Farm Kill

by Robert W Fisk

  After some time, Mr Middleton approached him and asked him to come into his office. Mr Middleton was a spare man; stooped and tall, with sparse white hair and a permanent frown. He kept the door open.

  "Mr Zinsli, is it possible for me to speak to Mrs Somerville?" he asked.

  "No, sir. She is visiting her relatives in Auckland. Before she left, Sally asked me to drop some papers off. I forgot all about it until last night, so I came here first thing this morning. Your receptionist asked me to wait."

  "Quite so," said Mr Middleton. "It is her will. She leaves everything to you. But I think you know that, Mr Zinsli. She left me a note."

  Philip ignored Mr Middleton's comment about a note. It was not true and Philip Zinsli knew it because he had written out the will and had Sally sign it. She had never met the witnesses so Philip did not want Middleton to talk to Sally.

  "Thank you Mr Middleton. If that is all, I'll get on my way."

  "Just a minute, young man," said Mr Middleton. "Sally has said that her will is to be subject to your signing a similar document. While you waited, I had a standard form drawn up with identical wording, except the names are reversed. If you die, you leave everything to Sally."

  Philip knew the man was lying but he had to balance acceptance of Sally's will against Middleton making further enquiries. He was not going to die first anyway.

  "It is so good to see a loving couple," said Mr Middleton. "I think it is lovely that you both name the other as your beneficiary. Now, what if you both die at the same time?"

  He was knocked completely off balance for a moment, realising the Middleton was gaining concessions on behalf of Sally but not knowing what to do about it.

  "There is a son from a previous relationship, I believe?" suggested Mr Middleton. "I have taken the liberty of making him the beneficiary should you both die within forty eight hours of each other. He is autistic, you know and this would help set up a trust fund for his future care."

  Philip had not thought about Lance. It was obvious to Philip that Sally and Mr Middleton had spoken about this scenario. Well, it did not matter to Philip. Sally was going to die first. Philip could write a new will after she had gone. Philip signed the will placed in front of him. Mr Middleton called on two of his staff as witnesses. Mr Middleton gave a copy of the two wills to one of the witnesses to file and gave Philip a copy of both.

  "Well, Mr Zinsli, I think that concludes our current business," said Mr Middleton, holding out his hand. "Do please call on me if I could be of further service."

  35.

  As Philip left the lawyer's office at nine thirty, the earth began to shake. The noise was incredible: three World War Two planes flying right overhead, a roaring train, a huge fleet of trucks; people had different descriptions but all were of a prolonged loud low-frequency sound.

  The ground lifted and heaved so violently that Philip was thrown to the ground. The lawyer's office was upstairs above some shops. Over Philip's head was a wooden verandah, which shook and twisted until it left its moorings and crashed to the ground.

  Philip was curled up and pressed up against the plate glass window, huddled with his arms over his head in fear that the glass would break. It did, but only after the verandah had fallen. Being so close to the wall that held up the plate glass window protected Philip. The verandah trapped him but did not crush him because the corner nearest to him was held up from crashing right to the ground. The plate glass window shattered over the top of the verandah, spraying out into the street and cutting several people.

  Philip could not breathe for the dust that fell on him and the pressure of the timbers of the verandah on his chest. Coughing and spluttering, he was trapped.

  Finally the shaking stopped after what seemed like hours but was a little less than two minutes. That was a huge time for an earthquake to last. Most of the buildings in Grantville were of reinforced concrete. Windows were broken and some verandahs had fallen down but otherwise these buildings survived. Cracks in the walls, windows leaning in or out at impossible angles, floors like gigantic crazy paving, broken into different shapes and lifted at different angles. The wooden buildings were also intact. For such a large earthquake, the damage to buildings was minor, except for the buildings with parapets. Where these had fallen on to the verandahs below there were no injuries.

  Where there were no verandahs the falling masonry had caused a multitude of injuries. The most tragic occurrence was to a minibus full of Asian tourists which had been driving slowly along the road with a guide giving a commentary. The clock tower fell into the street, crushing the minibus and killing four of its occupants.

  Philip was trapped for over an hour. He was found quite early by an off-duty nurse who had seen the verandah fall on him. She crawled into the space where he was trapped. Although timbers were pressing against his chest, he was in no danger of losing circulation in his limbs. His rescue could wait a little longer while more urgent cases were treated.

  There were many heroes that morning. New Zealanders are tough and readily work together. The injured were rounded up for treatment in the hospital, which was undamaged apart from an old chimney stack and shelving in the store rooms. Philip heard a tractor. He heard the edge of the tractor's bucket scrape along the concrete path where he lay then he felt the verandah lifting. Hands reached out for him to drag him to safety. He was loaded into a station wagon and taken to hospital to be given a medical check.

  Philip had escaped with cuts and bruises. As a farmer, he was used to these but he gratefully accepted the painkillers he was offered. As his wounds were dressed, Philip looked around him. There was an air of calm efficiency broken now and then by gasps of fear as successive aftershocks rattled the waiting room where minor injuries were being treated. The rows of people sitting on the chairs were calmed by the medical staff, mainly nurses, as if they were in a war zone casualty clearing station.

  "How did you get those dog bites?" asked a male doctor who looked young enough to still be in school.

  "One of my dogs attacked me," said Philip.

  "You need an anti-tetanus shot," said the doctor.

  "I've had a tetanus shot. I'm up to date."

  "You need a booster," said the doctor. "Wait for the nurse to administer it."

  While the nurse looked in the refrigerator, Philip walked out quietly. He had to sort things out before helpful people came out to the farms to see if all was well. He did not want them to find that he had Sally locked in the store room with three bottles of water and three packets of biscuits and Greg and Ashleigh in the freezer truck. The sooner he got back to Gresham Downs and finished the job the better. It did not occur to Philip that the power might have been cut.

  Philip worried about his dogs. The ones at the farm would be all right. They would be thirsty but they would survive. The dogs on the back of the pick-up truck worried him. What had happened to them during the big 'Quake?

  He worried needlessly. When he got back to his pick-up truck, parked under the trees beside a park, the dogs were overjoyed to see him. Except for a broken off signpost leaning on it the ute was untouched. Philip was hungry. It was after noon. He poured water into a bowl for the dogs then went to find a place to eat.

  Some businesses were open but they were very busy. He found a seat in a café and ordered. As soon as he sat down at a table Philip felt waves of exhaustion flooding over him. Although his time in the military and later in the Mental Health system had prepared Philip for long stints of work, the last twenty four hours following his showdown with Sally were catching up on him.

  After finishing his meal he returned to the ute and slept in the cab, stretched along the bench seat.

  36.

  The evening sun shone on his face, waking Philip, who was stiff and uncomfortable from being trapped under a fallen verandah and from sleeping in the ute, which had been shaken by the aftershocks and moved every time the dogs stirred. Their chains rattled as they stretched or changed position to get out of the hot sun. He wal
ked back to the café where he had eaten earlier in the day. As their contribution to the aftermath of the earthquake, the owners of the café were not charging obvious victims. Philip with his bruised arm and scratched face was easily recognised as a victim and consequently was treated like a king. He asked for something for his dogs and was given a packet of minced meat, ground beef.

  The dogs made short work of the minced beef. They rattled their chains in a mute request to go for a walk. Philip knew that the local council strictly enforced the rules for exercising dogs so he drove out of town to a quiet spot. He let the dogs off their chains so they could run freely. He left the dogs to sniff and scratch and explore the small green area before whistling them back to the pick-up truck. They jumped on the tray on the back and sat while Philip chained them to the bar across the back of the cab.

  Philip drove on, arriving at the detour sign that Richard had taken to avoid the delays of reconstruction of the road after the last earthquake. A short distance on Philip took the right hand fork in the road that led off to Te Kouka. He passed through the small township. He could see a small group of people inspecting the school, which appeared to be undamaged.

  He drove on. The road now just led to Te Kouka Flats and Gresham Downs. The road narrowed and became a metal surface, gravel that was occasionally loosened then evened out by the Council grader. Philip had reached their land; Greg's on the left and Philip's on the right, two long narrow strips on either side of the river. Suddenly, with a bang, the truck's front tyres hit a savage gash in the road. Philip had not been travelling fast but both front wheels buckled and bent. The back wheels of the pick-up truck clear the gash in the road with a huge thump then stopped dead. The rear springs had broken. Philip was going no further.

  Philip's first thoughts were for the dogs chained to the tray. One dog was hanging over the edge, his rear feet just touching the ground. It jumped up and down to avoid being strangled by its collar. Philip lifted it up and put it gently on the tray. He ran his fingers under the dog's collar to check that it could breathe freely.

  The dogs were upset. Although they had no broken bones, Philip decided to leave the dogs behind. He fastened their chains to different sections of the fence at the side of the road so that they could run as far as the wire allowed the link to slip along it, then placed water bowls within their reach before setting out to walk to his home. If anybody queried where he had been, he would be able to give a very good reason.

  Being mid-summer, the evening was hot and airless. As a farmer used to analysing the weather, Philip thought that the temperature was around twenty eight or thirty degrees with low humidity. He had given his water to the dogs, two sharing a bowl placed between them, at the end of their stretch so they couldn't fight, and one dog with an ice cream container all to itself. The trouble with ice cream containers and dogs was that they always tipped the container over. He should be back for his dogs once he got to his farm and the freezer truck, with a detour on the way to dispose of the frozen corpses.

  Philip could not leave the rifle or his drug stuff in the car where they would be found. His rifle was behind the bench seat. The bolt that made the bullet fire was in the glove box. Philip fitted it to the rifle rather than carry the sharp piece of metal in a pocket. The ammunition was under the front seat. Philip put ten rounds in a pocket of his safari jacket and left the rest. With his firearm secured, and his little parcel safely in one of his safari jacket pockets, Philip set off for Gresham Downs.

  He walked at a steady pace, an ex-military man used to covering long distances. Tall, dark and very fit Philip made an attractive figure but there was no-one around to admire him. Someone might have wondered at wearing a sleeveless jacket in the heat but it was not that unusual, especially for fishermen.

  Ahead of him Philip saw a slight figure curled up and sleeping in the bracken and grass at the side of the road. He and Greg owned the only farms on this road. Philip was puzzled. He approached the child carefully, reaching out to push a shoulder. When the body turned over, he saw that it was a young girl, probably around thirteen.

  "Hi there," he said as a young teenager looked at him through bleary eyes. "Everything okay?"

  Although Jo was glad to see someone she was wary in case the man was Mr Zinsli.

  "Our car got trashed in the earthquake this morning," she said. "Mum and Dad sent me to get help. I am Jo. What's your name, Mister?"

  Zinsli said, "Philip. My name is Philip Zinsli. I'm going to see my friend Greg to offer help."

  "Good luck," said Jo. "How far is it to Te Kouka?"

  "It's not far. My ute hit a crack in the road. Had to leave my dogs chained to a fence," said Philip.

  Jo smelled a rat. If Philip was going to help Greg he would have his dogs walk with him. Zinsli saw the hesitation in Jo's face.

  "Couldn't get the ute any further," he said. "Have to walk the rest of the way then get a truck from Greg and come back for my dogs."

  "I'm walking to Te Kouka to get help. I'm on my way now," said Jo. "Good luck with the truck but you won't get far because the bridge is down. I'll check your dogs for you."

  "Thanks," said Philip Zinsli, wondering what had put the teenager on her guard. "What do you mean, the bridge is down?"

  "It's fallen in the water," said Jo. "I had to climb down the bank to cross the river."

  At that moment Jo, perhaps because of tiredness, a momentary forgetfulness, made a mistake. She asked. "Have you seen a little boy dressed in blue?"

  A little boy dressed in blue. 'Mum and Dad'. No mention of a brother. The only little boy around here was Sally's son Lance. To know about Lance, this girl must have been to Somerville's farm. Zinsli grabbed her with both arms. "Who are you?" he asked.

  "Let me go!" screamed Jo, unable to loosen his grip. He shook her until she stopped struggling. He undid his belt. Jo was terrified.

  "Don't hurt me," she said, thinking he was about to rape her.

  "You're coming with me," said Zinsli. He used his belt to tie her wrists behind her back leaving a long piece of the belt as a handle to hold her if she tried to run off.

  "No, I've got to get help," said Jo.

  "I'll need you to persuade your parents ... " He didn't finish his sentence but Jo knew that he was hiding something and wanted some kind of hold on her parents. So, what was he hiding?

  "Walk in front," he said.

  Jo began walking. At first, Zinsli held the tail end of his belt that was around Jo's wrists. It was awkward and difficult, both for him holding the tail of the belt, and for her, walking with her hands tied behind her back. After a while, Zinsli let go of the tail of the belt but stayed very close to Jo.

  "A bit like a small child going shopping wearing reins," thought Jo. "Was this how slaves felt as they were marched across Africa?"

  She refused to speak to Zinsli.

  "Hey, kid, how many people in your family?" he asked.

  "I'm not speaking to you," replied Jo.

  "Hey, Jo. You wanna rest?"

  "I'm not talking to you."

  They walked on. The road was gravel. It was fenced on both sides, with pasture rolling away up the hillside on the left, with a grove of cabbage trees, te kouka, on the ridge in the distance. The grass was brown and sparse. It needed irrigation. On the right, beyond the fence, bracken fern was growing in the fields. The two farms were long and narrow, one on each side of the river.

  "They could easily irrigate the farms using the river," thought Jo, then she remembered television programmes and protests about how hard it was getting water rights and permits to use water, while Councils gave the water to Chinese firms for a small licence fee. The Chinese companies bottled the water and sold it, while farms like these were left without irrigation. She could not understand the rules sometimes.

  Jo was surprised at how little distance she had walked from the broken bridge. Coming to the top of a rise, Jo could see the remains of the bridge ahead and below. In fact, Jo was pleased to take a rest when they got to
the bridge.

  "Holy Cow!" said Zinsli. "The whole bridge has gone!"

  From the road, the ground dropped away down to the river bed, then rose up again in a V shape. The only connection left between both sides was the narrow wooden beam that Lance had walked across.

  "I wonder where he is?" thought Jo as she sat down on the grass and rested.

  It was a bright night with the river a silver band between dark banks. Zinsli looked at the remains of the bridge. The structure had collapsed, some still on the steep banks on either side of the river but most of it a tangled mass of twisted wood and tar seal, like a child's Constructa Kit toy that had toppled sideways, leaving the piles at odd angles, and one beam joining both sides of the river. Zinsli doubted that the beam would take his weight.

  Looking around him, Zinsli found the trail of bent and broken vegetation where Jo had emerged after crossing the river. There was no way across the river except to slip down the bank, wade across then climb up the other side. He looked at the far side of the cutting, finding the trail of bent and broken vegetation where Jo had slid down the bank to cross the river.

  "If you promise to be good, I'll take the belt off," he said. "Promise?"

  Jo nodded so Zinsli removed the belt from her wrists. Jo was a teenager; she had not promised she would be good. She had nodded.

  Zinsli turned aside and looked down the road the way they had come. The road was clear. He looked back and found Jo was missing. He saw her below, scrambling down the bank. He set off after her, crashing through the ferns and grass and small bushes.

  Jo made it as far as the water. She intended to swim downstream. Bur Zinsli caught her by the arm just as she entered the water. She tried to pull her arm free but Zinsli was too strong. The rifle swung round on its sling and crashed against her. It hurt. Jo stopped struggling.

  "Do that again and I'll shoot you," said Zinsli. Jo believed him.

  "Go in front of me. I can shoot you if you run away," he said.