“Yes, generally we call them crows. They’re really ravens, but it’s okay to call them crows as they’re from the same species. Most people call them crows. And when they walk on the metal roof you could call them horses, because they make quite a racket.”
Isabella laughed. “End times, French toast, crows, ravens. You’re a man of many interests.”
“Enough to make you stark raven mad.” Lucas said.
Isabella gave Lucas an ‘oh, dear’ look.
James smiled and nodded. “Yep, too much time by myself. You may come across some cockatoos out there as well. I read an article once that said crows and cockatoos were referred to as yin and yang in Aboriginal culture. You know, opposites: black and white. A bird story in the culture says all birds were once snow white. The crow got burned black all over in a bushfire it started. It didn’t make it to the shelter. The magpie made it to the shelter but got burnt in patches on the way. The cockatoo—or maybe it was a seagull—made it to the shelter without getting burnt keeping its snow white colour.”
“A cute story, James” Isabella said.
“This one isn’t so cute. Aboriginal people believed the crows helped to carry the spirits of the dead to the afterlife. But then there is also another story of crows with sticks attacking people as they approached the afterlife. There’re more stories but I’ve bored you enough.”
“No, not at all, I find them interesting,” Isabella said.
Ah-ah-ah-aaaah
James opened the back door.
Ah-ah-ah-aaaah
Lucas put out his arm and stopped Isabella from walking out. “Is it safe to go out there?”
James nodded. “It is. There’s a rubbish tip nearby. It attracts the crows, the ravens. But I’d duck for cover if you see a crow with a stick.”
Isabella hoped Lucas didn’t respond to the use of the word duck. He was really coming out of his shell.
They were all smiling as James led them to the track. It was well concealed but James got them going in the right direction. Isabella looked back as they entered the bush. James was no longer smiling—now he looked sad. What was bothering him? Was there something eating away at his mind? She wanted to hug him.
She had grabbed her backpack, and made sure the transporting device was in there, as she preferred not to leave it here. She turned, adjusted her backpack and followed Lucas. She looked to the sky. No crows, but she could hear them. Their blackness made her anxious—she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because she once heard that crows were also known as the undertakers of the bush.
<°)))><
James returned to the house and walked over to his companion, the pot-belly. He looked around the room. What a mess, the room and his life. People being here screwed with his head. Thoughts had multiplied. The laneways got busy. Extremely busy. Stop. Please stop.
Ah-ah-ah-aaaah
He shook his head. The crows could be noisy sometimes—most of the time he could ignore it. The calls were softer now as they moved on. Their calls replaced by a tapping sound coming from down the passageway. James walked into the passageway and it stopped. The door to the room the girl was staying was now closed. How rude. Obviously a lack of trust. Stop it, James, your thinking has gone wrong.
Tap Tap. It was the girl’s room. He opened the door. Tap. Tap. The window was slightly open and the fishing sinkers he’d sewn into the bottom of the curtains to stop them fluttering were tapping against the window sill. He looked at the bed. No pills. Where had she put them? The backpack. The bright pink backpack. She had trouble putting it on over the thick coat. She had taken them with her. She took her backpack because she didn’t trust him. Stop it. You’re thinking wrong.
It had been a while, but he wanted a hit. He needed to slow his mind down. They didn’t mention anything about Pop’s illness. Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe they didn’t know he was a junkie. Not that he was. Not really.
Pop reckoned he had a brain disease caused by the medication they gave him for something else, which he had to source from the internet as he couldn’t take the risk of seeing a doctor. Pop described it as a drug-induced fog. No one believed Pop except his daughter. She was working on something to clear the fog, and was totally against Pop’s own therapies. She was convinced they made it worse. But do old men listen? So Pop smoked the dope because he read somewhere it was a possible cure for whatever he had.
Pop had told James that in the late 2000s, marijuana use tripled amongst the older population as they encountered ‘old age’. The wonders of cannabis, he called it. But he’d also say the jury was still out. So he had grown his own stuff, but confessed it did do some funny things to his thinking.
Pop’s activities brought memories rushing back from James’s past. But they only shared the occasional joint. There was an old wooden shed out the back of Pop’s house. Some days James would walk up the hill and look down on the shack. He would see the smoke escaping through the shed’s broken window. James would smile and not feel compelled to enter the smoke-filled shed. That was most of the time, but now was different.
There was no Pop but there was pressure and there was dope, and James knew where Pop kept it.
He was going to give the devil a foothold.
34 – Making things happen
IT WAS TIME TO FOR AVA TO VISIT the Professor’s property. She hoped that some things were still concealed, like blueprints under floorboards, but she doubted it. She was just being proactive and curious, but she did wonder if it was a waste of time. But things are not accomplished by sitting back and letting stuff happen. She needed to be out there, making it happen.
She was annoyed. The roads around this area were so narrow and winding and now she’d come across what looked like some kind of telecommunications vehicle. A smiling face on the back panel of the truck told those behind that ‘We are wirelessly quicker’. Perdu would love to put some bullet holes in the eyes of that face.
She took a quick glance at her display panel—no cellular signal. She laughed. They haven’t even got a signal.
Perdu had to break suddenly as the truck slammed on its brakes and skidded sideways, blocking the road. Men in yellow work jackets jumped out of the truck. One walked towards Perdu’s car. She lowered her window.
“Sorry miss, we just collected a large kangaroo. We’re just going to see what state it’s in then get things moving again. We won’t be long and we’ll let you pass before we drive on. We’re heading up the mountain to fix a telecommunications tower.” He turned to look back at the truck.
Again looking at Perdu, he added. “You know you’re a lucky lady we came across the roo first. If it was you, you may well have gone over the edge. Are you visiting someone?”
For a brief moment Perdu thought that this man was going to hit on her—most men did—it was as though her beauty dissolved any inhibitions. Why else would he ask her if she was visiting someone? Was that his move?
“What are you . . . “
Perdu cut him off. “Could you go see what your friends are doing as I’m in a hurry.”
“Uh . . . sure.” He turned and left.
What a jerk. She looked around. Lots of trees and thick shrubbery. Not a safe place for a lady. She smiled, touching the semi-automatic pistol that rested in her waistband holster. The pulsating red circle on the display panel caught her attention and she was glad that she didn’t need cellular reception to get a GPS reading. Her destination wasn’t far away.
They borrowed the GPS location from the authorities. Perdu and her crew knew there was some connection to the technology in these hills, but could never pinpoint the actual location. The hive of activity resulting from Defence involvement had made it easier. She wondered if the authorities would still be there. Hopefully, it was just the professor they wanted for now and had taken him into custody.
