The Genius Wars (27 page)

Clouds of dust enveloped him. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe. He felt as if he were suffocating … the smell was abominable …

As he fell into unconsciousness, his last thought was:
Gazo
.

‘Cadel? Hey! Cadel!’

It was Gazo’s voice, and it seemed to be coming from a long way off. Cadel opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Gazo’s dirty, contorted face. Then the gaping hole behind it came into focus.

The hole was in the ceiling. Huge chunks of plaster had fallen away, exposing beams and wiring and insulation pads. Cadel began to cough.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gazo whispered. ‘I’m really sorry. I lost control.’

Cadel tried to sit up. He felt queasy and confused. The floor around him was covered in litter: broken glass, splinters of wood, sheets of plasterboard. A beam of light was cutting through the dusty air, illuminating a scene like a bomb site. The rear wall of the kitchen was largely untouched, though the fridge had toppled over. But to his left lay sheer devastation. He vaguely recognised his own red doona, draped across something that looked like … could it be …

A
windscreen
?

‘I know it musta bin me, because everyone just dropped like stones,’ Gazo continued quietly, glancing over his shoulder. ‘See? Them coppers have woken up now, and Fiona too. It usually takes about ten minutes.’

‘What – what –?’ Cadel croaked, still staring at the windscreen. It had shattered into whitish fragments, most of which had disappeared, but it was still recognisable as a windscreen, set high off the ground.

‘It’s a bus,’ said Gazo.

‘W-what?’

‘A bus hit the house.’

Half a brick suddenly slid off the roof of the bus, which had crumpled beneath the weight of falling rafters. One headlight was still working; that was the source of the laser-like beam that shone, straight and steady, across what was left of the kitchen.

There were other lights, too – much smaller and more mobile. Cadel realised that they were bobbing about in the hands of two uniformed men who were busy off to one side of the bus. It was a second or two before he could identify these men as paramedics.

‘You called an ambulance?’ he said faintly.

‘Not me,’ Gazo replied. ‘I ain’t got no phone.’

‘Who
is
that, over there?’ Cadel realised that the paramedics were tending to a motionless figure in a pile of rubble. ‘Is that – is that
Saul
?’

‘Cadel –’

‘Oh, no.’

As Cadel scrambled unsteadily to his feet, someone else staggered into view: a man so caked with dust that it was hard to see what he actually looked like. This man was the source of a high-pitched chant that had been going on for some time, like the nagging, background whine of a power tool. ‘The ignition cut out and I couldn’t turn. The ignition cut out and I couldn’t turn …’ he was saying. Then he swerved towards the paramedics, wringing his hands. ‘The ignition cut out and I couldn’t turn …’

‘Is that the bus driver?’ a familiar voice demanded. It was Judith; she was addressing Gazo from a spot near the kitchen sink, where she had squatted next to Fiona. Though still wearing her voluminous coat, Judith had discarded her hat.

Fiona was now sitting up, coughing and retching.

‘Oh – uh – hi,’ said Gazo, in a dazed fashion. ‘How did – what are
you
doing here?’

Judith ignored him.

‘If that’s the bus driver, he must be in shock,’ she declared. ‘Someone should sit him down, or he’ll hurt himself.’ The distant wail of a siren made her cock her head. ‘There’s another ambulance,’ she added. ‘About bloody time.’

‘Did
you
call it?’ Gazo asked her, as Cadel shook him off. Other shadowy figures were looming through the dust, but Cadel wasn’t interested in them. He stumbled towards the two paramedics, who had placed some kind of brace around Saul’s neck.

‘The ignition cut out and I couldn’t turn …’ the bus driver pleaded. He too was making a beeline for the paramedics.

One of them cut him a quick glance.

‘It’s okay, mate. We’ll be with you in a minute. Just give us a minute.’ There wasn’t a hint of distress in the paramedic’s tone; it remained calm, firm and kindly. ‘Is there anyone else still on the bus?’

‘I didn’t see anyone,’ Judith butted in. By this time she was on her feet, supporting Fiona. ‘I watched the whole thing from down the street. There weren’t any passengers.’

‘Did you see what went wrong?’ the paramedic inquired.

‘Not really. Looked like the brakes failed.’

‘There’s a hill out the front,’ Gazo volunteered, from just behind Cadel. ‘You always see buses coming down that hill pretty fast.’

‘The ignition cut out. I couldn’t turn,’ said the bus driver, as Cadel reached Saul. The detective lay unconscious, with a bloody face and torn clothes. A cannula had been inserted into his arm, and a tube threaded into one nostril.

‘Is he going to be okay?’ Cadel squeaked. ‘What’s the matter with his neck?’

‘It’s under control.’ The paramedic turned to Gazo. ‘Both of you go and sit out the back there, away from the house.’

‘But what about Saul?’ Cadel protested.

‘He hit his head. Like you did.’ The paramedic suddenly raised his voice. ‘
Everyone get out! It’s not safe in here – the roof might come down!
’

‘I didn’t hit my head,’ Cadel began. Before he could finish, however, someone grabbed his arm.

A uniformed fire-fighter had appeared beside him, materialising out of a dust-cloud.

‘Come on, son,’ said the fire-fighter. ‘This is no place for you.’

‘Make him lie down,’ the paramedic instructed. ‘He’s probably concussed.’

‘No, I’m not.’ Cadel didn’t want to leave Saul – not until the detective had opened his eyes, at least. ‘I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.’

Clunk!
A roof-joist dropped to the floor. From somewhere nearby, Gazo said, ‘We’ve gotta get out, Cadel.’ And the fire-fighter’s grip tightened.

‘Is that your name? Cadel?’ he asked pleasantly.

‘Yes, but –’

‘I’m Vincent. And I just need to take you outside, so someone can have a look at you. Okay? We won’t be going far.’ A nod at Saul. ‘Is this your dad?’

‘No – I mean, yes –’

‘Your dad will be coming too. Don’t worry.’

‘Is he going to be all right?’ Cadel quavered.

‘He’ll be a lot better once he’s out of here. And so will you.’ When Cadel wouldn’t budge, Vincent tried another approach. ‘Where’s your mum, Cadel?’

Blinking and coughing, Cadel looked around. He couldn’t see Fiona. He couldn’t see Judith. Narrow beams of torchlight kept flitting across the rubble, jerking up walls and jumping from surface to surface, distracting him.

‘I don’t know,’ he mumbled. ‘She was over there …’

‘Don’t you think we’d better find her?’

‘I saw her sit up.’

‘Let’s go and find her.’

Cadel allowed himself to be led outside. Here he immediately spotted Judith, silhouetted against the headlights of several vehicles that had apparently been driven into the garden from the
rear lane. One of these vehicles was an ambulance. Another was a police car.

Judith was deep in conversation with a uniformed police officer, waving her hands about energetically.

‘… straight through the fence and into the front of the house,’ she was saying. ‘Like the brakes failed. Like it was going to turn at the bottom, but it couldn’t …’

‘Cadel!’

The choked cry came from Fiona. As Cadel turned, she threw herself at him. He was suddenly engulfed in a hug that was more like a stranglehold.

‘Oh my God. Oh my God,’ she whimpered. ‘Oh my God, you’re all right!’

‘Take it easy, love.’ Vincent tried to peel her off Cadel. ‘We’ve gotta be careful till the ambos have a look.’

‘Don’t worry. Saul’s alive,’ Fiona gabbled.

‘I know.’ Cadel’s response was muffled by the collar of her cardigan. ‘I saw him.’

‘He didn’t get crushed,’ she continued, shrugging off the hands that were reaching for her. Two of these hands belonged to a paramedic. ‘They’re bringing him out right now. There’s an ambulance.’ Annoyed by all the insistent, attentive people hovering in her vicinity, she swung around to snap at the nearest emergency worker. ‘What is it? I told you! I didn’t hit my head!’

‘Then where did that bruise come from?’ somebody demanded. Meanwhile, Fiona’s grip had loosened; Cadel found himself being plucked from her arms and deposited onto a bench near the barbecue. A pen-torch flashed in his eyes. ‘Just look over here, mate. And up here – that’s it. And over this way …’

Gazo was dithering about, unable to keep still. The bus driver was being comforted by a woman in a dressing gown. (‘The ignition cut out and I couldn’t turn …’) People were shouting, pointing, scurrying.

All at once, a light bulb went off inside Cadel’s brain.

Had this
really
been an accident?

There were CCTV cameras on board most Sydney buses; he knew that. But he also remembered something else – something about computerised data collection. Every bus had its own Tacholink Onboard Data Recorder, monitoring things like mileage, routes and working hours. This data could be downloaded by radio frequency, or via the Global System for Mobile Communications. And if anyone ever decided to steal a bus, its Tacholink could be configured to immobilise it.

In other words, the ignition wouldn’t fire unless the driver had clearance.

‘Cadel? Can you wiggle your fingers? Good. That’s good. Does it hurt here? No? What if I press this?’

Cadel wondered if Vee was behind the crash. It was possible, surely? Someone like Vee could easily take advantage of the connection between a bus’s engine and its Tacholink. He could have used GSM or GPS to disable its brakes or its steering, though Cadel didn’t quite know how.

‘You blacked out, is that right? Cadel? How long were you out, do you know?’

‘Uh …’ Cadel wasn’t paying much attention to the paramedic beside him. He could see a stretcher being manoeuvred through the kitchen door, and craned his neck to get a better view.

‘He were out for ten minutes.’ It was Gazo who answered. ‘But I don’t fink he hit his ’ead –’

‘We’ll see. The neurobs look pretty good, but it’s best to be on the safe side. In fact we might stick a neck brace on him.’ Briskly, the paramedic came to a decision. ‘I think we’ll get you to hospital, matey,’ she informed Cadel. ‘Keep you under observation for a bit. Ten minutes is a long time to be unconscious.’

‘Yeah, but he couldn’t breeve, is all,’ Gazo tried to explain. ‘It weren’t – I mean – the smell’s what done it, there was a bad smell –’

‘You mean gas?’ interrupted Vincent, who had apparently been eavesdropping. ‘Did you smell
gas
in there?’

‘No,’ said Gazo. ‘I mean – yeah, but –’

‘Jesus.’ The fire-fighter shot off like a rocket. Fiona, by this time, was stumbling along beside her husband’s stretcher, resisting
all efforts to make her sit down. Judith was still being interviewed. The bus driver was having his pulse checked.

Saul hadn’t regained consciousness.

‘Am I going in the same ambulance as Sau – as my dad?’ asked Cadel, rising obediently in response to a hand on his elbow.

‘Your mum will be going with your dad, mate, don’t worry.’ The paramedic guided him towards the back fence. ‘You’ll have to go to a different hospital.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we have to take you to the children’s hospital. But it’s right next door to where your dad will be.’

‘I want to go with
them
!’ Cadel pointed towards Saul. ‘I’m okay! I didn’t hit my head, it was Gazo! He stinks so much that he knocks people out!’

‘Oh. Really? Well … I still want to make sure.’ From the paramedic’s tone, it was obvious she thought that Cadel was babbling. ‘Why don’t you come over here, and we’ll get you to hospital, and you’ll be able to see your parents after the doctors have had a look at you.’

‘It’s true! You don’t understand! Gazo’s got a genetic problem!’ Suddenly Cadel stopped in his tracks. His stomach was churning. ‘I’m going to throw up,’ he bleated, before vomiting onto the lawn.

By the time he had recovered his ability to speak, he was in the back of an ambulance. The paramedics wanted him to lie down; they told him that nausea and disorientation were symptoms of concussion. ‘But I’m not disoriented!’ he cried, his gaze falling on the straps used to restrain injured passengers. That was when it occurred to him: was this
really
an ambulance?

Or was it an attempted kidnapping?

The thought had barely crossed his mind when someone else jumped into the back of the vehicle. Just as the doors were beginning to close, Reggie Bristow wedged himself between them. ‘Police!’ he exclaimed, flashing his identification. Then he wiggled free and vaulted up over the rear bumper, landing beside Cadel.

‘This kid doesn’t go
anywhere
without a police escort,’ Reggie announced. He was panting and dishevelled, but not the least bit dusty. It was obvious that he hadn’t been inside the house. ‘Where are we going?’ he demanded, still waving his identification. With the other hand he was fumbling for his radio. ‘Which hospital?’

‘Uh – Sydney Children’s,’ came the reply.

While Reggie was transmitting this news to his colleagues, Cadel agreed to lie down. He felt safe enough doing so, now that Reggie was on board. And it was encouraging to know that they were heading for the Sydney Children’s Hospital.

At least I’ll get to visit Sonja, at long last
, Cadel reflected.

Aloud he said, ‘Tell the driver to be
very careful
. Because someone might sabotage the traffic lights. They might be on green when they should be on red.’

The paramedics made soothing noises.

‘I mean it!’ Cadel snapped. ‘I’m not blithering! Someone’s out to get me!’ When the paramedics kept nodding and clicking their tongues, he appealed to Reggie. ‘Tell them, will you? That bus was hijacked by remote control.’

‘You reckon?’ Reggie sounded cautious. ‘How?’

‘I don’t know. Through the Tacholink. They must have hacked into the GPS or the radio download.’ Seeing the paramedics exchange a quizzical glance, Cadel lost control. His eyes filled with tears of frustration. ‘Will you
listen
to me? You have to put on your siren! People will stop for a siren – it won’t matter if the traffic lights have been tampered with!’