The Hunted

by Gabriel Bergmoser

  Simon jerked back. He couldn’t breathe.

  The girl hadn’t moved.

  Simon ran past her. He half-expected her to stop him, braced himself for the lunge and the hands around his neck, but she stayed put. He ran until he was back at the house. He paused at the front door and looked back. The girl was nowhere to be seen.

  He charged in and knocked on Maggie’s door, then again, louder, when there was no reply. She pulled it open, bleary eyed and wrapped in a blanket.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘I want to go.’

  She just looked at him.

  ‘We came, we’ve stayed, we’ve had the experience. Now can we leave? The people here . . .’ He lowered his voice, although he wasn’t sure why. ‘I don’t like this place.’

  ‘Are you always this melodramatic?’

  ‘I’m not being—’

  ‘Listen.’ She lifted both hands. ‘Just today, okay? We spend the day, then leave tonight.’

  ‘I’m not staying here until dark.’

  ‘Simon, what exactly do you think is happening here?’

  ‘It’s not about what I think, it’s about what I feel.’ Maggie raised her eyebrows. ‘Why?’ he said, feeling a hint of desperation now. ‘Why are you so keen to stay?’ He stared at her and suddenly he felt very, very stupid. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Who are you, really? You’re backpacking around the place with lots of cash, picking up random lifts, drinking in dodgy pubs and . . . and you were the one who told me to take this turn.’ Realisation hit and hardened into certainty as her face remained impassive. ‘You knew this place was here.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘But you suspected.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I had my reasons.’

  ‘I gave you the fucking lift. I have a right to know why you wanted to come here.’

  She looked away, brow furrowed. Then she exhaled. Her shoulders, which he hadn’t realised were hunched up, dropped.

  ‘I knew there was . . . something here,’ she said. ‘I knew because it was around this area my mother was last seen.’

  Any response he might have planned seemed to evaporate. Any understanding he thought he had gathered vanished. ‘Your mother . . .’ He swallowed. ‘Your mother disappeared in this area and you . . . you led us right into the middle of it?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said. ‘Mum disappeared almost twenty years ago. I don’t think she’s here.’

  ‘Then why are you?’

  ‘Because somebody might know something,’ she said. ‘If there’s even a hint of a rumour, then it will have been worth it. And don’t look at me like that. You would have done exactly the same thing.’

  ‘I never would have led us into—’

  ‘What?’ she said.

  Simon’s fists clenched. He was breathing heavily but trying to keep his anger in check, trying to will Maggie to understand what they could have walked into, all for the vaguest hope of picking up a long dead trail. An ugly truth dawned on him. She had led him here without being honest with him, which implied she knew he wouldn’t like it – so on some level, she had to know this place was bad news. And that made her more than selfish, it made her dangerous.

  ‘Okay.’ He tried to keep his voice steady. ‘Fine. You want to stay here, be my guest. But I’m leaving.’

  ‘Simon—’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You lied to me. You led me into this shithole and I’m not sticking around just to get manipulated into more idiotic decisions. Good luck finding your mother. I really hope it’s worth it.’

  Not letting himself look at her for a second longer, he turned and stalked off.

  There were more people on the street, who watched with interest as he marched out and got into the front seat of his car. He kept his eyes determinedly ahead; he wasn’t trying to impress Maggie anymore and that meant he had no reason to humour these hillbillies. To do anything other than put his foot down now was just wasting time.

  Still, he didn’t want to show any signs of fear or weakness, so he drove up the street and back towards the bush road at a steady pace. Just a guy going for a drive. Never mind his pounding heart. It would slow when he hit the highway again.

  On the track, even at this time of day, the trees made everything almost dark, the path ahead somehow harder to make out than it had been the evening before. Covered as it was in branches, leaves and rocks, it was barely distinguishable from the surrounding land. He tried to remember the way they had come, kept an eye out for tyre tracks in the scuffed dirt, or anything familiar. But he was distracted by thoughts of Maggie. He felt used and stupid, a naïve kid trusting a pretty girl because, well, because he wanted to get laid. In that moment, for all of his earlier conviction, he found it hard to see himself as anything other than a run-of-the-mill university graduate trying to give a road trip more gravitas than it deserved. What a wanker he’d been.

  Maybe his best course of action was to go back to the city. Or to just accept reality and spend the rest of his trip getting drunk and chatting up girls he met in backpacker bars. At least then he wouldn’t be wasting time pretending there was more to this – more to him – than there was. He laughed bitterly. The real Australia. What a stupid fucking idea. As if he had any idea what that would even look like.

  Something moved ahead of him and, realising he hadn’t been paying attention, he hit the brakes. It took him a second to register it wasn’t an animal or a falling tree.

  Hands behind his back, framed by the overhang of weighed-down gums and the shadows they cast, Steve stood in front of the car, a broad beam on his face.

  Simon stared at him. He went to reverse, glancing in the rear-view mirror just in time to see a ute pull up behind him. The doors opened and Matty and Kayden stepped out on either side. His stomach lurched. They were holding rifles.

  Drive, a tiny voice in his head was saying. Drive forwards now. But he was frozen in his seat.

  The driver-side door was wrenched open and rough hands pulled him free from the car. He hit the ground hard, staring up at Kayden, who looked just the same as he had the night before, eyes obscured by the mirrored glasses.

  ‘Leaving so soon, mate?’ Matty said. ‘Blue liked you. He’ll be heartbroken.’

  It was then that Simon heard the dog, barking wildly from the tray.

  ‘What a man.’ Steve had walked around to join the others. His hands were no longer behind his back. He was holding a cricket bat. ‘Guess there really wasn’t more than met the eye. It’d be a shame if it wasn’t so straight-up shit. Leavin’ your sheila behind and everythin’. Pretty little thing all by herself, surrounded by strangers. That’s average, mate. We could be anybody.’

  Kayden chuckled.

  ‘Good shit, Kayd,’ Steve said. ‘I reckon you’ll get Maggie all to yourself after this. Fuck, I’d have a crack myself, but you know what Kate’s like.’ He drew a finger across his neck. ‘Guess I’ll just have to be jealous. Gotta say, she looks like a good fuck. Like a feisty one. You’ll have to tell me all about it.’

  Kayden chuckled again.

  Matty whistled. Blue’s barking stopped. There was a thud as the dog jumped from the tray.

  ‘You hungry, boy?’ Matty called.

  ‘Get up,’ Steve said. ‘You can at least do that.’

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ Simon couldn’t stand. He was shaking all over. ‘P-please,’ he said. ‘Please just let me go, I won’t tell anyone, I swear—’

  ‘Tell anyone what?’ Steve said. ‘We haven’t done shit. Yet.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Now

  Warren Jenkins was late. Really late. He wasn’t looking forward to the excuses he would have to make to shut the missus up. The bottle of wine on his passenger seat might do the trick. Five bucks from the bottle-o. Hopefully by the time he got there, they’d all be too drunk to notice what a cheapskate he’d been. It wasn’t like these d
inner parties were anything other than an excuse to get pissed anyway.

  He checked the clock. He’d be at least an hour late and Diane could be a bitch when she was drunk. He stepped a little harder on the accelerator. The speedometer crept sightly past the limit.

  He swore under his breath. Something was blocking the road up ahead. He squinted: two cars, nose to nose, cutting off the highway. Utes, by the look of it, years past their prime. If someone was playing silly buggers, then he had no time for it. But . . .

  The two blokes leaning against the vehicles wore police uniforms.

  Warren slowed as his heart picked up slightly. He tried to remember how many beers he’d had. It wasn’t like this was a busy highway, and any dickhead could drive in a straight line. Booking him would be criminal. But still.

  One of the cops was walking forwards. He looked about the same age as Warren himself, probably in his forties. He was scrawny and his face almost skeletal. He raised a hand.

  Warren swallowed and stopped the car. He pressed the button to lower the window.

  ‘Just, um, trying to get home,’ he said, hoping he sounded relaxed and confident.

  ‘Road’s closed, mate,’ the cop said.

  ‘That’s . . .’ Warren bit his tongue. He had been about to say bullshit, which it was. There was no other way back home. But if they weren’t going to breathalyse him, he didn’t need to give them a reason.

  ‘Why?’ he said.

  ‘Servo blew up,’ the cop said.

  Behind him, the other one lit a cigarette.

  ‘Yeah, it’s pretty fucked,’ the cop went on. ‘Noxious fumes and shit everywhere. Bushfire hazard. Too risky tonight.’

  Warren glanced at their cars. He’d never known cops to drive utes.

  ‘You’d best turn around, mate,’ the man went on.

  ‘Home’s that way, though.’ Warren pointed past them.

  ‘Not tonight, it ain’t,’ the cop said. ‘Turn around.’

  Warren met his eyes. The cop smiled slightly. It came off almost like a silent challenge. Warren took in his uniform. There was a dark stain on the right sleeve.

  Warren tried to look genial. ‘Sure thing, officers.’

  Warren knew when something was off. A churning in the gut, a slight smell of wrongness in the air, a feeling that the world around him was a little off kilter. Whatever was going on here, he was willing to bet it wasn’t what he’d been told, just as he was willing to bet the two men weren’t cops. But more than anything, Warren Jenkins knew when it was time to turn tail, run as fast as you could and forget what you had seen.

  Frank ducked behind the counter and fell into a crouch as the door to the hall slammed shut behind Delilah and the businessman, who were heading for the storeroom. He lifted the gun, feeling the comforting weight in his hand. Wishing it was more comforting. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

  He peered over the counter, then shifted back down again. The light from the cars was blinding; they’d positioned them around the pumps, facing inwards, making it impossible to see. At least four cars out the front. At least.

  He heard the door behind him open slightly. Delilah, evidently bent low, was looking at him through the gap.

  ‘Who the hell are they?’ Her voice was high and scared.

  Frank shook his head. But he had an idea. An idea that suggested he should have just told the bastard what he wanted to know. He thought of Allie, back at the house.

  He closed his eyes. Pushed away the icy fear creeping through him. Crushed it down and put it in a box, just like he’d been taught the first time he’d been taken out on the hunt.

  He had to be calm. Level-headed. And he had to make sure that, whoever these people were, they had no idea he lived in a house less than a kilometre behind him.

  ‘It’s about her, isn’t it?’ Delilah said.

  Frank nodded.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Frank said. ‘Doesn’t change our situation.’

  ‘We should have called the police,’ Delilah said. ‘As soon as she turned up.’

  It struck him then. ‘The guy in the suit. His phone.’

  Delilah didn’t need to be told twice. The door clicked shut. Frank listened, waiting for the telltale sound of the screen door.

  Delilah found the man huddled in the storeroom, balled up in the corner, hugging his legs hard to his chest. He had clearly been crying.

  Unbidden, a memory hit her. A man just like this one – fancy suit, puffy jowls, double chin – who was so confident, so sure of himself as he sat behind his desk and lectured Delilah about service, about just smiling and nodding and taking the bullshit while remembering that the customer was always right. And it was as she’d stood there smiling and nodding and remembering that her boss was always right that it occurred to her, quietly, that she hated him, that she had been striving for years to follow the rules and work up to that same position and for what? So that in middle age she could make somebody else put up with the bullshit while she sat back and counted her money? So that she could be the one with the smirk and the suit and the jowls? No amount of money was worth becoming that. She’d quit within a week and booked her ticket to Australia. Because it had seemed, at the time, so very far away from everything she wanted to escape.

  Reality snapped back and she crossed the room to the man, bent down next to him. She reached out and put her hand on his knee. He yelped and she pulled back.

  ‘Just me,’ she said.

  He stared at her, breathing heavily.

  ‘Delilah,’ she said. ‘My name is Delilah. You?’

  He went to speak but no sound came out. His eyes remained locked on hers.

  ‘Hey.’ She touched his knee again. He flinched but she didn’t back off. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Greg.’

  ‘Right. Greg, listen. We’re in trouble. I don’t know what sort, but it isn’t good. I need your phone.’

  He just kept staring. She tried to ignore the surge of hot fury she felt at his vapid expression.

  ‘Greg,’ she said, a little firmer. ‘If we can get the police out here, we might be okay.’

  He shook his head. ‘It . . . it’s in my car.’

  Shit. It would have almost been funny if jagged spikes of terror weren’t threatening every second to turn her into a quivering wreck.

  Of all the bad luck in the world. She knew she should get out there and tell Frank, knew she should be trying to think of a backup option, but the sheer cruelty of the whole thing had floored her, left her almost unable to move. Things like this just didn’t happen. Not to people like her.

  Greg wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He reached into his pocket and took out a flask. He unscrewed it and took a swig. Bleary eyed, he looked back at the door. ‘I think I might have fucked up.’

  Frank had felt this way before. Like he was dangling from a string above a sea of knives. He wanted to look up, to check if the string would hold, but any movement could shift the weight and snap it. So he was frozen. Waiting for Delilah to come out and say she’d phoned the police. Waiting for the attack. Waiting for anything.

  He half-considered crawling back into the storeroom himself, but then there’d be no way of knowing what those bastards were doing out there. He knew some were behind the roadhouse and the back entry was as accessible as the front, but he figured he’d have heard something if they were already inside. It wasn’t much to hang hope on. Just another fraying string.

  Moving very slowly, he shifted forwards onto his knees, then up until he was peering just over the counter. Too-bright light still filled the roadhouse but now, framed against the glare, he could see a stark silhouette. Very close to the screen door. He lifted the pistol.

  Maybe he could find a way to get to the house, without alerting them to Allie’s presence, then pick up the unconscious girl and bring her to them. If they wanted to get rid of witnesses, well, he could fight, and he could give Allie a chance to get clear. And maybe the unconscious girl o
n his couch did deserve it. Maybe handing her over wasn’t the wrong thing to do. Maybe it was the only sane choice. He lowered the pistol.

  ‘G’day,’ a deep voice came from the figure. ‘Mind if I come in?’

  Their sightlines were a lot better than his. Chances were they would open fire the moment he aimed the gun. If they were armed. It was a deadly chance to take.

  The voice again, mocking. ‘Righto. A bit put-out. Fair’s fair. Let me introduce myself. I’m Trent, and I’m hoping that you’re the kind of bloke who’ll listen to reason, because there’s really only one outcome here that we’re all gonna be happy with. You’re gonna give us that girl.’

  The mockery was gone. The voice was hard. Certain.

  ‘Maybe you don’t believe us yet. Let me give you some food for thought. This is Australia, mate. Boundless plains to share and all that. We help out our own, but when they spit in our face, they ain’t our own anymore. Then, they become something else. Reg told us all about you. Bloke like you, out here alone . . . I’d bet good money that you’ve seen some bad shit. Maybe even done some yourself. And that’s why you’re gonna play nice and give us the girl. Because to not do that is to spit in our faces and become that something else you sure as shit don’t wanna be. You or your granddaughter. You’re one of us. The girl ain’t. So go on and choose just what kind of bloke you wanna be.’

  Anger seared through cold fear. Frank moved fast. He pointed the gun just over the man’s shoulder and fired. The shot filled the space and rang in his ears. Cracks splintered out from the bullet hole in the window. The figure didn’t move. Frank ducked behind the counter again.

  ‘Alright.’ There was amusement in the voice. ‘Point taken. I’ll assume you can hear me then.’

  Frank said nothing. He thought he could hear laughter from outside.