by Angus McLean
I’d never been huge on self-analysis. I knew myself and I was okay with what I was.
I straightened up in the seat as Bevan came off the highway at Mercer. He slowed right down to negotiate his way around abandoned cars and I kept my eyes open for any hazards. For hazards, read ambushes.
It wasn’t an armed man that made us stop, rather a distressed-looking woman. She stepped out from behind a SUV at the side of the road, waving us down. She was wearing a T-shirt and capri pants and had sunglasses pushed up on her head. She was in her thirties and looked like any other middle-class woman.
‘Careful,’ I said, readying the Rossi.
He slowed and stopped short of her and I bailed out quickly, scanning around us. I couldn’t see or hear anyone else around, but I kept half an eye out as I approached the woman. Bevan was behind me, keeping watch.
The woman’s eyes widened when she saw me face on, but she didn’t freak out.
‘Are you a soldier?’ she asked, a desperate plea in her voice. She had a distinct English accent, maybe Yorkshire but I wasn’t sure.
‘No,’ I said, ‘just a guy. What’s wrong?’
‘I need…we need help. My husband’s gone and we’ve been here for twenty-four hours, and we have no food or water.’
I could see the stress in her face. ‘Where’s your husband gone?’
‘He went to get help. I don’t know where he is now.’
‘When did he go?’
She checked her watch. ‘Last night, before dark.’
I figured he was probably dead, but I kept that to myself. She probably knew it anyway.
‘Where you goin’ too, lady?’ It was Bevan, distracted from his guard duties.
‘We were supposed to be going to Rotorua, that’s where our family are. Well, Alistair’s family, anyway.’ She turned and pointed behind her. ‘We live in Pukekawa, back over there.’
The Waikato River ran past, a hundred metres or so away, winding its way from Taupo out to the Tasman Sea on the west coast at Port Waikato. A bridge spanned the river at Mercer, leading to the farming area of Pukekawa.
‘Your husband went back home?’ I said.
‘Yeah. After we crashed here, the car wouldn’t start. He went home to get the other car.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Amy, by the way.’
I shook her hand and we introduced ourselves.
She led us to her car, a Mazda people mover that rested at the side of the road with the front wing smashed in. She explained that they’d just come over the bridge and were going to fill up at the gas station, when they were hit by a truck racing through with a load of yahoos in the back. The truck carried on and left them stranded. Alistair had set off home on foot and they’d not heard from him since.
‘We’d been at home for two days,’ Amy explained. ‘The kids were getting scratchy, and we were worried about Alistair’s parents, so we decided to head over there.’ She looked embarrassed. ‘Obviously the power’s out, but we thought we might still be able to get gas.’
All in all, their plan had been a poor one, but she seemed to realise that so I kept my trap shut.
Sitting in the back of the car were two kids, a boy and a girl. The boy was about twelve with freckles and red hair and the pale complexion to go with it. He had an Anthony Horowitz paperback in his hand and a bored expression, and had the stocky build of his mother.
The girl looked more scared than bored. A couple of years younger than her brother, she had long honey blonde hair and was tall and lanky. She was cuddling a teddy bear and her eyes were puffy and red.
‘Caleb and Mandy,’ Amy said. ‘This is Mark.’
I had swung the Rossi around to my back, but their eyes still bugged when they saw me. Mandy looked about ready to burst into tears again. I gave them a smile and tried to look non-threatening, but I could see the whole family were on the edge of falling apart. They had bags and pillows on the seat behind them.
‘When did you all last eat or drink?’ I asked Amy.
‘They last drank this morning and ate last night.’
‘And you?’
She looked down. ‘Yesterday.’
No wonder she was taking a chance with a stranger. Their car was wrecked, her husband was who-knew-where, they had no defences and no plan. They were easy pickings for predators and my only surprise was that they hadn’t been taken already.
I walked back to the ute and fetched a water bottle from Bevan. We’d left in such a hurry that I hadn’t brought any supplies, but Bevan being Bevan, he had spare water and a couple of protein bars in the cab.
I handed them to Amy and while she and the kids tucked in, I conferred with Bevan.
‘We can’t leave them here,’ I said. ‘They’ll be picked off or just die.’
‘Wanna tow them home to their place?’ He pulled a face. ‘I haven’t got a lot of gas, man.’
‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘Tow them back to ours.’
‘What?’ He screwed his face up. ‘You’re gunna look after them. What’re you, a homeless shelter?’
‘No, but if we leave them here they’ll die.’ I set my jaw. ‘Gemma’s out there somewhere and I just hope to God that someone’s helping her out. We can’t leave them here, Bevan.’
He still wasn’t convinced. ‘You already got a houseful; where d’you think they’re gunna stay?’ Realisation crossed his face. ‘They can’t stay at mine, there’s no room.’
I knew that wasn’t true, but I had another plan.
‘The Macklins’,’ I said.
Bevan gave me a look and I could see his cogs turning. ‘I dunno…’
‘Well they’re not there, are they?’ I pushed.
‘I dunno…’
I was losing my patience, and it felt exposed out there on the side of the highway. Who knew if we were being lined up at that second by some arsehole who wanted what we had?
‘Where are they and why’re you being so fuckin’ shifty about it?’ I eyeballed him. ‘Spit it out Bevan, I’m tired of being fucked around.’
His shoulders slumped and he licked his lips, before looking me in the eye. ‘I dunno where they are, okay? They haven’t been home.’
‘What else?’ I pressed. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’ He was getting whiny now. ‘I just…I haven’t got much food, so I…’
‘You’ve been taking theirs,’ I realised, and he nodded, staring at the ground.
‘Yeah, just a little…I mean, they’re not there…’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘I get it. Look, it’s no big deal.’
He looked up now, hopeful, and I crushed that hope straight away.
‘Just don’t steal from the neighbours again, and don’t fuckin’ lie to me. Ever. Got it?’
He nodded, shame-faced.
‘If they want to come, they can stay at the Macklins’, at least until we get a better plan together.’
‘Fair enough.’
I went back to Amy and made the offer. Two minutes later we were hooking up a tow rope to the front of her car.
Twenty-Four
‘Fuck fuck fuck!’ Alex stared over the side of the building, then looked back at Gemma. ‘We can’t get down there!’
She nodded almost to herself, glancing behind them. The pair chasing them hadn’t appeared yet but she knew it was only a matter of seconds before they did. She turned and looked across the alleyway at the neighbouring building. It was the same height as the one they were on but several metres away, and she knew that trying to jump it would be suicide.
The other option was to stand and fight. Could they take out their pursuers as they came out the door? The answer came as the door burst open and the girl charged out with the sawn-off shotgun raised.
She fired at the same time as Gemma ducked and moved, grabbing Alex’s arm and racing towards the front of the building. She reached the front corner and saw that the rioting crowd below them had surged past their building. Some had stopped to smash up the police and army vehicles, an
d now both were aflame, thick black smoke billowing. She could feel the heat on her skin.
The building next door had a tin canopy extending over the footpath from the first floor, two stories down.
‘Go!’ Gemma pushed Alex towards the edge, yanking out the Glock as she turned. He looked at her with horror and she screamed at him, ‘Jump for God’s sake!’
She saw the girl loading another round into her sawn-off shotgun, the monster with her still lumbering towards them, and she threw the Glock up.
‘Back off,’ she shouted, ‘get back or I’ll shoot. Get back!’
The guy had empty hands and she hesitated to just shoot him. The girl snapped the shotgun closed and started to bring it up. Gemma squeezed the trigger and the bullet whizzed past the huge man’s shoulder. He paused with a confused look, glanced down at himself, then looked back at her. His face broke into a goofy grin and a low chuckle erupted from somewhere deep inside him. He started forward again.
Gemma fired a second time, hearing a loud crash from somewhere behind her, and the girl fired as well. Gemma felt a tug at her side and went to fire again. There was an empty click and she squeezed the trigger again.
The trigger was slack and nothing happened. She stared at the pistol, having no idea what had happened except that the damn thing wasn’t working. She turned, took four strides, planted her right feet on the low edge of the roofline and threw herself out. The Glock went flying and her arms were mind milling, her legs running wildly and she was falling through empty space. The tin canopy had taken a big hit from Alex hitting it and was hanging now at an angle.
She hit it with a tremendous thump and immediately it gave way beneath her, sending her sliding on her front down to the footpath. Hands grabbed her and dragged her out of sight behind the collapsed canopy and she looked up to see Alex above her, dragging her by the arm and her waistband. Another shot sounded and pellets pinged loudly off the canopy.
‘You okay?’
She nodded, trying to catch her breath, and he helped her up. He fetched the fallen Glock and handed it to her. She rammed it into her waistband and tenderly touched her ribs, which had come to life again.
More shots sounded right beside her, and she saw Alex had the Marlin carbine up and was ripping off shots at the roofline they had just left. He fired half a dozen shots before lowering the weapon and looking at her.
‘I don’t think I hit them,’ he said apologetically.
‘They didn’t hit us either,’ she said.
‘They did.’ He poked at her bag. ‘There. Jesus you were lucky, there’s, like, ten holes in your bag.’
Gemma was about to speak but saw that they had caught the attention of some of the rioters, who were now coming towards them. Someone threw a bottle and it smashed on the footpath beside them.
‘We need to go,’ Gemma said, but Alex had other ideas.
He raised the carbine towards the small group, bellowing, ‘Fuck off or I’ll kill you!’
They scattered and she grabbed him, hustling him up the footpath towards the town centre. Now that he’d had a taste of firing in anger she didn’t need him going all Bruce Willis on it.
They rounded a corner past the Farmers store and ran like hell. All around them there was damage; smashed windows, broken bottles and signs ripped down, the odd small fire and scorch marks where Molotov cocktails had exploded. A pair of vagrants lounged against the front of a cafe, drinking from bottles of liquor. They paid scant regard to the pair running past them.
Up ahead was a railway overbridge, to the left was a street going back towards where they had started from, and over to the right another block was a Countdown supermarket. Gemma knew the police station wasn’t far from there and led the way, cutting across the road and angling through a car park. Her lungs were bursting and her legs felt like rubber but she pushed on, Alex running shoulder to shoulder with her.
The supermarket was a scene of destruction and flames were licking from the broken windows at the front. There was a pitched battle going on in the car park between a small group of cops and a larger group of club-wielding and stone-throwing thugs. They could see a police van on its side with the windscreen smashed in.
‘This way.’ Gemma skirted the car park and ran to the next corner.
The train station was over to the left and the Papakura Police Station was round to the right. She went right and pulled up short at the front of the cop station. A patrol car was parked on the footpath out the front and the glass of the entrance doors was spread across the ground. A metre-high wall of sandbags protected the entrance and a young female cop with an M4 stood behind them, nervously scanning both ways. She swung the rifle towards them when she saw them approaching.
‘Armed Police, stop right there,’ she shouted, drawing a bead on Alex, who had the Marlin carbine in his hands. ‘Put the gun down and get your hands up.’
Alex did as he was told and Gemma raised her hands too.
‘Lady, I see you’ve got a gun too. Take it out with your left hand and put it on the ground. Either of you do anything stupid and I’ll shoot you, understand?’
‘Got it.’ Gemma followed the instructions and stepped away from the Glock, keeping her hands high.
‘Identify yourselves,’ the cop snapped, keeping the rifle on them from behind the sandbag barrier. ‘What’re you doing here and why are you carrying guns?’
‘I’m Gemma Dobson.’
The cop narrowed her eyes but said nothing.
‘Mark Dobson’s wife.’ Name-dropping Mark was dicey, given his history, but she figured she had nothing to lose.
‘The sarge? Sergeant Dobson?’
‘That’s him.’ Gemma glanced over her shoulder then back at the young cop. ‘There’s two people chasing us and shooting at us.’
The cop lowered her rifle and gestured for them to pick up their weapons. ‘Better get inside.’
She backed through the doors after them, and another cop appeared from the shadows of the foyer, a rifle at the ready. Gemma realised he had been covering them too. His eyes ran over her. He was young too, unshaven and with decorative tats on his muscled arms.
‘You’re Dobbo’s wife?’ he said.
‘Gemma. This is Alex.’ She stuck out her hand but he ignored it.
‘I’ll take point,’ he said to his partner and moved to the front doorway.
The girl rolled her eyes and waved for them to follow her through another broken door into the interior of the station. The station seemed deserted aside from them.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ she said. ‘The sarge didn’t like him much. I like him though, he’s awesome. The sarge, I mean, not him.’ She jerked a thumb in her partner’s direction then made the universal wanking motion.
‘You know there’s a big fight going on in the Countdown car park?’ Alex said. ‘And a riot in town? It looked like your guys and the army guys were getting hammered.’
The cop eyed him defensively. ‘You think I wanna be standing guard here? We’ve been under attack for three days now. I’ve been here the whole fuckin’ time. We’ve been shot at, firebombed, had a car drive through the front, you name it. It’s like a friggin’ war zone. I was out on the street all night last night – now it’s my turn to guard the station.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean…’
The cop took a breath and let it out. ‘Sorry. It’s a pretty shitty time.’
‘We just need to catch our breath,’ Gemma said. ‘We’ve had a pretty shitty time too. We’re trying to get home.’
‘Make yourselves at home,’ the cop said. ‘Whatever you can find, help yourselves.’
‘Don’t suppose there’s any chance of a ride?’ She knew she was pushing her luck, but it was worth a shot.
The cop snorted. ‘Sorry, no.’
‘How about fixing this?’ Gemma handed over the Glock. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong.’
The cop looked at her sharply. ‘This is one of ours. One of the old ones – no light.’
‘I should really take it back,’ she said.
‘Please,’ Gemma said. ‘We’ve got people chasing us and I’ve had to shoot…had to defend us with it.’
The cop raised her plucked eyebrows. ‘You’ve shot people?’
‘Yes.’ Gemma looked her in the eye.
The cop nodded slowly then turned her attention back to the Glock. She racked the slide and nothing popped out. She thumbed the magazine release and held the mag up, showing it still held rounds.
‘There’s your problem,’ she said, holding up the mag. ‘It wasn’t jammed, but the mag was loose. Maybe you hit the release by accident.’
‘I jumped off a roof and dropped it,’ she said.
‘You jumped off a roof?’
‘Yep.’
‘That’d probably do it.’
‘That was after it stopped working,’ Gemma said.
The cop shrugged. ‘They’re pretty good guns. Lucky you didn’t lose the magazine.’
Gemma slid the magazine back into place and racked the slide. The cop nodded approvingly.
Alex found the kitchen and refilled their water bottles while the cop showed Gemma how to clear a jam from the Glock. She went to a store room and rummaged around until she found what she was looking for, a black kydex holster. She helped Gemma thread it onto the web belt of her cargo pants, positioning it on the right hip. The two spare magazine pouches went on the left hip.
The cop found a box of 9mm ammo and helped Gemma refill her magazines, then handed her the leftover rounds. Alex topped up the half-spent magazine on the Marlin and pocketed the other rounds.
Gemma turned to the young cop again.
‘Thanks so much,’ she said sincerely. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘No problem. The sarge always looked after us, so it’s my turn to return the favour.’
Gemma could see the young cop was welling up, and she opened her arms, pulling her into a hug. It was an awkward hug with them both wearing weapons and the cop being clad in bulky body armour, but it felt like the right thing to do. The cop held on, getting herself under control again before pulling away.