The Road to Winter (8 page)

‘Still, it must have been tough,' she says, finally. ‘So long on your own.'

I've never wanted to admit being lonely; it only made things worse if I stewed on it. But now, with Rose here, it's like I can let it go.

‘Yeah,' I say. ‘It was.'

We clear the table to eat. I think about where to sit—next to her or at the other end of the table? Sharing our stories has made me more comfortable with her being here. It feels like she's opening up, but I'm still trying to piece together everything she's told me.

I dish up the stew. Rose eats slower this time, using the knife
and fork instead of her hands. She seems distracted though, fiddling with her food.

‘I've got to find Kas,' she says at last. ‘I can't think about anything else. I don't expect you to help. I've brought you enough trouble already. Ramage knows you're here and he knows I'm with you. He'll be back with more men and they'll track us down. They'll bring dogs.'

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘I don't get it about Ramage,' I say. ‘Why is he so determined to find you?'

Rose won't look at me.

‘Sorry,' she mutters. ‘There's stuff I just can't tell you. Not yet.'

I must have been wrong about the trust building between us. I know she can see I'm hurt, but I want her to feel it. I've risked everything for her, taken her in, fed her and now she's holding out on me.

‘I thought we—'

‘Ah, Finn,' she says in a tired voice that makes her sound so much older than me. ‘I'm so grateful. You saved me yesterday. And you've treated me so nicely, I feel like I owe you.'

‘So tell me, then.'

‘There's stuff I can't bring myself to talk about. And none of it will help me find Kas.'

She stirs her stew.

‘I'm going to leave tomorrow to look for her. Please don't feel you need to come. I'll be okay.'

I'm shaking my head. I've already made my decision about going with her. ‘We need to think this through,' I say. ‘Kas
could still be heading down here, towards the coast. We could miss her and end up getting caught ourselves.'

Rose doesn't have an answer to this and I feel as though I've had a small victory.

‘You'd better eat your stew before it goes cold,' I say.

She looks down at the bowl as though she's forgotten it's there, then starts eating again. This gives me a chance to think, to convince her to stay for a few days longer to see if Kas arrives. When she lifts the fork to her mouth I see how dirty and stained the bandage is where she stitched her hand. She keeps flexing her fingers and the lower half of her arm is red and swollen.

‘We need to change that bandage, too.'

‘It feels strange,' she says, finishing her last mouthful of stew and unwinding the bandage. ‘My fingers keep twitching and it's like my whole arm's got pins and needles.'

The last part of the bandage has stuck to the skin and she winces as it peels away. The wound itself is almost black and where she's pushed the needle through the skin is bright red. I feel my heart quicken. The infection is spreading up her arm.

‘That doesn't look good,' I murmur.

I remember there are some antibiotics in the bathroom that I brought over from the old house. I kick myself for not having thought of them earlier.

In the cabinet I find a dozen different capsule containers and I try to think of the name of the ones I took when I had tonsillitis years ago. I know we had some left over. For some reason the name
Eric
is in my head. Mum used to say, ‘Finn,
it's time for
Eric.
' The labels are faded and some are unreadable. I take them all out and line them up on the kitchen table.

‘Maybe we should just take a lucky dip,' Rose says. She starts to read the labels. ‘Celebrex, Toradol, Erythro…Erythromycin.'

‘That's it! Eric!' I say. ‘It's an antibiotic.'

‘There's two bottles of it—not much in this one,' she says, shaking it, ‘but this one's full.' She studies the label. ‘They're way past the use-by date, but they've got to be better than nothing.'

Afterwards she allows me to dress her hand. I tear up an old sheet for a bandage and clean the stitches in warm water before squeezing more antiseptic cream onto the wound. I can see the hairs standing up on her forearm.

‘Take two of the antibiotics now,' I say, ‘and another couple first thing in the morning, I reckon. We'll have to be real careful with the infection. I don't think we should travel until it's under control. Maybe a week?'

‘No way,' she says, the edge finding its way back into her voice. ‘I'm leaving tomorrow.'

She's glaring at me with sharp eyes again, but the pain must be playing on her mind. It's something I've worried about for as long as I've been on my own: getting really sick and not having anyone here to look after me. Or getting bitten by a snake out in the bush or stung by a blue-ringed octopus when I'm feeling around for crabs in the rock pools.

The candle gives a last splutter and we are thrown into the dark. I can't see Rose across the table, but I hear her yawn.

‘You should get some sleep,' I say. ‘I'll go and do a check around the neighbourhood.'

She says goodnight and I see her silhouette shuffle down the hall to the bedroom. I slip out the back door and head for the beach, keeping to the back tracks, just in case.

I make it to the platform above the river mouth as the moon begins to rise over the cliffs out towards Red Rock Point. The wind is still offshore and I can just make out the whitewater peeling along the sandbar. I can tell by the sound it makes when it crashes on the inside bar that it's still pretty solid, maybe four or five feet. If there's no sign of the Wilders in the morning, I'll paddle out early and grab a few waves to clear my head.

It's barely light when I wake up. Rose had been tossing and turning all night, at one stage calling out a name I didn't recognise.

I tiptoe up the hallway to check on her.

She doesn't look good. Even from the doorway I can see she's feverish: her hair is wet and she's half in and half out of the blanket. But she's asleep and that's a good thing. Her head is turned away from the door and the singlet she's wearing has slipped off her shoulder. I wonder if it's such a good idea to leave her alone, but I figure I won't be long and she'll probably sleep through anyway.

I walk quietly out of the house. I figure the board I left on the beach when Rose arrived would have been washed away, so I grab one of Dad's old ones from the shed. My wetsuit is still damp.

Rowdy slips through the shed door ahead of me and dances around my legs. Up on the platform overlooking the beach I change into my wetsuit and stash my clothes in the tea tree. I climb to the top of the highest dune and scan upriver as the first light creeps into the day. There's no sign of movement and Rowdy hasn't picked up any new scents on the breeze.

Out on the beach, it's like stepping back to my old life—just me, my board, Rowdy and a peeling right-hander at the river mouth.

The first duck dive under the shore break slaps me in the face and wakes me up. I pop out the other side and start to dig in with long strokes. Once I make it to clear water I take a few deep breaths and slow my paddling to an easy flow. I stay to the right of the peak and allow the current to carry me into position in the take-off zone. The swell has built since last night and the sets are lining up on the sandbar.

As I wait, I scan the beach and look as far up the river towards town as I can. There is a low mist sitting on the water. A big old pelican glides in like a jumbo jet, sticking his feet out at the last minute to slice through the surface of the water and ease to a halt. The sun is just starting to catch the trees up on the tips of the ridge, turning them a burnt orange. Rowdy is prowling the sand looking for the next seagull to chase. When
I look back out to sea, the horizon has disappeared behind the approaching set.

I roll over the top of the first wave because I know the ones deeper in the set will be bigger and more powerful. The third one is peaking perfectly so I paddle straight at it, pivot my board at the last second, dig a couple of big strokes in and feel the strength of it lift and carry me forwards.

Now everything is in its place and the earth is back on its axis. There's no virus, no one trying to kill me, no orphan kid battling to stay alive. There's just this wave and me. It's travelled across thousands of kilometres of ocean just to get here and its journey has almost come to an end.

I drop down the wave and lean in towards the face, arching my body to drive off the bottom. The board responds and I feel the power again, like I've been hurled out of a slingshot. Out on the shoulder I dig my rail and plant my back foot to cut back towards the whitewater. Dad always said that every surfer has a move that defines them. This is it, my signature. The cut-back sends out an arc of spray that catches the morning light.

I bounce off the whitewater and bring the board back around to the face before surging off again, repeating the moves over and over until the wave is exhausted and crashes on the sand.

I lose all sense of time when I'm in the water. I may have surfed for one hour or three, but the sun is well above the ridge now, so I need to paddle in and get back to the business of staying alive.

I'm so relaxed I forget to birdcall to let Rose know I'm back. When I step out of the shed she's standing a few metres away with an arrow pulled tight in the bow, pointed at my chest.

‘Shit, Finn! Where have you been?'

She eases the tension on the bow and points the arrow to the ground. She's sweating and shaking.

‘Sorry. I've been for a surf.'

‘A surf? There are Wilders hunting us, I'm feeling like shit and you go for a surf! What are you thinking, you stupid little boy?'

She's screaming.

‘Sorry,' I say again, ‘I didn't mean to…'

‘I didn't know where you were. You've got to tell me if you're going to disappear like that. For all I know you could've… I was scared.'

With that, she collapses to her knees. Her hair is wet with perspiration. I crouch in front of her and touch her shoulder. Her skin is on fire.

‘Come on,' I say. ‘Let's go inside.'

She lets me carry her into the house. We go straight to the bathroom and I tell her to get into the bath. She's too exhausted to argue.

When I lift the heavy jumper over her shoulders she leans forward and hugs her knees to her chest. She's wearing only shorts and a singlet underneath.

I turn on the tap and the bath begins to fill with precious water from the tank I know is already low. Rose shivers when the water touches her skin but she doesn't try to climb out.
Slowly it creeps over her legs and inches up towards her waist.

‘That's enough,' she croaks. ‘We can't afford too much.'

With a cup from the kitchen I begin to pour water over her head and shoulders. She leans back slightly and allows me to put a wet cloth on her forehead. I unwrap the bandage, which is almost black with caked blood, and give the wound a good clean.

‘It looks better,' I say, trying to sound convincing. ‘You'll have a nice scar to show for it.'

‘At least it's one I can see,' she says.

When the shivering takes over her whole body, I help Rose up and wrap a towel around her shoulders. Embarrassed, she turns her back to me.

‘Rose,' I say, ‘we have to take these wet clothes off and get you into bed.'

She nods. She turns to face me as I pull her singlet up over her head. The ring falls between her breasts and she puts an arm over her chest. Her body is a mess of bruises and cuts, but that's not what grabs my attention. I can hardly believe what I'm seeing.

She's pregnant.

She sees me looking and turns her head away. I take down the pair of Mum's shorts she's still wearing from yesterday. Her hand comes down to cover herself again.

‘Don't look,' she says.

I hesitate. ‘You gotta trust me. I'm not going to hurt you,' I say, quietly.

Eventually, her arms drape over my shoulders, and we half
walk, half stumble to the bedroom. She drops onto the bed and I pull the blanket over her. Her eyes are trying to focus and she grabs hold of my arm.

‘I was going to tell you, Finn. I was.'

‘It's okay. We'll talk about it later.'

I'm still too shocked to know what else to say. All I can think is
fuck!

At last she closes her eyes and I sit with her until her hand slips off my arm and she sleeps.

I'm restless all day. I keep chopping and changing my mind, going in to check on Rose, sitting with her but the whole time just wanting to run away, to hide somewhere, to talk to someone who'll know what to do. Everything feels like it's falling in on me—Rose has come, the Wilders have seen me, and now she's sick. And pregnant. I'm in so much danger but I can't stand the thought of being on my own again.