The Disappeared (2 page)

As usual, it
was the older brother who was now hesitant and fearful, eyeing the gushing
water with trepidation. He couldn’t believe his crazy younger brother wanted
him to jump in
there
.

‘Josh, there’s
no –’

Insects
.

No. Davey
definitely wasn’t going in there. But as usual Joshua persisted. On his knees,
pleading and begging his older brother. And – as usual – David relented. Joshua
wasn’t sure if it was because Davey didn’t want to appear cowardly or if he
just couldn’t resist the potential adventure of the floodwaters. Whatever the
case he was glad to be able to share the adventure with his older brother. His
best friend.

They stood next
to each other. ‘Okay, on the count of three.’ David nodded but Josh could see
he was worried. ‘Hey, it’s gonna be fine. Ya hear?’ David nodded, unconvinced.
‘Okay. One ... two ... three!’ The boys jumped.

Immediately
things went wrong.

The rough
contours of the creek bed had created a powerful eddy in the water. This was
where David jumped in. He was immediately sucked under. When he surfaced again
Josh could see that he had inhaled a lung-f of the muddy water and was
choking. There was panic all over his face. Instead of trying to swim, he was
floundering ineffectually. Hitting the roaring water with open palms. While the
river continued to suck him under and spew him out again. He was swallowing lots
of water. And he was drowning.

Like a fish on
dry land.

The ridiculous
thought flashed through Josh’s mind as he swam with powerful measured strokes
towards his brother. ‘David! David! Grab my hand. David!’ Josh tried to reach
for his brother but failed. He could see that Davey was sinking below the surface.
Completely at the mercy of the current.

Oh Jesus
please don’t let him die. Please oh Jesus!

And then
another crazy thought – even as his mind was focused like the sharp point of a
hunting knife; focused on saving his brother. The huge terrifying thought.
Mom
is going to kill me.

And then. Just
like that. It was over. The current had steered his brother onto a little
promontory of land where the slope was less steep. After floundering like a
dying fish for an eternity his brother’s kicking feet had found land and he
simply walked – almost calmly – out of the rushing stream. It was a ridiculous
anti-climax.

Josh exited
the stream and went to sit next to his brother. He could see Davey was badly
shaken. ‘Are you okay, bro?’

Josh felt like
–

Insects
!

There were no
insects!

Joshua whirled
around. The duffel bag plopping against his back. He stared in bewilderment at
the river that flowed past the little hamlet of Bishop. Then at the river bank and
the surrounding scene.
There were no insects!
Joshua remained perfectly
still. He listened carefully cocking his ear this way and that. Nothing! There
was only the sound of rushing water.

In the seven
or so days since he had been sleeping outside he had become intimately
acquainted with the countryside’s insect life. He had become accustomed to the
subtle rhythms and moods of the bush veldt; knew which of its residents came
alive at which times of the day. He had learned to read the insect sounds. Tracing
slight variations in light and temperature in the constant symphony of insect
sounds. He didn’t know what their names were or even what they looked like. But
he knew the sounds they made. And right now there was nothing.

In the short
life that Joshua had lived he had learned to be observant. It was a skill
further sharpened by Davey – his brother who was aspiring to be an aspirant
writer – who had taught his brother the value of quiet observation. Taught him
how much you could learn from shutting up and just watching and listening.
Since then Joshua had honed it to a fine art. It had served him well especially
in the rough cruel world of –

Joshua scanned
the riverbank. All the time listening carefully. Nothing! Not one insect sound.
He rushed up to the nearest shrub. He studied it carefully; moved aside leaves
and branches. Nothing. He walked up to all the clumps of wild grass he could
see each time prodding with his foot; looking listening. Nothing.

He knew it
couldn’t possibly because he was on the outskirts of this little town. Sure. He
knew that insect life diminished as you got closer to human settlements.
But
shit man
. It didn’t disappear completely.

During the
last few days Josh had slept on the outer limits of more than a few
shit-without-water towns but he had never experienced anything like this.

Suddenly he
understood the sterile quality in the air. It was the silence. The complete and
utter silence that had been bugging him. It was unnatural.

Josh listened
again trying to pierce the silence with his ears. There was just the sound of
the rushing streams. And –

Wait ... there
was something else.
Or rather ... there was
something else missing.

Joshua looked
up at the mighty eucalyptus trees. Nothing. How could that be?

How COULD
that be?

This time of
the day was always crammed with the cacophonic symphony of birdcalls. A dozen
different species vying for supremacy of the airwaves. Sun greeters. Morning
maestros. And yet now there was complete silence. And not one single bird was
visible in the towering tree tops.

Joshua scanned
the leaf-twisted canopy. From one end to the other. It was true. There was not
a single bird in view.

The silence
was awesome. And final.

Disquiet
settled over Joshua; unease grew in his chest. It felt like the first time he
had smoked
rocks
– crack cocaine. That blistering anxiety that digs
claws into your soul and just wouldn’t let go. That same unfocused dread now
blossomed at his centre.

Joshua wanted
to leave. To get the hell away from here. He realised his dread was irrational.
But he didn’t care. Something wasn’t right in this place. He wanted out! He
felt an ache in his chest as he thought of Johannesburg.
Longed
for
Johannesburg. And his brother. He knew Davey would be angry but he would sort
that out later. Right now he just wanted to get the hell away from this crazy
place.

He scrambled
up the slope. Upon reaching the summit, he quickly scanned the road for any
oncoming cars.

Nothing. Too
early.

Up ahead the
road veered sharply to the left. Behind a thick cluster of trees lay the town.
Visible above the massively tall eucalyptus trees Joshua saw the uneven summit of
the mountain he had seen on the map.

Bishop
.
The only way out of this town was through it.

He began to
walk.

Towards an
uncertain future.

Everybody was
dying.

Minki stood in
the middle of River Street. It was such a very pretty street. This was the
nice
part of town, her daddy said. If she listened closely she could almost –
almost
– hear the Elandsriver. It was close. Very close. That’s why they called it
River Street silly. Because the river is just up there; running along the green
sloping backyards of all the really nice houses in Bishop.

Everybody was
dying.

Minki felt the
rough tarmac of River Street chew into the soles of her bare feet. Her Bratz
doll
Yasmin
hung limply in a sweaty hand. Her pink nightie – also featuring
Yasmin
– fluttered in the chilly unpleasant wind. It was dark and –

Everybody was
dying.

Minki was
standing in the middle of River Street. Almost alone. The wind picked up and
howled an eerie refrain through the empty street. Through the empty yards.

Minki stood slap-bang
in the middle of River Street and watched Mr Wessels die.

Two houses
down, the Raftery family died peacefully serene. They did not realise they were
dying. They were asleep. The Raftery family was lucky. Not everyone was.

Like Mr
Wessels. He was not lucky at all.

Minki liked Mr
Wessels. He was a nice man. Mr Wessels owned the local nursery and garden
centre. Bloom Town. He was a successful businessman ... and also a kind man.

25%
discount on Green Thumb Thursdays.

Gardening is
big in Bishop. It is a pretty town and people love their gardens.

Minki watched
Mr Wessels twitch horribly. A violent spasm twisted his face into a terrifying
ghoulish mask.

Mr Wessels
always made Minki think of that movie
Goodbye Mr Chips
. He looked just
like the teacher in the old movie: tall and thin and with the same moustache
and funny glasses. Minki knew that a long
long
time ago Mr Wessels
had
been a teacher. Her daddy told her. She had always liked Mr Wessels and Mr
Wessels really
really
loved Bishop.

Say no to
invasive species.

Mr Wessels had
donated all the mophead trees that lined Bishop’s pretty main street. He was an
active member of the town council. He always gave Minki a Pop Fizz
whenever
her daddy went to Bloom Town.

Minki watched
as blood filled the eyes of Mr Wessels. It ran in two red rivers down his face.
His ears filled with blood. It poured down his neck and mixed with his black hair
making sticky clots of gore. He was babbling senselessly like an excited baby.
Through blood-red eyes, he looked fixedly at Minki. Another fitful lunge propelled
him forward and closed the distance between them.

Minki really
liked Mr Wessels. She was going to miss him.

Mr Wessels
fell forward onto his knees right in front of Minki. His insane babbling had
risen in pitch and intensity. It sounded like he was singing. He opened his
mouth. A violent torrent of blood mixed with something yellow poured from his
mouth.

Minki
screamed.

And screamed.

She woke up for
the second time that morning the dying echoes of a scream reverberating in her
ears. And she was standing. Her fright had propelled her right out of her bed
and she was now standing beside it. One hand was clasped over her mouth. Trying
to stifle a scream that was already seconds old. The other was held out in
front of her as if she were playing an invisible piano. This hand was shaking
uncontrollably. But it wasn’t just her hand. Minki was shaking all over. And she
was feverishly hot. Drenched in sweat. Her hair clung to her head; wet clumps
stuck to her face. Her pink nightie was plastered onto her skin. Spasms racked
her young ten-year-old body as she tried to absorb the terrifying dream; tried
to understand the nightmarish experience from which she had just awoken. She
didn’t know what it meant; didn’t dare to guess. As with any dream the more she
tried to probe its veiled ghostly images the more it slipped from her mind; the
less concrete it became. It started to fade. Only the last brutal image
remained. She saw the ugly contorted face of Mr Wessels

She started
crying. Sobbing uncontrollably.

It was just a
dream. And she was a bad bad girl. Dreaming ugly bad things. She was a bad girl
with a heart blackened by sin.

What if ...

What if daddy
found out?

What if Jesus
punished her?

A dark stab of
fear suddenly pierced her heart. In a fit of terror, she fell down on her knees
at the bed and began to pray with burning fever.

oh please dear
god oh please oh please dear holy father dear lord god in heaven please jesus
please I beg you dear god please our father which art in heaven hallowed by
your name please god please forgive me for my sinful heart oh dear jesus please
forgive me my horrible thoughts dear lord father please forgive me and help my
daddy make me clean I didn’t mean it dear jesus oh dear god

She remained
for several more minutes on her knees. Praying in silent desperation. Finally
she stood up. An uncertain calm had replaced the hysteria of a moment before.
Minki prayed often. It always helped. Especially after a bad dream

(
two bad
dreams!
)

like this. It
calmed her somewhat and made her feel better at the same time. Her daddy had
taught her that.

Pray. For sin.
For redemption.

Pray. For
fear. Her daddy had taught her that.

Yet ...

She just
couldn’t shake the sense of dread; the unutterable fear and anxiety that
pervaded her tiny soul. It seemed to cling to her like the sweat that now
soaked her skin. There was only one thing left to do.

She had to get
busy.
Idle hands are the Devil’s tools.

Minki opened
the beautiful cotton mauve curtains her Aunt Terry had bought her last year.
Outside, the early-morning sky was suspended in that grey limbo halfway between
light and dark. In the wan light, she could see it was going to be an overcast
day. Thick bulbous clouds clogged the sky.

She quickly
removed her comforter with its criss-crossing lines of varying shades of pastel
lilac and placed it on the whitewashed wicker chair that stood between her bed
and window. Then she removed the matching lilac pillows and placed these on top
of the comforter. The lavender sheet that lay on her mattress was dishevelled
and wrinkled from the

(
don’t
)

night’s
terrors.

She straightened
the sheet, smoothed it out and tucked it under the mattress along all four
sides. It was done with a near military precision. Her daddy would be proud of
her.

Now she
replaced the comforter and aligned it perfectly on the bed so that equal and
straight lengths

(
don’t
think
)

 hung from
both sides. She picked up each pillow. And individually and carefully fluffed
and pulled it until its shape satisfied her. Then she placed them perfectly at
the head of the bed ensuring that