I’d caught the Zolt.
I’d done what they asked.
More than they’d asked, because I’d brought him here, to Preacher’s Forest.
I shrugged.
The front rider gestured to Otto with a flick of his head: Get on the back.
Was he the one who had killed Elliott that day? I wondered.
Otto’s eyes were darting everywhere, and I knew exactly what he was doing: sizing up the situation, looking for a way out.
A police car appeared ahead, blue light flashing. And then another one. And another.
Otto, obviously, came to the same conclusion that I did. There was no way out.
He climbed onto the back of the bike.
‘But you can’t just leave me here!’ I said, the sirens getting louder.
The motorbike with Otto took off. The second one followed.
More police cars appeared.
‘Please,’ I said to the remaining rider.
He pointed a thumb at the back of the bike.
I didn’t waste any time, I got on.
He dropped the clutch, the motorbike bucked and we were away.
I was astonished at how fast we were going, how skilful the rider was as we flew over the rough terrain.
Ahead was scrub. Once we got in there the police wouldn’t be able to follow.
I took a look behind. Somehow, one of the police cars was still gaining on us.
And then it was next to us.
‘Stop now!’ came the voice over the loudspeaker. ‘Stop or we will shoot!’
Shoot? Tear gas? Rubber bullets? Surely not real bullets. But whatever they were going to use, it seemed like they had the upper hand. Stopping didn’t seem like such a bad option.
It’s not what the rider had in mind, though. ‘Hold on to me,’ he said.
I didn’t hesitate, wrapping my arms around his torso.
‘Stop or we will shoot!’ said the police.
A glance at my left was enough to confirm that there was now a gun pointing out of the window of the police car.
‘You have three seconds to stop,’ said the cop. ‘One. Two.’
As he said ‘Three’ the rider squeezed the brakes and threw the bike into a slide. Now I knew why he’d told me to hold on.
I gripped him tighter.
‘Stop or we will shoot!’ the police officer continued to loudhail, but it was an empty threat because we were now enveloped in a cloud of dust.
We came out of the slide, the rider accelerated and we spurted out of the dust and into the scrub. The police cars with their flashing and their wailing couldn’t go any further.
Especially not when the scrub got thicker, more heavily wooded.
We’d caught up to the bike with Otto on the back, and the third bike fell in behind us.
We zapped this way and that between the gum trees. A couple of times I even had to duck to avoid overhanging branches.
I was just thinking that Otto, with his extra height, would have to be even more careful, when Otto, with his extra height, did something extraordinary.
When the bike he was on flew under a branch, he reached up with both arms, grabbed the branch and hoisted himself up.
The Otto-less bike continued on its way, while my bike flew past.
But when I looked back it was to see Otto drop down from the tree, grab a branch that was lying on the ground and use it, baseball style, on the oncoming third rider.
This motorbike came crashing down, sending the rider rolling over and over across the ground.
But Otto was already wrenching his bike upright, and he was getting on the bike, and he was taking off in the opposite direction.
‘Wow!’ I said, and why not, it was now the most wow-worthy thing I’d ever seen, far outstripping the wow-worthiness of the Zolt’s hideout, like something from a movie that would take days and a squad of stunt-men to shoot. But there was also another feeling: If he escapes, have I still repaid the instalment?
The rider was on his feet, his arm dangling by his side at a weird angle. The other rider had turned around and was headed in the direction Otto had fled.
My rider stopped.
‘Get off,’ he said.
I didn’t need much persuading; I got off.
The rider with the dangling arm took my place on the back.
I watched until the two bikes had disappeared from view before I stepped out of the cumbersome gumboots and got on my own bike, the metaphorical one, the one that had feet instead of wheels.
COLLATERAL DAMAGE
The next day I woke really late, and in my head was this terrible, terrible thought: You didn’t pay the instalment!
But then there was a knock on the door and Dad came in.
‘Your grandfather and I have been waiting,’ he said.
‘For what?’ I said, but then I remembered. I would be branded after each successful repayment.
‘So I repaid it?’ I asked.
He nodded.
The question that had formed in my mind – But how do you know? – got swept away by a sudden, intense surge of emotion. There was relief – phew! I did it. And pride – wow! I did it! And fear – hell! I’ve got to do this five more times!
But why was he just standing there? I thought, noticing Dad’s bland features. Why didn’t he congratulate me or something?
‘So, we’ll see you at Gus’s in half an hour?’ he said.
‘Do we have to do it today?’ I said.
Dad nodded.
‘Well, you obviously don’t mind a barbecue,’ I said.
Dad gave me a weird sort of smile and the thought entered my mind: He actually does like a barbecue.
But I gave this thought short shrift: no father could possibly enjoy branding his own son.
‘Okay, Dad,’ I said. ‘I’ll meet you there.’
After he’d left the room I surfed through the channels on my TV, my thumb not giving any of them much of a chance.
Yes, I’d paid the instalment.
But Tristan was in a coma.
Imogen wasn’t talking to me.
And I was about to enter the hurt locker again.
What was that phrase that they used all the time when there was a war on? Collateral damage, that was it.
Damage that is incidental to the intended outcome.
Fox News was all getting excited. Breaking news! Breaking news! Breaking news!
A tsunami? I wondered.
Another 9/11?
No, a light plane believed to have been stolen by Otto Zolton-Bander had crashed in the outback. A witness to the crash, an opal miner, said that it was impossible that anybody could have survived such an impact.
A punch in the guts.
Nothing Tristan had done could come close to the feeling I felt right then. Otto Zolton-Bander dead. The Zolt, gone.
Damage that is incidental to the intended outcome.
Well, if this collateral damage continued at its present rate, by the time I’d paid off the sixth instalment, my life would be so collaterally damaged it wouldn’t be worth living.
Now private investigator Hound de Villiers, the only man to have successfully tracked Otto Zolton-Bander down, was talking.
‘If you live by the sword …’ he said, his face huge and craggy on the plasma, but that’s all I let him say before I turned the TV off.
It was time for me to go get branded.
Don’t flinch, I told myself as the brand came closer and closer, the letter P at its tip glowing incandescently.
But when hairs started singeing I couldn’t help it: I drew back slightly.
‘For Chrissakes, stay still,’ said Dad, and again that crazy thought: he’s actually enjoying this.
Over his shoulder I could see Gus, his eyes wet with tears.
‘You’re just making it worse on yourself,’ said Dad.
The crazy thought, like before, disappeared. He, like me, just wanted to get it over and done with.
‘Okay,’ I said, tensing
my leg, screwing my eyes shut.
Heat, getting closer and closer, the pain, even worse than the first time, and then the nauseating smell of seared flesh.
One, two, three seconds and the brand was gone.
A low, rumbling sound.
And it took me a while to dissociate this from the other sensations – the pain, the smell – and realise that it was coming from above the house.
‘What’s that?’ I said.
‘Some idiot flying too low,’ said Gus.
Some idiot?
I pulled up my shorts and started for the door.
‘Steady,’ said Dad.
But I kept going, ignoring the pain from my scorched thigh.
Through the kitchen, through the front door and onto the lawn.
It had to be, I thought.
But how could I be sure?
And then I remembered what he’d said about dropping a coin in my pool.
I ran, the pain from the brand flaring white-hot, across Gus’s lawn, across our lawn.
Not breaking step, I tossed my iPhone on a deckchair and dived into the pool, spreading water with both hands.
And there, on the bottom, was a large gold coin.
On it was an eagle, with the words United States of America Twenty Dollars above, and In God We Trust below.
But it was like no other coin I’d ever seen – the eagle was almost lifelike, as if it was struggling to free itself from the coin’s lustrous surface.
I grabbed the coin and surfaced.
There, on the western horizon, I could just make out a small plane, wobbling towards the sun.
I watched until it disappeared from view.
Once upon a time, and not so long ago, I didn’t have to do this stuff: feign complete surprise, tell endless lies. But now, ever since The Debt, it seems like that’s all I do.
Read what happens next …
February 2013
Great Prizes
Collect 2 codes over 2 books to WIN!
Grand Prize
A week on the Gold Coast for a family of four, including airfares, accommodation and Super Pass for entry to Movie World, Sea World and Wet’n’Wild.
RUNNER UP PRIZES include Skins tights and book packs.
The competition is open to residents of Australia only.
Visit www.thedebtbooks.com.au for full terms and conditions.
CRACK THE CODES
You’ll find cryptic sentences in the back of specially marked copies of Catch the Zolt: The Debt Instalment One and Turn off the Lights: The Debt Instalment Two.
Read Catch the Zolt – particularly the part where Dom decodes the Zolt’s poetry – to learn how to crack the code.
Decipher each sentence and enter both your answers at www.thedebtbooks.com.au to access the competition entry form. Competition closes: 15 March 2013.
HOW TO ENTER
1. Enter your solution to Code 1 in ‘The Safe’ section of www.thedebtbooks.com.au
If your answer is correct, this will unlock special bonus content relating to Dom’s story. (Keep your answer safe. You’ll need it again later.)
2. Read Turn off the Lights: The Debt Instalment Two (available February 2013) to get Code 2 3. Enter your solutions to both Code 1 and Code 2 in ‘The Safe’ section of www.thedebtbooks.com.au to access the competition entry form before 15 March 2013
Remember – you’ll need both codes in order to enter the competition. The entry form will ask you to fill in your details online and answer a creative question in 25 words or less.
Unlock Code 1!
Decipher this cryptic sentence:
(Hint: read Catch the Zolt – particularly the part where Dom decodes the Zolt’s poetry – to learn how to crack the code.)
Can’t email anyone from this weirdo piece
Enter your answer in ‘The Safe’ section of
www.thedebtbooks.com.au for exclusive bonus content relating to Dom’s story.
Keep your answer safe.
Code 2 is available with Turn off the Lights: The Debt
Instalment Two in February 2013.
Once you solve both codes you can visit
www.thedebtbooks.com.au to access the competition entry form and have the chance to win great prizes. (The entry form will ask you to fill in your details online and answer a creative question in 25 words or less.)
The competition is open to residents of Australia only.
Visit www.thedebtbooks.com.au for full terms and conditions.
Want to access more cool stuff?
www.thedebtbooks.com.au
Get top-secret information with exclusive back stories, enter competitions, grab giveaways, watch trailers, and find out more about the author and your favourite characters.
HAVE YOU GOT WHAT IT TAKES TO TAKE ON THE DEBT?
Catch the Zolt Page 18