Flight of the Fantail Read online

  First published in 2018 by Huia Publishers

  39 Pipitea Street, PO Box 12280

  Wellington, Aotearoa New Zealand

  www.huia.co.nz

  ISBN 978-1-77550-352-1 (print)

  ISBN 978-1-77550-362-0 (EPUB)

  ISBN 978-1-77550-363-7 (Kindle)

  Copyright © Steph Matuku 2018

  Cover images:

  Background © Peter Bowers

  Bus front © Ryan Richards / Unsplash.com

  Bus corner © Simon English / Unsplash.com

  Bus body © sasun990 / Shutterstock Images LLC

  This book is copyright. Apart from fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without the prior permission of the publisher.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.

  Published with the assistance of

  Ebook conversion 2018 by meBooks

  To Dallas, who read it first.

  And Bub, who hasn’t … yet.

  I am grateful for support from Creative New Zealand, Te Papa Tupu, the Māori Literature Trust, Sue Copsey, Maureen Lee, Bryony Walker and the rest of the fab team at HUIA.

  Also, a massive shoutout to The Brentwood Collective and Whiti Hereaka – thank you, x.

  Note: contains violence.

  1

  The old bus swung around a tight bend on the winding mountain road, and the class erupted into thrilled shrieks and raucous laughter.

  Devin’s bag on the seat next to her tipped, spilling toiletries everywhere. She hurriedly stuffed the bottles and tubes back inside, but she wasn’t fast enough. Idelle had already snaked her hand through the gap in the seats and made a triumphant snatch. She inspected her prize, a mocking grin on her perfectly made-up face, her long brown curls still glamorously obedient even after a sweaty six-hour bus ride.

  ‘Chemical-free deodorant?’

  Next to Idelle, Chantelle tittered behind a manicured hand.

  ‘It’s not strong enough,’ Idelle smirked. ‘You still stink.’

  ‘Give it back.’ Devin held out her hand half-heartedly. It was a token gesture rather than a demand, and Idelle and Devin knew it.

  ‘Say please.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Sweet as, Stinky.’

  Idelle threw the bottle high over Devin’s head. It sailed through the air, smacked Mrs Harlow’s sunburnt shoulder and plopped into her lap. She twisted round and glared down the aisle.

  ‘Whose is this?’

  ‘You can tell it’s Devin’s, Miss,’ shouted Idelle, ‘because it doesn’t work.’

  Chantelle collapsed in a fit of sycophantic giggles.

  ‘Sorry, Miss,’ said Devin automatically. It was pointless narking on Idelle. She’d just get mad.

  Mrs Harlow heaved up out of her seat and strode down the aisle, the innocent deodorant held in front of her like a weapon. Devin waited, resigned. Mrs Harlow went straight past her and stuck her face into Idelle’s. Idelle squeaked in surprise and quickly tried to cover up with a winning smile.

  ‘If I catch you playing silly buggers one more time, Idelle Watkinson, you are off this trip. I don’t care if we have Search and Rescue airlift you out or we throw you in the back of some pig-hunter’s ute. It’s all the same to me. You got that?’

  The winning smile turned into a scowl. ‘Yes, Miss.’

  Mrs Harlow dropped the deodorant onto Devin’s bag and went back to her seat.

  Idelle stuck her tongue out at her back.

  Eva was watching from across the aisle, a sardonic smile on her face.

  ‘What d’you think you’re looking at?’ Idelle demanded.

  Eva gave Idelle a lazy once-over. ‘I’m not sure,’ she drawled. ‘A slut?’

  Mandy, sitting beside Eva, laughed. ‘A stupid slut?’

  ‘A stupid, ugly slut?’

  ‘A stupid, ugly, boring slut?’

  Chantelle stood up, her face as red as her skimpy tank top. ‘You better shut up, you … you …’ She lowered her voice to a hiss, casting a quick glance in Mrs Harlow’s direction. ‘You muggly futt!’

  ‘Or what?’

  Eva surged to her feet, eyes flashing. Her short black hair was sticking up where she had been leaning against the window, and there was a red mark on her cheek.

  A voice yelled, ‘Chick fight! Chick fight!’

  It was Jahmin, conducting with an invisible baton and urging the other cheeseballs around him to join in. Eva made her fingers into the shape of a gun and shot Jahmin through his frizzy ginger head. He cheerfully blew her a kiss, nudging Liam next to him. But Liam was scowling across the aisle, either at Rocky or Eugene, Eva couldn’t tell. Both boys were oblivious anyway. Rocky was jabbing at his phone, frowning, while Eugene was happily chanting along with everyone else, the upturned collar of his denim jacket not quite concealing the bruise along his jaw.

  Chantelle waved, blushing prettily. Eva rolled her eyes and sat down again.

  ‘Shut up!’ Mrs Harlow roared.

  The chanting ground to a halt.

  The bus climbed higher and higher. Mrs Harlow left her seat to have a quick muttered conversation with the driver. The narrow road wasn’t tar-sealed, and the long, hot, dry summer had left the surface cracked and dusty.

  Eva’s stomach did an uneasy flip-flop as the bus swung close to the crumbling edge, giving her a glimpse of a river, creek, whatever, glinting between scrubby bush and the feathery tops of tree ferns far below.

  She pasted a bright smile on her face. ‘Hope you packed your wings.’

  Mandy gently squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll fly together, babe.’

  ‘Love you.’

  ‘Love you too, you muggly futt.’

  Eva laughed. ‘What the hell even is that?’

  ‘Clearly something totally amazing.’

  ‘Oh, clearly.’

  Mandy started plaiting her long blonde hair, leaning forward to look past Eva so she could use the window as a mirror. Several clumps of loose clay fell from the cliff face to the road. The bus lurched and Mrs Harlow, who was returning to her seat, stumbled, clutching wildly at the seats.

  The new kid, Theo, gave a muffled ‘Ooof!’ as Mrs Harlow knocked him in the face with a large breast. His book and glasses flew to the floor, and Idelle and Chantelle nearly fell off their seats with hysterics as Mrs Harlow tried to regain her footing, looking remarkably like a cartoon character skating on a banana peel.

  Suddenly, there was a high-pitched whine from the ancient bus engine and a high-pitched scream from Awhina. Awhina was always top of the class, always perfectly co-ordinated in immaculate vintage clothing, and never, ever screamed. She leaped at the bus driver in a swirl of blue paisley, and grabbed his shoulders. She screamed again, ‘Help! Help me!’

  The bus pitched violently sideways and scraped against the cliff. It ricocheted off and swung back again. Now everyone was screaming, bags and belongings falling everywhere.

  With a startled cry, Mandy tumbled out of her seat and into the aisle. From her position on the floor, she could see the bus driver slumped sideways, his eyes closed and blood trickling from his nose. Awhina was trying desperately to grab the steering wheel, but the driver was in the way.

  Mandy crawled down the aisle towards them. Fighting for balance as the bus swung this way and that, she seized the big man around his shoulders and yanked him back as hard as she could. It was like wrestling with a sack of spuds. Awhina snatched at the wheel and managed to get some control.

  ‘Can’t you stop it?’ Mandy cried.

  ‘His bloody foot’s stuck!’

  Mandy looked down and saw the driver’s
foot wedged against the accelerator.

  ‘The brake! Hit the brake!’

  ‘I can’t!’

  There was a tight bend ahead. The bus was going too fast. There was nothing they could do.

  As the bus left the road in a clatter of gravel and soared through the air, Mandy turned to find Eva. She wasn’t screaming. She looked bewildered and beautiful.

  Mandy closed her eyes. Eva was the last person she ever saw.

  2

  Devin’s scream lasted for as long as it took the bus to catapult over the edge and hit the bottom. She must have blacked out because when she next opened her eyes, there was water up to her chin. The front third of the bus had been torn away completely and water was pouring in from all directions. Spluttering, she thrust her foot against something soft – she didn’t know what and didn’t want to either – and pushed up and out through a gaping hole. For a moment the mangled remains of the bus bobbed beside her, before she was carried ahead by the current.

  What had been a sparkling green ribbon far below was a massive waterway up close. Devin hurtled past slick rocks and overhanging trees. She tried to swim for the riverbank, but there was too much wild water. It wasn’t anything like doing a lap in the school pool. She switched to dog-paddling, frightened that she wasn’t making any progress at all. Something slammed into the back of her head and she went under again, clutching out wildly. Her numb fingers connected with fabric and she snagged it, pulling it to her. It was a bus seat, foam filled and buoyant enough to give her tired body a break. She clung to it and kicked, making for a gravel beach up ahead.

  She almost missed it. It took a superhuman effort to haul herself up onto land.

  Devin lay on the gravel, sobbing and retching, her long blonde hair in rat-tails around her face, the river just inches from her nose. She forced herself onto her elbows, and there was the bus, moving slowly and majestically downriver. Scrambling to her feet, she frantically scanned the beaten-up metal for any sign of her classmates. A hysterical cry burst from her, a scream that made no sense. There was no response. The bus surged around a bend in the river and was lost from sight.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Devin whispered. The walls of the gorge appeared to tilt inward. The sliver of blue sky was so narrow and the rushing water so deafening, she wasn’t sure if God could even hear her at all. The whisper became a shout, ‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!’

  When her shouting eventually subsided into harsh hiccups, she heard a rasping cry. She choked down a sob and listened intently. There it was again. The end of the little beach was piled with driftwood as high as her head. She stumbled over to it. A boy lay entangled in the driftwood, a stain of red floating around his submerged legs, water splashing up into his face.

  Devin stared at him. Rocky Rewiti. She’d hardly spoken two words to him in all the years they’d shared a school, had been too aware of her own status as an Untouchable to even moon after him as many girls did.

  He tried to sit up but couldn’t quite manage it, and she suddenly realised how silly it was to just stand there when he so obviously needed her help. Awkwardly, she slid her hands under his armpits, and dragged him out of the driftwood and onto the beach.

  He lay back against a smooth boulder, wincing and holding his leg. His jeans were slashed right across the calf and his face was contorted with pain.

  ‘I’m not the only one,’ Devin said, her voice quavering. ‘I thought I was the only one.’

  ‘I didn’t. I heard you shouting.’

  Devin wiped the snot away, rubbed her eyes. ‘Your leg.’

  Rocky gingerly pulled open the gaping denim and peered inside, before biting his lip and sinking back against the rock. ‘It’s pretty bad.’

  Devin tentatively put out a hand. ‘Can I?’

  He didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes. She gingerly inserted two fingers in the ragged material and pulled. The denim ripped further, and she was able to tear down along the inside seam and expose the wound. The water had turned it bloodless and white. The gash was deep, but no major arteries had been hit.

  ‘You need a bandage.’

  ‘I’ll just pop down to the chemist then, shall I?’

  The stitching along the bottom ribbing of her sodden sweatshirt was coming away. Devin yanked it off and wound the blue band tightly round the gash. Rocky gasped and clenched his fists, his face turning pale under his tan. She patted her snarled hair, pulled out a black hair slide and fastened it over the end of the fabric to hold the makeshift bandage together. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked. She nodded, satisfied.

  ‘You probably need stitches, but that’ll have to do for now.’

  Rocky opened his eyes and let out a long, shaky breath. Devin realised he’d been holding it throughout her clumsy nursing.

  She sat back on her heels and shivered. Although the summer sun was shining brightly, the river was cold and she was soaked through. She took off her torn sweatshirt and hung it on the pile of driftwood. Shoes and socks followed. She paused, her thumbs hooked under the elastic of her trackies, and cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks colouring with the familiar hot sensation she detested.

  ‘I have to take my clothes off.’

  He smiled weakly, raised an eyebrow. ‘Sorry, but I’m not really in the mood.’

  Devin swallowed, her mouth strangely dry after all that water. ‘We’ll get hypothermia or something.’

  ‘True, that.’

  Devin looked at the sky, the cliffs, the river. ‘You should … er … take yours off too. Jeans’ll take forever to dry.’

  ‘Wait.’ He leaned back, raised his hips, felt in his back pocket. ‘This might help.’

  On his palm, the sodden remains of a small joint, and a red plastic lighter.

  Her face lit up. ‘Sweet.’

  3

  With the last of his strength, Liam kicked out the emergency exit window, shoved a spluttering Jahmin into the open air and scrambled up next to him. The front of the bus had been torn away, and the back section was now on its side, pitching and bucking its way downriver. The two panicked boys sprawled precariously on top, clinging to the window frame.

  ‘Was there anyone else alive in there?’ shouted Liam. Blood was trickling into his eyes. He must have cut his head, but he hadn’t noticed, couldn’t even feel it.

  ‘I dunno! I thought I heard someone, but I’m not sure.’

  Liam lowered his torso back through the empty window, Jahmin grabbing one of his legs to keep him steady.

  The black water surging through the bus was littered with debris and the noise was deafening. Liam thought he saw something pale fluttering a few seats back. He squinted, and made out a hand moving, and an arm wrapped tightly around the back of a seat.

  He pulled himself up and shouted, ‘There’s someone in there!’

  ‘Bro, you can’t go in!’ Jahmin yelled, his hand still clamped around Liam’s leg.

  ‘I can’t not go, man!’

  ‘Don’t!’

  ‘I have to.’

  Liam became extraordinarily calm. Once, when his old man had come home for Christmas after months in some dusty war zone, Liam had asked him why he did it. How could he leave his family and friends and his easy, comfortable life, to help a bunch of strangers far, far away? His dad had twisted the top off a bottle of beer, sculled back a long swallow, and finally said it was what he had to do to go on living with himself. It hadn’t made much sense at the time, but it did now. This was what he had to do, or he’d regret it forever.

  ‘Liam!’

  Liam had already shaken off Jahmin’s hand. He crawled along the top of the bus, clutching at whatever handholds he could find, his legs spread wide for balance. He skirted around one window and made his way to the next. Most of the safety glass had shattered into little cubes, and he was able to punch through it and lean down into the dark.

  ‘Hey! Hey!’

  All he could hear was the water smashing against the side of the bus. He shouted again. The bus scrap
ed past an outcrop of rocks and lurched alarmingly, tipping him further in. He grabbed onto a seat, pushed back, and managed to keep some kind of balance. Maybe he’d made a mistake; maybe he hadn’t seen anyone at all?

  He was about to twist up and out when he spotted a figure, almost concealed among the twisted mass of seats and metal. It was Eugene. A purple bruise on his jaw stood out in stark relief to his white, terrified face.

  ‘Help!’ Eugene spluttered, water dashing him in the face. ‘My leg’s stuck!’

  Liam stretched out his hand. With a massive effort, Eugene unhooked his arm from the back of the seat and reached for Liam’s. Their fingers touched.

  Above him, Liam could hear Jahmin shouting something. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.

  ‘I can’t reach!’ Eugene cried.

  Jahmin was now screaming the same word over and over, and the bus was gathering speed.

  Liam hesitated.

  ‘Please!’ Eugene’s outstretched arm was shaking with effort.

  Liam pulled his hand away and swung himself up into the open air.

  Jahmin was still clutching the window frame, his wide-eyed gaze fixed downriver. The gorge had narrowed, the current was rushing faster and faster, and there was a terrifying booming noise. The bus was hurtling towards what looked like thin air.

  Only it wasn’t. It was a waterfall.

  Liam reached for Jahmin’s hand and held on tight. Together, they jumped.

  4

  It was the smell of wood smoke that finally brought Eva back to the here and now. She’d been lying on a small rocky ledge in a daze, hypnotised by the sunlight sparkling off the river. Looking at the water was infinitely better than being in it, scrambling desperately for the bank. She didn’t want to think about that. And she especially didn’t want to think about Mandy falling away into nothing. Mandy hadn’t packed her wings after all.

  The smell conjured up memories of bonfires on the beach at Nan and Poppa’s bach. She’d spent every summer there until she was twelve. Then Nan had died and Poppa had sold the bach to go live in Aussie. Summers thereafter were spent holed up in her bedroom, avoiding her parents as much as possible.