Blood Donors (19 page)

At last.

Mum plonks me in front of the little bathroom mirror, dabbin’ my nose with antiseptics like I am just a littl’un. She doin’ it to fix my nose, or to say sorry for bein’ so mad with me?

We positioned in front of the mirror in that weird way that I can see her face in it, and she see my face in it, both at the same time. So we both starin’ at the bathroom mirror, watchin’ each other’s shiftin’ moods. But neither one of us can see ourselves.

We got to be quick, Mum. Big Auntie goin’ to want us all together
.

Is what Officer Cotton said
really
true? Big Auntie needs to provide a lot of answers to a lot of questions
.

She
still
doesn’t believe about the giant bugs.

And
I
haven’t told her about my seein’ Dad.

I’m thinkin’ the more confused one of us looks, the more hurt the other one gets. She doin’ a thorough job cleanin’ my nose good and proper, but it stings with the antiseptics, like pain is part of healin’.

Oww!

You should have taken more care…

I’m thinkin’ of Dad sittin’ in the Attic Office, all blissed out, how much it’d hurt him bad if Mum made a go at gettin’ him healed up. Too much hurt to bear, I bet.

Mum
I say—

No
. She cut me off.
It’s OK. I know enough, for now. Let’s focus on being safe
.

I’m bustin’ with impatience, but then Mum add
I been discussin’ the situation with Officer Cotton
.

Oh
. The situation. Dad? The Megas? The fightin’? I gaze at her face in the mirror, try and read her firm expression. Stickin’ out from the bottom of the mirror, I see a couple of antennas, quiverin’ slightly but you can tell they makin’ an effort to keep still. Very still.

Sticky-out antennas the only flaw in the Megabug games of hide-n-seek.

I look at Mum’s eyes, wonderin’ if she ready for this. I think she is. Her eyes in the mirror fix their gaze back at me, unwaverin’.

I got my mother’s eyes
I think. And I bring Dad’s knife out of my back pocket and I hurl it at the mirror.

Mirror shatters. My face and Mum’s face fracture into the sink below, razor-sharp teardrops, ripplin’ beneath the taps.

On the wall, the giant bug crouches, uncovered.

My mum’s eyes rest themselves on the naked bug. Its blood-drop eyes fix themselves back at her.

Bug moves almost faster than my eyes can follow. Up the wall, across the ceilin’, above me and Mum. It drops, proboscis pointed between Mum’s eyes.

I am ready.

My hands shoot up, catch the bug, fingers gettin’ a grip around the edge of its shell. Its front legs wiggle and scratch at my arms, claws tryin’ to slice an artery. Its head rocks backwards and forwards like movin’ to a Grime track, try and manoeuvre its proboscis to pierce my skin, give me the paralysis. The nozzle tappin’ against my flesh like a drumstick, but angle ain’t right for it to make a puncture.

I throw the bug into the toilet. Mum slam down the lid. I flush. We look at each other for a moment, listenin’. Flush is good and long.

I see two hooks stickin’ out from under the seat, grippin’ tight to the sides of the bowl. Mega ain’t goin’ down the drain without a fight.

The cistern begin it slow refillin’ process.

Mum grab hold of the toilet brush, lift up the seat and start to hammer the Mega with the brush. She bashin’ it on its head, on its back, but it will not release its grip on the rim of the toilet bowl.

I grab a bottle of bleach. Twist the lid but it jus’ go roun’ and roun’, will not unscrew.

Child-proof
say Mum.

Oh yeah.
Squeeze
and twist.

I pour the bleach over the shell of the Mega. Mum is bashin’ away at it with the toilet brush. Bug is startin’ to crack. I pour the bleach on its head, in its eyes, but still it hangs on. Mum snaps its knee joints. The exoskeleton shatters.

I flush again. The bug washes down with the swirl of water.

The smell of bleach remains in the air. We are clean.

There’s a hammerin’ at the door, and I hear Sis callin’ my name. Somethin’ up.

I help Mum to her feet and she give me the tightest hug. She ain’t hugged me for as long as I can remember. I made her stop that stuff an age ago when it got embarrassin’. My head higher than hers and it feel all wrong. I ’member when I was Connor’s age, always wrappin’ my arms round her waist, leanin’ my head against her belly, feelin’ her warmth. Right now, I oughta push her away, but I can’t let her go. Like I’m big, and small, both at the same time.

Marsh!
Sis hammerin’ at the door.
Marsh!

I look at Mum.

You see what she wants
she tells me.
I’ll watch Connor
.

I ain’t sure.
Are you safe?

I am now
she answer.
Do what you got to do, but come back quick. Phone me
.

I am filled with reluctance.

From the door, Sis yells
It’s Mustaph! He ain’t turned up. We got to check him!

OK
. I turn to go.
I’ll be quick
.

And careful
.

Careful
I say,
is my middle name
.

Seconds later, me and Sis racin’ down the stairs.

She peerin’ at me.
Marsh? You all right?

I’m … I’m … I’m jus’ tired, Sis, is all. Come, let us find Muskrat. Gather ourselves
.

Sis don’t look too certain about my all-rightness, but you know what? What’s all right? Who’s all right? Somebody tell me that. Anybody?

So Sis start deliverin’ a lecture on all fresh things she found about the bugs, but I ain’t listenin’. I figure I know everythin’ I need to know, which is all the best ways to splatter the suckers.

You
sure
you all right?
she ask.

I met my dad
.

Ah
. She stops lecturin’ and gives my arm a squeeze. I feel her fingers round the back of my arm, firm, and her thumb jus’ restin’ by my shoulder. It’s like she got good vibes floodin’ into me through that thumb. She could rest it there for ever. All would be well.

Sis is overjoyed to see three Megas, lurkin’ around a corner. I don’t like it. If they sittin’ in open view now, how many goin’ to come out when it
really
dark? But Sis see a perfec’ opportunity for target practice, whip out her precious nail gun and
kapow!
she crucifixin’ them bugs to the wall.

One of these suckers has its fill with you
she say,
that about a litre, maybe a fifth of what you got in total
.

I ain’t really listenin’. I got severe nail gun envy.

Two of the suckers, that be leavin’ you driftin’ in and out of wakeyness
.

Should have rummaged back of that van myself, coulda fixed myself some interestin’ hardware. ’Lectric drill – send them Megas spinnin’ and splattin’ all over the shop.

Three of ’em take their fill, boy, you ain’t wakin’ up again. You get me? They taken more’n half of what you got. Not enough lef’ bother keep pumpin’ roun’. You flatlinin’ for sure. You listenin’, Mallow?

Nope
.

We get to Mustaph’s place, knock on the door.

No answer.

We knock again. Still no answer.

I’m sweatin’.
Break it down
I say.
Bash it in!

Calm yourself
. She turn to me.
Do your countin’ trick
.

Sis! This ain’t the time—

This exackly the time. Count
. She fixin’ me stern.
To ten. Do it
.

I’m sighin’, but I surrender ’cos I know there no point arguin’ with her.
Mega One
I begin.
Mega Two
. Nice and slow.
Mega Three, Mega Four…

I count all the way to Mega Ten and there still ain’t no answer from Mustaph.
All right – can we bash it down now?

Sis turn the handle and push the door open. I feel the fool. We step in.

Place looks ghostly without Muskrat’s family all sittin’ there watchin’ the TV.

He ain’t here
I whisper.

Let’s jus’ check the boy’s room
. Sis is whisperin’ too. Like we got some secret. The secret is us. We don’t want them to hear us.

Push open the door to Mus’s den, and place in darkness, as usual.

Mus?

Hey, boy, you awake?

No sound.

Mus?

I hear a rustlin’ sound from where his tent is, like he’s turnin’ over in his sleepin’ bag.

He be nappin’ again. Even now
.

That boy got zzzs for brains
.

I take a step towards the curtains, put some light on the subject.

I hear the
pitter-pat
.

Don’t move
say Sis.

Don’t worry, I ain’t movin’
.

I get the feelin’ we bein’ watched.

Pitter-pat.
Pitter-pat.

You know what? I’m sick of this. Every time I come and visit Muskrat it’s like walkin’ straight into a horror movie. Boy don’t even know how irritatin’ it is.

Hold up
I whisper to Sis. I reach my hand out towards his bust of Beethoven. Right about now, I ain’t too much of a enthusiast about feelin’ around in the dark in case I find myself twizzlin’ some creepy-crawly whiskers. But my fingers find the night-vision goggles, and I snap ’em off of that ol’ decomposer and fit ’em onto my own head.

I’m instantly wishin’ that I hadn’t of done that. Sincerely.

If there’s one thing creepier than seein’ a mob of Megas in the day, it’s seein’ them in the darkness. Mustaph’s tent is no longer a tent. It is a crawlin’ mass of giant bedbugs. You can’t even
see
the tent. Them Megas coverin’ every last inch, creepin’ and probin’ and
pitter-pattin
’. In the middle of it all must be Mustapha.

Sis, do not move a muscle
.

I turn my head and see her face in the green murk of night vision. She is as still as a old game of Grandma’s Footsteps, but the look on her face is like she made a big mess in her pants. I’m thinkin’ my pants goin’ to join in solidarity.

What do I do, Sis?

She hiss back
I can’t see a thing, how should I know what you do? What’s goin’ on, Marsh?

You don’t wanna know
.

Am I goin’ to find out?

Get your nail gun ready to do some serious firin’. Soon as I give us some light
.

She don’t answer, but I see her gulp and I take that as an affirmative.

Turn the goggles towards the tent. Bugs don’t seem to realize we here, focusin’ on pokin’ their proboscises through the canvas. I take two steps, steady and slow, in the direction of Mustaph’s curtains.

Now!

I pull open the curtains. Light floods into the room. All them Megas give a jolt. A hundred bug eyes jerk in our direction, antennas instantly stiffenin’.

Like I say, Sis be the fearless one. She straight away fire off three shots from the nail gun, right into the shells of three of them bugs. Nails pass straight through ’em like sheets of paper.

Oww! Aaagh!
from inside the tent.

Damn. You can only be nailin’ them bugs if you got somethin’ to nail ’em to. Those bits of metal goin’ straight through the bugs, straight through the canvas, and givin’ poor ol’ Muskrat the rudest awakenin’.

As one, the bugs
pitter-pat
towards us – fast when they ain’t laden down with other people’s blood. Proboscises is twitchin’ like crazy. Dinner jus’ presented itself to these fellas.

I ain’t thinkin’ my pocket knife goin’ to be much use at this point. I kick away couple of bugs already attached themselves to my footwear. Luckily, my hands thinkin’ a little faster than my brain, reachin’ straight out towards the tabletop where Mus store his spray paint. I toss a can in Sis’s direction.

Decorate!

Kickin’ off a couple more Megas, I grab a can of my own. In fact I grab a can for each hand. I suddenly found I’m ambidexterous.

Let us spray.

Blaaam!
These critters do not like aerosol one bit. Soon as the spray hittin’ ’em they wigglin’ like poison goin’ straight through their pores. I’m firin’ Tibetan Gold and Deep Ivy, and it mos’ definitely must be said, them bugs look more fun covered in this new colour scheme. Sis is sprayin’ Shocking Pink, which really suits ’em. They love it so much they turnin’ on their backs and wagglin’ their little legs in glee. Not.

Ohhhh, owwww, ooooh
screamin’ Mustaph from inside the tent.
Murdah! Murdahhh!

Insectoid panic. I’m seein’ a dozen or more bugs squeezin’ through one crack in the ceilin’, and at least as many more ziggerzag behind our legs and weasel under the gap between the door and floor. Loads more scramble behind Mustaph’s wardrobe. They tryin’ to slide themselves into every hidin’ place they can find. Within seconds, we left with a couple of dozen technicolour bug corpses scattered on the floor. Not quite dead – wigglin’ in death throes. But the rest have vanished. It’s like they wasn’t even here. Devious suckers.

There’s a rippin’ sound, and the zip to the tent unfastens and out hops one ’ceedingly awake Muskrat. Never seen him move so fast. He sound like somebody repeatedly stabbin’ him with a red-hot poker. He literally hoppin’ mad, but that partly explained by the big nail he got stickin’ into the sole of his foot. He got one more stickin’ out his thigh and a third one gripped in his fist, which he wavin’ at us in a highly accusatory manner.
What you doin’, man! What you doin’! You murderin’ me in my bed!

He stops cussin’ us out when he see the bedbug carnage scattered around him. But is he grateful to his brave saviours?

Ohh, man!
Mus clutchin’ his head like the end of the world just occurred before his very eyes.
My can of Tibetan Gold!
What have you done with it? You know how hard it is to get hold of that shade?