Her eyes grew hard, her jaw setting firm. 'And just where the fuck have you been?
Didn't they have phones? We've been worried sick.'

'It's hard to explain.'

'I'm listening.'

He noticed the carry bag she'd dropped at her feet. 'Where's Mum?'

'She was at our place for a few nights, but day before last she moved out to the asylum.'

His last, faint hope was crushed out. 'The asylum-'