Artificial Heart
28

No water. No supplies. No shelter. No safety. Utterly screwed. Scott had no idea what the hell he was doing. She should just give herself up now.

And yet, she walked on.

For a good twenty minutes there was only more trees, her shoes crunching through the leaf litter. There was no path and it was difficult the further she walked. She hoped for a creek or a puddle—no luck. She kept clicking her tongue against her thirst.

And then the trees pulled back and she suddenly found herself in someone’s backyard. A rather large backyard. Green, nicely mowed grass that sloped up towards are large Queenslander. There were chairs and tables cluttered around the balcony. Wind chimes sang. She couldn’t see anyone. No movement inside.

Quickly, she hurried up the slope, keeping low to the ground. She reached the steps. Beneath the house was an old rusted car with no wheels and a whole bunch of broken furniture. But there was a bicycle in decent repair. Prisha tucked it away into her mind as she quietly made her way up the steps. She paused, listening. Nothing. She crossed the balcony to the back door and peered inside. The place seemed empty.

Please be open. Please be open. Please be open!

Prisha turned the handle and the door opened with a small creak. She stepped inside, eyes darting everywhere, heart thudding so hard she could feel her pulse beating in the side of her throat.

To her right was the kitchen. She hurried over, turned on the tap and stuck her mouth under the rushing water. She coughed and spluttered as she gulped it down. By the time she was done her hair and the neckline of her shirt were wet. Water dripped from her hands onto the floor.

Next, she went over to the fridge, found a packet of ham and ate the whole lot. Then she found a loaf of fresh bread sitting covered on the counter and began eating that too.

’Hi.’

Prisha turned with a muffled yelp, mouth filled with bread. Prisha swallowed and wiped her mouth. A little girl stood in the doorway of the kitchen, gripping onto her pillow. Her cheeks were flushed and she was dressed in her pyjamas. Her blond hair was all mussed up. Her nose was snotty.

‘Hi,’ Prisha said. ‘Your—your bread is yummy.’

‘Mummy likes to make it.’ She wiped at her nose with the back of her arm and yawned.

‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’ Prisha sidled carefully past her, then rushed down the hall. She raced back downstairs, ducking back under the house at the thud of more helicopter blades. This time she could see, peering up at it as it passed over the house.

There were no sirens. Should she hide back in the bush? She couldn’t stay there forever! Where else was she supposed to go? She needed a car. She needed to drive away.

She looked over at the bike.

She found an old hat and bunched up her hair under it. She took hold of the handles and kicked away the stand. She paused. This was all so stupid. A bike wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Dumb! Dismissing it, she yanked off the hat. Folding her arms, she paced, her shoes scuffing through the dirt.

Prisha froze, suddenly realising. She wasn’t alone! Not completely. Didn’t one of her university friends live here? Cecilia—yes. She knew her on Facebook. Her page designated her as living somewhere on the Sunshine Coast. But they didn’t really talk. Prisha hardly knew her anymore. She’d hardly known her then, either. And Scott had her bloody phone.

Prisha turned towards the steps, peering up them, heart pounding. She needed a computer. She needed a phone. Prisha was trembling as she quietly climbed the stairs a second time. It was doubtful the child would be any help, but she was her only option.

When she reentered the kitchen, the girl was gone.

‘I’d suggest you get out now. I’ve called the police.’

Prisha spun around.

A woman stood in the doorway, looking remarkably like her daughter. She was holding a baseball bat, jaw set, eyes glittering furiously.

‘I’m sorry,’ Prisha said. ‘I was just thirsty.’ Raising her hands, she backed away. Her heart was slamming against her ribs. She turned and fled.

I’ve called the police.

Prisha didn’t think twice, leaping down the last four steps and racing beneath the house. She grabbed the bike and pushed it over the grass. When she reached the driveway, she flung herself onto the seat and took off.

It had been a long time since she’d last ridden a bike but it was … well … like riding a bike. Standing up in the pedals, she rode hard, dark hair streaming behind her, the wind bringing tears to her eyes. She coasted down a hill and turned a corner. A cold shot of alarm darted down her spine— a police car! Prisha ducked her head and sat down as she pedalled, trying to look casual.

The back of her neck prickled. Everything was too damn quiet. How can there be so many houses and everything be so damn quiet?! To her left, a large dog jumped up against a fence and barked. Prisha glanced over her shoulder.

The police car was paused just in front of the street. The back of her neck prickled again, as though they were watching her. She passed it. They didn’t stop her. Just a regular middle-aged woman riding a bike. She felt a rush of relief—short-lived. Suddenly, its lights whirled and its siren screamed.

‘Shit!’ Standing back up, she pedalled as fast as she could.

What were they going to do? Knock her over with their car? The car roared behind her. The siren wailed. They were right up by her tyre, then they zoomed past. The car swerved to a stop in front of her.

‘Shit!’ Her back tyre skidded and Prisha amazed herself when she spun the bike in a 180 degree turn like a ninja, steadied herself with her foot and managed to pedal away. She saw a dirt path between two fences and took it.

The path was level and easy and Prisha belted the bike ahead. It curved into some bushland, which weaved between the trees, slowing her down. She looked behind her but no one was following. Perhaps the bike wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

She could hear the whoosh of traffic ahead. She broke through the last of the trees. The path dipped. She splashed through some water before ascending again. Two horses standing by a wire fence raised their heads. She turned a corner and saw a road directly ahead. A truck roared passed. Beyond that was another smaller shopping centre. More sirens screamed, much too close.

With a grunt, she pushed ahead, speeding across the road. She hit the other side with a bump that almost knocked her off the bike. The ground was uneven and the handles jerked in her hands. Ahead, the ground fell away into a drain. She ditched the bike and slid her way down it, then climbed her way up the other side.

Panting, she rushed across the parking lot. It was busy. Tyres screeched. Cars blasted their horns. People stopped to watch her. Prisha reached the shop and slowed down, trying to walk casually as she struggled to catch her breath. There was dirt all up her legs and backside. Her hair was wild and wet with sweat.

A wave of familiar dizziness made her stop and lean her shoulder against the wall. The brick was cool against her arm. Sweat dripped down her back. Prisha shook here head as the world turned dark, then brightened again.

‘Are you okay?’

Prisha looked over. A kindly old woman was smiling at her. Prisha blinked. Where were the sirens? She turned her eyes to the carpark. Her heart froze in her chest. There were no police cars but there was a black sedan parked against the curb not a dozen paces away. Sleek. Shiny. Tinted windows.

Shit.

‘Sweetheart?’ the old woman said.

Prisha darted inside the shop.

It was nice and cool and Prisha breathed a sigh of relief. Her rumpled state attracted looks but nobody approached her. She kept her head low, trying to hide amid the milling crowd. She didn’t know why she was bothering. She was kind of fucked.

Prisha chewed her lip, thinking of her sister. Why wasn’t Prisha just giving up? What drove her to keep running? She felt stupid. She glanced over her shoulder at the feel of someone following. But it was just her paranoia. It felt like everyone was watching. As though everyone knew. It was starting to always feel that way.

Prisha’s eyes widened at the sight of two policemen. They were walking straight towards her, looking inordinately huge as they scanned the crowd. Keeping small, Prisha ducked into the dollar store to her left. Quickly, she hid herself away down the back of one of the aisles.

She stayed put, gripping her elbows as she leaned back against a shelf with a sigh. She jumped as a cupful of pencils knocked to the floor.

People turned to look. Red-faced, Prisha began picking them up. She was crouched to the floor when a shadow fell over her. Her heart flipped as she looked up. A man and a woman were standing over her, both dressed much too sharply for a casual shopping trip.

Their expressions were curious, though hard.

Prisha pretended ignorance. ‘Ah … I’m sorry. I accidentally knocked these over. I’m just putting them back.’ Slowly, she stood, clutching her fistful of pencils. She turned towards the shelf. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably as she tucked them back into their cup.

‘Prisha Rogers,’ spoke the woman. ‘That’s enough now, I think.’