He pulled out the knife. Blood poured as the man fell into the grass.
Frank stood, staggered away. He found his handgun nearby. He didn’t bother with the rifle. He wouldn’t be able to lift it, even if he wanted to. He took one last look at the still-twitching man. He couldn’t hear the laughter anymore.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The wall was full of bullet holes now. Hunched on the floor against the couch, Allie tried to count them. In some places the bullets had hit so close together that they’d become large, scorched black holes. It was impossible to tell how many had hit. She looked over at Maggie. The young woman was sitting below the window, her back flattened against the wall and her bad leg stretched out in front of her, shotgun in hand.
‘They were baiting me,’ Maggie said. ‘They wanted to see where I was shooting from. If I tried to hit the rope . . .’ She shook her head. ‘My aim isn’t good enough.’
‘It seems good enough.’
Maggie looked at her. ‘Would you rather I took the risk and left you alone in here?’
Allie made herself hold that steady gaze. ‘You saved my life. You . . . I hid under the bed. You came right in and killed him. I’ve never met anyone as brave as you. They don’t scare you at all.’
Maggie looked at her for a long time. When she spoke, her voice was soft. ‘I’ve never been so scared in my life.’
Allie didn’t know what to say. She looked away. Maggie’s fearlessness and fury had become something she was holding on to, a hope that there was somebody here to protect her and see them safe to the morning. If Maggie was as scared as she herself was, if she really was just a badly injured girl who knew how to use a shotgun, then that hope was dead.
‘But I’m not going to give that to them,’ Maggie said.
Allie looked up.
‘They want my fear,’ Maggie said. ‘They know what the scared pig will do. And it’s that fear that they crave. It’s knowing that they have that power over someone. It makes them gods. More addictive than any drug, I’ll bet.’ Maggie’s hands tightened around the gun. ‘Look, this isn’t the first bad situation I’ve found myself in. And I’ll do my best to survive. But if I don’t, the least I can do – the absolute least I can do – is not give them the satisfaction of knowing how fucking scared I am.’
For a moment neither of them spoke.
‘Who are they?’ Allie asked.
Maggie shrugged. ‘Couldn’t tell you. I was travelling with someone, we took a turn, there they were. Not what I was looking for. Not the type of people I ever planned to cross. Just some isolated little pocket of this country that was forgotten long enough to turn bad.’
‘They’re a bit more than bad.’
Maggie nodded. ‘Yeah.’ She cocked her head, looked up at the ceiling. ‘My best guess? It was an old sheep station or something, a big one. Or a mining camp. The gold dried up, or whatever else they were there for. People stopped coming. The ones who’d been there long enough had nowhere else to go. And if the world had forgotten them, they might as well forget the world. Then . . .’ Maggie exhaled. ‘Who knows? A fight went wrong. Somebody died. They realised nobody was going to punish them. So they started doing the punishing. Then it became fun. Then it was all they knew.’ She looked at Allie again. ‘There’s an old joke. If you took all the criminals in the world, put them on an island and left them for a hundred years, what is the first thing they’d say to you when you came back?’
Allie had no idea.
Maggie smiled. ‘Probably something like “G’day, mate”.’
They had left Delilah behind one of the utes, still bound. Not that there was much point. She was lying on her side, staring.
Greg wanted to say something to her. But he didn’t know what. So he just stood there, somewhere between where she lay and where Trent muttered to Janice and another woman.
‘I don’t give a fuck what you say, Rhonda,’ Janice snarled. ‘We stay until we have the bitch. She doesn’t get to die quick, you hear?’
Greg seemed to have been partly forgotten, but he doubted that was going to last. Either they were going to launch an all-out attack on the house, or they were going to try something else to lure Maggie out. And while he was hardly going to work as bait, he didn’t trust for a second that they wouldn’t try.
He glanced back at Trent and the two women. They were still arguing.
He moved slowly over to Delilah. In the shadow of the car, he crouched. She didn’t acknowledge him. He reached out and touched her shoulder. No reaction.
‘Delilah,’ he whispered.
She didn’t move.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry he . . . I’m so sorry that happened.’ He paused. She said nothing. He went to continue.
‘He was a nurse,’ she said quietly. ‘He just wanted to help people.’
Greg didn’t speak.
‘That’s what he died for,’ Delilah said. ‘For trying to help.’
Greg moved a bit closer, keeping his voice low. ‘They’re evil. Beyond that. We have to get out of here.’
Delilah didn’t speak.
‘Nobody’s watching us,’ he pushed ahead. ‘They’re all preoccupied with the house. If we . . . if we ran, we could make it to the road before they noticed a thing. We’re not the priority. We could call the police. We could help the others.’
Delilah looked at him.
‘Delilah,’ he said.
She nodded.
Something dangerously close to hope flared in his stomach. He crouched over her and got to work trying to undo the ropes. It took him a few attempts: the knots were tight and his hands were sweaty. But in a couple of minutes, she was free.
She sat up, rubbing her wrists. She didn’t look at him.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
‘And help the others?’ She was still looking down.
‘Yes. But we have to—’
‘Was that why?’
Greg frowned. ‘Was what why?’
Delilah looked at him. ‘Was that why you snuck out? Why you told them about the house? Just trying to help?’
Greg gaped at her. ‘I . . . We don’t have time for this.’
Delilah shrugged. ‘They wouldn’t have found Charlie if you hadn’t sent them this way.’ There was a new coldness in her voice.
‘That’s not . . .’ Greg swallowed. ‘Delilah, you have to—’
It happened fast. Her hands were up, holding the ropes that just seconds earlier had bound her. Greg was too shocked and confused to move – then the ropes were around his neck and Delilah was pulling. He gasped and clawed at them, but she pulled tighter. Her face was in his. Her eyes, dead and empty, were the worst thing he had ever seen.
She pulled tighter.
Greg could feel his hands weakening. His chest burned. He sucked at air that wasn’t there, each attempt to draw it in making everything hurt worse, hurt to the point where Greg was almost ready to just let go, let it end.
And then, faintly, he heard the sound of applause.
‘Alright, love, let’s stop that.’
Delilah’s face was tugged from his vision. He could breathe again. He sucked in air, coughing, rubbing his neck. He sat up.
On her knees, Delilah grabbed at her hair, pulled right back by the hand of a young woman. She looked maybe eighteen or nineteen. She was dressed in an oversized shirt and ripped jeans. A thick tangle of blonde hair almost obscured her pale face.
‘Get the fuck off me,’ Delilah snarled.
The girl shoved the side of her head, hard. Delilah hit the ground.
‘Fucking clueless, you two,’ she said. ‘I was sitting here in the tray the whole time.’ She nodded to the ute behind them. ‘I heard the whole thing. Good fun. I was gonna let her kill you, man, but I don’t reckon Trent woulda liked that.’
Greg just stared at her.
Delilah tried to get up. The other girl’s boot took her hard in the face. She hit the ground, bleeding and spluttering.
‘There’s a good piggie,’ the girl said calmly. ‘Now.’ She looked at Greg. He could hardly see her face through the hair. ‘Thinking about doing a runner, are you, mate? Can’t have that. You handed yourself over. That makes you ours. Can’t go back on a deal like that.’
‘There was no deal,’ Greg said. ‘I have nothing to do with any of this. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone.’
Even through the hair, the girl’s sneer was obvious. ‘You know they all say that, right? As if we’d ever trust you. Right now, it’s the fear talking. Once you’re a few days clear, that do-gooder impulse’ll get ya.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘And that’s a right bloody headache for us. Now, take this one for example.’ She pointed to Delilah, who was now on hands and knees, trying to get up. ‘We hung her bloke. She’s a bit pissed off about it. Which I get, by the way. The bitch in there?’ She pointed at the house. ‘Killed my Steve. I’m not gonna let that slide. So, I know what it’s like.’ She returned her gaze to Delilah. ‘So, if this girl promises she won’t tell anyone, should we believe her?’
Greg said nothing.
Delilah was on her knees now, straightening up, trying to breathe through a broken nose.
The girl bent over behind her. Leaned in close. Reached out and, very gently, took a hold of Delilah’s head with both hands. One hand slowly, almost tenderly, traced her cheek down to caress her throat.
‘Well?’ the girl whispered. ‘Should we believe you?’
‘Believe this.’ Delilah’s voice was thick. ‘You’re going to fucking bleed.’
The girl’s sneer grew as she snapped Delilah’s neck.
Frank didn’t know how much blood he’d lost. His thoughts had become scattered but he’d been clear enough on one thing: he couldn’t make a beeline straight back for the house. Instead, knowing full well the risk he had moved fast and low in a long arc, through the grass and around to the back of the house. He had wrapped his shoulder as best he could, using an old rag he had in the back of the dead quad bike. The bindings were rudimentary at best; every few seconds he felt them loosen.
The pain was dull, now. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. Maybe it was a sign of blood loss. That alone made him move faster. A couple of times he’d sensed his fingers going slack around the gun and forced himself to tighten his grip, to lift it, to remain alert. But then his focus would slip again. Thoughts that he neither wanted nor needed danced through his mind, somewhere between taunting and triumphant. How many men had he killed tonight? How many more before the sun rose? Would he see the sun rise and, at this stage, did he want to?
The answer to that was simple, even through the clouds that were filling his brain. He would make sure his fate was the same as Allie’s. There was no world in which he called his son to explain that he had lost her.
Ahead now, he could see the back of the house, straight on. There were two vehicles there, parked at inverted angles, high beams strong and illuminating the back door. He stopped and crouched a little lower, catching himself as his body tilted. He lifted the gun again. He could make out two shapes between the cars. Two of them watching the back of the house. It was possible there were more of them inside the cars, but if so, they would be held up at least momentarily. He looked to the edges of the house. He knew more cars waited around either side, but they would be concentrating on the windows, looking for signs of movement. The only thing stopping them from storming the place was that they didn’t know where somebody might be waiting with a weapon. That, at least, was a source of minor relief: somebody was inside the house – and that meant Allie probably was too.
He had to get as close as he could before he fired. The noise would bring the men from the perimeter, they’d be on him in seconds. He tried to move his left arm and clenched his teeth as pain surged. It was heavy, throwing his balance off. He was going to be lucky to get two good shots in. He had to move soon; the longer he waited, the more incapacitated he would be.
He started forwards, keeping in a crouch. He wanted to go quietly but his injuries made it nearly impossible. He couldn’t worry about that. He straightened up, just slightly. The two figures by the house were clearer now; men, by the looks of it. He raised the gun and pointed at one. His arm wavered. Fuck. He slowed and stopped. He was metres away. The shot was easy. He willed his arm to steady.
The man turned.
Frank fired.
The bullet took him in the neck. With a gurgling moan he fell back as the other man spun and Frank fired again. The bullet hit the house. The man started to lift his rifle. Frank fired twice more, hitting him in the gut. He slammed against the car.
Frank ran. It didn’t matter that he was grunting in pain or that he could hear yelling. There was no point in trying to be smart now. That option was gone. He ran between the cars, past the still moving men, up the couple of concrete stairs and, as gunshots erupted on either side of him, he pushed open the back door, dived in and fell hard as he slammed it shut behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Allie heard the back door burst open and the shots that followed. Maggie was already on her feet, running for the hall, gun raised. Allie followed; she knew this was it, they had broken in and—
She saw the figure lying face down in the hall, trying to stand. She saw the blood. Maggie aimed the shotgun.
‘Stop!’ Allie cried.
Frank was heaving himself further up the hall with one arm, breathing ragged. A pistol lay beside him. Allie ran past Maggie, skidding to her knees beside her grandfather, rolling him over and, with some difficulty, trying to help him sit up.
‘Door,’ Frank croaked.
Maggie was already there, shotgun up, levelled at the back door. But there was no sound. The shots had ceased.
Allie looked at Frank’s shirt. It was torn to shreds and soaked in blood.
‘Get him into the living room,’ Maggie said, eyes not leaving the door. ‘The bandages and stuff are still there. Were you shot?’
‘Yeah.’ Frank tried to stand but couldn’t. Allie slung his good arm over her shoulder and, despite how heavy he was, helped him up. Frank moved with her and together they stood.
‘The bullet?’ Maggie asked.
‘Straight through,’ Frank said.
‘Go,’ Maggie said.
Together, Allie and Frank hobbled towards the living room. A whole new terror was building in Allie’s chest. If Frank died . . .
‘I’m fine,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Well, near enough.’
They reached the living room. Allie guided him onto the couch. He looked up at her. ‘You’re okay.’
‘She saved me. A man got in here but she killed him.’
Frank looked to the doorway. He didn’t speak. Allie hurried to find the bandages. One-armed, Frank started pulling the bedraggled, blood-soaked rags from his shoulder before, wincing, peeling away what was left of his shirt.
Maggie limped into the living room, holding Frank’s pistol with the shotgun under her arm. In her other hand she held a glass of water. She walked over to the couch, gave Frank the drink and put the pistol next to him. ‘Can you shoot?’
‘I did well enough on the way here,’ Frank said. ‘But I’ll have to stick with the pistol.’
Allie returned to the couch, arms full of bandages. She hesitated upon seeing the bullet hole. Then she moved on to the couch, on her knees and, concentrating as best she could, started to bind Frank’s shoulder.
‘Nice and tight,’ Maggie said. ‘Don’t be gentle.’
‘Easy for you to say.’ Frank grimaced as Allie wrapped the bandages. ‘How’s the leg?’
‘Okay,’ Maggie said. ‘Thank you. Look, they’re going to stop fucking around soon. They want me to die slowly, but—’
‘They’ve lost too many men.’ The ragged curtains waved gently from the warm breeze outside. It carried no voices. Whatever they were doing out there, they were doing it silently and that made Frank feel very cold.
‘So what are our options?�
� Maggie said.
‘Not many,’ Frank replied. ‘If they decide to throw caution to the wind and mount an all-out assault, we’re as good as dead.’
‘Which they’ll do before morning,’ Maggie said. ‘They won’t want to risk the police getting involved.’
It was, Allie thought as she started on the second layer of bandages, like two generals coming up with a battle plan.
‘I take it they’ve covered all the exits?’ Maggie said.
Frank leaned back. He frowned slightly. ‘Almost.’
‘Almost?’
‘There’s a cellar. I almost never use it, but it has an exit to the left of the house. It’s hard to see unless you know it’s there – from outside it just looks like a scuffed patch of dirt. I haven’t opened it in years.’
‘That,’ Maggie said, ‘would have been great to know about earlier.’ She glanced at Allie, who shrugged. She’d had no idea.
‘Not really,’ Frank said. ‘It’s not like it goes for ages underground. It would get us out directly in the line of their fire. If not right under them. The element of surprise doesn’t count for much if we get shot to shit.’
‘The element of surprise is more than we have right now.’ Maggie closed her eyes. ‘Alright. We need to think. What do we have and how can we use it?’
Delilah’s body dropped, her neck twisted at an awful, wrong angle.
Greg stared at the blonde girl. She seemed so thin, almost delicate. Not capable of what he had just seen. ‘What is wrong with you people?’ Greg could hear the tears in his voice and he hated it.
‘Wrong with us? Hold up the mirror, mate. You’re a man.’
She slapped him. Greg’s ears hummed and his cheek smarted. Her hand was around his neck, her face in his. ‘A man. Men don’t squeal and piss themselves and cry like fucking pussies. Jesus Christ, no wonder the country’s in the pits when you’re the best the cities are offering up.’
‘I don’t kill people,’ Greg managed.
‘Squealing pigs who can’t take care of themselves or their own. Getting rid of pricks like you? Mate, we’re doing the world a favour.’
The Hunted Page 17