Getting Home

by Angus McLean

  ‘Thanks,’ she said quietly, wiping her face and taking a breath. ‘When you see Dobbo, please give him my regards.’

  ‘I will. I’m sorry, I don’t…’

  ‘Pam.’ The cop smiled. ‘Pam Williams.’

  ‘Thank you, Pam.’ Gemma shouldered her bag again. ‘Take care of yourself.’

  They headed out the front again, wishing the male cop well on their way past. He scowled and said nothing.

  ‘Nice attitude,’ Alex muttered as they walked across the road towards a park.

  Gemma said nothing, just focussed on keeping one foot in front of the other. They were over half way home now and nothing was going to stop her from getting there.

  Twenty-Five

  The Macklin house was set well back from the road with a tennis court adjacent to the large, Colonial-style dwelling.

  The 200-acre dairy farm extended behind and south of it, away from our boundary. Bevan had been helping the farm worker who lived further down to milk the cows over the last few days.

  I got out and opened the high black wrought iron gates, swinging them back so the vehicles could get up the driveway. Bevan swung around and positioned Amy’s bashed-up MPV beside the garage, then unhooked the tow rope and looked to me.

  ‘You know the way in,’ I said pointedly. ‘I don’t. Lead on.’

  I was still pissed that he’d been stealing from the Macklins and hadn’t told me. I didn’t know why it bothered me, because I had no issue with doing what you needed to do to survive. Maybe it just seemed a bit too soon to be in that position of desperation. The Macklins were nice people, and I was sure they wouldn’t have minded helping out Bevan, or any of the neighbours for that matter. Maybe it was just the fact that he had been sneaky about it.

  Either way, it irritated me and made me not trust him.

  He led the way in through the back door, using a key. He caught my look and his cheeks flushed.

  ‘They left it under a pot,’ he said defensively. ‘Wasn’t like it was hard to find.’

  The house had that closed-in smell that empty houses get. I went through the ground floor and found nothing disturbed other than the kitchen, where Bevan had obviously eaten and left dirty dishes behind.

  Amy and her kids came in and while the kids went to explore, we conferred in the kitchen. I pointed out our houses and told her to make herself at home.

  ‘Are you sure they won’t mind?’ she said, and I shook my head.

  ‘We don’t know where they are,’ I said. ‘You need somewhere to stay, at least for a few days, and at least here you’ve got some company and security.’

  ‘Thank you so much.’ Her eyes were wet and I could see she was exhausted. ‘I don’t know what we would’ve done.’

  I shrugged. ‘Get yourselves fed and watered, and I’ll pop back over soon.’

  I left them to it and walked home, happy to have a few moments to myself to clear my head. The pressure of the last few days was intense.

  I was met in the driveway by Archie and Jethro, both racing down to meet me. Archie’s eyes were wide and I could tell he’d been crying. I dropped to a knee and he crashed into my embrace, wrapping his skinny arms around my neck and clinging on like he did as a baby. Between sobs and gasped half-sentences I pieced together enough to know what had happened, and I carried him back up to the house where I was met by Rob, stern-faced and tight-lipped.

  ‘You okay?’ I said.

  He nodded and ruffled Archie’s hair. ‘We had a bit of a rough day didn’t we, Archie? But we’re okay now, and everyone’s safe.’ His eyes told a different story but I respected him not wanting to go into it in front of the wee fella.

  I put Archie down and told him to go inside, and as soon as he was out of sight, I got the full story from Rob.

  ‘I don’t where they ended up,’ he said, ‘but they ran like hell that way.’ He pointed over towards the Macklin house. ‘I’m pretty sure we hit both of them, so they may be laying in a ditch somewhere or they may have got away. I don’t know.’ He shook his head and spat on the ground, then gave me a hard look. ‘You shouldn’t’ve run off like that.’

  I took that on the chin, even though he’d agreed with me at the time. I got it that he felt vulnerable. What had seemed like the right thing to do at the time had backfired badly. If the bad guy had been a better shot…my gut knotted at the thought and I felt sick.

  Rob wasn’t finished yet. He took two steps, right up in my face. I could feel his hot breath on my skin and the anger was coming off him in waves. He jabbed a finger at me.

  ‘Don’t you ever…ever…do that again. You hear me?’ His hand was trembling. ‘You need to think of your family now, Mark. Stop running round like you’re the goddamn sheriff.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Your son was scared out of his mind, the poor little bugger. He thought he was going to die, and his Dad wasn’t there to protect him.’

  My gut knotted some more. I knew he was right.

  ‘If those shitheads come back, we’ll deal with them. But your job is to stay here and protect your family.’ He paused for breath and I could see a vein throbbing hard in his temple. ‘You’re no good to us dead. And you left us exposed.’ He took a step back and looked away. ‘You left us exposed,’ he said again, softer now.

  I swallowed hard, forcing down the guilt and pride and gut-churning disappointment. I took a breath and let it out slowly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  Rob nodded once, still not looking at me. I started to go inside but paused, and put my hand on his shoulder.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said.

  I went and found my mother and my mother-in-law, both of whom were sipping glasses of gin and looking pissed off. I tucked my rifle into the hall cupboard and came back to them, sitting on the couch beside my mother.

  ‘I’m sorry that happened,’ I said. ‘And I’m sorry I left you here.’

  Neither of them said anything, just glanced at each other, each one wanting the other one to start.

  ‘Hit me with it,’ I said.

  My mother went first, giving me both barrels. I let her roll, and once she was done, Sandy had her say. Much more restrained and diplomatic than Jenny had been, but the message was the same. I sat and listened, agreed with some of it and tuned out to the rest. I couldn’t argue it; my impulsiveness had very nearly cost us dearly. At the very least it had scared them all out of their wits.

  I wondered if that moment was the best time to tell them we had new neighbours. Probably not, but I was already in the doghouse, so I told them anyway. Bizarrely, it proved to be my saving grace. Both women downed their drinks, got up and went to meet the new family. I had no doubt that they’d soon be fussing over them and getting them sorted out.

  I found Archie in his room, sitting on his bed with a Tintin book and his teddy bear. I sat on his bed and he put his book down.

  ‘I’m really sorry about today, buddy,’ I said. I took his hand and held it. ‘I’m sorry those bad guys came here, and I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.’

  He shuffled over and leaned into me, still holding my hand. ‘Lucky Nana and Poppa and Granny were here, Dad. They chased them away.’ He looked up at me, a look of awe in his eyes. ‘Granny even shot one of them, Dad. She got your shotgun and shot him. And Poppa did too.’ He shook his little head. ‘I don’t know if they killed them, though. I didn’t see that.’

  The knife in my gut gave another twist. A seven-year-old kid shouldn’t have to worry about stuff like that. I put my arms around him and pulled him close.

  ‘Granny and Poppa were very brave. The main thing is you’re all okay.’ I kissed the top of his head. ‘You know what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I got growled by all your grandparents.’ I smiled and he gave me a squeeze.

  ‘It’s okay Dad,’ he said. ‘You can read me a book if you like.’

  He scooted over and I sat beside him, leaning back against the headboard, and together we read. Somehow Tintin and Sn
owy and Captain Haddock made it all better. Tracking the bad guys could wait.

  At least for now.

  Twenty-Six

  Dusk was fast approaching by the time Cyrus and Donald reached Meremere.

  After running from that old bitch with the cannon they had cut through paddocks to a road where they broke into a farmhouse. Both of them had been shot, Donald getting the worst of it. He had buckshot wounds in his side and his left arm, and had taken another hit on the back of his shoulder when they were nearly at the hedge. That one had gone through his shoulder blade and out the front and was bleeding like fuck.

  Cyrus had copped a couple of pellets in his back and arse cheeks.

  The farmhouse yielded up a first aid kit and they cleaned themselves up some, and Cyrus did the best job he could of taping up Donald’s shoulder wound. Donald was breathing funny from it and he yelled with pain when Cyrus was doing it, but they found a bottle of whiskey in a cupboard and that helped. By the time Cyrus was finished, Donald was half pissed.

  They boosted the Mazda Demio in the garage – the easiest car in the world to boost, which both of them had done dozens of times – and gassed it back home. They took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up down near Te Kauwhata, but eventually dragged their sorry ass into the village and pulled up outside the community centre.

  Jake was there, with the other boys who were on the raid, and several others. Bongs and pipes and bottles were being passed around and there was a beat box pumping out some heavy bass.

  Cyrus and Donald climbed awkwardly from the stolen Demio and were met by Jake, a meth pipe in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. He was wasted and pumped for a rumble.

  ‘Where the fuck you been?’ he demanded, wobbling on his feet before them, arms out at his sides as if it made him bigger. ‘You fuckin’ left my brother for dead.’

  ‘We got shot,’ Cyrus said weakly, leaning against the car for support. He was really hurting now and could see Donald was worse. Dude looked pale as fuck.

  ‘Yeah? Well, you dead? I don’t think so.’ Jake took a hit off the pipe, sucking down meth smoke and holding it in for a few seconds before exhaling through his nostrils like a dragon. He used two fingers in the classic I’m watching you gesture. ‘I fuckin’ see youse with my own eyes…you ain’t dead. Henry’s dead…not you fullas.’

  ‘Honest Jake,’ Cyrus pleaded. ‘We went to the house after these guys left…went to finish the job, and we got shot up.’

  ‘Show me,’ Jake demanded.

  They both lifted their clothing to show him their wounds, and he let out a loud ‘Hooooly shit.’

  Donald was looking sick and he leaned heavily against the car, not speaking.

  ‘You for real,’ Jake hooted, ‘you got fuckin’ shot alright. Who did it?’

  Cyrus slid a glance to Donald, but he was out of the game. No way he was gunna argue.

  ‘Was heaps of them,’ he said. ‘We got like two or three, but we only had that old rifle, and they come out at us. They had like M-16s and shit, man, they fuckin’ blew us away.’ He shook his head, sucking his teeth as if recalling a painful memory. ‘Dogs, bro, they cut us down like dogs.’

  ‘How many of them?’ Jake said, still wobbling on his feet. He took a slug of vodka and let some of it dribble down his chin onto his chest.

  ‘Hard to say…’ Cyrus racked his brain. If he said too many, they’d know he was lying. Too few and Jake would wonder why they didn’t waste them. ‘We got two or three eh, so maybe a couple left? They ambushed us, man, shot us in the back.’

  He could still see that old bitch and hear the clack-clack of the shotgun being racked. Couldn’t tell Jake they got shot down by some old bitch with a shotgun. Bitch musta been ninety years old.

  ‘D-bo ain’t look too good, Jake,’ someone said, and Cyrus recognised the voice of Harlem, Donald’s cousin. He had also been on the raid, one of the chickenshits that had run off and left them.

  He saw that Donald was slumped now, down on one knee and holding onto the car like it was a life raft. His jaw was slack and he looked out of it. Last time Cyrus saw him like that, he’d taken mushrooms so magic he shit himself.

  ‘He’s a’ight,’ Jake slurred, still trying to focus on Cyrus. He tried to take a hit off the pipe but it was burned out. He dropped the pipe, whacked back some firewater instead, wiped his mouth on his arm and squinted at Cyrus. ‘So…Cyrus…you left my brother…to die, eh?’

  He waved the bottle at the boy. ‘Now your mate and you…all shot up. My bro is dead.’

  Cyrus could feel all their eyes on him, even Harlem and Te, who had been there. He didn’t know where the others were.

  ‘Jake, like I said man…all the shit went down, and we carried on with the raid. Me and him.’ He tossed his head at the barely-conscious Donald, who was still slumped against the car. ‘We went on, against all them guns, and we tried to finish it. Almost finished it, too.’ He caught Harlem’s eye but the other boy quickly looked away. ‘We didn’t leave no one to die, Jake. We carried on, didn’t come runnin’ back home when shit went down, man.’

  Jake nodded, staggered a step, and pointed at Cyrus with the bottle. ‘So you the hero, eh? You an’ him? Eh?’

  Cyrus sucked his teeth again and shook his head sombrely. ‘Not sayin’ we’re heroes, Jake. We ain’t got patches on our backs. Henry tol’ us to do something and we jus’ tried to do it, eh? Shit went down, went real bad, and we hadda do somethin’, hadda get revenge against them cunts that shot Henry up.’ He saw Jake nodding, and pressed on with that angle. ‘We ain’t lettin’ that shit happen to our bros, eh? Can’t let that shit happen.’

  He looked into Jake’s glazed eyes. ‘Bandits don’t let that shit happen.’

  He heard a scoffing sound from Te, a fat boy with wild, curly hair and fish-lips under a wispy moustache. Luckily for Te, Jake was too wasted to hear it.

  Jake focussed back on Cyrus. ‘You,’ he said. ‘You an’ him…my bro…’ He wobbled, shook his head to try and clear it, squinted again. ‘You done it…come…c’me ’ere…’

  He put up his free hand and Cyrus clasped it, Jake pulling him into a shoulder-hug and patting him on the back with the vodka bottle. Jake stunk of sweat and booze and crack smoke but Cyrus didn’t give a fuck.

  This was it. This was real.

  He saw Harlem and Te scowling over Jake’s shoulder and he glared back. He didn’t need them. He could feel the spirit of a Bandit inside him now, feel the rough leather of Jake’s patch as he clapped him on the back. Fuck them, fuck those chickenshit bitches.

  ‘Hey Jake,’ someone else said. ‘Jake. D-bo…I think he’s dead, bro.’

  Twenty-Seven

  Heading south from Papakura, they had three options; go straight down Great South Rd, go via the suburban-then-rural roads of Opaheke to the east, or head west and cut left to go south down the motorway.

  Neither of them fancied the motorway, and Gemma reckoned that GSR, even though it was shorter in a straight line, was too exposed. It was a main suburban thoroughfare with a pretty rough area not far away, and she didn’t believe they should expose themselves so much.

  Opaheke it was and she led the way, trotting through the suburban area, past a trashed block of shops and down Opaheke Rd, which soon became rural. She slowed up then, noticing that her ribs didn’t hurt so much anymore. In fact, all the running and stress and lack of substantial food was physically changing her. Her clothes felt looser and her body felt tighter.

  They walked on the road, keeping an eye out behind them, passing houses and lifestyle blocks without being challenged. Relying on her memory, Gemma took a right and they were soon heading into the village centre of Drury, on Great South Rd near the Drury motorway interchange.

  Veering away from the built-up area, Gemma led the way across a sports field and behind an industrial area, walking parallel to GSR. They took cover whenever the odd vehicle passed by but nobody caused them any problems and they were soon at the motorway.

&n
bsp; Gemma called a halt by a stand of trees a hundred metres or so from the road, got out a water bottle and took a long drink.

  ‘What d’you think?’ she said.

  Alex looked past her to the motorway, where they could see multiple abandoned vehicles. A concertinaed pile-up of six cars completely blocked the southbound lanes. They couldn’t see anyone around the cars, but Gemma kept a wary eye on them anyway. Now that they were effectively out of the city, home seemed so close. She didn’t want to have gone through all that they had done the last three days, for everything to turn to shit right at the end. If they pushed on and walked through the night, she reckoned they could be home in the morning.

  She crouched at her bag and rummaged around. Producing a Bounty bar, she waved it at Alex.

  ‘Time for a break,’ she said, and eased herself to the ground beside her bag. Her body was stiff and sore and she determined that she better not stay down for too long, or she’d never get up.

  ‘Isn’t that only for Kit-Kats?’ Alex said. He dug out a chocolate bar of his own, and grinned. ‘Haha, just like that. A Kit-Kat.’

  They sat and ate chocolate, drank water, and ate more chocolate. Gemma realised they hadn’t really eaten since breakfast, which seemed like forever ago. So much had happened. They’d nearly been killed by the psychos back in the travel agency and on the roof, they’d nearly killed themselves jumping off the roof, she’d nearly been beaten to death by the guy from the motorbike, they’d nearly been caught up in a riot. They’d run for their lives practically all day, they’d stolen bikes, and they’d been detained at gunpoint by a cop.

  Prior to a state of national emergency being declared, none of that had happened to Gemma. Not one single thing. Now all this, in just one day. And that didn’t even include the two days prior.

  She shook her head to herself. If it wasn’t all so real, so real that you could taste the blood and sweat and smell the gunpowder and fear, it would seem unbelievable. But it was real. This was how life was now. The unbelievable was the reality, the bizarre was the norm.