Early Warning (Book 2): Getting Home

by McLean, Angus

  I checked his back and found no exit wound.

  ‘You’re the luckiest fucker alive,’ I told him. ‘The bullet hit the buckle on your sling.’

  Brenton looked confused and Bevan let out a whooping laugh.

  ‘Is he okay?’ Rob arrived behind me, the Lee Enfield in his hands.

  I nodded. ‘Probably sore as hell, but I don’t think it’s actually gone in. Might have a broken rib or something though.’

  He looked at me. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Same guys?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Did you get them?’

  ‘Shot two with guns, one was the head honcho from last night. Maybe a third. Don’t know if they’re dead or just wounded, they all took off.’

  Rob nodded and looked over at Bevan, who was checking his magazines. ‘What about you, John Wayne? Did ya hit anyone?’

  ‘Pretty sure I got at least one,’ he said. I was pretty sure he hadn’t, but it didn’t matter right now.

  ‘I’m going to clear down there,’ I said. ‘See if they left anything behind.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Rob said.

  We checked around the area where the bad guys had been, finding a few cigarette butts and several spent casings in 7mm, .22 and 12-gauge.

  ‘Three shooters,’ Rob mused, casting a wary eye around.

  ‘This is crazy,’ I said. ‘It’s gotta stop.’

  ‘They don’t get it, do they?’

  ‘No, they do not.’ I set my jaw. ‘Enough’s enough; I’m not having these pricks keep coming back.’

  ‘What’re you going to do?’ Rob said cautiously.

  ‘This is our home, Rob. It’s time to take the fight to them.’

  His brow creased and he chewed his lip. ‘And how do you plan on explaining that to the ladies? And the wee fella?’

  I looked him in the eye. ‘It needs to be done, Rob. You know it as well as I do. We are not gunna live in fear of these pricks.’

  He stared at me a long time before slowly beginning to nod. ‘I understand,’ he said.

  ‘We going after them?’ Bevan interrupted. Seeing my face, he gave a fist pump then went for a high five. I ignored it so he pumped his fist again instead. ‘Yes. Let me get my shit.’

  Rob and I looked at each other. Brenton had sat up now and I could see Linda approaching down the road, Rusty and Sophie not far behind.

  ‘Best you get going then,’ Rob said. ‘But watch your back.’

  I turned to go and he grabbed me roughly by the arm, pulling me into an unexpected hug. I clapped him on the back.

  ‘Come home,’ he rasped.

  Sixteen

  Gemma and Alex had managed to get from Takanini to Papakura before she called a halt. Her ribs were screaming and the exertion was making it almost impossible to breathe.

  They had got through a residential area and were on the edge of the town centre now. The railway lines to their left were empty and there was hardly any traffic on the road. People were still walking about and they noticed as they got closer to town that the people they passed were getting rougher and more boisterous. They saw broken windows and damage in almost every building and smoke was drifting across the rooftops, adding to the smell wafting south from the city.

  Passing one side street, they had stones and bottles thrown at them by a group of youths who yelled abuse and tried to give chase. Leaving them behind and getting around a corner, Gemma gave a shout and pulled up.

  Alex wheeled back to her, looking over her shoulder for any sign of the yobs. They were nowhere to be seen, but he could see that his companion was in trouble. She was holding her ribs and wheezing, and sweat was running down her face.

  ‘I need…stop,’ she huffed.

  Alex glanced around for somewhere to take cover, spotting a block of commercial premises just ahead at the northern end of the town centre. ‘Come on.’

  He led the way and they went round the back into a service alley. The rear doors were all secure, most of them with heavy steel security doors. He settled on a plain wooden door which was the rear entrance to a travel agency. He took the small pry bar from Gemma’s bag and levered the door open while she leaned against the wall and kept watch.

  After bringing their bikes inside, Alex secured the door again as best he could, placing a table against it. He found Gemma in the kitchenette, rummaging through the fridge. The milk had curdled and the fridge smelled off, but the small freezer compartment wasn’t completely defrosted yet.

  ‘Here.’ Gemma passed him a bowl she had found. ‘Put ice…in that.’

  Alex found a butter knife and chipped cubes out of an ice tray into the bowl. She handed him a tea towel and he followed her into a rear office, away from the main entrance. She dropped her bag and awkwardly tried to remove her poly-prop top and T-shirt.

  ‘Help.’

  Gemma was no exhibitionist, but her medical needs outweighed her modesty just now. If Alex was turned on by a dirty, sweaty woman who’d worn the same clothes for three days and looked like she’d been battered to hell, then she’d just have to shoot him. He clumsily helped her and she sat in her bra while he wrapped ice cubes in the tea towel.

  Her ribs were heavily bruised and scraped, and she gasped when he placed the ice pack on her skin. She took it from him and held it against the sorest part, clenching her teeth and sucking up the pain.

  ‘Jesus,’ Alex muttered. ‘That looks pretty painful.’

  Gemma let out a short laugh. ‘You’re…a man. I…squeezed out…a baby.’

  ‘Why’re you laughing?’ Alex felt himself smiling. ‘That’s ridiculous; you should be crying.’

  ‘I laugh…when it…hurts…a lot.’

  ‘Did you laugh when you had your baby?’

  She nodded, shifting the ice pack to another spot. ‘Mark said…it was…the weird…weirdest thing.’

  Alex chuckled. He took a drink of water then rummaged in his bag and came out with some of the first aid gear they had acquired.

  ‘Got some Panadol,’ he said. ‘I’ll see if I can find something better.’

  While he went off, Gemma focussed on her injuries. Now that she had the chance to sit and rest and ice her ribs, she was fairly sure there was nothing broken. The ice should help reduce the swelling, which would make it easier to breathe. She dug a Snickers bar out of her bag and munched while she sat, wondering what Mark and Archie were doing right at that moment.

  Alex came back with a big grin on his face and two new items in his hand.

  ‘Look what I found. Voltaren anti-inflammatories and some arnica cream.’

  ‘Good man.’ Gemma took two of the tablets from him and washed them down. The tea towel was soaked now and she put it aside. She pulled her tops back on, moving a bit freer now with a torso that felt like a frozen side of beef.

  They sat for a few minutes, drinking and eating. Gemma was almost dozing off when Alex suddenly blurted out, ‘My boyfriend dumped me.’

  She looked at him curiously. ‘Well, that’s pretty shit.’

  ‘He dumped me a week ago and I had to move back in with my Mum. We’d been planning a holiday to the Philippines, and he suddenly decides that he’s “lost his spark”.’ Alex made the quotation marks with his fingers and pulled a face. ‘Son of a bitch.’ He shook his head and gave a chuckle. ‘Actually, that’s not fair. His Mum’s really nice.’

  Gemma smiled and drained her bottle. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Jeremy.’

  ‘Well, Jeremy can get fucked,’ Gemma said emphatically, and he laughed. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.’

  ‘Yeah, fuck you Jeremy.’ Alex gave a double bird at the ceiling. ‘Your loss.’

  ‘Why the Philippines?’ Gemma said. ‘That’s an unusual holiday destination.’

  ‘He’s part-Filipino. I was going to meet all the family.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Gemma didn’t know what else to say. She barely knew Alex anyway.

>   Alex looked around at their surroundings and sighed. ‘I guess it doesn’t really matter now, does it?’

  Seeing he was getting into a funk, Gemma changed the subject.

  ‘Thanks for looking after me,’ she said. ‘Things weren’t going so well there.’

  ‘Huh. That guy gave you a hell of a hiding.’ His brow furrowed. ‘I think he would’ve killed you.’

  Gemma gave an involuntary shudder. ‘I think so too. Lucky you were there to save the day, eh?’

  Alex pulled a face, clasping his hands together. ‘I was shitting myself. I’ve never hit anyone like that before.’

  ‘Well I’m bloody glad you did.’ Gemma smiled reassuringly. ‘You saved my arse.’ Her eye fell to the rifle they had taken from her attacker. ‘Pass me that, please?’

  She sat back in the chair and looked the weapon over. It was marked as a Marlin Model 9 Camp Carbine, and reminded her of Mark’s little .22 rifle with its wooden stock and short magazine. She found the safety and made sure it was on. She found the magazine release and dropped the mag, then worked the bolt and popped the round from the chamber.

  Checking the base of the brass, she saw it was a 9mm Luger round, the same as the Glock. She double-checked it against the Glock ammo to be sure, realising what a stroke of luck they’d had. Having just one calibre for two weapons had to make it easier.

  She fed the round back into the magazine and pressed down with her thumb, confirming the mag was full. She counted twelve rounds, reloaded the carbine and worked the bolt to chamber a round.

  She felt Alex’s eyes on her and looked up.

  ‘How did you know to do all that?’ he said.

  Gemma shrugged self-consciously. ‘Mark has guns at home, and I’ve shot them a little bit. This is very similar to one of them, but a different calibre. It’s pretty basic.’

  Alex gave a snort. ‘Not to me it’s not. Unless it’s got a motherboard or a mouse, I’m lost with technical stuff.’

  ‘It’s not technical at all. Here.’ Gemma handed the carbine to him and he gingerly took it. ‘It won’t bite, just keep your finger off the trigger.’

  She spent the next ten minutes running him through how to use the weapon, feeling like an expert with her own limited knowledge against his complete lack. She got him to unload it fully, work the bolt, take aim with the iron sights and dry fire it several times. She could see he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, but the more he handled the weapon the more he seemed to relax, just as she had when Mark had first taken her out.

  The camo-pattern nylon bum-bag that the owner had carried contained six spare magazines for the Marlin, and Gemma checked that they were all loaded and fit the weapon. Satisfied, she handed the bum-bag to Alex.

  ‘You better wear that too,’ she said. ‘You carry the rifle and I’ll keep the pistol.’

  He looked hesitant, but took the bag. ‘Okay…’

  ‘We both need to be able to defend ourselves,’ Gemma said firmly. ‘The more prepared we are, the more likely we are to get home.’

  Seventeen

  The ute was a real farm workhorse, a rugged Toyota Hilux single cab with grass and crap in the footwell and dirty windows.

  Not surprising, given the way that Bevan threw it about. We were almost at the motorway onramp at Mercer when I told him to ease up. He pulled to the shoulder of the road and looked at me expectantly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We need to get our shit together,’ I said. ‘We can’t just chase these pricks into town, not knowing what we’re going into, without being prepared.’

  I climbed out and adjusted my belt. The Ruger was holstered on my hip, I had plenty of spare ammo in the pouches and the Rossi was ready to go. Before we left his place, Bevan had raced back inside and grabbed more gear.

  God only knew what kind of an arsenal he had in there, but in addition to his own AR-15 and the Benelli shotgun he’d recovered from Brenton, he’d brought a bandolier that looked like it came from the Vietnam war, the pouches loaded with 30-round AR-15 magazines.

  I checked my weapons and ammo, ensuring I had everything close to hand.

  He was doing the same with his belt pouches, replacing his spent mags, and I had the feeling he was in his element. It unsettled me that he’d been living just down the road all this time, with an armoury of some sort in his house and what seemed like an unhealthy obsession with firearms, and I’d had no idea.

  Right now, as long as he stayed straight and on my side, we were all good.

  Bevan chucked the ute in gear and we got moving.

  The highway onramp was clear but the highway itself was dotted with abandoned vehicles and scattered debris. A burned-out people-mover was slewed across the overbridge. I wondered what had happened to the people I’d seen fighting down on the highway last time I’d crossed that bridge.

  Bevan weaved his way past the abandoned vehicles and a few minutes later we were turning off onto Island Block Road. A quick right took us onto Te Puea Ave and up a hill parallel to the highway. Te Puea Ave was the main drag of Meremere, a small town of roughly half a dozen roads. I knew the school was on the left and the lone shop, library and community hall on the right.

  We crested the hill and immediately saw the two cars we’d been following parked outside the community hall. Several people, mostly blokes, were gathered outside the hall. I could see two bodies laid down near the vehicles and it was clear that they’d just arrived back to an emotional homecoming.

  Heads turned as we approached and I saw a guy step behind the Subaru and reach inside.

  Bevan pulled up and I bailed out with the Rossi up in the shoulder, safety off and trained on the guy reaching into the car. I moved towards him at a fast walk, heel-toe, heel-toe, eyes scanning but keeping a focus on the guy I identified as a threat.

  The rest of them seemed stunned, unsure of how to react.

  ‘Get your fuckin’ hands up! Hands up!’

  I was about ten metres away and could see him clearly now. Looking through the remaining windows of the Subaru, I could see that he had his hands on the barrel of a rifle but the weapon was still leaning against the front seat.

  He locked eyes with me and stopped moving, but he didn’t let go of the weapon.

  ‘Put it down or I will fuckin’ shoot you, shitbird,’ I told him. ‘Don’t try me.’

  His eyes narrowed and I could almost see the cogs turning in his head, assessing me and calculating his move. I knew that if we lost this first interaction, we would lose everything. The first pad of my index finger was on the trigger, gently cupping it, and I applied the first pressure.

  The guy at the car was a bee’s dick away from being toast, and the realisation suddenly seemed to click.

  He lifted his hands away from the rifle and stepped back, raising both hands to shoulder height. I felt myself breathe and I eased off the trigger, but I kept the weapon up and crab-walked around to my left, keeping the whole group in view.

  ‘All good, Bevan?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Who the fuck you think you are?’ one of the guys shouted. ‘Come here pointing guns at us like we’re dogs?’

  ‘You the guys who fuckin’ murdered our whanau?’ someone else said.

  ‘These two?’ I said, gesturing at the two bodies with my barrel. ‘Tell me where they were killed.’

  Nobody said anything aside from a few muttered curses.

  ‘If they’re two of the pricks that came to our place and started shooting, then yeah, we killed them.’

  More muttered curses then the guy who’d gone for the weapon stepped forward and spat, eyeing me all the time.

  ‘Fuck youse,’ he said. ‘You cunts are dead.’

  ‘And there’s your fuckin’ problem,’ I said. I lowered the Rossi Puma slightly and eyeballed him. He was average height but solidly built, with scars showing through his crew cut hair and tough stamps on most of his visible skin. ‘We’re not. We’re here because you thieving fucks keep coming to us. Stop com
ing and you’ll stop getting shot. It’s pretty fuckin’ simple.’

  More people were coming out of the community hall, curious about what was going on. Nobody seemed overly concerned that we were armed.

  ‘You arseholes just come out shooting,’ one of the young guys piped up. He had blood on his shirt front and his arms, and I guessed he’d been one of the guys who’d been there. ‘We didn’t have a fuckin’ chance. We’re tryin’ to get away and youse just shot us in our backs, ow.’

  ‘The only dudes I shot were shooting back at us,’ I said firmly. ‘So knock that bullshit off.’

  I saw an elderly Maori woman coming forward from the hall, scuffs on her feet and a tea towel in her hands. She paused to look down at the two bodies, shook her head and whispered something, then came towards me.

  The guy who’d gone for the rifle was still trying to staunch me out, arms out like he was carrying basketballs, huffing and puffing and eyeballing me. I’d had about enough of his shit.

  ‘You’re a fuckin’ coward,’ he spat. ‘Gonna fuck you up, you fuckin’ white-bread shit.’

  ‘Any day, motherfucker,’ I told him.

  The old lady shushed him and patted his arm as she went past him, and he lowered his eyes, stepping aside. She stopped a metre short of me and I lowered my weapon. Up close I could see she was probably knocking eighty, had few teeth left in her head, and a face with more lines than a Motley Crue party in 1986.

  She was a good foot shorter than me and she craned her head to look at me, studying my face for a few long moments.

  ‘Is it true?’ she said. ‘You killed these boys?’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah, we did.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘And they come to your house first? You say they’re stealing?’

  ‘Yeah, they came with firearms. They shot first and we defended ourselves.’

  The old lady nodded again. I could see sadness in her face but also resilience. There were many stories behind those old brown eyes.

  ‘Were any of your people hurt?’

  ‘One. But he should survive.’

  She nodded some more. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry this has happened.’