She shrugged. “Sure, why not? Didn’t know you had any weed.”
“I’ve always got weed.”
He hoped that was cool in Sasha’s eyes, not lame. Her smile stayed put, so he figured she was into it. He throttled off until they were drifting, then killed the engine. The large outboard dropped into silence and Blind Eye Moon was suddenly beltingly loud as they bobbed gently in the night. He grabbed his phone from beside the wheel and tapped it down a few notches. Still loud, but not so much they’d have to shout over it. BEM needed to be loud, after all. He couldn’t wait for the gig later that night. The spring evening was mild and clear, not yet the close heat of summer, but warm enough so they were comfortable in t-shirts.
He swivelled in the driver’s seat to better face her and pulled out the leather pouch he kept his tobacco, papers, and weed in, and began to roll one up.
“I can’t believe you have this sweet boat,” Sasha said.
I can’t believe you finally agreed to go out with me, after I told you this was mine, Dace thought, but didn’t say it. It wasn’t his, after all. But he would get laid before admitting that. He had the use of it whenever he needed, one of the perks of the job, so it amounted to pretty much the same thing.
“Almost brand new Quintrex 530 Cruiseabout,” he said instead. “Got an upgraded 115 horse power Evinrude Etec on the back there. Not too shabby.” He grinned and licked the oversized cigarette paper, stuck it down. He turned the joint and lit it, took a big draw and held it in.
“You have to deliver something before the gig, you said?”
Dace blew out a plume of smoke towards the stars and nodded. He took another draw, then handed Sasha the joint. This was fine weed. He blew out again, then said, “We’ll be met at the wharf in Enden. Once we’ve given over the box we can head into town. Easy as. Get a couple of drinks in before the gig, yeah?”
“Sounds good.” She coughed slightly, grinned sheepishly, but took another toke. “What’s in the box?”
Dace waved a hand. “It’s just work stuff.”
“On a Friday night?”
“Yep.”
He wasn’t about to tell her any more than that and she seemed happy to let it go. Preferable all around, really. At least until he knew her better. He thought about leaning in for a kiss but didn’t want to push things too fast. The boat moved slightly with the current and they were turned to face the cliffs. Tumbled sandstone, striped like cake, led up to thick bush on top. As the weed kicked in, they both leaned back in their seats, mellowed with it. The myriad stars above the silhouetted gum trees made for a stunning outlook, the wide sweep of the Milky Way a river of distant diamonds.
Dace took the joint back from Sasha. Something in the bush high above them moved. He paused, halfway through inhaling, and watched as a dark shadow rose briefly higher than the treetops. It was curved, lumpy. It reminded him of a whale breaching the surface of the ocean, that slick curve of massive beast briefly rising then sinking away. Except this was on a cliff top. And the trees had to be at least ten metres high up there, maybe more.
“You see that?”
Sasha looked at him. “See what?”
He pointed with the spliff. “Watch, up there. Dead ahead of us. Something huge moved in the bush.”
Sasha frowned. “You’re stoned, man.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But I definitely saw something.”
They both stared at the high vegetation, passing the joint back and forth. But saw nothing more.
“I definitely saw something,” Dace said at last, annoyed.
Sasha laughed softly. “I believe it. There is weird shit in the bush around here. Wouldn’t get me in there for quids. I stay on the road every time, and never stop the car.”
“I hear that.”
“Better yet, we do this. Going by boat to Enden is way smarter.”
“No chance of some kingshit cop in town trying to RBT you either.”
“You heard the McFarland story?” Sasha asked.
Dace laughed. “Everyone knows the McFarlands. Weird fuckers.”
“Weird even by Gulp standards, yeah. But you know the story about their land?”
“I guess not. What about it?”
“They have over a hundred acres out on the Gulp Road, yeah? South side. Theirs is the last property before it’s thick bush all the way to the Enden-Monkton Road.”
Dace took the joint. It was getting short, hot. “Yeah.”
“One of the earliest farms, cleared and settled by John McFarland’s great-great-grandad. It’s been there over a hundred years, ticking along. So back before the McFarland kids were born, John McFarland inherited the farm from his dad. He’d always said they should expand, but his dad said no way. My dad and John McFarland are mates, right, which is how I know all this. Now apparently, McFarland wanted to clear more land, but his dad always said they should never disturb what was out there, beyond the creek.” Sasha smacked her lips. “My mouth is dry as Gandhi’s sandal. Got a drink?”
Dace handed her a plastic water bottle he had in a cup holder by the steering wheel. He always came prepared. He was enjoying her stoned rambling. “What’s out beyond the creek?” he asked.
Sasha gulped some water down. “That’s better. I’m getting to that. Now, John McFarland would have been about twenty-five or so, his dad died young and he inherited the farm young. Gung ho, is what my dad called him. He decided fuck what the old man said, he was going to strip out a few more acres past the creek.
“So this creek runs right along the far side of the McFarland back paddock, marking the boundary of their land on that side. John McFarland decided to take down the fencing on his side of the creek, drop a couple of cement culverts in to make bridges, and then start clearing bush the other side.
“He had some help with him, a local teenage pair, brothers from one of the families in town. They were fifteen or sixteen, something like that, earning pittance bucks for back-breaking work on the farm. He still does that to this day, hires teenagers, pays them next to fuck all. Anyway, they get out there and start stripping down the fencing and one of these teenagers goes over to the creek and says, ‘The water is black.’”
“The water is black?” Dace echoed.
“That’s what he said. ‘What do you mean, black?’ John McFarland asked him, and the kid says, ‘The water is black, like oil.’ All this my dad told me. Apparently, McFarland got drunk one night at Clooney’s and told him the story.
“So this kid puts his hands in the creek and cups them together to get some water. Sure enough, it’s black. Not like oil, McFarland said, but dark like a glass of stout. ‘Probably just peat or coal or something in the ground hereabouts,’ McFarland says to the boy. ‘Stop fucking about, there’s work to do.’ Apparently the kid shrugged and said, ‘Well, I’m thirsty,’ and drank what was cupped in his hands.”
“So this won’t end well,” Dace said with a grin.
“Does anything in this fucked up town? The kid screamed in agony and collapsed to the ground. Began gibbering and rolling his eyes. They all freaked out, and McFarland rushed him home. He settled down a bit on the way, but the kid has never been the same. All his teeth fell out and his skin went white, like fucking chalk. You’ll have seen him around town, right? Everything about him is long and weird and floppy, he always wears overalls with that massive baggy jumper underneath, even in the height of summer.”
Dace frowned, nodded. “Yeah, I know who you mean. That’s how he got that way?”
“Fucked up his mind too, he’s not all there, so they say. I wouldn’t know, I won’t go near the freak.”