Gonko was pulling from his pockets all manner of things with which to open a door — bolt cutters, dynamite, skeleton keys — but nothing seemed to work. ‘Goddamn it!’ he snarled after trying to jemmy the lock with a credit card. ‘Sometimes I think these pants have a sense of humour.’ He wrestled with the handle ferociously, then stopped and sighed. ‘Well, boys, I’m guessing it’s George who’s got us, and he’s got us good. If we get out of this trailer, you have my permission to hurt him real bad. Maybe you can throw your tears and snot at him, JJ. You’re a good man to have on hand in a crisis.’
‘I’m sorry,’ JJ blubbered.
‘Seen corpses put up more fight than you. Fucking pathetic.’
‘Leave me alone!’ JJ shrieked.
The trailer came to a halt, bumping hard against something and knocking the clowns off their feet. Gonko crouched. ‘Get ready,’ he said, ‘soon as the door opens.’
They could hear George Pilo outside barking orders. Something heavy banged against the door once, and with an ominous creak the floor tilted. The trailer was being lifted from its rear end and tipped forward. The desk slid across the floor, along with a filing cabinet and a chest of drawers. The clowns jumped out of the way as the furniture crashed into the door. Suddenly all was still. Gonko frowned, climbed up on the pile of furniture and leaned towards the door, listening hard. He gave it a tentative push then pulled himself back as it swung open. ‘What the —’ he said. ‘Oh fucking hell. We’re at the funhouse.’
George had the trailer tilted at a 45-degree angle, trying to tip them out. Before them, like an open mouth, was the gaping wound blasted open in the funhouse explosion. Down below
were the bowels of the carnival. The funhouse basement was a hollowed-out cavern with stone walls, ten feet below the floor. In the middle of it was a pit, the mouth of a long tunnel leading down out of sight. An orange glow shone up from the depths, from which came a stench like burning rubber and cooked meat.
JJ took one peek out the trailer door and screamed. ‘Oh no, no I don’t want to, please don’t make me go down there, please …’
‘You’re sounding like Doops now,’ said Gonko, disgusted, ‘only he would’ve put up —’ He stopped as the trailer shifted again below them. ‘Oi!’ he screamed.
‘Be quiet in there,’ said George from close by; the delight in his voice was thick and pure. ‘You’re still employees. Do what you’re told. Jump out. Out of my trailer.’
‘Fuck yourself,’ Gonko screamed. The trailer shook again. Gonko listened hard. ‘Woodchoppers,’ he said. ‘They’re trying to shake us out.’ He reached into his pants and pulled a pistol from his pockets, which he threw to Rufshod. ‘Take ’em out,’ he said.
Rufshod aimed at the back of the trailer and fired twice, punching two small holes in the wall. George yelled an order outside and the trailer shook more violently than ever. All three clowns lost their balance; the pistol flew from Rufshod’s hands out the door and clattered to the stone floor in the funhouse basement, narrowly missing the glowing pit. ‘Damn it,’ Gonko muttered, then changed tack. ‘What’s this about, George? What do you want from us?’
‘Want you to shut up and die,’ George said gleefully.
Gonko’s body shook with rage. He gave himself a moment to recover then spoke calmly. ‘No, really, George. Is this
something to do with Kurt? Why don’t you let us in on the gag? Maybe we can help.’
‘You can get down into the funhouse is what you can do,’ said George, his voice petulant. ‘Take that J traitor down there with you. Kurt’ll be right down.’
Gonko frowned and thought quickly. ‘Ahh,’ he whispered to the other two, ‘he’s going to get Kurt down into the basement. But what the hell for?’ He paused, then addressed George, ‘Is JJ the only one of us you want down there?’
‘NO!’ JJ screamed. ‘PLEASE!’
‘Shut
up
,’ said Gonko, ‘just testing the waters. Trust me. What do you say, George? Just JJ?’
George ignored them and barked more orders at the woodchoppers. The trailer shook again and tipped at a steeper angle. The filing cabinet toppled out the open door, and Gonko missed being barrelled out with it by about a foot. With a crash it fell into the pit below, down the tunnel and out of sight. As it fell a burst of orange fire shot out of the pit’s shaft and bloomed like a tiny mushroom cloud. There were dancing shapes in the fire, black shadowy forms like fluttering bats.
Gonko scowled at JJ. ‘Motherfucker, if you don’t stop your crying …’
JJ stopped his crying — something caught his eye. There was a small wooden cabinet embedded in the wall just overhead. He didn’t know what it was about it that caught his eye or gave him a sense of faint hope. He planted his foot on the desk in the doorway, ignoring the drop that waited if his shoes slipped, and reached for the cabinet’s handle. Gonko turned his attention back to George. ‘Come on, I been a good worker, did my job without complaint. Why the whole sacrifice-the-clowns thing?’
‘Ha!’ was George’s answer.
In the distance there was another sound, a distant rumbling, coming closer. Kurt was on his way. George barked a furious order at the woodchoppers and the trailer began shaking again.
JJ reached the cabinet. It was locked. ‘Hey, Gonks …’
‘Don’t want to hear it, JJ, shut your trap,’ Gonko snapped.
JJ had been about to ask him for something to open the cabinet, but he saw sitting on top of the desk the skeleton key Gonko had pulled from his pocket. He reached down, grasping for it, and as the trailer gave another shake the key flew up into his hand. The trailer was still for a moment then gave another violent spasm; JJ and Gonko held their footing, but Rufshod slipped through the doorway, snatching for a hand-hold, and dropped into the funhouse. JJ watched him with fascination as he dropped like a rag doll, missing the pit and landing on what looked like a sacrificial slab right beside it, square on his back. He lay writhing with agony and joy. Gonko grimaced. ‘Hear that, George?’ he yelled. ‘JJ just fell. He’s down there now. Come on, put the trailer down. You got the traitor.’
‘Got one of them,’ said George.
At this Gonko appeared to lose what remained of his cool. ‘Fucker! If I get out of this, George, I am going to kill you very slowly. You dig? Snotty little shit, I have been waiting for the chance for years. I’m going to take
years
to kill you, you hear me?’
‘You just blew it. I was about to negotiate,’ said George.
‘
The fuck you were!
You’re a dead dwarf, Georgie, no wonder your Pa didn’t trust you to run the show. Once a snivelling shit, always a snivelling shit. Every time you tried to take out Kurt I was there to tell him your plan. It was too much fun watching your face curl up ready to cry.’
‘Ha! How’s your face looking right now, Gonko?’
Through all this Kurt’s thudding footsteps were drawing nearer. JJ put the skeleton key into the lock of the cabinet. He turned the key and the small wooden door swung open. Standing on tiptoe he could see piles of velvet bags. They spilled out of the cabinet and dropped through the trailer door. JJ grabbed one of the bigger ones as it fell, looking around wildly for something to hold the powder. Gonko turned his head and said: ‘What the … George’s stash! Oh, fuck me, that was close. JJ, throw one here.’
‘Need a bowl,’ said JJ, ‘and a lighter.’
‘Good, good, cook me up a load.’ Gonko drew a bowl and lighter from his pockets. ‘I’ll keep George interested. Hey, Georgie! Remember back in forty-four when someone killed that pet parrot of yours? What was his name, Reynold? You know, the only friend you ever had? That was me, George. I fucked it to death then fed it to Goshy.’
‘When you get to hell you can say hi to the little bastard!’ George screamed shrilly. Gonko had finally struck a nerve.
Balancing dangerously on the desk, JJ held the flame under the bowl long enough to melt three small bags worth of grains. Gonko held his hands out to take the bowl. ‘Hurry up, JJ, for Christ’s sake.’
The air was split with another roar: ‘LORD’S NAME … IN VAIN!’ Kurt was close; Kurt was
here
. There was no time to lose. JJ held the bowl out to Gonko … then withdrew it.
Hold on just a second
, he thought. There was no time to lose, especially not by being Mr Nice Guy, Mr Comrade, Mr Noble Here to Save Somebody at His Own Expense. Had that ever been part of JJ’s repertoire? No sir, he didn’t think so. Neither had Mr Here Gonko, You Go First.
Without a word of apology he swallowed the liquid.
Gonko gaped at him. ‘JJ! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU —’
‘Get me out of here,’ JJ whispered, closing his eyes. ‘Out of this jam. Out of the trailer, pronto. Please please please.’
JJ opened his eyes and looked around; the trailer gave another shake. Nothing had happened. He stared in horror at Gonko, who was shaking his head, eyes blazing. ‘You did it now, you stupid sonofabitch. You did it now …’
The trailer gave a sudden almighty heave, as though it had been hit by a truck. Kurt had barrelled into the rear end, and the two clowns fell down into the funhouse basement. JJ got his wish.
Jamie saw the whole thing. He came to as though he’d been jerked from sleep by an earthquake. He lay in the grass, thirty metres from the funhouse, with a perfect side-on view of Kurt, who’d grown
huge
, running headfirst at the trailer for his second charge. The whole rear end caved in and crumpled like a tin can. As the trailer lurched Jamie saw Gonko drop into the funhouse, and he saw someone else drop, too. Someone who looked just like him.
Jamie patted his arms and chest, making sure he was really here, whole and in one piece. He didn’t know how, but he was. He was dressed in a clown suit from head to toe, though when he patted his face he felt no face paint, just sweat and skin.
How?
his mind screamed at him, but there would be time for that later. He picked himself up and ran.
Kurt finished tearing through his brother’s trailer and with a wrench of his arms threw it aside. It spun through the air and landed with a crash on top of the woodchoppers, who’d been enjoying a well-earned break over by Slimmy the smoking dwarf’s rest spot. Too exhausted to move, they only had time to throw each other one last exasperated glance as the trailer came down.
Meanwhile, Kurt was peering down into the funhouse basement. He was breathing like a dragon in ragged growling gasps. From scaly head to clawed feet he was drenched as though he’d been caught in a storm of blood. George Pilo watched his brother carefully from behind a pile of chopped logs. He stepped from behind the wood pile, taking a calculated risk, and a big one. ‘Hey, Kurt!’ he called.
Kurt turned his head sideways, narrowing his eyes at his brother.
‘Be careful,’ said George with perfectly mimed sincerity. ‘Gonko’s pants … dangerous.’
Kurt’s lip peeled back, his tusks glistening. ‘Thanks, little brother.’
‘No problem. Get the traitors, Kurt. Oh look … you might want to take that. Defend yourself, you know.’ George pointed to the big wooden crucifix, which lay on the ground nearby. Had Kurt’s face been capable of human expression, it would have lit up with delight. He snarled, ‘Oh, lovely,’ and reached for it, cradling it in his arms. He said, ‘Fitting, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Kurt,’ said George, ducking back behind the wood pile. ‘Fitting for the traitors. Go get ’em.’
Kurt turned to the funhouse again and leapt down into the basement, his airborne bulk a sight as ominous as a bridge collapsing or a car being carried away in hurricane
winds. And the game was over. Checkmate, George Pilo. He rushed to the funhouse, eyes alight with triumph. The folks down below didn’t take too kindly to crucifixes, didn’t take kindly to them at all.
Kurt Pilo was a runt in the litter compared to what roamed at the end of that fiery tunnel, but in his bestial form, rational thought was almost beyond him. In such company, carrying a crucifix was an unforgivable breach of etiquette, yet he heard the roars erupting from below as camaraderie, cheering him on. Across the showgrounds the survivors who heard those roars would find their nightmares tainted forever by the sounds.
In three blows Kurt clubbed Rufshod to death then turned to Gonko. As savagely as Gonko fought, nothing in his pockets was enough for Kurt unmasked, and he couldn’t even bruise the beast before Kurt threw him hard against the wall, knocking him out cold before turning to JJ. Pleading for mercy, JJ died on his knees.
Dropping the crucifix, Kurt reached for Gonko’s body, tucking it under his arm and stroking the clown boss’s head tenderly, the gently muttered recriminations lost in the primordial growl from his throat. The crucifix dropped down into the mouth of the pit, burning as it fell, spinning and bouncing down the walls of the tunnel.
Exulting as he was, hell’s own sword, Kurt noticed nothing amiss even as the flames roared from the pit, and great shadowy arms lifted him and drew him into their midst. He fell amongst his own kind, forever unmasked, Gonko unconscious in his arms.
As the roaring from the funhouse faded Jamie rose shakily and stared about himself like a blind man. Nothing seemed to register, none of the bloody ruin around him. Kurt’s slaughter had spared no one. Fishboy and the other rebels had won their freedom the only way they could.
Not knowing where to go, Jamie found himself headed for the clown tent. At the card table was an abandoned game of solitaire. He wandered through the rooms where all seemed as it had been before; there was the bed he’d woken in every morning to guilt and tortured memories, and the surprises JJ left for him. He sat there for a minute then got up and wandered in a daze to Winston’s room.
Winston was there, sitting on his bed. Jamie rubbed his eyes and blinked to make sure. Slowly Winston turned his head to the door. ‘It worked,’ he said quietly.
‘What …’ Jamie began. At the foot of Winston’s bed were a hundred or more little velvet bags, all of them empty.
‘About two years’ worth of wages, all in one go,’ said Winston. ‘Kept swallowing the stuff till I couldn’t stand any more. Didn’t know if it’d work … They don’t make many exceptions to the rules. Maybe it was already all finished, and
they just didn’t care anymore. I’ve wished myself out of here, that many times — bargained, pleaded, you know. Never answered, that wish. They’ll give you anything you want, except — freedom.’
Jamie sat at the foot of the bed. Winston was staring off into space. ‘Just kept asking this time,’ he said. ‘Looks like they let you go.’
Jamie embraced him; tears came to his eyes. ‘Knock it off,’ said Winston, a hint of a smile on his face. ‘What happened out there? Sounded like fun, whatever it was.’
Jamie told him what he could remember, much of it drawn from JJ’s memories, stopping at the point of JJ’s wish. The late JJ. ‘I don’t know if Kurt’s still … out there,’ said Jamie.
‘Don’t think he is,’ said Winston. ‘Dunno if you heard that godawful screaming match, but it sounded like Kurt’s bosses offering him a golden handshake.’
Jamie shuddered. The world outside had gone quiet. In the distance they could hear a lone voice calling out, whooping to the sky in joy. ‘Sounds like Georgie’s still kicking,’ Winston muttered. ‘Thinks he’s won. I’ll see what I can do about that.’ He stood up and tossed Jamie a card attached to a loop of string, a pass-out. ‘Here. You should go home.’
‘What about you?’
Winston laughed quietly, and the laugh became a sigh. ‘I might come out too. Don’t know yet. Could sure use a few years with my damn feet up before I bow out.’ He pulled from his pocket a small pistol. ‘See you later, Jamie. I’m off to spoil George’s party.’
‘Winston …’ Jamie said. Winston paused in the doorway without turning. Jamie suddenly had too much to say and nowhere to start. He stood mute, trying to find impossible words.
‘It’s all right,’ Winston said in a tired voice. ‘You didn’t ask for any of this. Neither did I. See you outside some time, maybe. Goodbye, son. Get the hell out of here.’
‘Don’t forget the priest,’ Jamie said. ‘Out beyond the fence.’
Winston nodded and left. Jamie wanted to join him, go out there and fight the last part of the battle — but he also wanted to run. What would JJ do? JJ would run. Jamie would let JJ make one last decision for him, and just maybe he’d hate himself for it later. He ran.
He ran in a daze through the bloody swamp that had once been Sideshow Alley. Bodies lay in piles, in pieces. Kurt had done all this in a matter of minutes. Jamie closed his eyes, trying to block the sight from his mind. He passed the ‘test your strength’ bell, the rotating clown heads, ‘shoot a duck, win a prize’, and the Ferris wheel, motionless against the artificial sky. When he got to the lift and opened the door, he heard a distant sound: two hollow banging sounds,
pop pop
, a pause, then a third.
‘Hope you got him,’ Jamie whispered. He pulled the lever for Brisbane city, and went home.
No one told the ticket collectors about the night’s events, of course. They lived outside the showgrounds. They set up their booths at the Woomera County Fair, as per their instructions. A few folks were in for a strange day.