by Jaye Ford
39
Kane was at her back, one beefy, muscular arm trapping her against his chest. They were bound together. Wherever they were going, they were going together.
She lifted her tethered hands over the forearm pinning her to his chest, found the hand holding the knife and dragged on the wrist.
‘No, please, no,’ she cried.
She struggled in his arms, strained against him, tried to haul herself away from his hold. She dragged down with her legs, thrust her hips forward, shook her shoulders, felt the blade digging into the soft flesh of her throat. Until she felt his weight shift.
He leaned back a fraction to keep his balance, to stop her from pulling him over. As he did, she released the tension, reversed her effort, drove backwards. Hard, gripping the floor with her toes, pushing through her legs. He took a step to stop from falling. She went with him, trapped his other foot under hers, leaned into him. Felt him stumble. Leaned some more. Another step back. Then Kane lost control and they were staggering away. Two, three steps.
They must be close. Jodie squeezed her eyes shut, dragged down on his knife hand.
It was going to hurt. The fall itself could kill her. Or the knife could, if she couldn’t keep it away from her throat.
She felt his leg go slack as he stepped into clean air. She pressed backwards with her shoulders, pulled both knees up, tried to ride him like a cushion to the earth under the barn.
It felt like falling down a well. The light from the lounge room disappeared overhead and they were dropping into darkness. Kane was shouting, flailing and the arm that pinned her chest flew out, looking for a handhold. She fought the urge to do the same, hung onto his wrist, prayed she was strong enough to keep the knife clear.
The impact was like being slammed by a Mack truck. Her head jolted backwards, hit something hard. She felt a crack underneath her, inside Kane. He roared in pain. She was dizzy, loose-limbed but his free arm was moving.
She threw her head forward and bit down on his knife hand. He struggled. She hung on, tasting blood, grinding his tough flesh between her teeth. He grabbed a handful of her hair with his free hand, tried to drag her away but it was too late. His fingers opened and the blade fell out of reach.
As she opened her jaw, he pressed his palm to her face and pushed. He forced her head back, driving her chin up, pulling her hair with the other hand, trying to break her neck. She twisted her shoulders, dug an elbow into his broken ribs. He shrieked, let go of her hair. She pushed down on his chest with the point of the bone as she rolled off him, to her feet. He was thrashing about, rocking back and forth, trying to get away from her. He was in pain, having trouble breathing but she didn’t give a shit.
She lifted a foot, slammed her heel into his ribs. Watched in the dim light from the room above as he writhed in the dirt. Listened as his howl echoed inside her and fed the rage.
The knife blade caught the light. She bent, picked it up two-handed and turned it towards her. One quick slice was all it took to cut the tape around her wrists then she crouched beside him, held the point to his cheek, pressed it hard enough to make a dent in the skin, spoke clearly, calmly.
‘Fight me and I’ll slice you open.’
He stopped moving, looked at her over the top of the knife. His face was smeared with blood and dirt.
‘Get up, you animal. Move.’ She kept the blade on his cheek as he sat. ‘On your knees.’
He moved awkwardly, wincing in pain, breathing noisily. When he was there, he turned, smiled. ‘You Jack the Ripper now, tough bitch?’
She looked him in the eye. Three minutes ago she thought she was dead. Now she was standing and Kane was on his knees at her feet. She had nothing to lose. ‘Oh, yeah, I’m Jack, all right.’
‘You ever seen a knife wound? So much blood it’ll make you puke.’
‘Tell me about it.’
He grinned. ‘You think you’re real tough, don’t you? You’ll never do it.’
‘Try me.’
He made a grab for her hand. She pulled the knife up high, out of his reach, drove it straight down into his thigh.
It took no effort at all. The knife slid through his flesh, stopped when it hit bone. He yowled in pain. She pulled it out and looked at the blood on the blade. She was surprised at how easy it was. How good it felt to hurt him.
Kane moved fast. Locked his meaty hand around her fist, the one holding the knife. He was a big man, probably twice Jodie’s weight. Even with broken ribs and a deep thigh wound, she would never beat him in an arm-wrestle. She was already on her feet but he was dragging her towards the ground. She kicked out hard at his injured thigh. He let out a scream, threw himself at her, knocked her backwards onto the loose earth.
If he got on top of her, she wouldn’t have a chance. She pulled her knees up, pushed out with her feet as he came at her, managed only to topple him sideways. He took her with him, crushing her hand under his as he hauled her over the top of him, threw her to the earth on the other side.
Then he was straddled over her hips, still holding her fist in his hand, crushing the bones of her fingers around the knife handle. She gasped for breath and his ugly face split into a smile.
Slowly, like a game, a battle of wills, he pushed down on her hand. She locked her elbow but he was too strong. She couldn’t hold out against him. He forced her arm to bend, forced her hand around until the knife pointed at her like an arrow. She strained against the pressure on her arm, twisted her face away, as though she could escape him.
She squeezed her eyes shut as the cold point of the blade came to rest on the soft skin under her ear.
Kane laughed. ‘You didn’t know you were going to cut your own throat, did you, tough bitch?’
She turned her eyes to him, kept them there, burning with hate, as he increased the pressure on the knife. As something trickled down her neck.
Her breath was loud in her ears. Her head pounded in rhythm with her heart. She watched Kane and thought of her children, of Louise and Hannah and Corrine. Matt. Angie.
The light in the room above dimmed. No, Jodie. Do not pass out. You’re going to look this bastard in the eye to the end.
He nodded at her.
No, not a nod. His head tipped forward. The grin slid off his face.
‘Drop it, Anderson.’
Matt kept the muzzle of the rifle jammed hard up against the base of Kane’s skull, watched from the floor above as Anderson lifted his arm, released Jodie’s hand. The knife tumbled to the dirt.
He saw the blood then, the thin, dark line running into the neck of Jodie’s sweater. Christ, another second and she’d be bleeding to death. His grip tightened on the rifle. He wanted to put a bullet through Kane’s head, put him down like a rabid dog.
He felt the trigger under his finger. One small movement would blow the arsehole away. He sucked in air. Blew it out. Don’t do it, Matt.
‘Get your hands up!’ Matt yelled. He lifted his finger from the trigger, telling himself there was no justice for anyone in a quick, painless death.
‘Get off me!’ Jodie screamed. Her eyes were wild, her chest heaved in and out. ‘Get off me.’
Matt kept his voice loud, aggressive. ‘Keep it slow, arsehole.’
As Kane lifted his weight from Jodie’s hips, she scuttled out from under him, rolled away, came up on her feet, in a crouch, with the knife in her hand. She pointed it at Kane, held it firm, unwavering, slashing distance from his face. She touched fingers to her neck, saw the blood, closed her hand into a fist and punched him in the face.
It was an impressive shot. Thrown full force from the shoulder, catching him square on the cheekbone, knocking him back on his haunches. Her knuckles were going to hurt later but right now she didn’t look like she was feeling a thing. No fear, no intimidation, nothing but some kind of seething fury that was pouring right out of her.
‘Jodie, are you okay?’ Matt asked.
‘He cut me.’ She didn’t take her eyes off Kane. Matt wasn’t even sure
she knew who he was.
‘Jodie?’
‘He fucking cut me.’ She swung at Kane with the knife.
As Anderson ducked back, Matt jammed the rifle in his ear. He had a stream of blood running from his nose, a crazy woman with a knife in front of him, the cop he shot behind him. He looked like an unhappy man. Suck it up.
‘Jodie?’ Matt said again. She didn’t move. ‘Jodie. I’ve got a gun on him.’
She shot a brief look up to where Matt was leaning over the edge of the hole. Took a little longer the second time, let her eyes focus on him before she turned them to Kane.
‘Matt?’ she said.
‘Yeah.’
‘He shot you.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I thought you were dead.’
‘I’m not. You can put the knife down now, Jodie.’
She kept the knife where it was as she wiped at her face with the heel of her other hand. ‘He was going to kill me.’
‘I know. I’ve got him now. Put the knife down.’
‘No.’
‘Jodie.’
‘No!’ She moved closer to Kane, touched the blade to the underside of his chin, forced his head back, slid the point down to the hollow at the base of his throat. The skin puckered under the pressure of her hand. Kane didn’t move, looked like he didn’t dare. ‘You worried yet?’ she said.
Matt felt a new kind of fear for her then. Bitter experience had taught him a brief moment of revenge didn’t make cold-blooded cruelty any less brutal. Having a killer’s blood on your hands didn’t change the outcome, didn’t heal any wounds. Didn’t reverse your mistakes. Just made you the same as the thing you destroyed. No, if there was any chance of justice – for tonight, for Jodie and her friends, for Tina – Kane Anderson would rot in a prison cell for the rest of his life. ‘Put the knife down, Jodie.’
She kept her eyes on Kane. ‘He was going to kill my friends.’
Matt swung his legs into the hole, kept the gun to Kane’s head as he dropped his feet to the earth. ‘Your friends are safe now. Give me the knife.’
‘He was going to kill me and then he was going to kill my friends.’
‘Louise and Hannah are safe. I got them out. Like we planned.’ He reached out to her, put his hand on top of hers, let his fingers creep forward onto the handle of the knife. ‘Look at me, Jodie.’ She slid her eyes to him. ‘They’re all safe. You saved them, Jodie. Let me have the knife.’
He held her gaze for a long moment, tried to tell her that he understood. That it was over now. That it was never going to be over for Kane. He didn’t know if she understood but her fingers finally softened and he pulled the knife from her grip, threw it far into the darkness under the barn.
He drew her to him then, away from Kane, kept his eyes and the gun on Anderson, let his mouth brush over her hair. It was gritty under his lips. She was rigid, wary, covered in dirt, bleeding and bruised. The best thing he’d ever seen.
‘Where’s his brother?’ she said.
‘Outside.’
‘Dead?’
‘He’s not going anywhere. Can you climb up?’
She straightened into the gaping, broken hole in the floor, half in the barn, half under it. She gazed around the spotlit room as though she’d forgotten what it looked like. She nodded.
Matt watched her as she braced her hands on the timber boards and hoisted herself up. The adrenaline must still be flowing. She seemed as strong as she ever did, no hint of the shakes. Maybe shock would hit after she’d seen her friends alive and safe.
‘Give me the gun,’ she said, looking down at him.
He thought of her with the knife in her hand, hesitated.
‘So I can keep it on him while you climb up. It’s okay. I’ve used a rifle before.’
He checked her eyes. The fury he’d seen before seemed under control now. He passed it up to her. Beside him, Kane moved for the first time since Jodie had held the knife to his throat. He turned his head, looked up at her, something unreadable in his pale eyes. She propped the butt of the gun against her shoulder like she’d done it a hundred times, pointed it at Kane.
‘You next,’ she said.
It was the right move, Matt thought. If Matt climbed out first, Kane could duck back under the boards and disappear into the darkness. But something about the way Jodie said it made him uneasy.
Kane took it slow. He was breathing through his mouth as though his bloodied nose no longer worked, he kept one elbow pulled in tight to the side of his body and he was streaming blood from a second thigh wound. Matt pushed him up with a hand under his foot. Up above, Jodie had both bare feet planted firmly on the floor, her eyes never leaving Kane.
‘Move away from the hole,’ she ordered when he was up.
Matt heard Kane chuckle. ‘You GI Jane, now, tough bitch?’
Jodie’s response was loud, explosive, aggressive.
‘Don’t talk to me!’ she screamed and Matt realised he’d made a mistake.
40
Jodie knew now what it was like to be Kane. Knew how it felt to want to hurt someone. She wanted to make Kane scream in agony. Wanted him to feel trapped and terrified and in fear of his life. And she wanted to watch him to the end, until he couldn’t take another breath. Until he got what he deserved.
She nestled the rifle into her shoulder, glad of the hours she’d spent at the gun club in the first years after Angie died.
‘I made you bleed, tough bitch.’ Kane stood on the edge of the hole, hands loosely at his sides, grinning through the blood on his face like he’d scored some kind of prize.
The rage was a wild animal inside her. It beat against her ribs, clawed at her belly, bellowed in her head. ‘Shut up.’
‘One second longer and your blood would’ve been gushing all over me.’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
‘I could’ve taken a swim in it.’
Jodie moved her finger to the rifle’s trigger.
‘Jodie!’
It was Matt. Still in the hole. She’d thought he was dead. Thought she’d lost him before she even had him.
‘Help me up, Jodie,’ Matt said.
Without taking her eyes off Kane, she dropped one hand from the rifle, leaned down, grasped Matt’s as he hauled himself into the lounge room. When he let go, her hand was sticky with his blood.
Kane had made him bleed. She looked into the bastard’s freaky, pale eyes, saw the arrogance and cruelty inside them.
‘Give me the gun,’ Matt said.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Move,’ she told Kane. ‘To the door.’
She stayed on his heels as he walked to the front door. Matt was at her side all the way, edgy, looking like he wasn’t sure who he should be covering – her or Kane. As far as Jodie was concerned, it was an each-way bet who was more dangerous right now.
Kane put a hand on the doorjamb, squinted in the brilliant light from his car, looked back at her with a sly grin. ‘You ever used a gun like that before? The recoil will break your shoulder before you hit anything.’
Jodie pointed the gun at his thigh. ‘You want to try me again?’ She smiled at the uncertainty in his eyes. ‘Move. Out the door.’
The spotlight blinded her as they stepped outside. She couldn’t see anything beyond the front steps. She glanced both ways down the verandah, felt the rage gather strength when she didn’t see what she was looking for.
‘Louise?’ she shouted. ‘Hannah? Corrine?’ She swung accusing eyes on Matt. ‘Where are they? You said you got them. Where are they, Matt?’
‘I took Louise and Hannah into the bush. They’re safe. Give me the gun.’
‘Where’s Travis?’ she demanded. She’d thought he was dead but she’d thought Matt was, too.
‘Jodie.’
‘You said he was out here!’ she yelled at him. ‘Where the hell is he?’ She shoved Kane with the muzzle of the gun, pushed him towards the steps. ‘You better start praying I see your brother out here or I’m going to make you scream un
til he shows himself.’
Kane cupped his mouth with one hand, lifted his voice. ‘Hey, bro, where are you?’ He made like he was shocked, like he hadn’t already pulled a trigger. ‘Wiseman killed him. He fucking killed my brother.’
She pointed the gun at Kane’s face. ‘Good.’
‘Give me the gun, Jodie.’ Matt pulled on her shoulder as she moved towards the top step.
She shoved him off, pushed Kane ahead of her as she stormed down the stairs. ‘Where? Where’s Travis?’ Then she saw him, in the dim reflected light behind the beam of the spots, on his back, arms spread wide, blood staining the gravel around his head.
There was a sudden flash of movement beside her. She turned, saw Kane make a move towards her, saw Matt dive at him, swing an elbow into his ribs. Kane doubled over, gasping in pain, making hoarse sucking sounds as he tried to breathe in.
‘Get on the ground,’ she shouted at him. ‘On your knees. Hands behind your head.’ She watched and smiled in brutal satisfaction at his pain.
Matt was in pain, too. She could see him clutching his upper arm. Fresh blood was oozing out of a makeshift bandage, starting to run down his arm.
Kane had shot Matt. He’d held a gun to Corrine’s head. He’d locked up her friends.
She felt again the press of the knife he’d held to her throat. The wild thing inside her beat itself against her ribs.
‘This was my place for the weekend. You chose the wrong weekend to come here.’
She walked to Kane, put her foot on his chest, pushed him. He screamed, grabbed at his bloody thigh as he fell to his back.
She stepped over him, aimed the muzzle of the gun at his face.
‘You cut me.’
‘Felt good, didn’t it, bitch?’
Blood roared in her head.
‘You cut me.’
‘No, Jodie.’ She could hear the pain in Matt’s voice. It made her fingers tingle with the urge to pull the trigger.