Drawing Dead

Chapter 1

Mica joined the queue for the Firefly coach from Sydney to Adelaide, all his worldly possessions in his tattered backpack. At the front of the line the ticketing lady looked at him twice before asking if he was sure, was that really where a nice boy like him wanted to go?

'Yes, Ma'am,' he said with a polite smile.

She narrowed her eyes at him. 'You one of them, then? Those infected, those—mutants?' She growled her words at him. 'That's all Adelaide's good for now. No more City of Churches, it's City of Freaks now!' she spat.

Mica's heart pounded as he snatched the ticket away rougher than he'd intended. 'You see anything freakish about me, lady?!' he managed. Mica knew there were limited outward physical signs of his mutation and he'd almost perfected the art of pretending there were none. He turned his back with more confidence than he felt, then boarded the bus to the sounds of her incoherent grunts. The curious gazes of his fellow passengers who all looked as normal as him, but could quite as easily be hiding their own secrets, followed his steps.

The bus was at near capacity for the overnight trip to Melbourne, but most people disembarked into the first flush of morning at Southern Cross station. The city was already bustling and the aroma of coffee wafted through every street. This metropolis was still mostly unchanged, still home to people unaffected by the Wild Card virus that had spread throughout the world. People who didn't want to know mutants like him. People like his family, those unaffected by the virus: Nats. Adelaide was an entirely different story.

There were only a handful of people still aboard when the bus passed through Ballarat, and after the drivers changed at Horsham, Mica was the only passenger left. He was the only one to see the illuminated billboards in the night. Not the path you seek. Turn back and find the light: A message brought to you by the Takis-ANTI-league Community. And another one not even half a mile down the road, a desperate last plea by the same community who were petitioning for mandatory testing and isolation of those infected. There is life elsewhere. Call us today. Concerned citizens spreading the words of their God, ignorant of the increasing statistics of scared young people killing themselves because of their hateful propaganda and fear mongering bullshit. The same support 'community' that his parents had contacted after he'd come out to them when he received his blood test back. The ones that had influenced his parent's views on his affliction, made him seem like a predator to his kid sister when Mica refused to attend their internment 'camp'... and his father's belligerent last words to his first born.

Mica turned away before his rising hatred had time to get the better of him, but the next billboard pulled his attention back. Two people, seemingly in full body makeup rivalling the best prosthetic special effects in the industry, dressed to the nines, their tops hats dipped low. Their arms were held back like a private welcoming ceremony to the best show on earth. And the words, quoted from one of his favourite superhero films, Hellboy: All us freaks have is each other. And, Welcome home.

Mica grinned and settled more comfortably in his seat.

In the early hours of night, almost twenty-four hours since he'd boarded, they stopped outside of a place called 'Sweeties Bakehouse' in the small country town of the unambiguously named, Bordertown, though it was almost twenty kilometres from the actual border separating Victoria from South Australia. The deli was a dimly lit weatherboard shop sporting two large wagon wheels. Here the bus keys exchanged hands once again. Fuzzy with perpetual dozing, Mica peered out of the window at the two drivers who conversed and traded satchels. Lights from the neighbouring Shell service station didn't penetrate the shadows enough to see the pair clearly beneath a gently swaying tree, but the new driver glanced up and directly at Mica. What light there was reflected from his eyes and Mica shrank back. It must have been pitch black in the bus, only the headlights and safety lights around the outside were lit up – there was no way he could have seen in, could he?

Mica sank away from the window and deeper into his seat, his eyes bleary from sporadic sleep and his mind still vague from dreams, or so he convinced himself. The new chauffeur boarded and stood glancing down the aisle at his single silent passenger. Mica feigned sleep but swore the driver's eyes gleamed red beneath his hood for only a second or two. He clutched his backpack closer to his chest and calmed his breathing. The bus rumbled into ignition and sat idling for a moment while the driver sorted himself out. Mica breathed a sigh of relief as the bus rolled down the quiet street and back onto the highway. Four hours later they reached Adelaide.

Mica hadn't slept since the drivers swapped. He watched the darkness lift and the city lights approach, his mind filled with anticipation and a dreaded fear. Would he be anymore welcome here than he had been at home?

The driver was standing at the doors when Mica disembarked. His hood pulled back revealing his face to be unshaven, but otherwise unremarkable. No visible sign of mutation, but Mica knew that meant little.

He held out a perfectly regular hand out for Mica. 'Welcome,' he greeted with a warm smile. 'May you find what you're looking for.'

Mica hesitantly clutched the man's hand, thrown by his sincere welcome and the intrusion into his soul. Was he that obvious? 'Thank you,' Mica mumbled unable to find any other words. He moved off, his legs humming with the relief of activity. He could feel the man's eyes on him until he found the foyer of the bus station and finally disappeared out of sight into the restrooms. He splashed the sheen of sweat from his face with cold water and stared at his haggard reflection. No regrets.

The young lady behind the counter this time was friendly and helpful. She called him 'bloke' and told him not to take attitude from anyone, that the people around here could be aloof at times, but generally they had good intentions. She directed him to cheap accommodation just around the corner.

'Good luck finding what you're after,' she called behind him.

He stopped. 'Why do you think I'm looking for something?'

She smiled. The tattoos down her neck seemed to swirl and morph like Rorschach blots when she moved. 'We're all freaks here. All outcasts. No one comes to Adelaide these days unless they are looking for something; somewhere to call home, somewhere to fit in, someone to love, hey bloke?' She suggested. 'I hope you find what makes you happy.'

'Thanks,' he mumbled. So his journey here hadn't been original? The double doors slid open and warm air burst in drying out Mica's already tired eyes. The sun was only just on the rise and already the day promised to be a warm one.

On the corner, only a hundred metres from the bus station he found 'Sunny's', what he'd been told was the friendliest place to stay for those with little to spare. Tourists were up and sharing a pancake breakfast so he joined them with minimal persuasion. Although they included him, Mica was too tired to hold any conversation for long. He retired to a newly purchased bunk in a shared room and collapsed. His bones creaked and cracked in relief as he stretched for the first time in what felt like aeons. Suddenly the weight of the past week, his recent journey, and his full belly overwhelmed him. He couldn't even find the energy to make it to the shower before the need for sleep defeated him to the tune of his father's angry mantra: Get away from my daughter. Get out of my house. Go away!