Penanggalan! An Aussie Vampire Tale

  PENANGGALAN!

  An Aussie Vampire Tale

  By Daniel I. Russell

  Copyright 2011 Daniel I. Russell

  About the author

  Daniel I. Russell has been featured publications such as The Zombie Feed from Apex, Pseudopod and Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine #43. He was nominated for two Tin Duck Awards in 2011 for best novel (Samhane, from Stygian Publications) and best short story. His books Critique (Graveside Tales Publications), Come Into Darkness (Skullvines Press) and The Collector (Dark Continents Publications) are soon to be released. His books are available in Germany, Switzerland and Austria from Voodoo Press.

  To Richard Laymon, who never did anything traditional with his vampires.

  The sun pressed its heat onto the desert, and the road ahead shimmered like a mirage. On either side, the low scrub rushed by, unchanged for the last couple of hours. The old bus rocketed on.

  “This is it, eh?” said Ken, driving with his elbow perched out the open window. “Middle of nowhere. Best place to find yourself, nowhere.”

  “Then I guess we’re here,” said a bored voice from the back. Probably Paul. Kid had a mouth on him.

  “Not quite,” said Ken, glancing into the rear-view mirror. “Bit longer to go yet. But see that mountain in the distance?” No one answered. “That’s Mount Banjarra. We’ll be camping there tonight.”

  The four young offenders were spread apart on the few rows of seats, apart from Rick and Angela. They sat side by side, arms around each other’s shoulders.

  Ken had seen many kids come and go from the home, but never any as bad as Rick. Sure, a few thought they were top of the dog pile, but Rick…he was the most feral. Put five people in hospital, damn near killing them, before they’d sent him to the home. Ken remembered the photographs in his file. Broken bones. Stitches. Bloody bruises. One mean bastard…but nothing he couldn’t handle.

  The kid glared at him in the mirror, head sporting a short mohawk. A small ruby glistened under his bottom lip like a sparkling pimple.

  He wondered what a nice girl like Angela saw in him. Probably the bad boy thing.

  A few days out in the wilderness will sort them out.

  Skye, her blond hair glinting like gold in the midday sun, sat on the back row, lazily gazing out of the window. She dug into the chest pocket of her dungarees and pulled out a cigarette lighter. She flicked the wheel, sparking it.

  Ken turned to his colleague.

  “How the hell she get that?”

  The young woman, twenty years his junior, looked up from her magazine. Sunglasses hid her sharp, hazel eyes.

  This was Samara’s first official trip outside the home in her six months of employment. She was a looker, with her raven-black hair and mocha skin, and that had initially worried Ken. Might get some of the male offenders going. He’d originally thought she had some Aboriginal in the mix, but the longer he spent with her, she’d seemed more oriental than indigenous.

  “Probably not the best idea, right Ken? An arsonist with a lighter.” She grinned and looked back between the seats. “Come on, Skye. Give it here.”

  The girl pouted, but on seeing Samara wasn’t playing around, reluctantly handed it over.

  “So how far is it?” said Paul. He had longish hair that curled at the edges, and round sunglasses that made him resemble Ozzy Osborne. “I’m bakin’ in here, bro.”

  “Thought you’d be used to that,” Ken replied. “You were getting baked every day before enjoying our hospitality.” He pretended to smoke a roach and flicked the imaginary stub through the open window.

  A man stepped out onto the road and waved his arms.

  “Shit,” Ken cried and slammed a foot on the brake.

  The ancient bus whined like a neutered stallion. The tyres bit into the road, kicking up a cloud of light orange dust.

  Lurched forward and grimacing from the screams at the back, Ken held the steering wheel steady.

  Emitting a final hiss, the bus came to stop, throwing Ken back in the driver’s seat.

  “Everyone okay?” he asked, heart racing. He shoved the gearstick into park.

  “Where you learn to drive, old man?” growled Rick. “Fucking Bathurst?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Ken turned to his side. “Sam, you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” she said and held up her magazine. She’d ripped it in half. “Can’t say the same for Dolly, though.”

  Outside, the thick dust began to settle, revealing the man in the road. The bus had stopped a few feet before hitting him, and he stared through the windshield, eyes wide in a dark, weathered face.

  “I’m gonna kill that arsehole,” said Rick, rising from his seat. “I coulda been killed!”

  “No sweety,” cooed Angela, holding him close. “Stay with me.”

  Sam stared at the four teens from between the front seats.

  “Just chill out, guys,” she said, stern. “This might be some kind of emergency. Let’s just shut up and see what the gentleman wants.” She nodded at Ken.

  Nicely done, he thought and leaned out of the window.

  “G’day!” He called. “You okay there?”

  The old man glared at him. “Where you goin’, fella?” he demanded.

  Ken shot Samara a side glance. She shrugged.

  “Mount Banjarra,” he said and pointed to the grey hulk on the horizon. “Just to camp a night.”

  The man didn’t seem to hear and leaned forwards, squinting through the glass.

  “You got any children in there?”

  Ken licked his lips. Something about the guy had got under his skin; either the way he never blinked or how he seemed to ask a question, only to ignore the answer. And children? Why the hell does he want to know about children?

  “No kids,” he said. “Only young adults.”

  “Young adults?” said Paul and snorted.

  The man appeared to think this over and slowly nodded, but then he stood straight. “You gots any women with seed in their belly?”

  Ken and Samara looked at each other.

  “Run this guy over,” said Rick. “He’s a fucking nutcase.”

  “As much as I hate to agree with our own resident nutcase,” Samara whispered, “he’s right. Something isn’t right with this guy. Women with seed in their belly?”

  The man pounded on the windscreen with a fist, startling everyone on the bus.

  “I asked you a question!” he yelled.

  Ken inched his hand over to the gearstick and gently popped it into drive.

  “I think we’re leaving,” he said and eased his foot off the brake.

  The bus rolled forward a few inches, and for a moment, Ken thought their new friend might stand his ground.

  The man saw the vehicle moving toward him and he struck the glass with both fists, snarling. Darting around the side, he pulled at the passenger door handle, but it refused to budge.

  Samara shrieked and leaned away, her seatbelt the only thing holding her in place.

  “I asked you a question!” the man screamed again and thrust a hand around his back.

  “Drive, Ken, drive!” yelled Paul. “He’s carrying!”

  “Carrying what?” Ken said and chanced a glance through the passenger window.

  The man pulled out a handgun and fumbled his finger onto the trigger.

  “Christ!” Ken pushed hard on the accelerator, and the bus shot away with a heavy grind.

  A shot rang out, and the back window exploded in a cascade of glittering shards.

  The passengers screamed and dove to the floor.

  “Come back!” the man screeched, standing in the middle of the road, waving the gun over his h
ead. “Come back here…you’ll wake it up!”

  The turn off ran a few kilometres closer to the base of Mount Banjarra, and the bus had bounced through deep potholes and loose gravel. Hanging tree branches scraped the windows and roof. At least the canopy allowed a temporary reprieve from the heat of the day. Eventually, the dirt road had narrowed further still, and Ken had pulled the bus over. From here, they walked.

  “Come on, lads,” he said, removing backpacks from the sliding side door. “I want all that glass gone.”

  Rick and Paul, with surprising obedience, swept the shattered back window from the floor with magazines. Ken guessed being shot at was a new experience for the pair; another chapter in the lowlights of their criminal careers.

  “Crazy fucker,” said Rick, flicking a sliver of glass from the floor of the bus.

  “Yeah,” agreed Paul. “We should go back and mess him up, bro.”

  They’re fine, thought Ken and went to check on the women. He found them sat on a log at the side of the trail, Samara between them. Over the last few weeks, he’d thought Angela the tougher of the two girls, despite her silver-spoon upbringing. Her parents, rich or not, had finally lost control with her. Shoplifting had descended to fighting and a little bit of play with local gangs around the city. Now, with Rick almost surgically attached to her side, she acted even tougher, every part the gangster’s moll. Yet here she sat, on a log in the middle of nowhere, applying lipstick with a trembling hand. The mirror she clutched glinted with the afternoon sun.

  On the other hand, Skye, the sweet, quiet girl who’d torched her stepfather’s house, sat quite happily and chatted to Samara. Ken once met the stepfather and had a good idea why Skye emptied a jerry can of petrol in his house and threw a match.

  “You girls okay?” he called.

  Samara and Skye nodded. Angela ignored him.

  “When you’re ready, grab a pack. I don’t think that guy will be following us. We’re miles away.”

  Angela looked up. “You told him we were coming here.”

  “It’s a big place, Banjarra,” he replied coolly. “I picked one of the lesser known turn offs. He’ll never find us. You too, fellas. When all that glass is out, grab a pack. I want to be there before nightfall.”

  The hike was longer than the teens expected, and Ken enjoyed listening to them huff and complain. Especially Rick. Who’d have thought that someone hard as nails would struggle with a little walk?

  The trail opened out into a clearing just as the rocky outcrop of Mount Banjarra started to rise from the ground. A few trees provided little shelter, but the thick surrounding bush offered plenty of materials.

  “Perfect,” said Ken, lowering his pack to the ground. He plucked off his hat and rubbed a hand over his sweaty, bald head. “We can camp here for the night. There’s a slope in case it rains, and the mountain will shield us from the sun. Plenty of trees around. Perfect.”

  The campers dropped their packs with groans of relief. Paul rubbed his back, moaning like an old man.

  “About time,” said Rick. “Let’s break out the tents and relax.”

  Ken dropped to a crouch and opened his pack, chuckling.

  “Tents, young Richard? What tents?”

  The campers glanced at each other and then stared at Ken. Even Samara appeared surprised, but this was her first trip.

  “You mean we’re out here and didn’t even bring any tents?” said Paul. “Screw that. I’m sleeping on the bus.”

  Ken shook his head and reached deep into his pack.

  “You don’t need tents when you have one of these…” He pulled out the heavy object by the handle and held it aloft.

  In the dying light of the day, the hatchet blade gleamed gold.

  “This is a wilderness camp,” Ken continued. “This is all we need to build a shelter. Don’t worry, I do this every year.”

  Angela booted her pack, which hardly budged.

  “I’m hot, tired, I stink, and now we don’t have any tents. Hope you can build an ensuite with that thing, ‘cause this girl ain’t shitting in the woods, Ken.”

  The teens laughed, thankfully, breaking the tension.

  Ken smirked. “It’s not too bad. First night’s always a rough ride, but you get used to it. You’ll learn to appreciate the simple things: heat, shelter, food. We’ll have all those…and as a treat…” He also pulled out a bag of marshmallows. “Some genuine campfire moments.”

  Samara walked over and rubbed him on the shoulder.

  “Come on then, Bear Grylls. You’ve sold it to me. What should we do first, because dusk’s coming on fast.”

  He looked up through the canopy.

  The sky had darkened considerably, fading from a vibrant blue to a washed out sapphire. He gave them an hour of decent light, and with a bunch of first timers, they’d have to move fast.

  “Okay, guys. We need to build shelters. There’s enough trees and rocks here to make some decent leans. Go back down the trail a ways and into the bush. Find as many long branches you can, straighter the better. Don’t wander too far, because I don’t intend spending the night looking for you.” He stood, happy to see the campers readily heading off. They’d paired up. Angela and Rick headed around the rocks while Skye and Paul chose the trail. “Oh, and guys?”

  The four paused.

  “Be careful. Watch for snakes, spiders and any other bloodsuckers you come across.”

  The moment they rounded a cluster of jagged-edged rocks, Angela breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, some alone time. Felt like she couldn’t pick her nose without attracting the stare of their keepers. Ken was okay, but Samara? Strutting around like she was all that…

  Rick slapped her on the behind and grinned, walking ahead.

  Angela returned the smile, but grimaced on the inside.

  How could she tell him?

  What would he do?

  Wish mum was here, she thought.

  “So,” said Rick. “How long you think we got, babe? You know, until they come lookin’ for us?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t know. Not like there’s anywhere to go. Nothing around here. Half an hour, maybe?”

  He stepped over a fallen branch.

  “Plenty of time for some…” He held up his hands. Forming a crude circle, he poked a forefinger back and forth inside.

  What an arsehole. Mum was right. Let a man in your pants once and they’ll expect it all the damn time.

  She ducked under some hanging leaves.

  And once is all it takes, right?

  One week had changed her life. Seven days of expected blood and stomach cramps had never arrived. She’d gladly suffer a month of period pain just to know everything was okay. Seven days late. No blood, no pain, nothing. She’d finally given in to Rick’s persistence, and now she was pregnant with the child of a thug.

  This was not part of the plan. How she hated those teenage mums, sitting around in front of the television all day, smoking pot that Centrelink had paid for.