The Hunted

by Gabriel Bergmoser

  The snatches of sunlight above them started to dim, what was left filtering ghostly through the distorting leaves. A glance out the window revealed that at some point the dirt road had given way to just dirt. He wanted to turn back but wasn’t sure they could find their way and he didn’t want to seem scared, so he just kept driving – until they heard the first gunshot.

  It took him a moment to register what it was; the last time he’d heard one in real life was at a shooting range he’d been to for a mate’s eighteenth. He had figured that would be the only time. But there it was, again and again. Within seconds his palms were sweaty and his heart was racing. He slammed the brakes. He knew he had to reverse, but his body wasn’t responding. His hands on the wheel might as well have been stone.

  Maggie sat up straighter, eyes locked on the bush ahead.

  There were no more shots. Simon managed to breathe. His grip loosened. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve gone far enough. Let’s—’

  Maggie raised a hand.

  Ahead, a shudder in the bushes, then another vehicle emerged from the hunching trees.

  It was a battered old ute, white paint scratched away in patches, the first signs of rust creeping up the steel of the side panels. There was a heavy bull bar on the front and huge headlights above the cab, lights that were off but looked bulkier than any he’d ever seen. Two unshaven young men stood in the tray, both holding shotguns. There were snarls and barks coming from the back. Instinctively, Simon pushed himself back in his seat, as if he could disappear into it. He couldn’t see the dog, but hearing was enough. He was shaking. He raised his foot to slam the accelerator and reverse.

  Maggie grabbed his arm. ‘Wait.’

  The ute stopped. The driver’s door opened. The man who got out looked not much older than Simon. He was tall and broad shouldered with thick hair, brown and wavy. He was good-looking in a rough, sun-tanned kind of way, but his worn flannelette shirt and torn jeans didn’t do him any favours.

  The other two jumped off the tray, flanking the driver like loyal pets. One of them, hair long and greasy under a faded backwards cap, wore a stained singlet and reflective sunglasses. The third man stood closest to the barking dog. He was short and stocky, hair cropped close, eyes unblinking and locked on Simon’s car.

  ‘G’day,’ the driver called out. ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘We should go,’ Simon said.

  Maggie opened the door and stepped out. ‘Hi.’

  The tall man’s smile grew as he took her in. ‘Hi yourself. Hope we didn’t scare you.’

  ‘Was that you shooting?’ Maggie said.

  ‘Huntin’ pigs. Didn’t think we’d see anyone else. Not many ’round these parts.’

  ‘What are these parts?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘We’re from a little town, back that way.’ He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Pretty remote, y’know? Don’t get a heap of visitors or nothing. So maybe we can be a bit reckless with the hunt.’

  ‘A lot of wild pigs around here?’ Maggie said.

  ‘More than you’d think,’ the stocky man said.

  The man in the sunglasses hadn’t spoken. His smirk was fixed on Maggie. The dog was still barking.

  ‘You’re a while from the road,’ the driver said. ‘It’s getting dark. You sneakin’ off somewhere for a bit of fun?’

  Maggie’s laugh was easy, relaxed. ‘We’re just travelling together. I’m Maggie, Simon’s the driver. We’re basically backpacking. Did you say there was a town near here?’

  Simon looked out at Maggie. What the hell was she doing?

  ‘Home, yeah,’ the driver said.

  ‘Is there a motel there? I slept in the car last night and I wouldn’t mind a bed.’

  ‘Can’t help with the motel, but can help with the bed. Me old man owns a couple of empty houses. Lets guests sleep there when they want. You’d be more than welcome. Haven’t had anyone new around for a while. Plus there’s a bit of a do on tonight. Whole town’s gettin’ together for a barbie – plenty of beers, plenty of snags. Had a hell of a hunt yesterday and figured we earned ourselves a decent sesh. Feel like joinin’?’

  Maggie bent down and spoke through the open passenger door to Simon. ‘Better than any other option, right?’

  Simon disagreed. Strongly. But Maggie was looking at him expectantly and he supposed experiences like this were part of it. He really didn’t want to look scared in front of her.

  The leader introduced himself to Maggie as Steve, the man in the sunglasses as Kayden and the stocky one as Matty. Maybe it seemed rude or stand-offish, Simon not getting out of the car, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to. Still, as Maggie got back into the car and directed him to follow them, he tried to act normal.

  ‘Lucky, right?’ Maggie said. ‘I wasn’t keen for another night in the car.’

  The ute in front pulled around. Simon tried to look calm. It would be so easy to turn around and drive away.

  ‘You okay?’ Maggie said.

  ‘Sure.’ Simon pressed the accelerator.

  He couldn’t help but feel claustrophobic as the darkness grew deeper, creeping around them like shadows strung between the too-close gums.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Maggie asked.

  Simon tried to peer past the ute. Still no sign of civilisation. ‘I’m just not sure about these guys.’

  ‘Never met hunters before?’

  ‘No, actually.’ Maggie was shaking her head in an almost pitying way, a way that made Simon feel prickly and defensive. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re so sheltered. They’re just country blokes.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Being hunters doesn’t make them, like, dangerous or anything.’

  ‘I think that’s actually the opposite of true.’

  ‘Are you scared?’

  ‘I’m not scared, I just . . . Where are they taking us? Where is this town?’

  ‘Up ahead, they said.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Would you relax? I’d have thought you would want a bed for the night.’

  ‘That’s if they’re taking us to beds and not to . . .’

  ‘To what?’

  Simon didn’t reply.

  ‘You know,’ Maggie said, ‘for someone who wants an idea of what the real, rough Australia looks like, you’re remarkably judgemental.’

  He looked at her, the slight smirk on her lips making him feel as embarrassed as he did annoyed. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘It’s just, right now you seem a lot like a sheltered middle-class kid suspicious of anyone a little rough around the edges.’

  ‘I’m suspicious of people with guns. So shoot me.’

  ‘You never know, they might.’

  Simon flinched. Maggie laughed. He let himself breathe.

  Up ahead the trees cleared and, to his relief, they saw lights.

  Calling it a town might have been an exaggeration. To Simon, it looked more like a larger than usual farm, a cluttered complex of house-like structures arranged around a single dirt street with the occasional ramshackle shop. There was only a vague order to the town layout; some buildings sat close to the road, others at odd angles and further back, as if they had just been dropped there with no intention of making them fit. Many of the structures were closer to sheds than anything else, constructed with a mishmash of corrugated iron, brick and wood jammed together as if by a child playing with a mix of old blocks and broken Lego. Windows were coated in dust, some with rough portholes rubbed out of the grime, and doors hung from rusted hinges. Overgrown grass sprouted from uneven foundations and milk crates were scattered around liberally. The place looked like it was built to be temporary – like the seeds of what would become a shanty town – but nobody had ever bothered to either finish the job or shut it down. Here and there parts of the roads and paths were paved, but never much more than a few patchy metres of lumpy concrete that would probably be more damaging to tyres than the dirt and the dust. Vehicles sat outsi
de some of the houses: old utes, dented vans and dusty jeeps, most with rusted bull bars fixed to the front.

  Simon couldn’t see any people, but he could feel them and that was the worst part. The windows were dark, like the empty eyes of an animal skull left too long in the undergrowth, but Simon could have sworn they were being watched from every one of them – fingers parting old curtains, unblinking eyes steadily following the path of their car. Beside him, there had been a slight shift in the way Maggie sat; she’d adopted a rigid alertness and focus that Simon sincerely hoped was apprehension.

  The ute ahead came to a halt and the three guys got out. Simon stayed put as Maggie followed suit. It took him a few seconds to grit his teeth, open the door and step into the warm night. The air smelt of smoke, dust and a hint of something else, something pungent that made Simon’s stomach turn.

  ‘Well, lookee who decided to join us,’ Steve said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the back of the ute. ‘Got bored of your car did you, mate?’

  Simon tried to look relaxed. In the tray, the dog hadn’t stopped barking. It was a huge thing, would have come up to Simon’s waist. Black with narrow, squinty dark eyes and saliva dripping from uneven teeth under a curled lip.

  Kayden saw Simon’s expression. ‘Don’t stress, mate. We only let Blue off the chain when there are pigs around. You see any?’ He was chewing what Simon hoped was gum and didn’t see the need to close his mouth while doing it. His teeth were crooked and yellow, exposed enough to make Simon’s skin crawl.

  ‘Don’t fuck with ’im, Kayd,’ Steve said. ‘Poor bloke’s a bit spooked as it is.’

  Blue seemed to be fixated on Simon. The dog’s eyes rolled as it pulled at the chain.

  ‘He likes you, mate,’ Kayden said.

  ‘This is where youse can stay.’ Steve jerked his head at the nearest house; a plain weatherboard building. ‘Couple of bedrooms, not that you’ll need both.’ He winked. ‘Plenty of room, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.’

  Simon forced himself to mumble a thank you in Steve’s direction.

  ‘He speaks,’ Steve said. ‘Was startin’ to wonder if you were a mute, mate.’ He walked over to the peeling wooden front door and pulled it open with grubby hands. ‘Come check out the digs.’

  Simon trailed after Maggie. The house had a strong smell of mould, but otherwise it was neat enough, if pretty basic. The bedrooms were small with narrow metal camp beds and the living room had no TV nor much furniture – just a couple of sagging unmatched armchairs facing a featureless wall.

  ‘It ain’t fancy, but it’ll do you,’ Steve said, as they returned to the open front door.

  ‘We can’t thank you enough,’ Maggie said.

  ‘No need,’ Steve replied. ‘Share and share alike. Now, how about we get some bevvies in us?’

  Outside, Kayden hadn’t moved. He watched the house, eyes trained on Maggie as they followed Steve out. Matty was back with Blue, muttering something to the now silent dog. Simon could hear a rise of voices coming from down the road: whoops and catcalls, barks of rough laughter.

  ‘This way,’ Steve said. ‘We’re missing all the fun.’

  He led them away from the house towards the sound, where the town opened up into a large, brown field, pockmarked with ashtrays and half-full bottles without labels. In the distance the bush closed around it in a dark mass of trees, but the field was already filling with people who looked cut from the same cloth as Steve and his mates. Shorts and singlets, pot bellies and leathery-skinned limbs, stubbies in callused hands and cigarettes dangling from chapped lips. As they gathered around a rising bonfire in the centre, several cars were pulling up, pounding loud music coming from them creating a chaotic, wince-inducing symphony. Not that anyone seemed to mind: people hooted and embraced, passing drinks around and setting up folding camp chairs close to the fire even though the night was already warm. Simon could smell cooking meat, strong and overpowering.

  ‘Oi, Dad!’ Steve yelled.

  A towering man in faded jeans and a torn singlet turned at Steve’s call. He looked like a boxer gone to seed, a man whose punches could still kill you despite being more padded than they used to be. His thinning hair was brushed back and his ruddy face was unshaven. He took in Maggie and Simon without expression.

  ‘They’re taking the spare house for a couple of nights.’

  ‘Just tonight,’ Simon said, trying to sound calm.

  ‘Got plans, have you, mate?’ Steve’s father replied.

  ‘No,’ Maggie said. ‘We just don’t want to outstay our welcome.’

  Simon felt a surge of relief at that. It was the closest thing he had heard to sanity from her in the last hour.

  ‘Rubbish,’ the older man replied. ‘You stay as long as you need. Won’t have you going back to the big city talking shit about our hospitality. The name’s Kev, by the way.’

  ‘Beers?’ Steve said.

  An older woman had approached, a couple of cans in hand. She gave one each to Simon and Maggie then stepped back, expectant eyes on them. Simon thought she looked like a vulture, with her thin, bony face and saggy neck.

  Maggie, whose eyes were locked on the woman, opened her can.

  ‘You’re a gem, Rhonda,’ Kev said. ‘I tell ya, if I wasn’t a married man—’

  ‘You’d have to get your own bloody beers.’ She bared her teeth then turned and headed for a clump of women looking over from a distance. Simon felt a strange prickle on the back of his neck at the sight. He looked down at his unopened drink.

  ‘It won’t bite you,’ Kev said.

  ‘City kid probably isn’t used to a country brew,’ Steve said. ‘Don’t be too rough on him.’

  Red faced, Simon cracked his beer, looked Steve in the eye and drank.

  ‘Would you look at that. Damned if I’m not impressed.’

  ‘There’re a few eskies around, so help yourself,’ Kev said. ‘Snags being cooked over the fire. Get yourselves a feed, get comfy. We’ll see you ’round.’

  He turned and walked off. Steve and his cronies followed, although Kayden looked back at Maggie for a beat too long. They joined a group of girls. One of them, thin and waifish with a curtain of blonde hair covering her face, also seemed preoccupied by Maggie. Steve had flung an arm around her, but she didn’t look away.

  ‘You cannot tell me you are comfortable with all this,’ Simon muttered, glancing down at the beer again. He didn’t recognise the brand.

  ‘I can and I am,’ Maggie said. Before Simon could reply, she’d walked towards the crowd.

  He stood there, holding the beer and feeling like an idiot as he watched after her. He wondered where he would be now if he had decided to slip away from the motel the day before. Further down the highway, still a little bored but with no idea that this town even existed.

  He had already lost Maggie in the mass of people. They were silhouettes in the now towering bonfire light, dark and writhing against growing flames. The burned-meat smell was overwhelming now, and off-putting. He took a sip of the beer. He didn’t like the taste at all. It was acrid and horrible, like all beer had tasted when he’d first started to drink. He wished he hadn’t taken that turn-off. He glanced back to where his car was parked.

  ‘Come on, mate.’ A voice from behind made him jump. ‘You just got here.’

  It was Matty, a blackened sausage in his hand and – Simon realised with a tightening feeling in his stomach – Blue beside him, off the chain, thick slobber dripping from his open mouth.

  Matty must have seen the fear in Simon’s eyes. He looked at Blue and whistled. The dog froze. His stubby, rounded ears twitched.

  ‘It’s a command,’ Matty said, as he looked at the dog fondly. ‘Means “get ready”.’

  Simon knew he was shaking and he hated it. He had never thought himself so easily scared. But then, he had never been in a place like this before.

  ‘Sit,’ Matty said.

  Blue did.

  The knife was a bright flash in the
firelight. Simon recoiled, but all Matty did was cut some of the sausage away. Blue’s nose twitched.

  ‘Stay,’ Matty said.

  Blue was still.

  Matty threw the piece of sausage in the air. It spun down, passed the dog’s nose, then Matty clapped, Blue lunged, Simon stumbled back and the sausage was gone.

  ‘Good boy.’ Matty looked at Simon. His face was blank. ‘Does as he’s told.’

  With a whistle, Matty strode away, the dog padding after him.

  Simon lifted the beer to drink, but it didn’t reach his mouth. His arm had gone weak. Instinct made him want to run for the car. He didn’t. He set off to find Maggie.

  He saw her from a distance, on the other side of the fire now, in a throng of younger people, including Steve, the blonde girl and Kayden. Maggie was nodding along to whatever they were saying, swigging from her can. Steve was talking animatedly. The blonde girl’s face was impossible to make out through her hair, but he could see that Kayden’s eyes were locked on Maggie. His grin was the same as in the bush. There was hunger to it, hunger that turned Simon’s stomach.

  With a quick check to make sure no-one was looking, Simon dumped his half-full beer in the dirt. Then, shoulders hunched, he moved around the fire to Maggie’s group. Being near her felt somehow safer than the alternative.

  He stuck close to Maggie after that, for what it was worth. She barely seemed to notice he was there. She barely seemed to notice other things either – like Kayden’s eyes on her, or the way Kev’s smirk grew whenever he passed her, which was too often for Simon to assume it was coincidence. However – and it sickened Simon to admit it, even to himself – there was some minor relief in their attention being on Maggie rather than him. Unnoticed was the best way to be when it came to these people.

  Then suddenly Steve was clapping him on the back, forcing another can into his sweaty hand. ‘You don’t have a drink, mate! That’s not on.’

  Without meaning to, Simon glanced at Maggie. She was looking at him with a neutral expression that could have been either mildly interested or amused. He didn’t want to know which.

  ‘You’ve got some catchin’ up to do,’ Steve said. ‘What’s this, your second? You’re bein’ too shy, Simon – just grab ’em straight from the esky, mate. Smash that back first, we know you can.’