by Angus McLean
‘Feel better?’ he said.
‘A little. Let’s go.’
Nine
The gully to the northern side of our house formed the boundary with the neighbouring property where Clyde and Ellette lived.
A creek ran through it and we liked to look for frogs down there. The creek was deep enough to be home to eels, and we had built a dam there over summer, creating a rock pool which Archie and Jethro had played in.
Standing at the top of the gully now, I planned out my move. I saw the gully as potentially a strength or a weakness if we got attacked. A strength if we used it for cover, or a weakness if the enemy – whoever they were – used it as an access point to our property. The land actually belonged to us, so I could do what I wanted with it.
My mind flicked back to who “the enemy” might be. The crew from Meremere, coming back for revenge? Some other unknown pillagers? Neighbours looking for food?
It was an open field but I was determined to make it hard for whoever came.
My last trip to Mitre 10 Mega on the day this all went down had been to load up the trailer with building supplies and bits and pieces I had thought I might need. One such item had been barbed wire. Wearing heavy duty working gloves, I lugged a reel of barbed wire to the end of the gully furthest from the road and skirted to the far side. I was in the trees and scrub there with Clyde’s boundary fence just in front of me.
I could see their house across the paddock, and both of them were in the yard, tending to their garden. Their kids were adults and living away from home, so I was pretty sure it was just the two of them living there.
If an intruder came across the paddock and climbed the fence to enter the gully, they had to contend with branches and scrub that made the job harder. Their attention was likely to be on getting their footing sorted at that stage, so their eyes would probably be down.
I dropped the reel of barbed wire where it was and took another reel from the builder’s apron round my waist. I tied one end to a branch at shoulder height and worked my way along the treeline, winding the line around branches at irregular intervals.
It was a lightweight fishing line with a small hook every six inches or so. After tying it off at the far end I came back to the barbed wire and moved into the trees a couple of metres. I hooked that up at thigh level all the way through the trees, weaving it between the undergrowth to best conceal it. If someone got over the fence and didn’t lose an eye on the fishing line, with any luck they would rip their leg open on the barbed wire.
I snipped the wire and secured it then cut back through the gully towards my own place. There was more that I wanted to do in that area, because I saw it as the biggest risk to us, but I also needed to make sure that we were safe back at the house.
The shed attached to the garage was destined to become a sleepout in due course, but I hadn’t got around to it just yet. That was about to change.
Rob was already at work in there, with the door and windows open for ventilation. It was big enough for a double bedroom and had a smaller room off it which would be the bathroom.
Rob had moved all the boxed crap that we’d stored in there through the internal door into the garage, working up a sweat as he did so. He stopped to take a drink and wipe his brow as I entered the room.
‘What’ve you got in there,’ he said, ‘boxes of bloody bricks?’
‘Who knows?’ I said. ‘It’s mostly Gemma’s old stuff.’
‘Better not bin any of it then,’ he said with a knowing smile.
We swept the room out and set to work proper. The walls were uninsulated, which we would need to address in time if the room was to be used as a bedroom, but right now I had other plans for it.
The high roof gave a vantage point to spot any intruders, and there were vents at each end. Birds nested there and dropped their crap down the side of the shed. I used the long ladder from the garage and clambered up to the attic, balancing on the beams so I didn’t put a foot through the ceiling.
Rob passed up several fence palings and I nailed them in place across the joists, forming a safe walkway from end to end, using the hatch as the centre point. I cleared out the bird nests from each vent, shoving the straw and twigs and rubbish down between the slats to fall to the ground below. There was a clear view out towards the road at one end and down to the back of our property at the other.
I scanned each way, working out arcs and points of interest. Ideally we would have decked out our advantage point with a proper sniper rifle with a suppressor, a good scope and night vision capability, but we didn’t have that. It would likely be Rob up here with his bolt action Lee Enfield. Old school.
He was a decent shot on the iron sights and he had sufficient ammo, unless an actual army invaded, and it was a good role for him to fill in our defences. I didn’t want him running around down below, jumping fences and burrowing in the dirt. That was my job.
Coming back down the ladder, I found that Archie and Jethro had come to investigate. The dog was sprawled in the doorway with one eye open, and Archie was helping his Poppa set a sheet of plywood against one wall.
‘What’s this for, Poppa?’ he said. He leaned against the sheet with both hands, holding it steady while Rob got the cordless drill set up.
‘Just a bit of insulation,’ Rob said easily. ‘Hold it steady.’
He buzzed in the first screw and moved down to Archie’s end, setting another screw on the bit. He let it bite then released the pressure and offered the drill to Archie.
‘Here sunshine, you want to finish it?’
Archie concentrated and gripped the drill with both hands, and drove the screw in. From there he was away, helping Rob to secure the sheet and move onto the next one. The ply would provide some insulation from the weather, but the main purpose was to provide some level of protection if we got fired on. Short of steel plating, it was the best we had right now.
Rob attached a couple of hooks to the wall above the side window and drilled corresponding holes in another sheet of ply, giving us the capability to cover the window securely.
Lunchtime was approaching, and it reminded me to bring some food and water into the sleepout, just in case.
Sandy called us in for lunch and the five of us sat on the deck and ate together. With the power being off and on, we had cleaned out the fridge and were almost finished the fresh food. The chilly bins of ice were nearly melted now but were still cold enough to keep milk, butter and the like chilled.
We ate sandwiches and fruit and drank tea, and Archie chatted away about a project he’d been working on at school, filling in anyone who would listen about the intricacies of making a dinosaur out of air-dried clay.
He didn’t seem terribly bothered yet by the recent events, but I was waiting for it to take hold. I knew he was worried about Gemma, and sure enough, he brought it up again.
‘Dad, when d’you think Mum’ll get home?’ He was in the chair beside me at the outside table, swinging his legs and munching on a cheese and jam sandwich.
I took a swallow of tea. ‘Not sure bud. Hopefully soon though, eh?’ I gave him a conspiratorial grin. ‘You know she doesn’t trust the boys to keep the house in order, does she?’
He laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘Na, ’cause the boys always make a mess and the place smells like farts and feet.’ He glanced at Grandma, feigning innocence. ‘What, Grandma? That’s what she says!’
My mother, Jenny, reached over and ruffled his hair. ‘You’re quite a trick, young Archie.’
I started clearing the plates away but my mother stopped me, taking them from me.
‘You carry on doing what you need to do,’ she said. ‘I’ll tidy these up.’
‘Thanks.’ I gave her a smile. ‘What’s for dinner?’
She frowned and fussed with the plates as I followed her inside. ‘Oh, I don’t know what she’s organising.’ She being Sandy, the other grandmother and therefore the competition
I suppressed a groan. I had enou
gh on my hands without the old matriarchs butting heads.
I headed back to work, building an external layer of protection around the sleepout. I had tree stumps and logs, a pile of dirty old bricks and pavers, and feed sacks I could fill with dirt as makeshift sandbags. There were a few old oil drums around the back of the implements shed which would make a great chicane in the driveway once they were filled with dirt.
I had a lot to do but I knew it had to be done. There was one goal, and one goal only – keep my family safe. If we were attacked again, we would be ready to stand fast.
Ten
Gemma’s body was aching and she was finding it hard to take full breaths.
They had left the two brothers behind them and pedalled as fast as they could to clear the area, sticking to the main road south towards Takanini. Her attacker’s rifle was slung across Alex’s back and he also carried a bum-bag of spare magazines for it. A pair of military helicopters had flown low overhead not long after their run-in with the bogun brothers, but the soldiers on board had paid them no mind.
She wondered if the two young guys were dead. She figured the one who had been clotheslined probably was, but maybe not the other one. She doubted that Alex had hit him hard enough, and she wondered if she would have. If she’d had the chance to while he was beating her, she knew she would have killed him. He would have left her no choice, because simply giving up wasn’t an option.
They were passing a new development of houses now and she could see plenty more activity than she’d seen earlier. Vehicles were moving about and people were coming and going from houses. Smoke was spiralling skywards from a few blocks over, the dense black smoke that came from a house fire.
Outside one house she saw a man and woman arguing while the baby in her arms screamed, a huddle of thugs outside another were sharing a bong. The man belted the woman across the face then stormed off inside, slamming the front door hard enough for the glass pane to shatter. The woman cried and the baby continued to scream.
The thugs blew puffs of foul smoke and chuckled at something one of them said. One of them, a fat guy with a wispy goatee and a gold medallion over a basketball top, watched Gemma and Alex cycle past. He grabbed his crotch and said something she didn’t hear, but it made his mates laugh.
They kept going, seeing an intersection with dead traffic lights coming up. An Army Land Rover was parked in the middle of the intersection and a squad of soldiers were fanned out around it, facing in all direction and openly carrying rifles.
Gemma braked, calling out to Alex. ‘Stop, stop.’
He circled back to her and came alongside. ‘What is it?’
‘We can’t go past the soldiers with our guns.’
He gave her a double-take. ‘They wouldn’t shoot us, would they?’
‘Why wouldn’t they?’ She put a hand to her side and pressed down, breathing through the pain.
‘We’re normal people.’ Alex looked aghast at the very idea.
‘They don’t know that. They’ll just see people with guns.’
‘I don’t…’ He shook his head and looked away. ‘This is just…crazy.’
Gemma straightened her back and took shallow breaths. ‘You’re right,’ she wheezed. ‘Jesus that hurts…’
‘I mean…this isn’t normal.’ Alex gestured around them. Further up the road the group of thugs were still puffing away and the smell carried on the wind to them. Alex waved in their general direction. ‘They’re smoking drugs in the street, y’know? What’s up with that?’
‘Stop waving your arms,’ Gemma told him. ‘You’re drawing attention to us.’
‘And you’re all banged up, and I just beat a guy to a pulp with a piece of frickin’ wood, and we got shot at, and…’
‘Alex.’ Gemma’s tone was sharp. ‘Shut up. Just shut up.’
He stopped talking and looked past her. ‘Uh-oh,’ he said.
Gemma could feel some of the tightness easing ever so slightly. She was pretty sure there’d be some kind of painkillers in the first aid kit – if she could just unsling her bag without popping a rib.
‘Gemma,’ Alex said.
She paused, catching the edge in his voice. Looking past him, she saw the soldiers facing their way shifting, looking more alert now and focussing behind her.
‘I think we need to get moving,’ Alex said with urgency, starting to turn his bike towards the soldiers.
Gemma turned and looked behind her. The group of thugs who had smoking weed outside their house had moved out into the road, and had been joined by several more unsavoury types. Two of them had pitbulls on chains and at least three of them were carrying lengths of timber. They were eyeing up the soldiers two hundred yards away. A fat young woman came out from a nearby yard, lugging a bucket with both hands. She staggered to the kerb and some of the group joined her, taking garden stones from the bucket.
‘Let’s go,’ Gemma agreed. She glanced around them, realising they were smack-bang in the middle of the soldiers and thugs. ‘Over there.’
She gestured towards a side lane that ran off the main road. It went into the housing area, but at least it would take them out of the firing line. The soldiers had readied their weapons and their body language screamed readiness. In the other direction, the larger group of thugs, emboldened by their drugs and street bravado, were fanning out across the road and calling out to the soldiers.
‘’sup, G? One-out?’
‘Fuckin’ faggots, come down here and play.’
Alex led the way into the side lane as the abuse started flying behind them, followed closely by the first stones being hurled. Gemma noted, to their credit, that the soldiers remained stoic. She wondered how long that would last.
They followed the side lane in a loop out to a road where they could see the soldiers another hundred yards or so down to their right.
‘Keep going.’ Gemma pedalled across the road and into another side street, keen to leave the growing scene behind them. The side street was empty and ran roughly south, so they stuck to it for now.
As she pedalled though, Gemma knew she needed to get some medical help pretty soon, or she’d be in serious trouble.
Eleven
The haze of meth smoke was thick in the kitchen of Henry Roimata’s house. The small table was filled by Henry, Jake, Henry’s best buddy Tintz and Jake’s fellow Bandit, Little Dog.
All were large men with tattooed arms and faces that bore the scars of hard living. Little Dog was a particularly nasty looking man, with missing teeth, boob tats beside both eyes – from back when each tear drop represented a full year inside, not a month – and a stamp across his throat that read FUCK THE WORLD. His position in the Bandits was that of Sergeant-at-Arms, the enforcer of the gang. Like many Bandits he was a 501, a deportee from Australia so-named after Section 501 of the Immigration Act which allowed the Aussies to send foreign-born criminals or other undesirables back to their birth nations.
It had been the single biggest change to the criminal scene in New Zealand in decades, introducing a large number of hardened career criminals to a country most of them had never known, a place they had no roots, no family support and no desire to be. It was a situation that had allowed real gangs, the worst of the worst, to flourish.
Little Dog and Jake were shining examples of the Government’s inability to front up and deal with the problem head-on.
‘So you can?’ Henry said, exhaling a lungful of smoke slowly.
Little Dog nodded, shifting his gaze to Jake. ‘Yeah.’
‘How soon?’
Little Dog chewed his tongue for a long moment. ‘Day, two.’
Henry nodded eagerly. That was good. ‘And what can you get?’
Little Dog eyed him coolly. He didn’t have much time for Jake’s brother, but business was business. ‘Whaddaya need? I can get M4s, Sigs, Steyrs. Prob’ly some grenades. Maybe a Minimi.’
Henry nodded again, buzzing now. This was the shit. ‘Fuck yeah,’ he said. ‘Whatever you got, bro. Sou
nds good.’ He narrowed his eyes now, assuming his best poker face. ‘An’ what’s the terms of the deal?’
Little Dog almost laughed. What the fuck was the clown trying to play cool for now? He was on the hook already, as barred up as a virgin on his wedding night. Little Dog was pretty sure he could’ve asked for twenty a piece and got it. He bit back his laughter and shrugged.
‘See if I can get what you want, eh? Work it out then, bro.’
Henry gave a sage nod, glancing quickly at Tintz beside him. Tintz hadn’t said a word since the meeting began, just sat there, him and his black wraparounds and his bad breath. Tintz might have looked back at Henry, or he might’ve been asleep.
‘Sounds good, bro. We can work it out.’ He reached across the table and shook hands with Little Dog.
Chair legs scraped on the lino floor as Little Dog pushed back and stood. ‘Be in touch,’ he said.
He walked outside, the fresh air hitting him. He sucked it in. He liked a smoke as much as the next man, but these cunts smoked too much. He walked down the unpaved driveway from Henry’s shitbox old house to the road, where two of his boys waited.
Henry was a fuckin’ clown, but Little Dog was okay to deal with him. If the deal didn’t come through, Little Dog would just stand over the cunt anyway and take what he had. Jake would understand; it wasn’t like he hadn’t done worse back in Oz. Jake would be cool with it.
As for that homo who wore sharkies all the time, day and night? That fag was lookin’ for a hiding. His time would come.
Pua and Dion straightened up when Little Dog reached them. Samoan brothers, they were maxed out on the ’roids, both fuckin’ huge units.
‘All good, LD?’ Pua said. He had the butt of a pistol sticking out of his waistband.
‘Uh.’ Little Dog grunted and cracked the passenger door of the white Range Rover. ‘Go.’
Dion got behind the wheel, Pua in the back. A Steyr AUG was laid across the back seat.