Lucy stood at their kitchen counter, still wearing her dressing gown, hair a mess, eyes puffy from sleep. Coffee was brewing, and as she and Vic stared at each other in uneasy silence the toaster popped up three slices. Vic jumped slightly, then looked around their kitchen. He spoke with Lucy several times each day but he had not been home since breach, four days earlier.
‘You’re covered in mud.’
‘Yeah.’
He’d appeared at the back door to see Lucy stretching and yawning, mug in one hand and the other scratching absently below one breast. Then she’d seen him, her eyes going wide and a slick of coffee spilling down her front. It had not been hot.
‘I don’t understand. Why won’t you tell me why?’
‘I will. When we’re on the road,’ he said again. If he started now, he’d have to finish, and he had no real idea how this would end. He’d drive and talk at the same time. And if he was going to scare her he’d rather it were as they were leaving than now, when she had herself and Olivia to get together. And he had stuff to think about, things they’d need to take with them. Vic, something’s come through. . a creature, but. .
‘But you’re scaring me!’ Lucy said. ‘You look-’
‘Everything’s going to be fine. I’ve been running, that’s all.’ He moved to the side and glanced at his reflection in the oven door. He no longer looked like himself, and he wondered if mere mud and exhaustion could do that.
‘Olivia won’t want to go. She’s only been up twenty minutes, she hasn’t even had. .’ Lucy nodded at the toast, and Vic moved quickly across to her, grasping her upper arms and pulling her close. He stared into her gorgeous blue eyes for a few seconds, seeing how this was upsetting her but unable to change course. Then he hugged her to him, thinking of the dream and his dead sister, and those brief moments of suspicion he’d seen in his wife’s eyes.
‘Something came through,’ he said.
‘What?’ Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.
‘Just trust me. I’ll tell you everything I know when we’re rolling. But I want to be away from here in ten minutes.’ Vic let go and moved back, looking her in the eyes again and loving everything about her. She was scared, but she’d sniffed back any tears.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But Olivia will-’
‘Daddy!’ the little girl shouted as she ran into the kitchen, and Vic’s smile as he spun around to sweep her up was genuine. Olivia hugged him tight around the neck and her long hair brushed against his face, tickling his nose. ‘Wow, you’re all dirty.’
‘Yeah, I know, sweetie!’ he said, hugging her back. This was everything he had left Coldbrook for. He turned so that he could see Lucy and offer her a smile.
‘Hey, honey,’ Lucy said. ‘Daddy’s been keeping a surprise from us.’
‘Has he found Rosie?’ Olivia asked, so serious. Rosie was a doll she’d lost over a year ago, a ragtag creation that still seemed to visit her dreams.
‘Not Rosie, sweetie,’ Vic said. ‘But we’re going on holiday.’
‘Yay! No school?’
‘No school,’ he said.
‘How long for?’
Vic glanced at Lucy, and something in his eyes must have struck her for the first time. She leaned gently against the kitchen worktop for support.
‘Only a few days,’ he said. ‘That’s all.’
Vic wanted to leave in ten minutes, but it was almost twenty before they were sitting in their RAV4, Olivia strapped into her seat in the back with a Nintendo DS open on her lap, Lucy clicking her seat belt and sitting back, staring straight ahead. When he’d stretched to push several large water bottles behind the front seats, she’d caught sight of the pistol in his belt. She’d hardly said anything since and it was time to tell her what he knew.
‘Lucy, everything I’m doing is for-’
‘Should I call my mother?’ Lucy asked. There was a quiver of fear in her voice. ‘Or Richard? He and Rhian are in Seattle, should I-’
‘Don’t call anyone!’ Vic said, more sharply than he’d intended.
Lucy blinked and stared at him wide-eyed.
He sighed, started the car, and sat back in his seat for a moment, eyes closed, trying to remember everything they had packed. Should have brought more food, he thought. And water. Only ten litres of water. Lucy had thrown a load of clothes into a suitcase and a kitbag, and Vic had added some heavy walking boots, coats and gloves, even though it was still only September. Toys and books for Olivia, a mobile charger for his phone, the spare five hundred dollars he kept in an envelope in his desk drawer. When he’d casually loaded a compact tent and camping stove into the car, Lucy’s glare had been thunderous. But he’d ignored it and walked away, because there was so much left to do.
‘Where are we going?’ Olivia asked, breaking the awkward silence. Vic looked at her in the rear-view mirror, hunched down over the DS and immersed in her child’s world.
‘North,’ he said. ‘Somewhere nice. It’s a surprise.’
‘You’ve no idea, have you?’ Lucy whispered.
Vic glanced across at her, then squeezed her leg, hoping she’d place her hand on top of his. She remained stiff and upright in her seat, nursing her mobile phone and staring through the windscreen at their house. It was a big family home, double-fronted, small pool out back, hot tub, and entirely the product of Vic’s work at Coldbrook. The facility paid their mortgage, and there was the promise of complete ownership of the property upon project completion. They’ll have the house from me, he thought, and he barked a short, bitter laugh as fear flushed coldly through his veins.
‘Shouldn’t we be going?’ Lucy asked coldly.
‘Yeah,’ Vic said. He backed away from the house and drove off. As he headed towards the centre of town he looked in the mirror again, but this time not at Olivia. He watched behind them, not sure what he was expecting to see. But he saw nothing.
They drove around the town square where he and Lucy had once sat, Olivia in her pushchair, and talked about having a second child. That had not happened yet, but Vic kept telling Lucy that they had plenty of time. The world is our lobster, he’d say, smiling and hugging her tight. The bench where they’d sat had a plaque dedicating it to the memory of a young girl called Alice Klein, the daughter of friends of theirs. She had died three years before at the age of fifteen from brain cancer. She’d been a popular girl, and as she had deteriorated she’d raised many thousands of dollars for the small town hospital where she’d spent her last days. She had been quite a character in town, pushed around in her wheelchair by her older brother, flaunting her baldness and the scars of unsuccessful surgery, demanding men’s shoes — just one from a pair — and holding them to ransom for charity. She’d taken Vic’s three times, and the last time it had cost him a hundred bucks to get it back. He’d had to collect it from her house, because she’d taken a sudden turn for the worse by then, dying five days later. He still visited her parents every time he was up in town. Her father worked for Coldbrook, though not in the facility — he was one of several accountants of theirs, responsible for dealing with their foreign investors. A good man, a friend to the Pearsons, he had changed since his daughter’s death, taking his work more seriously. There had also been rumours that he’d tried to take his own life, though no one wished to explore them too deeply.
I should tell David, Vic thought. He stopped the car to let a postman cross, raising a finger on the wheel in acknowledgement when he nodded his thanks. I should tell him, because they don’t deserve any more heartbreak. He drove on, and the atmosphere in the car was thick with tension. Even Olivia seemed to have noticed it; she’d closed her DS and sat staring out of the window, frowning into the sun.
They left the square and passed McCready’s, where Vic and his family had spent last New Year’s Eve. Old Walt McCready threw a big party every year, charging everyone ten bucks and laying on food, drink and entertainment until the early hours. Adults and kids alike remembered the party for months afterwards, for the quality of the home-catered food and the variety of drinks he’d ordered in for the evening. Vic remembered it most for the ten minutes he’d sat and watched Lucy dancing with some of her friends from town. He’d been gently drunk by then, and he’d realised that he loved his wife more than he ever had before. He’d even muttered a foolish New Year’s resolution to himself: Be better to her this year than you ever have. As they drove by he realised that he had now broken that resolution. He remembered their friends dancing and eating and laughing with them that night, and knew that he should warn them all.