Page 41 of The Vanishing Place
Effie hunched low in the ferns like Dad, quiet and still, with the gun on the grass beside her.
“There,” whispered Dad. “You can just make out her ears.”
Effie stared through the hanging fronds, in the direction that he was pointing. There was no clearing or cut-out trail—the bush ate them up, their bodies gobbled by a vast magical greenness.
“There,” he breathed again. “Can you see her?”
Dad had been back for two weeks, not long enough for her to fully trust him, but the harder-to-control parts of her—the bits that were made of Dad—wanted to impress him.
Effie peered into the silver beech leaves. Every bit of her hurt; her legs and arms and feet. There was a space between her shoulders that had started to throb, bruised from where the gun had been slung over her shoulder. They’d walked all day—Dad teaching Effie to navigate—trudging through thick bush for so long that her legs had gone from tired to sore to numb. Then back to sore again.
She squinted. “I see her,” she squeaked. “I see her.”
“Shh.” Dad touched a finger to his lips. “You’ll spook her.”
The chamois looked up, turning her head in their direction. A brown band looped from either side of her nose, up and around the back of her horns.
“Right, Effie.” Dad’s breath was warm on her face. He smelled bad, like sweat and wet earth. “You’ve got this.”
“But…” The chamois was so alive. The blood beat through its body, pulsing just like Effie’s. “What if—”
“You’ll be fine.”
Dad lifted the gun, and Effie held it the way he’d taught her. Then she breathed. In and out. Not trapping the air in. Not letting it burst her open.
The small antelope was beautiful. Its summer coat was light, honey colored, and its curved black horns rose up like a crown.
“Now,” Dad said.
“But—”
“Now.”
Effie’s lip trembled, and she was suddenly more scared of Dad than the animal or the loaded gun. Dad’s voice had changed, just like that. Warm one moment, cold the next, like when the wind changed direction. Effie didn’t want this Dad.
She focused on the animal. Dad would come back if she just shot it. She squeezed the trigger, forcing her eyes to stay open, and when the chamois dropped to the ground, Dad let out a proud yelp. Effie beamed as he hugged her, but there was a strange metallic taste in her mouth. She ran her tongue across the front of her teeth, licking away a thin coating of blood. She must have bitten through her lip without realizing it.
Dad’s arms wrapped around her. “Well done.” His smile took up his whole face. “Your first chamois.”
“June won’t be happy.” She’d gone nuts when she found them practice-shooting behind the hut.
“Ha.” Dad laughed then. A proper belly laugh. “No, she won’t. But she’ll eat bloody good this week. Don’t think I can stomach any more lentils.”
His face lightened. Effie had done that. And she could see, hiding behind his eyes, the Before Dad. The Dad before Mum died.
“Come on, little Rimu.”
Rimu. Effie’s throat got smaller. Or something in it got larger. Dad hadn’t called her that in months.
Dad did the next bit himself, and Effie stood a few meters away, watching through her fingers. He boned the body out, keeping the cape and skin, and made a backpack out of the body. Effie felt queasy as he hauled the dead carcass onto his shoulders. From behind there was no Dad, just a lolling chamois head. He’d half-hacked its legs off too, and the stumps flopped about as he walked. It made Effie want to hurl onto the grass. Thankfully, Dad let her walk in front after a bit.
A couple of hours later, after multiple navigating fails by Effie, they made it to the unfamiliar hut. Dad had marked the secluded hut on the map with a black dot, and told Effie to lead the way. It was only three grid squares north from their hut—three squares and a trillion identical trees. Exhausted, they sat at the wooden bench and Dad made them dinner. It was strange, staying somewhere else in the bush. When Effie was Aiden’s age, she’d thought that their hut was the only one in the world. But this hut was bigger than theirs. It had two bedrooms with bunks, as well as a living area. But it was grotty. Mum would’ve hated it.
Effie had needed to cover her mouth when they’d walked in, to stop from breathing in the stench of death.Possum. Dad had found it in one of the bedrooms and chucked it outside. The hut was filled with cobwebs and dead flies. Effie had wiped down the table with a scrap of cloth and found a brush to clear the floor a bit. She’d also found a charm bracelet when she was brushing under the sofaand slipped it onto her wrist. She didn’t wear jewelry other than the pieces Lewis made for her, and her arm looked quite pretty.
“Where are we?” asked Effie.
“We’re just at the end of the valley. The Thomas Range is on that side”—Dad nodded to the right—“and Cuttance is on the other. Moeraki is straight over that ridge there.” He nodded north.
