Divine Madness

  Lauren nodded. ‘Thank you sir.’

  ‘And, just out of curiosity, where did you learn to throw a punch like that?’

  ‘My dad,’ Lauren lied. ‘He was a Karate champion when he was at uni. He taught all three of us from when we were little.’

  13. INVITATIONS

  Lauren had to spend the remainder of the day sitting at a desk in a corridor outside the senior teachers’ offices. She worried what Abigail and John would say when they found out what she’d done, but the more thought she put into it, the more she suspected that it probably hadn’t caused the mission any lasting damage.

  When it got to lunchtime, Lauren was allowed to go off and meet James and Dana in their usual secluded spot. She bumped into a half-dozen of her classmates, who were on her side all of a sudden.

  ‘That big lump totally deserved it, Lauren.’

  ‘Maybe you could teach me some of your moves.’

  ‘Little tiger,’ one of the boys grinned. ‘Come and rough me up any time, Lauren.’

  The group laughed and Lauren smiled at them, but she was pretty disgusted. Not one of them had helped her when she was just the titchy new kid, but now the balance of power had shifted they wanted to suck up. She couldn’t resist eyeballing the lad who’d called her little tiger.

  ‘Didn’t you eat one of my sweets earlier?’

  The kid looked worried. He knew an encounter with a smaller girl who packed a serious punch wasn’t going to lead anyplace good.

  ‘It was a joke, Lauren … You know … ? I never realised how bad those two were riding you.’

  ‘I tell you what, son,’ Lauren said, playing up her London accent. ‘You bring me a packet of sweets on Monday and I won’t say anything more about it, OK?’

  ‘Yeah,’ the kid nodded. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get them.’

  As Lauren walked away, his mates were teasing him. ‘Man, I hope you forget. I want to see that little girl batter you.’

  She headed for the spot where she always met James and Dana. They sat in the grass eating one of Abigail’s killer sandwiches.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,’ James grinned. ‘I heard what happened. I thought I was supposed to be the violent one in the family.’

  Lauren pointed fiercely at him. ‘Shut it, James, I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘What did you get?’ Dana asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Lauren said. ‘Except I’ve got to write an apology and stay after school to see some dumbass student counsellor.’

  *

  The counsellor was sixteen years old, with shoulder length blonde hair, a little on the dumpy side but you wouldn’t have called her fat. After four days at North Park, Lauren had got so that she could recognise a member of the Survivors with a glance.

  There were lots of clues. Not just the shabby uniform and no-brand accessories, there was something distinctive about their body language: a bounce in their step and the appearance of being slightly happier than a kid wandering a school corridor has any right to be.

  ‘Hi,’ the girl said, reaching out to shake Lauren’s hand. ‘You must be Lauren Prince. I’m Mary.’

  Lauren had spent most of the day stuck at the desk outside the deputy head’s office, so she was glad to get away.

  ‘So, how’s this work?’ Lauren asked, as they headed towards an empty classroom.

  ‘I’ve been assigned as your student counsellor,’ Mary explained. ‘If you have any problems at school or home that you want to discuss in confidence, I’m always ready to listen.’

  ‘So, in confidence means you can’t tell teachers what I say?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Mary said, smiling as usual.

  ‘So, what if I told you I’d killed someone?’

  Mary laughed. ‘It’s confidential. Have you killed anyone, by the way?’

  Lauren smirked. ‘Not that I can remember.’

  ‘That’s a good start.’

  Mary stopped by a classroom door. She unlocked it and led Lauren inside.

  ‘Plant your bum,’ Mary said. ‘I’ve got some tins of drink and a few biscuits if you’d like something.’

  Mary got Lauren a Sprite and a Pepsi for herself, before the two girls sat at a desk and turned their chairs to face each other.

  ‘I’m afraid the drinks are warm,’ Mary said. ‘No fridge in here.’

  Lauren took the can and broke it open.

  ‘OK, let’s start,’ Mary said. ‘How did you end up at North Park High?’

  *

  The school wasn’t air-conditioned, so the kids always headed straight for the shower when they got home. By the time Lauren arrived from her student counselling, James and Dana were sitting on the living-room carpet with wet hair, watching 24-hour news. The pictures were helicopter shots of a 170,000-tonne oil tanker breaking apart in the Indian Ocean.

  ‘What’s this?’ Lauren asked, a touch breathless from her ride home in the sun.

  James looked backwards at his sister. ‘It was a brand new tanker out of a shipyard in Japan. Looks like it got rammed by a powerboat packed with explosives.’

  ‘No oil on board,’ Dana added. ‘The crew all got off in lifeboats and they seem to think that the powerboat was under remote control.’

  Lauren looked stunned. ‘Help Earth?’

  ‘Nobody’s admitted responsibility, but who else is it gonna be?’ James asked.

  ‘Anyway,’ Lauren said, struggling to take her eyes off the TV, ‘I’ve got to go and speak to Abigail.’

  ‘I already sweet-talked her about what happened at school,’ James said. ‘She says it’s OK to stick up for yourself, as long as you don’t make a habit out of it.’

  Lauren shook her head. ‘It’s not that, the student counsellor I had to see was one of them.’

  Dana looked surprised. ‘Eh? That’s outrageous. How can the school allow a bunch of religious nutter kids to counsel the ordinary ones?’

  James shouted into the kitchen, ‘Abigail, you’d better come listen to this.’

  Abigail came through wearing an apron with flour marks on it. ‘I hope you all like veal meatballs,’ she smiled.

  James slapped his tummy and grinned. ‘You’re gonna make us fat, Abigail.’

  ‘What did you call me in for?’

  Lauren explained about her counsellor.

  Abigail wasn’t surprised. ‘It’s a state-wide thing, I’ve read about it in the newspapers. The counselling encourages younger and older kids to interact and helps them deal with bullying and other issues.’

  James nodded. ‘Some schools in Britain do it as well. But you wouldn’t think they’d let Survivors become counsellors and go round recruiting kids into their cult.’

  ‘They’ve got no choice,’ Abigail said. ‘If Survivor kids weren’t allowed to become counsellors, the group would kick up some big legal stink about religious discrimination and start sending in the lawyers.’

  James looked at Lauren. ‘So, did this Mary chick try and recruit you?’

  ‘A bit,’ Lauren nodded. ‘It wasn’t the main thing. But she asked me all about my background and about you lot, and our dad leaving and living in England. Then she asked me if I had any friends around, so I go, ‘No,’ and she goes, ‘Well we’ve got this group that meets up at our commune on a Saturday.’ So I acted like I was just a tiny bit interested and she told me that it was just a fun group. You know, I’d make some friends and stuff, play games, sing songs. She made it sound like girl guides or something.’

  Abigail nodded. ‘Did you say you’d go?’

  ‘No, ’cos I thought you might have said it was too soon and not wanted me to. So I just said I’d think about it. She wrote the phone number and address down for me. She said to call ahead and say how many of us were coming.’

  ‘She invited all of us?’ James asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Lauren nodded. ‘Including Abigail.’

  James looked at Abigail. ‘So, do we go or not?’

  Abigail rubbed a floury hand against her chin. ‘Well, we weren?
??t looking to make first contact with the group until we’d been in the area for a little bit longer, but this is such an unforced opportunity. I’ll run it past John for a second opinion, but I don’t think it would do any harm to show our faces up there.’

  14. TOGETHER

  Abigail dropped the kids into the centre of Brisbane on Saturday morning and left them to spend the day shopping and exploring their new home town. She picked them up late afternoon and fed them another bang-up meal before the trip to the commune in the evening. Dana stayed home, so that it didn’t look as if they were trying too hard.

  The Survivors’ original Brisbane church and ramshackle commune was now known as the Survivors’ Museum. The current commune was a conversion of a failed shopping mall. The illuminated store signs had been replaced with wooden crosses and Christian slogans.

  There were less than a hundred cars on a stretch of tarmac designed for thousands. Abigail pulled up by what had once been the main entrance to the mall.

  James grinned at Lauren as they got out the back of the car. ‘Today’s special mall offer, crazy mind-bending religion, just twelve ninety-nine.’

  Lauren grinned, but Abigail shushed him. ‘James, keep in character and remember to call me Mum.’

  ‘OK, Mommy.’

  Three Survivors emerged through the automatic doors at the main entrance. James recognised Ruth, Lauren recognised Mary, but they were led out by a grinning middle-aged man with rectangular glasses, beard and a corduroy jacket.

  ‘Hello, I’m Elliot Moss,’ the man said, grinning at Abigail. ‘It’s fantastic that you all took time to come out here and meet us this evening.’

  Abigail grinned back. ‘Well actually, I was going to drop the kids off at the youth group.’

  ‘Oh,’ Elliot said sadly. ‘Couldn’t you just spare us a few moments? We’ve got coffee and excellent cake inside. How do you like your coffee?’

  ‘Strong and black,’ Abigail said.

  ‘You’ll love ours then, it’s grown on Survivor plantations in Nicaragua. We sell it to gourmet delis and coffee shops all over the world and make sure that the growers earn a decent living out of it.’

  Abigail glanced at her watch, before tapping the plipper to lock her car. ‘I’ll just pop in for a little while then.’

  ‘Great,’ Elliot beamed as he turned around and led them towards the ex-mall.

  Ruth paired off with James and Lauren with Mary. They were led through the automatic doors, beneath a sign that read, Every Honest Soul IS Welcome Here. The main hallway was run down and had lots of tasteless 1970s touches: lurid orange floor tiles, dark wood panelling and coloured panes in the windows. There was a musty smell, caused by too much floor polish and bad air-con.

  Elliot whisked them into a medium-sized ex-shop that now contained a reception area and a multimedia exhibition about the Survivors. The displays focused upon Christian beliefs, charity work and the humble beginnings of the Survivors, rather than the A$5 billion Ark and Joel Regan’s predictions of a nuclear apocalypse.

  At one end of the room, a narrator with a sturdy voice was telling the story of Regan and his rise from humble farm boy to a religious leader of global stature, while a giant video screen showed archive footage of Regan shaking hands with Bill Clinton, Elvis Presley and the pope. These shots were followed by pictures of contented African women carrying sacks of grain with the Survivors logo on and the interior of a vending-machine repair shop staffed entirely by disabled people.

  ‘Every year the Survivors raise more than two hundred million dollars for some of the world’s neediest people …’

  Mary handed James and Lauren clipboards with forms to fill in and asked them to look up as she snapped their photograph with a digital camera.

  ‘It’s just a formality,’ Mary said. ‘In case you’re in one of our groups and you have an accident or something.’

  The form asked James for basic personal information, such as name, date of birth, home phone number and address. James had read that the combination of friendliness and a desire to get hold of personal information were classic first steps in a cult’s recruitment process.

  Elliot handed Abigail a much longer form and she returned a look of surprise.

  ‘What’s all this?’ she asked, flipping through six pages of questions.

  ‘We like to have your contact details in case of an emergency involving a child at one of our youth groups,’ Elliot explained. ‘The rest of the form is a survey. We’re trying to get a better idea of who is using our centre here. You don’t have to fill it in, but we’d really appreciate it if you could help us out.’

  ‘Well …’ Abigail said.

  ‘I tell you what, Abigail,’ Elliot grinned. ‘While you’re doing that, why don’t I indulge you with a cup of our amazing coffee and a piece of cake?’

  Abigail smiled. ‘That’s really nice of you, Elliot.’

  As Elliot headed off to get the cake he took the forms from James and Lauren and looked at Ruth. ‘Why don’t you take your young friends through to the community room?’

  They headed out through the shop front and halfway along the mall corridor, passing disused shops that had been turned into offices and storage areas. The community room was a giant open space that had once been the ground floor of a department store. It had been turned into a gymnasium, with green rubber flooring. There was basic sports equipment spread around, like goal posts, basketball hoops and cricket stumps. A hand-painted banner hung along the far wall: Welcome to the Ocean of Love.

  There were about fifty kids spread over the gym, and based upon the amount of unfashionable footwear, three-quarters were Survivors. Some kids were playing volleyball, others soccer, or cricket in practice nets. A bunch of the youngest kids played a leapfrog game, supervised by older teenagers. The orderliness surprised James, given that there was no obvious adult supervision.

  ‘Is there anything you’d like to try?’ Ruth asked.

  Lauren had her eye on a giant trampoline and headed off with Mary. James spotted a miserable-looking kid in the corner and pointed him out to Ruth.

  ‘Isn’t that Terry, from our class? I didn’t think he was one of you lot.’

  Ruth smiled. ‘Terry’s father goes to one of our therapy groups.’

  ‘He doesn’t exactly look happy to be here.’

  ‘He’s a devil,’ Ruth said.

  James looked confused. ‘Why do you lot call people devils all the time?’

  Ruth smiled again; in fact Ruth seemed to be smiling permanently. ‘We Survivors believe that the world is divided into a battle between angels and devils. Survivors are angels. Anyone who isn’t is a devil.’

  ‘So, am I a devil?’

  ‘Not for as long as you have potential to become an angel.’

  James shrugged. ‘To be honest, I don’t think I even believe in god.’

  ‘Then I feel sorry for you,’ Ruth said curtly.

  ‘Does that make me a devil?’

  Ruth shook her head slowly. She was fourteen, the same as James, but she had an authority about her that made her seem far older.

  ‘James, if you’re interested in our beliefs I can give you a book to read. Maybe you could even speak to one of our counsellors if your mum will let you. But right now, it’s Saturday night, and on Saturday night we invite all of our friends into the community room to play games and have fun. There’s only one rule: everyone has to join in.’

  ‘What about Terry?’

  ‘He’s a devil. As far as we’re concerned he’s not here. So what do you want to play?’

  James looked around the gym and spotted Lauren bouncing several metres into the air on a giant trampoline. A group of barefoot girls playing volleyball caught his eye. There were a few mingers, but most of them were fit.

  Ruth worked out what he was looking at. ‘Volleyball, that’s a really good idea, James.’

  They walked over to the girls.

  ‘This is James, everyone,’ Ruth shouted excitably. ‘This is hi
s first visit to our community.’

  All but one of the girls on the court were Survivors and they stopped playing and smiled while they queued up to shake his hand.

  ‘Have you played volleyball before?’ a pretty redhead called Eve asked.

  ‘A couple of times,’ James said. ‘Not seriously though.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Eve said. ‘We’re not serious and you’re only allowed to say positive things on the court.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Just follow our lead,’ Eve said, handing James the ball to serve.

  James rested the ball in his palm before batting it away. It skimmed limply over the net, making an easy return for the other team.

  ‘Nice try,’ Eve said, as she backed up and pounded the ball back over the net.

  ‘Crap,’ James said as his clumsy swipe missed the ball entirely.

  Before he knew it there were three girls in front of him,

  with Survivors’ smiles on their faces.

  ‘James,’ Eve said sweetly, wagging a finger under his nose. ‘You’re doing great, but remember you’re only allowed to say positive things.’

  Ruth had joined the other team to even up the numbers and was grinning through the net. ‘She’s right James. Negative thoughts are for devils.’

  James couldn’t help smiling back at them. ‘You girls are weird,’ he grinned. ‘Wonderfully, positively, weird.’

  Eve laughed and gave him a friendly rub on the back. ‘That’s the spirit, James. Do you want to serve again?’

  *

  James hung out in the community hall for two hours, following the girls between volleyball, soccer and the trampoline. When it got to nine o’clock, a couple of adult Survivors came in and switched off most of the lights. Everyone in the hall formed two circles, tired little kids in the inner circle and older kids and teenagers outside. Lauren’s counsellor Mary stepped into the centre of the circle holding a guitar.

  James’ instincts told him that sitting in a big circle with a bunch of guitar-playing religious nuts was lame, but the Survivor girls who’d all been smiling, chatting, rubbing his back and hugging him for the past two hours dragged him into the circle and James couldn’t help laughing and smiling back. He felt really good as he sat cross-legged on the floor. Eve grinned, held his hand and sat so close that her toes were touching his knee.