Only If You Have To

End of the World BBQ

It doesn't surprise me at all that we use the same word for a sudden dose of the unexpected as for the experience of sticking a fork into a wall socket. I have seen something truly unexpected and can almost feel the current worming through my brain. All I can do is blink. Shock like a snake of thickened blood courses up and down my brain, dragging memories in tow.

When my eyes opened I could see the tinted windows of a rundown truck stop. Two disused pumps sporting 'empty' signs in front of it, both were caked in red dust. So too were the windows. One odd thing off to the right was what appeared to be a revolving door. No dust was sitting there. Ricky pointed at it, he'd already donned his helmet, and slipped out of the truck. A sudden jet of heat came in through the door and dissipated just as quickly. A taste for what waited outside.

My own sun clothes sat in a crumpled heap behind me. But my skin can take a little sun exposure and it was only a few strides to the door. And I was so very hungry.

Blink

Food substitutes in every colour of the rainbow, somewhat nutritious and entirely unsatisfying, sat atop cardboard plates on the counter as I walked in. But Ricky marched right up to the door behind it and knocked. He didn't have to wait long. A slim young girl answered and my heart jumped. She looked about Jane's age and had her light brown skin. Taller, with harsh red hair where Jane's was black but for a moment still, I felt a stab of hope. But she was certainly not my daughter, she had no scars.

“Fencer” she said, barely giving me the time of day.

“How are ya Ally, come to show my friend what real food tastes like.”

“Sure you're good for it Fencer, along with your tab?”

That stung Ricky for a moment. He kept his genial smile but his face fell, it looked like a goofy grin. The fact that he hadn't taken off his sun-suit and held the mask under one arm didn't help.

“Let me use small words.” Ally continued, her tone level. “Show us your cash or f**k off.”

I bit my tongue and hoped Ricky was doing the same. Started angling my body towards the door, tried to catch his eye. But he was too busy rising to tower over Ally, who didn't look the least bit scared. Some response was clearly forming in his brain but only a furious stutter came out. I decided I'd already been here too long.

Blink

“Al!” cried an old familiar voice and I became certain it was time to leave.

“Al!” it cried again, as loud as it was warm. “It has been far too long, come inside please.”

Blink

The voice belonged to lanky woman a little older than I. And with skin only a few shades darker but nowhere near as aged. Tall enough to tower over Ricky without even trying but with a smile big enough that she would never need to. Nobody has ever laid eyes on Aysha Silver and not loved her on sight.

Blink

Under any other circumstance I would too. Aysha made the best barbecue either side of the South Australian border when I knew her and would blow every driver a kiss with their coffee. Either her supplies or her cooking have slipped some. But the warmth she radiates has, if anything, increased. The problem, as seems to have plagued me on this trip, was the period of time when I knew her being one I'd rather forget.

The other thing that has plagued me so far is realising at the same time both what the situation means and that I can't back out of it. So, I walk into Aysha's outstretched arms, let her pull me close enough to whisper in her ear.

“Anyone asks, we're school friends, you understand?”

Her eyes meet mine and go narrow but her demeanour never goes away.

“Come on out the back love, I'll fix some real meat. On the house.”

Her left arm still enfolds my shoulders as we slip down the hallway. Ricky makes to follow and Ally calls out.

“This one with you Mr Al?”

“Whatever he wants” Aysha calls over my shoulder, I nod and Ally lets him through. She looks me up and down, probably for the first time, and a freeze comes over her. She's a wide-eyed doe in the headlights until Ricky brushes past her. His tongue is hanging out a little.

Just as the young girl passes from my sight I hear her let forth a burst of sudden, outrageous laughter.

There's another revolving door at the back, and Aysha holds on to me as we pass through it. Only letting go when the dust in her yard tickles and swirls up my nostrils. Out here is a struggling vegetable garden shielded by tall wooden fences and shade cloth. I'd probably find it cool and pleasant if it wasn't for all the dust.

I've taken a cigarette from her on a reflex. I would offer it back but she is talking fast. And she is one of those darlings who talk expressively with their hands. With her bony long limbs, it forms an expressive puppet show in front of her face. Some student with spare time could probably read complex symbolism out of them. If students still exist with time for such things.

Aysha's talk rambles rapidly from when she left her old bar in south Australia as floods and festering marshland moved in. Mosquitos were apparently buzzing everywhere and people threw up lungfuls of black vomit. It didn't sound to nice. A second later she's running through how her and a succession of men who appear to have grown much nastier in retrospect helped her build this place. And all about her back room where those who know, and those who can pay, still eat real meat.

I can't stop thinking about the look on Ally's face. Where to begin? She's the about right age but surely a child of Aysha and I would look much darker. The black days after some harrowing runs that I'd spend at the Sand, Pint and Spoon. Last decent drinking hole on the south Australian side. Back then it was as far north as you could go without dark skin or some serious sun protection. And Aysha started blowing me more than kisses during my stays there. I didn't feel any shame for it then. I'm making up for lost time. More conscious than ever am I of the scars on my back. It's like they're being seared all over again.

“Ally takes after you.” I break into her monologue. I don't have a clue if that was what she was talking about. Disappearing as I had down the rabbit hole of my memory. Aysha turns her palms outwards, surprise on her face. 'Go on' it seems to say.

“She takes after you some anyway, how old is she? She gave me this strange look when I walked in, and what was she laughing at?”

Aysha drops her hands and sighs.

“She's not yours Al, don't worry. She's just a fan. I'd guess she saw that ring on your middle finger. It's the only thing about you the public ever knew.”

I catch myself toying with that same ring while Aysha's talking. I hardly think about my wedding ring anymore; the simple golden band has sat comfortably on my hand for years. I'd never sell it, it's a part of me. But before jobs I used to move it to my middle finger, mostly so that my associates wouldn't know I was married, and nor would Aysha. It seems old habit has had me do the same thing now. The ring fits unnervingly well there. And If there's anything worse on earth right now than being reminded I cheated on my wife it's being reminded of this. And Aysha knows it. She's keeping a cheeky grin off her face, but she's crossing her fingers, and that usually means fun is about to be made. I used to wonder if she did that because some part of her still worried about hurting someone, even as she started messing with them.

God bless her.

“As for the laugh, your guess is as good as mine. Maybe she got it from her father, whoever he was. But these past few years she's started laughing at random. I just think it's nice that someone's still finding joy in the world. Oh, and you should see her room Alan, your poster is up in there and everything.”

Her face almost shines, one arm waves triumphantly before her as she says this. I groan outwardly, she can have the satisfaction.

“You mean one of those tacky 'Wanted' posters?”

“Where they tried to photograph your face from the side of a speeding car and just got a blurry shot of your middle finger.”

Aysha chuckles, mimicking the pose I'd struck out the window. The pose of a young, foolish and drunk man who had just learned of his own infamy. And did I mention he was very young?

“They sell for two hundred dollars now. The later ones, ones that say 'Dead or Alive', can go for a thousand.” Her hand flits back and forth absently, fingers playing an invisible piano. Her expression is far away. I'm wondering when the last time was that I had a thousand dollars to spare? When was the last time I had two hundred?

I think something of my thoughts has showed, Aysha sits down, long limbs folding onto a dusty stool, indicating the other one next to it.

“Ok, you left it behind. You left me behind. I understand it. Everyone moves on eventually, towards whatever it is that's going to eat them. But don't be embarrassed that people turned you into a super hero. The way I hear kids talk about you it doesn't sound like anyone else on the planet ever had as much fun. There's even a comic about you.”

“Save me” I say bitterly “but where are my royalties from that?”

Aysha blows air hard out of her nose, and steeples her fingers across her face, leaning into them. It means she wants to be taken completely seriously. Resting on her hands like that her eyes will never move while they're looking at yours.

“Ok then. Be bitter about your old life if it makes you happy. But I'm no more bitter about it than I am about Ally. I didn't plan on that but I got awful lonely after you stopped hanging around. She showed up over a year later. Not yours, but you're still the best authority figure she's ever likely to have. Even though you'll never tell her. Isn't that strange? Now tell me what happened to you. I've had no news for nearly a decade. I still thought about you some. Remembered your birthday at least.”

“I still have that bottle. Was saving it for when my daughter turned eighteen.”

Aysha looks delighted for a moment. She didn't know about Jane, or Gina. But her face falls.

“You were saving it for her birthday? What happened?”

“I didn't drink it, been many days sober.”

“How many?”

“Eight, technically. But I think I threw it straight back up. It was my first drink in years.”

I don't think Aysha believes me. But I'm also certain this is the most sober she's ever seen me. I wonder what it means to her? Whatever her thought it doesn't trouble her very long. Concern fills her face as he hands fall together in front of her.

“So, what happened to your little girl?”

“That's the thing, I'm actually out here looking for her. A girl lighter skinned than Ally, black hair, brown eyes? She might have passed this way a year or so ago.”

No response from Aysha. It's her greatest vice, she really does care about people and is probably turning over her memory for any face that might fit.

“The one Fencer wanted to put up a poster of!” She exclaims. Fingers and brows knitting. “No sign of her I'm sorry. If I'd known she was yours I'd have been less harsh on your man in there. He's got a fairly major tab and I told him...”

“There would have been.” I try to add, though the words catch in my throat. “There would have been a lot of sun damage on her forehead. Maybe it was bandaged, two burns running vertically down towards her eyes.”

Aysha's eyes and hands splay wide.

“Somebody devil horned your little girl? Al if she's half as f*****g smart as her father she'll put every ocean left on Earth between herself and this country, if she can. Even odds says she's long gone.”

I cough on a reflex. And both she and I notice the unlit cigarette still in my hand.

“Sorry. I've quit, and I've also got a thing about profanity now.”

Aysha shakes her head and her hands wave in front of her face. She speaks wistfully.

“I used to know an Al who'd have ridden down anyone who crossed him. And if you devil horned his little girl he'd probably use your skull as a hood ornament. What happened to him?”

“He got out. Got on the wagon, got religion too. Because he was never going back to the people who did it, or anything to do with them. And he was never going to be the sort of man whose little girl got devil horned ever again. Now he's making amends, I go by Alan now. So, have you seen her?”

Aysha stands before me in a single stride, her arms around my shoulders. The hug lasts a second or two longer than I'd like. But it's Aysha there, loving as ever. Then she steps back.

“Only girl in the world I know with devil horns is some gangster in Melbourne. Way people talk she's spawn of the devil in every religion. I buy stock from her when I can't avoid it. But she's white. Probably too old to be yours, and too evil.”

“It's a kindness of you anyway. Thank you.” I take her hand. It is very good to see her again. At least one warm heart is still beating strong, while the rest of the world dries up and floats away.

I'm still pretty sure I know what will bring her back to her normal self. Something I discovered while drunk and rambling. Aysha Silver lights up like a star the second you compliment her cooking. It's as much a part of her as the warm tone of her voice and soft spread of her hands.

“Now tell me about this new kitchen of yours. I hear it's got the only real food left in the world.”

Aysha's hands lift to my shoulders, for a moment she presses her forehead to mine.

“It really is good to see you Alan. But there's been enough talk. I need to cook something. A fine rack of ribs came in yesterday, that can be your lunch. Come, I'll show you.”

Re-entering the truck stop through the back we pass through her and Ally's living quarters. A set of long thin rooms behind the kitchen. The door to one stands open and, sure enough, on the wall at the end my poster has pride of place. There are no real details to it. If it weren't for the word WANTED spelled out below I'd have called it a bad finger painting. The picture was taken while I swerved down the highway at great speed. I could have just kept the window up and let tinting do its job, but I couldn't resist. So, rolling it down I'd leant out towards the one police car that kept up with me and thrown a birdie at the camera. And there, preserved for all eternity on that poster, is my middle finger with the flashing gold of my ring.

When Aysha Silver says there's been 'enough talk' it means she'll keep talking as long as she can, but she's out of gestures for her hands so needs something else for them to do.

“You may have left the life Alan but without people trying to imitate you I'd have gone mad by now. It's flat out impossible to get any good meat. Transporting it is so heavily regulated, with the heat and everything, I have to take anything I can get. Even if that means dealing with gangsters out of Melbourne. But the stuff they send is always fresh. I can barbecue anything, but cooking chum just isn't the same. It's got to be real meat, with bones and texture and actual taste.”

With that she sets upon a wide rack of ribs at the kitchen bench. Relishing each blow of the cleaver as it neatly comes apart.

“What do you mean by 'chum'.”

“Chum is what you eat here if you don't know me. Made of anything a butcher can't sell and a government can't impound. So of course it's perfectly legal. Fish heads, organs, stuff you'd rather not think about. The only way to serve it that people will eat is ground down into a paste and covered in salt. So, the same way you eat pretty much everything. It's...” she breaks off.

“Sorry”, she adds, “it's just awful.”

I smile at her, then direct my gaze down at the ribs.

“But what about that?”

“Cow I think, fresh from Melbourne.”

“I didn't know there were any cows left in this country.”

“Neither did I until these started coming up the road. They're already carved some when they get here. Skinned and chopped so half of it's unrecognisable. Probably taking the best bits for themselves. But there's plenty left on the leftovers.” She says, smiling wide and greasing each rib with a thick gravy.

“A lot of the guys who bring it drive me crazy. They all think they're the next phantom in one way or another. Some actually think can drive better than you. But the meat is fresh. And they're all heading towards whatever's going to eat them.”

She sets the ribs onto a rack above glowing coals. Shutting the rack behind them. My mouth's already watering.

“Everything gets eaten in the end Alan, just look at the garbage I sell out front. It is literal garbage. I can't think of another time in history when we didn't throw away the things we eat now. And pay money for too. But people eat it all the same. I'm pretty sure we'll be eating each other before things get much worse.”

“I try not to think about it.”

“There are lots of things you try not to think about aren't there?”

I don't have an answer for that. Aysha smiles and sets about washing her hands.

“I can't remember ever running meat in those days. Things have definitely gotten worse.”

“It's the blackest black market. And until last year there was almost none of it. I still don't get to eat it often, only Ally gets the best all the time. But for you, well.” She smiled wide and threw her hands wider.

“I can't make food pay anyway Alan, even if I charged what I paid for the meat I cook. Have the tables to pay for that. Though your man Fencer's caused me grief. Borrowed money he couldn't pay back.”

There's a tone of tension to Aysha's voice that's difficult to explain. Her speech is always warm and musical but sometimes she pulls her words up just a little short. The music ever so slightly off key. Almost always it comes in the form of a definitive statement. But she's silently adding 'so what are you going to do about it?'

“Next time I come this way I will pay Ricky's debt in full. And pay you for the ribs besides. That's about all I can do.”

“Hopefully you'll have your girl back when you do.”

The music is still off key. There is still something I can do.

“I'm going back inside now. I'll make sure Ricky doesn't make his tab any bigger.”

Aysha nods in thanks. I barely had the chance for a look at her back room when she led me through before. But it's a sight to behold. A large fan above a layer of thin mesh forms the entire ceiling. It's spinning gently, pulling hot air up and out of the room. In the floor are a half dozen narrow vents blowing jets of cool air. It's cold enough to make you notice the sweat in all the places you've trained yourself to ignore. There's a large table, places to eat set into it, at the centre a flat green surface set for Texas hold'em. Six young men sitting at it look up for just long enough to be polite and not a second longer.

Smaller tables for eating are set in each corner of the room. So that the two chairs at each of them elbow each other. Ricky is sitting at one of them, his back pointedly to the game. A thick broth and what looks like actual bread is in front of him. Still more is set for me. Now I can take a deep breath. Savour the smell of cooking that fills this place. Different scents, some fresh, some sweet and others salty dance around the air. Each one follows a different track up my nose and finds a different part of my brain. I'm colonised by the smell. This is better than whiskey, this is better than s*x. I've been without this for longer than either of those.

Gina would love this place. I haven't taken her out to eat in so long. I'll bring her here, and every other place like it that I can find. And it won't be the first pleasant surprise I have for her, if all goes well.

Ricky tries to start a conversation three times across the next ten minutes. But there's a spoon in my hand and real food in my mouth every time. I can't spare the attention for anything else. I hear a low moan and it takes a moment to realise that it's me making it. Leaning back before an empty bowl of broth.

“The lady certainly can cook.” Ricky says at length. “I had no idea you two were so close.”

“School friends, haven't seen her for years.” I say half truly, and mull licking the bowl clean.

“So, this is your first time with Silver's cooking. You're welcome.”

I can't remember my first time with Silver, or the one after that. By the time I was sober enough to realise what was happening with her it had already happened often enough that I couldn't back out. And what's Ricky mean, 'you're welcome'?

“You're only in this room because Aysha recognised me. Don't forget it. And why don't you use her name.”

“Silver is her name. Only her friends and her daughter get to call her Aysha. And I'm definitely not her friend right now.” He nods towards his left shoulder, behind him another hand is being dealt.

“I thought something was weird. Don't mistake me I'm grateful to you for coming, but nobody jumps so quickly just to help another man's wife and daughter. Doesn't matter how many AA meetings they've shared with you. No citizen is ever that concerned. You're doing this to square your tab aren't you?”

Ricky gives a slow, penitent nod.

“I'll be honest Alan, I'd heard weeks ago that Doyle needed a driver for some high value cargo. I was gunning for this job from the beginning. Doyle wasn't budging but I kept my hat in.”

He leans in closer and whispers.

“Heard someone say he tried to get the Blacktop Phantom out of retirement. But even he wasn't crazy enough. Imagine that. Guess he had to go with desperate instead.”

Words rush out to deflect the mention of my old name.

“Don't put any money on that rumour. The Phantom hasn't been seen for nearly two years. He's as likely dead as retired.”

I've put down the cutlery and started toying with my ring again. Slipping it back onto my middle finger. Grimacing I place both hands in my lap before it draws Ricky's eyes.

“Doyle really asked you to do this job? He must have a dozen driver's who'd kill for it, and me! This doesn't make sense.”

Ricky looks down at his empty bowl, thinking hard.

“Look Alan, I can tell you're new to this but do you have any idea who we'll have to deal with if we're meeting them in the dunes?”

To that I can honestly shake my head. The cities on the coast are places I've always tried to avoid. Maybe my instincts always lead me towards open spaces or maybe it's just an irrational fear that the city will fall into the sea beneath my feet. Even if I hadn't been off the radar for two years I wouldn't know what to expect.

“I understand that we're dealing with gangsters” I say carefully.

“Gangsters is one way of putting it.” Ricky laughs morosely. “The mob that runs the dunes in Melbourne these days answer to a woman called Selina. Or they call her Selina to her face anyway. Behind her back...” He drops his voice and looks over his shoulder “behind her back they call her Dark Horns. Like a DEMON. They say she's like to kiss your hand one minute and cut it off the next. Nobody's ever seen her face but they say that her own family put devil horns on her to warn others not to trust her.”

The same woman Aysha mentioned presumably. And I confess I'm not moved by Ricky's ghost story. Throw a dart at any point on the map and you'll find at least one petty crime boss with an overblown reputation. Some of it is usually true, how much determines how seriously you should take them. Somehow, I think a reputation for singular evil like that cannot have much truth in it. But I guess I'll find out.

“It's like you said Ricky, there's no backing out now. Even if we're shipping cargo for the devil himself.”

Ricky doesn't take the comment well. A few minutes pass where he finds his empty soup bowl truly fascinating. Eyes darting up and down like he's mulling some momentous decision. Or imagining very fast game of chess.

“Old timer took this job not knowing anything about it. Doyle isn't stupid.” He says to himself, then seems to remember that I'm sitting right here. He addresses me;

“You're his sacrificial lamb Alan. Squeaky clean and expendable, it's the only explanation. Especially if we’re moving Michal-phadramine. We're dead meat if we're caught. And if we're dealing with Demona then it's as likely we'll get shot as paid.”

I lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and wait for him to look me in the eye.

“We can handle this Ricky. We can handle this.”

“Yes, we can handle this.” He says abruptly “but you need to know what we're in for. Demona and her gang are dangerous people, and the road to get to them is going to start getting really bad. The blood marshes around Melbourne keep the authorities hemmed in. Gangs run all that territory now. I know the people who'll get us across, my credit with them is solid. But there are others skulking around and if they get wind of what we're shipping.”

“If you can stay away from that card table we can stay alive.”

“Please don't remind me.” He says with a shudder.

“Every time I try to lose an addiction I end up replacing it with another. This one got me in deep.”

“How deep?”

Ricky doesn't get a chance to answer as two long black limbs reach over our shoulders, they hold plates piled with ribs. The smell overpowers us both. I well recall Aysha's method of barbecuing meat. She injects everything with a hot marinade so that it cooks even as the flavour fills it up. Then she slathers it in gravy made from the last barbecue and cooks it some more. The first few bites are indescribable. The texture, the taste, it's so completely intoxicating and unlike anything I've eaten before. True it's been long years since I last ate well, but even if I had walked into this place a wealthy and well-fed man I doubt I'd have found this food familiar.

When both our plates are half cleared Ricky looks up, nodding slowly.

“Beg pardon Alan, I've been thinking and I want to say something.”

A garbled sound passes through my throat that sounds vaguely affirmative. This food is too good. Ricky continues.

“I've been thinking about what you said in the truck about, well, about not shaking the knowledge that you're doing the wrong thing. I know what you mean but think about this. God can see everything right?”

“Everything, everything that's happened, everything that might possibly happen. That doesn't help me here.”

“Hear me out mate. If you look at the world from way way up high then everything is small enough that you can part it up real neat. Good and bad if you follow me. But if you look at all those small things up close I'll bet there's a wrong and a right side to each of them too. You see what I'm getting at?”

Ricky must have spent half the drive here rehearsing that. Every word just falls out of his mouth. He does have a point. But I'm not sure even he knows what it is. Thankfully the mouthful of succulent meat I'm chewing gives me ample time to parse it out.

“You're saying we're on the right side of wrong here. And that makes it ok?”

Ricky is still for a moment, like he's heard a funny noise a long way off.

“Yeah” he says, his face oddly blank. “The right side of wrong.”

“God doesn't see it that way. There is sin and there's redemption when you forsake the sin. You read the Bible Ricky?”

“Some of it. I liked the parts with the battles.” Ricky says with a plaintive smile. Then adds;

“But neither of us are God, or we wouldn't have to do this. And the money we'll make means we can redeem ourselves all we need, right? Whatever it is we're moving, you fixing up your family should make up for it right?”

“As long as I don't do it again next time I need to fix something. Maybe, I don't know. That's the thing Ricky, if any of us were Gods our heads would explode, some parts of it we just don't get. I don't think we're supposed to.”

“Yeah yeah, God moves in mysterious ways. I've heard that one before. I think we've just come up with a better one.” He raises a glass of water before him. There's a wistful smile on his face.

“To the right side of wrong.”

We clink glasses.

“I have a question.”

A few more minutes and half a plate of ribs have passed in silence. Ricky makes a sound through a mouthful that could either be 'shoot' or 'shut up I'm eating'. I press on regardless.

“Aysha told me you came here asking to put a 'missing' poster up.”

Ricky swallows and looks up.

“She didn't let me, I'm not welcome here much. That the question?”

“No. I'm wondering see, you haven't asked me why she ran away.”

Ricky looks soberly at the ceiling. At the wall behind my left side, then my right. He's chewing his lip, and with furrowed brows scratches the back of his hand on the stubble at his chin.

“I heard on the grapevine that Doyle did something awful to her. Figured you wouldn't want to talk about it.”

He takes another bite of his ribs; my hands stay folded in my lap. What Ricky's saying makes sense, but there's something stabbing at the back of my mind. I'm not sure it's even related to Jane.

“Do you?” He says, looking up. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Definitely not. I lift my left hand and raise a half-eaten rib. Before I can bite down Ally materialises at my elbow, eyes flicking left to right and pouting a little. Seeming satisfied she quickly reaches for both our glasses. The movement is poised and quick until her hands are over our glasses. Then, as a single crusted cube of sugar falls into each her hands shake compulsively and she whips them into her chest.

“On the house.” She says quietly, then disappears from our table as fast as she arrived. Ricky looks aghast, I probably do to. If that girl doesn't' know how rare sugar is then she'll learn from her mother soon enough, of that I'm sure.

One sip of the slightly muddy but deliriously sweet water now before me puts a stop to any worries for Ally. Indeed, I stop worrying about anything at all for a moment. I once read a book from a century ago about a dimension hopping cowboy. In his world sugar doesn't exist and when he finally tries some he wonders why anybody ever takes anything stronger. In this moment I empathise with that cowboy. I haven't tasted anything so sweet in years.

The stabbing at the back of my mind is stronger when the sugar rush fades. It has something to do with Ally. This place, enough meat to pile high on two plates, it doesn't belong in the real world. And too many things have been too good to be true lately. Maybe I'm being paranoid as I replay the girl's brief appearance in my mind, but something feels wrong.

Think it all over. It's strange to run into Aysha again, but not so surprising. I can't imagine her except in a place like this. That she happened to find one on the road to Melbourne isn't surprising either. She has to go where there's still traffic. It was shocking, shaming and just generally awkward seeing her again. But the vague shape jabbing at my mind didn't come from that. It started the second Ricky said 'dead meat'.

All this meat, even if every customer who plays the table loses money the way Ricky appears to, even if she's marked every card, a pile of beef this high must cost a fortune. Whatever is still between us it can't be worth that.

A stray memory crosses my mind. One of the first news broadcasts I watched after Jane disappeared. Cows had been declared extinct! There wasn't enough grass left in the world even for a small herd. Perhaps there are some hoarded away, but they would be guarded jealously. A live cow would be more valuable than gold. It would be more valuable than clean water. Certainly, too valuable to ever end up in a dusty road house miles from anywhere.

And that shake that was in Ally's hand. That wasn't nerves, that was a compulsive tremor, or seemed so. And it was something she tried to hide, maybe she's hidden it even from her mother. A word flashes across my mind.

Kuru

I can't remember where I heard it, or what it means. But it calls up many thoughts and none of them are pleasant. The ribs are going cold in front of me, I study the one in my hand. The bone is long and thin, gently curving. Much longer and thinner than any cow's rib I've ever seen before. And the texture of the thing, the taste, so unlike anything else I've ever eaten on Earth. And I've eaten rat.

A disgusting thought creeps into my mind, one I wouldn't dare vocalise. But there's another thought waiting for it, and it's armed with a magic bullet. Ricky's right, I can redeem myself later. Right now, I need to fix things for my family, and for that I'll need my strength.

I take another bite.

“Ricky, you really think we're toast if this goes south? Then we should get moving, take the rest of these to go.”

He swallows and gets up quickly, not needing to agree with words. If he knows half as much as I do he knows that, when it comes to Peter Doyle, deadlines are non-negotiable. Missing one even by a little makes things unreasonable.

“Warm up the truck, I'll deal with this.” I murmur and he slips out towards the front. Aysha watches him go and comes over to me. Before she can ask I answer.

“I think we'll take the rest to go. I don't like the way Ricky keeps eyeing the cards.”

As she offers me a roll of old newspaper I have a question for her. Asking it is almost certainly a bad idea but right now I can't help myself. Doubt and something like nausea are stabbing at my brain so hard it might bleed. I want to ask her where this meat came from.

“Has Ally seen a doctor lately?”

I couldn't say it. The thought of seeing Aysha's face fall, or finding out that she knows already, or that I'm wrong and just insulted the life out of her craft. I need strength, yet my head feels like it will explode with the question.

I've been holding my breath. Time to let it go. There's no real need to find out.

“No” Aysha says. And the confusion on her face tells me all I need to know. Ally has hidden the hand tremor from her mother, probably from everybody. If a genuine hand tremor it is. Maybe it was simply nerves, thinking herself possibly in the presence of royalty. Or maybe the nerves simply brought it out. Either way Aysha doesn't know, and certainly suspects nothing about the meat. Or else she's doing a fine job of pretending. I step in close enough to whisper.

“I lied before, I am here as the phantom as well as looking for my girl. Don't tell anyone, but if all goes well when I come back I'll have money for all our problems. And Ally should see a doctor.”

Aysha doesn't reply straight away, she just leans down a little and kisses me lightly on the forehead.

“God speed Alan. When you come back bring your little girl along. Ally needs friends who aren't drivers. And bring your wife too, I promise I'll be nice.”

Then she steps backwards and disappears into the kitchen. The smell coming out of it is joyfully sweet, somehow too sweet. Outside the sun has passed its zenith but still burns fiercely. Light so hot and bright its touch is a physical assault fills the air in front of Ricky's truck. The only shadows are cast by the vehicles parked in front, and two tall watchtowers that look like they might have been windmills once. Now drenched in white canvas and sporting a trio of armed guards.

Heat shimmers even in the shade. Still I can only make myself walk through it, the stinging pain is purifying. Especially where it falls on my hands, which are clutching those ribs. I wonder, if I left them by the side of the road, and carrion birds picked off all the meat, what might someone think when they found the bare bones?