by Scott Monk
The storm broke early the next morning. It started as a drizzle then pelted down. The guys’ joy to celebrate the end of the drought quickly disappeared, however, when they realised the danger they were in. Thunder boomed in the distance. The last thing the group wanted was to be caught in a lightning storm.
Sam gave the call to pack up camp and everyone headed for home. The sky was black and the open-mouthed cracks in the hardened soil swallowed the heavy rain. The wetness caught in the guys’ hats and trickled down their backs, arms and legs. Brett’s clothes were saturated as was his saddle. But he couldn’t exactly stop and change. This was what the stockmen used to face in the past. They would ride in the same clothes for months without complaining. Besides Piper wasn’t worried. Her mane stuck to her neck, bulging with great snorts of determination as she kept trudging forward. Some of the other horses didn’t share her courage though.
Twenty minutes later, the lightning came. A couple of horses reared and one threw Damon Kelly to the ground before it bolted away. Sam and the guys rushed over to see how Damon was. He was bad. He’d broken his arm in the fall and was in a lot of pain.
‘Quiet, Damon. Quiet,’ Sam said, covering the fifteen-year-old’s mouth. ‘Don’t think about how much it hurts.’
‘I can’t! It does!’ Damon screeched.
‘Then don’t let it control you.’
‘What are we going to do, Sam?’ one of the guys asked as another bolt shot down from the sky.
‘Call an ambulance.’
‘But we don’t have a phone.’
‘I think there’s a house beyond those trees,’ Brett said. ‘We passed it on our way here.’
‘Yer, we did,’ Josh added. ‘It’s Leonard Crawley’s place.’
Sam tried to swipe the rain off his cheeks. ‘Get over there, find a phone and tell the operator we need an ambulance immediately. If they ask if we can use Leonard’s car to drive to the nearest hospital, say we can’t move the patient. We’re worried that moving the broken bone will cause more damage. Got it?’
Josh and Brett nodded.
Piper and Josh’s horse Moondance raced through the rain towards the Crawley property, their riders all too aware of the lightning crackling about them. Once there, Josh and Brett dismounted and hammered their fists against the front door until Mr Crawley answered.
An ambulance arrived ten minutes later from Boomi. The lightning had passed but the storm had grown fiercer. Damon was placed on a stretcher as the rain forced everyone to hide under trees. When the back doors were shut, Sam made a hard decision: to postpone the ride home.
‘Now listen, I’ve got to go to the hospital with Damon,’ he said, deafened by the groans. ‘You can’t go on ahead by yourselves. You’ve got to stay here with Mr Crawley until I get back, got it?’
Everyone mumbled yes, but when Sam left with the ambulance, the mutiny began. Josh and Brett rode as scouts, while Matthew Hill and Michael Lydell took up the rear. In the middle, the cattle were edgy but the guys surrounding them had done this for three days now. They knew what they were doing.
They rode into the night and into the next morning. Sam would’ve found out by now that they’d rebelled but he still hadn’t been able to find them. Camping was miserable. The skies rained non-stop, covering the ground with water and making it virtually impossible to sleep on. The best they could do was find sufficient shelter, then stretch tarpaulins between trees to keep some of the rain off them.
Sam and a truckload of farmers found them by lunchtime. A couple of head of cattle had run away and Brett and Josh were chasing after them when the truck’s headlights caught them. The two guys had to show the old man where their camp was after that.
Brett was glad to see the yellow lights of the homestead that night. The hired bus chugged along the last part of the driveway before opening its doors and letting everyone out. In the kitchen, the sound of Mary dishing out hot tomato soup and the scraping of hungry spoons was drowned out by excited voices remembering what had happened over the past few days. The cows and horses were still in the care of another farmer until the rain cleared but the ride was an experience none of the guys would ever forget.
Full, Brett stood under a hot shower for half an hour and washed away days of dust, rain, mud and the smell of horse. He changed into a fresh set of clothes, shaved then knocked on Josh’s door to borrow a jacket.
‘You’re going over to see her, are you?’
Brett nodded. ‘I have to sort this out now. It’s the only thing I’ve been thinking about.’
‘You know Caitlyn might say no.’
‘Yer. I’m ready for it though.’
‘She might also say yes,’ Josh said, handing over a blue denim jacket.
‘Maybe. I’ll know soon enough.’
Next, Brett needed a set of wheels.
‘Thanks,’ he said, getting into the driver’s seat.
‘Caitlyn better be worth it,’ Josh said, dropping the ute’s keys into Brett’s hand. ‘This is going to get you and me into a lot of trouble — again.’
‘She is. But you already know that.’
Josh grimaced. ‘Good luck,’ he said, tapping the cab.
The wipers squealed against the windscreen as they fought to clear the waves of rain blinding Brett’s view. The headlights searched the darkness with little result. He drove as fast as possible without killing himself. He nearly hit a white marker that loomed out of the night and was forced to slow down to save making another maybe more costly mistake.
He reached Mungindi alive but didn’t get any further. A hundred metres over the border, he noticed the fuel gauge sitting on empty the second the ute spluttered to a jarring death. He slammed the door behind him and ran towards the shelter of a hotel verandah. There was a phone box there. He’d call Caitlyn and ask her to meet him in town.
He searched through his pockets and wallet for the phone card his mum had bought him as a group of patrons started emptying into the street. Their drunken laughter and shouts of goodbye forced Brett to push the headset closer to his ear. The machine slurped up the card then bopped as he pressed the numbers. Behind him, one of the patrons’ footsteps stopped.
‘Hey, Pretty Boy,’ their owner called out. ‘Remember me?’
CRACK!
A fist hammered Brett’s jaw. He crashed against a verandah post and fell down. The pain cut into his skull and back but he didn’t have any time to worry about it. Tyson grabbed a fistful of denim jacket and hauled him to his feet. With one easy swing, the big man slammed him against the phone booth.
‘That’s for getting me arrested!’
Tyson hit him again and — OOMPH! — Brett’s stomach burst inwards. Another punch and he was back on the ground.
‘And that’s for letting that old goat protect you!’
Brett winced in agony as he watched Tyson stand over him, smiling. ‘Still alive, huh? Well, don’t think for a second we’re finished.’
Tyson crunched his heel into Brett’s side, and Brett cried out, sure that a rib had snapped.
‘Leave me alone! What have I ever done to you!’ he shouted desperately.
‘Lots, Pretty Boy. You made me look bad in front of the guys.’ Crunch. ‘You got me arrested.’ Crunch. ‘And now, thanks to you, I’m on the run.’ Crunch. ‘Do you think I enjoy that, huh? Hiding all the time? Not being able to live a normal life? How would you feel if you knew you couldn’t sleep each night, scared some pig might find you?’
He reached forward to grab Brett again but Brett kicked out and forced him back. Quickly, the sixteen-year-old scrambled to his feet, clutching his stomach. ‘That’s not my fault!’ he shouted. ‘You started the fight. You drew the knife. You could’ve stopped at any moment but you didn’t. The decision was yours, man! The decision was yours.’
Tyson lashed out with a fist. Brett ducked and retaliated, hitting him twice in the face.
The next hit was Tyson’s. He knocked Brett so hard that he landed in the carpark, which was pot
holed with muddy water now several centimetres deep. Dazed, he struggled to get up, hearing in the distance the Barwon starting to swell.
Tyson staggered towards him and yanked him to his feet. ‘If the decision was mine, then I’ll decide when I’m finished with you too,’ he said.
One! Two! Three!
But Brett wasn’t beaten. He busted Tyson one on the jaw. Tyson spun away and let him go.
Brett wondered what to do next. Tyson had started this fight and wouldn’t give up till one of them was unconscious — or maybe dead.
The sound of a man’s voice distracted both of them. Brett didn’t know who it was. He could only see a dark figure cast in front of the hotel’s lights. If he had to guess though he would have said it was one of the bar staff. He had an apron on.
‘Hey! What’s going on out there?’ the stranger called out.
Brett was about to answer when Tyson charged, crash-tackling him to the ground and laying into him with his fists. Brett laid into him with a few thumps of his own, but Tyson was bigger and stronger. There wasn’t a spot on Brett’s body that he didn’t hit.
Suddenly, the big inmate’s weight was lifted off him. ‘Break it up!’ the stranger shouted, holding Tyson in a bearhug. But the smaller man didn’t have a chance and Tyson flipped him to the ground.
‘Come here, Pretty Boy!’ he said, seeing Brett crawl away. This fight was out of control. Brett couldn’t win it. Not in his condition. He had to get away.
‘Jono!’ the stranger coughed. ‘Call Kenny! Tell him to get over here immediately!’
‘Are you crazy?’ Brett yelled, kicking out at Tyson with a boot. ‘They’re calling the cops!’
‘Let them! You started this fight when we first met. I’m making sure you don’t cross me again.’
Just as exhausted, Tyson lumbered forward. Brett rolled out of the way and at the last moment tripped him. Tyson fell but pushed himself back into a standing position ready for the next attack. Head down and eyes mad, he tried tackling Brett again. Brett retreated to a truck and waited for Tyson, while wavering with pain. Tyson reached out with thick fingers to grab him — but missed. Brett sidestepped and — BANG! — Tyson slammed head-first into the cab and crumpled to the ground.
The next thing Brett remembered was red and blue lights flashing maniacally round him, the wail of a siren and seeing the police car racing down the road, great wings of water splashing either side of it. He looked down at Tyson, who was unconscious and no longer a threat. The growing white glare of the headlights caught Brett’s eye again and instinctively he covered his face. He realised then that the stranger from the hotel could now see who he was.
‘I know you,’ the man said. ‘Yes, it’s you, isn’t it? You’re the thief who stole some of my beer last week!’
Confused, Brett panicked and did the thing he knew best: he ran.
Bleeding, Brett hugged himself from the rain, cold and throbbing pain as he headed along the river. His face was numb and swollen, and his knuckles felt like they’d been spilt open. His sides and legs were raw, and he was certain that at least one bone was broken. Pain was tearing at him both inside and out.
But broken bones weren’t his biggest concern. Being on the run from the cops was. After finally beating Tyson, Brett had bolted across a paddock and remained hidden for a good half hour in the mud watching the cops roll past at least four times. He thought they were onto him once when they got out and started beaming torches in his direction. But they didn’t spot him and got back in again. That was the last he’d see of them. For a while.
The river was growing wilder — more violent — the further he went. After two days of solid rain, the district was no longer in drought. He could still hear the water churning louder and louder to his right. He’d keep on following it until he reached Caitlyn’s house.
He crossed five more properties before reaching the Douglases’. The big white homestead was merely a shadow with no lights on inside. He hurried across the muddy field, slipping twice, before making it to the verandah. Trying not to cough with exhaustion, he slunk round the side of the homestead and tapped on Caitlyn’s window.
A night-light snapped on and he watched in the yellow dullness a confused Caitlyn stumble out of bed. She was only half-dressed; a sight which would normally have driven him wild. But not this night. No way. He loved this girl too much to think of her in just a sexual way. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, and especially tell her he loved her. He didn’t want to lose her ever again.
‘Who is it?’ she asked, still groggy with sleep.
‘It’s me.’
Caitlyn didn’t hear him though and hesitantly opened the window. The wind and rain exploded into the room and she nearly crunched Brett’s fingers trying to close it again.
‘Brett! You scared me. What are you doing here?’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I need to talk to you!’
She looked round at her clock radio, swirling her loose hair away from her face. ‘Now? It’s nearly two o’clock.’
‘It’s urgent. Have you got a minute?’
She hesitated. ‘I don’t know —’
‘Caitlyn. Please.’
Brett didn’t know if it was his sincerity or him looking miserable that changed her mind, but they sure did help. With a sigh, Caitlyn said, ‘Okay. But don’t make a noise. I don’t want Dad catching us.’
She opened her window fully. Once Brett was inside, she closed it to keep the rain out. He stood on her rug, dripping pools of water. ‘Caitlyn, I —’
‘What happened to your face?!’ she cut in when she saw him in the light.
‘I got into a fight.’
‘With who?’
‘Tyson.’
‘When?’
‘One … two hours ago.’
‘Where?’
‘In town,’ he said, hissing when she touched a swollen cheek. ‘He jumped me when the ute ran out of petrol. I was trying to ring you from a hotel —’
‘But why’d he attack you?’
‘He blames me for him getting arrested.’
‘C’mon. You can use the phone in the spare bedroom.’
‘Why? Who are we ringing?’
‘The police.’
Brett stopped her as a tree crashed outside. ‘We can’t.’
‘Why? You can’t protect him. Not after he’s beaten you up like this.’
‘The cops are after me too.’
Caitlyn released her grip on Brett and took a small step back. She didn’t say anything so he felt he had to.
‘Someone saw us fighting and called them. I had to run away.’
‘But you didn’t start the fight, did you?’
‘No, but there’s more. The night you and I had our fight, Rebecca and me broke into the same hotel and stole some beer. The owner must’ve seen us because he recognised me and he called the cops. If I’m arrested I’ll go to jail for a long time, Caitlyn. I’m already in trouble with Sam.’
Caitlyn stared at him open-mouthed. Finally, she said, ‘Wait here. I’ll grab you a towel. You have to get out of those clothes.’
Brett reached out to stop her — to talk to her — but she was out the door before he could. She was back thirty seconds later with a bundle of towels. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Dry yourself with these. You can borrow one of my shirts and a pair of jeans.’
‘First I have to talk to you.’
‘In a minute. Let me find you some clothes.’
She opened her cupboard doors and found a flannelette shirt, a red jumper and two pairs of jeans. Conscious of her semi-nakedness, she hopped her long, brown legs into a pair of jeans and caught Brett watching her.
‘Change into these,’ she said, pointing to the clothes on her bed. ‘Dry yourself off and I’ll find you a bag to put your wet clothes in to take home.’
Caitlyn left the room again. Brett feared she was deliberately avoiding him. She couldn’t seem to stay in the same place
as him for more than two minutes. He waited for her, creating a small flood of his own on the floorboards, until he realised she was being polite and waiting for him to change in private — a courtesy he hadn’t given her. He plopped Josh’s jacket on the floor then peeled his wet T-shirt off. His white skin was spotted by a million goosebumps and he was shivering. He grabbed the towel and scrubbed his hair and chest before putting on Caitlyn’s flannelette shirt. It smelt of lavender potpourri. Of her. And that fact alone sent a thrill rollercoasting through his body.
Brett pulled off his socks and jeans and changed into new ones. He finished dressing by pulling on the red jumper. His clothes were heavy and he picked them off the floor to put them in the garbage bag Caitlyn offered him when she returned.
‘I got you some bandages too.’ She plunged her hand into her jeans pocket and pulled out several band-aids. ‘It looks like you need some.’
Brett held her wrists. ‘That can wait. I came here to talk to you.’
A light snapped on at the end of the hallway and they both heard creaking footsteps. With Caitlyn’s brothers away at university, there were only two people left in the house: her parents.
‘Quick! Hide!’ Caitlyn said. ‘We’re dead if they catch you here.’
Brett hid in the cupboard as Caitlyn closed her door. He huddled under a stack of jumpers and shirts just in case her old man got suspicious and started checking every part of her room. A boot jabbed him in the backside but he had to live with it. He wouldn’t be living at all if he made a noise.
There was a knock, the sound of a door opening and Mr Douglas’s gruff voice. ‘Cait, are you okay?’
‘Yer, Dad,’ she said sleepily. ‘I had to go to the toilet that’s all. And I had to close my window.’
‘I thought I heard you talking to someone in here.’
‘I was listening to the radio. I switched it on to hear how bad the storm was.’
Smooth.
The drumming of the rain got heavier.
‘Any chance of flooding?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t hear them say anything.’