The Thunderbolt Pony Page 4

  “That day when we visited Dad,” I say, “I … I was trying to stop having the OCD and I … I made myself do it.”

  “What did you do? What do you mean, Evie?”

  “I didn’t know it would happen! I was trying to be good.”

  There is no air in the room and the dust motes float and I am not in my body any more. And I can hear my voice but it sounds like it isn’t mine as I tell Willard Fox what I did.

  “I came home and I got out of the car and only slammed it once. And that was when it happened.”

  I’m in tears now, and I can barely sob the words out.

  “That was the day he died.”

  “Evie? Do you really think your dad died because you didn’t slam a car door twice?”

  He’s not being funny right now and his smile, for once, is gone.

  “Yes,” I say softly.

  Willard Fox leans forward and makes a steeple with his fingertips. “You know, if this was Ancient Greece, we could have blamed the gods for your dad, right? Maybe your sacrifice to Zeus wasn’t quite right. Or maybe you angered one of the other gods, like Hera, maybe?”

  I nod, my eyes misting with tears.

  “Things were a lot easier, I think,” Willard Fox says, “when we had gods to shoulder the responsibility for our fates. Because without gods, how do we explain famine and disease and war? Or the death of someone we love. Without gods, there is no reason. All we have is the randomness of life. So why does fate make our car tyre go flat, or make our horse go lame just before a big competition, or give us the cancer that kills us?

  Willard Fox hands me a tissue and I blow my nose.

  “Evie, your OCD wants you to believe that you can slam a car door twice and change the course of the future, that you are the mastermind of this universe, that your rituals will bring order. But they won’t. So here’s the deal. You have to accept that the world is beyond your control. Stop making sacrifices to fake gods and take back your real power.”

  He smiles at me. “Can you do it?”

  I sniffle a little and then I look him square in the eye and I say it: “I’m in charge, OCD. I’m taking the reins.”

  And this time, I really, really mean it.

  ***

  “Are you ready, Evie?”

  It’s the weekend after my last session with Willard Fox and I’m in the best place in the whole world. At the start line of a cross-country course.

  Mum is standing beside me with Gus in his full tack. He has a martingale on him, and his new cross-country tendon boots. I pull on my gloves and tighten the chinstrap on my helmet, and then Mum gives me a leg up. I feel a rush run through me as I land lightly in the saddle and slip my feet into the irons.

  My OCD has been bad this morning. As I was tacking up, I could hear the bees ready to swarm and at the last minute I caved in to them and hastily put two tiny braids into Gus’s mane after all. No big deal. Just to be safe. To be safe. Now, as they’re calling out my number, 23, I get another twinge of OCD. I look down at my bib and wish it was an even number. Even would be safer. Even would be good.

  “Two riders to go ahead of you …” Mum looks at number 21 who’s at the start box and about to be given the signal to set off on the course. “You can head down there now …”

  She smiles and gives Gus a slappy pat on his shoulder. “Remember to slow down into the woods to take the roll top,” she says. “You need to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the light in there. Evie, remember at the ditch, look up! Never, ever look down or he’ll stop. Your eyes will take you where you want to go …”

  At the warm-up area beside the start box I take a tight hold on Gus and look out over the fences and trace my battle plan in my mind. Mum and I have already walked the course twice this morning. There are sixteen jumps and it seemed to me that her advice for each fence was usually exactly the same. “Sit up, keep straight and kick on!”

  I ride laps of the warm-up arena, first at a walk to loosen Gus’s limbs, then at a trot and finally at a canter. I pop him over the practice fence five times until Mum gives me the thumbs-up and we are both confident that he’s ready and feeling keen as he pulls against my hands.

  I’m ready too. My brain, always buzzing, always in turmoil, has suddenly become as clear and bright as a summer day and all I can see is the cross-country course laid out in a perfect map in my mind. I can feel the power of the horse beneath me at this moment.

  The starter beckons me into the box. I put the reins into my right hand and place my left hand over my wrist to set off the watch.

  “On your marks, get set …”

  Gus anticipates the “Go” and he surges forward. In two strides he’s into a fast canter and we’re careening down the grassy hill and then I’m checking him back and kicking him on again as we come back up the dip. Ahead of us in four strides stands the rustic. I want to count the strides into it, but as Gus sees the fence his ears prick forward with enthusiasm and his canter begins to roll out, brave and bold, and he gives a snort and shakes his head to reef the reins free as if to say, Leave it to me, I’ve got this. And so I do. I keep straight and I kick on after that, but I don’t try to second-guess Gus any more or tell him about striding, because he knows better than me and we are a team, him and I, and you have to trust your pony.

  We have a wobbly moment at fence number four, which is a sunken road where you drop into a ditch and then put in two strides and jump out the other side. Gus is quite short-striding so he ends up sticking in three and I get left behind a bit and he bangs his leg on the bank as we exit, but he’s fine. I don’t even lose my stirrups and I’m back in two-point position and I check my watch and we’re still good on time.

  At the downhill combination Gus has found his groove as he flies the massive fantail and then bounds down the bank and up and over the ditch and the log, and we’re back on track for the final four fences and on the road to home. I can feel his breath coming hard now. The course is almost two and a half kilometres and he’s getting tired. When I check him before the next fence, he gives a tempestuous snort, as if he knows he’s near the finish and he wants to keep running despite the tiredness in his limbs. We take the big oxer, and the picnic table. One fence to go. My stopwatch is beeping. I am right on the timer – it will be close.

  The last fence is next to the warm-up area, and as we swoop in towards it I can hear my name being called over the loudspeaker and I feel Gus suddenly perk up as if he’s no longer tired at all and as we come in to take the roll top he picks up and stands off before the fence and flies it! Despite the early take-off, I’m with him this time, and as we gallop on and sweep between the finish flags, I hear my watch give a final beep. We have made it under time.

  It’s only after we’ve cooled down and I’ve led Gus back to the float that I realise his two braids have unravelled. They’re completely gone. They must have come undone on the course. And the realisation that me and Gus, we did it all on our own makes me so proud. But it worries me too, because I have no idea how long our protection was gone. Hastily, I put the braids back in again, just hoping that I’m not too late.

  ***

  That night, I Blu-Tack the rosette that we won on the wall of my bedroom. And then I lie on my bed and I look at it, and I ride that cross-country course over and over again in my head. I feel every twist and turn on the course, every undulation and hill, and most of all I recall the fences, the way Gus boldly attacked them on a forward stride with me rising up in my stirrups and giving him his head, that delicious moment of suspension in mid-air above the fence when we were no longer earthbound at all. We were Pegasus and Athena. The winged horse and the goddess. Immortal and brilliant, in a world of our own …

  I’m so tired and my muscles are so sore that when Mum shouts out and asks if I am ready for bed I lie to her and say yes, even though I’m still in my jodhpurs and boots because I’m so exhausted and so happy staring at my rosette. I fall asleep like that, fully clothed. As it turns out, this is lucky.


  Moxy wakes me up making this strange mewling sound and I can feel her trying to burrow hard into the blankets.

  I look over at the bedside clock. Fourteen minutes past midnight.

  And then the room begins to tremble and there’s this dark rumbling beneath me, a roar like a train is coming. I’m thrown out of bed and I hit the floor with such force it’s like someone has punched me in the guts. I gasp for breath and I try to stand but the floor under my feet is undulating now. It’s like trying to stand on the waves of the sea and I fall back to my knees. That’s when the adrenalin brings me to my senses and I know I’m not on a train and this is not a dream. The world is falling apart around me and I am going to die …

  ***

  I wake up with a gasp as if I’ve been submerged underwater and am panicking for breath. This is how I always wake up now, since that night in my bedroom when the first earthquake happened. It takes me a moment to realise where I am, and then I feel the hardness of the ground beneath my tent, and the damp seeping through the nylon of my sleeping bag and I remember. We’re in a paddock somewhere between Hawkswood and Ferniehurst on the road to Kaikoura and last night there was another aftershock and Gus got loose and there was a bull …

  Through the thin nylon walls of the tent, I can see that it’s light outside. How long have I been sleeping? I need to get up and search for Gus. I reach out a hand and feel Jock lying beside me. He has his head at this end of the tent, right beside mine, and Moxy is curled up on the other side of my shoulder so that if you looked down on us from above right now we would look like one creature all joined together. We are Cerberus, the three-headed dog.

  The three-headed dog gets up. Moxy is dying to get out, and as soon as I unzip the tent she bolts across the grass. For a moment I’m blinded by the brightness of the sunrise and I rub my eyes, and when I open them again I can see Gus. He’s grazing on the grass right in front of the tree where I had him tied last night. Moxy has already reached him and she is smooching up against his muzzle.

  When he sees me, he gives a nicker, like really casual, as if he’d been there all along!

  I go over and sit down in the grass beside him, with Jock and Moxy – the four of us, together again – and we stay like this for a bit, but I know we have to go. I’m just about to rouse myself and pack up the tent when Gus suddenly raises his head and Moxy crouches low like she’s afraid and Jock begins to whine. And then, a few seconds later, the ground rumbles beneath us.

  It’s not a big one, this aftershock, it doesn’t last for more than a couple of seconds, but it’s enough to get me straight up on my feet. It’s a reminder of what we’ve been through and where we are now and why we need to keep moving. And as I put the two braids in Gus’s mane I chant the names: Parnassus, Hawkswood, Ferniehurst, Hundalee, the Stag and Spey. Kaikoura lies ahead of all of them. We have a long way to go.

  CHAPTER 6

  Seven-Point-Eight

  There’s no sign of the bull as I pack the tent ready to leave. Moxy waits until I’m done strapping the tent and bags on to Gus, and then she vaults through mid-air to take up her position behind my bedroll on his rump. I lead Gus back through the paddock, making sure to shut the five-bar gate behind us, and we are on the wide grass verge that runs alongside State Highway One, heading once more in the direction of Kaikoura, with a sign ahead of us that says “Ferniehurst”.

  Round the bend in the road the earthquake has left wide cracks in the tarmac, as if Zeus has been sending his thunderbolts down to earth and they’ve split the road in jagged seams.

  Gus shies and spooks at the cracks. I have to urge him on, and he has his ears back, and as he vaults over one of them I try to peer down it, wondering how deep the fissure goes. Will I be able to see all the way to Hades? But then I get anxious because Moxy has jumped down off Gus’s rump to examine the crack too and I think she might try to clamber in and then I’d never get her out again. There’s no one else on the road except us. The roadblocks on the damaged Parnassus bridge have diverted all the traffic inland on the Leader Road. Mayor Garry took everyone that way. He said that no cars could get through on State Highway One. But I’m not in a car, am I? On horseback these cracked and broken roads can still be travelled.

  The aftershocks seem to be growing more frequent and I’m not sure what that means. I feel them happening almost every hour right now. I’m becoming strangely attuned to their rhythm. I know when one is about to strike because Jock will give the early warning. I’ll hear him let out this weird, low growl and his hackles will rise. And then a few seconds later, it comes in the distance. This sonic “boom” like a bomb going off and then the aftershock follows the sound and the ground begins to shake. They are little earthquakes. Not like the big one. The one that threw me out of bed that night back in Parnassus.

  ***

  I hit the floor so hard I’m winded and I can’t breathe. I try to stand again, but I’m thrown back and this time I slam both my elbows as I hit the carpet and cry out in pain. I hear a loud yowl in my ear and feel the scratch of Moxy’s claws as she scrambles and vaults over me on the ground. I can only just make out her shadowy shape as she sprints out of my doorway into the blackness beyond. There’s no light in the house, the power must have gone out.

  On my hands and knees I crawl in the same direction as Moxy. Over the top of the piles of clothes and the plates. Something large and solid in front of me blocks my path. It’s my backpack. Without even thinking about what I’m doing, I sling it over my shoulders and continue on towards the doorway.

  My hands grasp the door frame and I think about staying there. At school they tell you doorways are safe places, but when the floor beneath you undulates like waves you don’t feel safe and your brain tells you to run.

  I can’t get my balance to stand up so I crawl down the hall, panting, scurrying on my hands and knees. I feel bare floorboards and then something sharp crunching against my shins. I wipe my hands across my jodhpurs and feel a vicious stab in the palm of my hand. Broken glass on the floor! A vase has fallen and shattered across the hallway. If I wasn’t still wearing my jodhpurs there’d be cuts all over my knees from the shards. I stand up and wobble my way down the rest of the hallway, hands bouncing off the walls as I reel from side to side.

  “Evie!”

  I can hear my mum’s voice above the roar. That train-engine noise is actually coming from under the house! Echoing and booming through the rooms, filling the darkness with thunder.

  “Evie! Where are you?”

  “Mum? Mum!” I can see her on the far side of the kitchen, near the front door. She sees me too. She tries to come back for me and I watch her lurch sickeningly and fall against the walls and pick herself up again just as I’ve been doing all the way down the hallway from the bedroom.

  “Evie!” she screams at me. “Come on!”

  Mum is not a big woman. She’s not much taller than me. But when she grabs me in the kitchen as the floorboards shake us, it’s like I’m being swept up by a grizzly bear. She flings her arms round me and almost yanks me off my feet and I feel the power in her grasp lifting me off the rollercoaster as she drags me towards the front door.

  We’re both outside on the veranda of the villa and I’m stumbling down the stairs and then suddenly at the bottom step I realise Mum isn’t there any more. She’s back on the veranda with Jock. He’s tied up there and she’s furiously working to undo the knot of rope on the buckle of his collar but it’s impossible because he’s straining against it.

  “Jock, down!” Mum commands and, despite his fear, Jock obeys. He’s a working dog and even in a state of panic he follows orders.

  I begin to run back towards the steps to help her. Mum sees me coming and she shouts at me. “Evie, no! Get clear of the house and stay away from the power lines. Do it! Now!”

  I look up and see the row of tall power poles that run down the driveway to our house swaying like saplings in a high wind. I turn and run towards Gus’s paddock. I’m almost at the point wher
e the driveway forks and leads to his gate when suddenly there is Jock! He’s at my heels and he’s running hard, and I know that Mum must have got him free. We’re panting and heaving together and the ground is still throwing us about like we’re toy ships on a real ocean.

  Jock is with me, running. And then I realise. Where is Mum?

  “Mum?”

  Then from behind me there comes a new sound, louder than the train roar that woke me, louder than the rumble of the earth that continues to rock beneath my feet. This is the sound of an exploding bomb.

  I stop running and turn round.

  “Mum …”

  I’m thinking Mum must still be in the house. Except … except there is no house.

  It should be there. The tall peak of the corrugated iron roofline, bordered by the square outline of the veranda, should be casting a shadow in the sky, but it’s gone. And that’s when I realise that the sonic boom that I heard a moment ago was the sound of the house collapsing in on itself. In its place, there’s a hole where my house used to be. Our villa has been brought to the ground, the ruins jagged and black against the night sky.

  “Mum!”

  I’m running hard now, back from where I just came, towards the wreckage of what was once my house. The last time I saw my mum she was standing on the veranda!

  “Mum!” My screams, louder than the train-roar, turn to a hoarse whisper.

  “Mummy?”

  There. By the front path, there’s a dark shape on the ground. It’s not moving. It’s her.

  I run to her, throw myself to the ground beside her and shake her.

  “Mum!”

  She groans, lifts her head. “Evie?”

  I feel a rush of relief. She’s alive!

  “Mum …” I am crying. “What happened?”

  “I …” Mum pushes herself up on her hands. In the back of my mind, I am aware that the ground is no longer rumbling. Everything has gone quiet. I can hear my breath coming hard and fast, my blood pounding.

  “Something hit me,” Mum says, “in my back.”