This Strange Hell

by C. J. Sutton

  “Fine,” he said. “We go tonight. Bring your shotgun. There’s six of them, fuck it. See if Kane and Sharon feel like making a stand.”

  There was one name they hadn’t discussed.

  “Billy won’t go. He’ll stay with Jane. Siphon will know Billy was there, but the man won’t come. I wish Jane had been there, because at least she would have the courage to do what’s right.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” said Mick. “You seem to piss him off.”

  If not for the dire circumstances, the duo would have laughed. Not here. Not now. Clouds took away the sun, thin trees bending at right angles in an effort to stay upright. Mick went to leave, but Charlene spoke.

  “I love her, Mick. You won’t approve. I’m doing this for her.”

  “I know,” said Mick. “And you’re wrong. I do approve.”

  Wiggles and Sammy were nowhere to be seen, but Charlene could hear the rock music blasting out of the garage. The piercing scream by the lead singer shook the tools nailed to the walls. Beneath a car she could see two white legs sticking out.

  “Kane,” she said, but the music was too loud. She grabbed his ankles and pulled. Kane slid out and pointed a handgun at Charlene’s face.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “The fuck do you want,” slurred Kane, bourbon transferring from his mouth to Charlene’s nose. He wore only underwear, and his body was covered in thick grease.

  “I have an opportunity for you, Kane.”

  “Fuck off.”

  He slid himself back under the car, an aged Commodore that he’d been restoring with Tom. But Charlene noticed his only tools were a handgun and a bottle that was almost empty. She grabbed his ankles again.

  “I said fuck off!”

  Charlene squeezed Kane’s balls so hard that he dropped his gun and tipped over the bottle. His face scrunched up, but he was now in a state of paralysis.

  “We’re going to see Siphon tonight. Something tells me it could be the last time. You can lay here drinking piss wishing Tom was here, or you can come with us.”

  As she let go, Kane appeared to sober up. He wiped tears from his face and lifted off the pulley.

  “You’re going to the barn?” he asked, like a child in a classroom.

  “There’s no point hiding anymore. They have Karen. They’ve killed Tom. It’s only a matter of days before Siphon orders the next person dead. We can’t live like this anymore.”

  Kane stuck out his bottom lip, which had specks of blood from the deep cracks caused by dehydration.

  “Why don’t you just leave the Ridge?”

  “And do what?” she said, hearing Sammy’s voice from across the lawn. “They make sure we have no savings. We can’t start a life anywhere else. And if I leave, who’s going to keep you out of trouble? They’ve never kidnapped someone from town before. Something changed. If they’re going to push, it’s about time we pushed back. And…I may have a card up my sleeve.”

  Kane didn’t prod. He nodded, re-applied himself on the pulley and rolled back under the car. He didn’t speak. Charlene knew he would be there. Kane was the protector of the Pritchard name. Despite losing a brother, the biggest insult had been his helplessness to save a Pritchard. The image of Tom being strangled by Brick would haunt the man for the rest of his days, and no death of Brick or amount of alcohol had the ability to remove that memory.

  Charlene drove through town while the sun battled with clouds for dominance. She never expected to take a final stand but remembered the words of the man they called Greg. A united town may fall, but it beats a life of slavery. She’d forgotten his exact phrase, and realised he was poetic compared to their country speak. The Ridge would remember the sacrifice made by its citizens. For too long Siphon and Hayes had made them live in fear. It was no life. The fact that it took an outsider to show them this was painful, but also refreshing. Sometimes a new viewpoint changes the way you see things. The man’s presence in the barn added surprise to the cause, for not even Charlene knew what he would do when they arrived. But to have a player deep within enemy lines put her at relative ease.

  Stopping off to fill up her car with fuel, Charlene saw Sharon doing the same with her Pub Tub. With the Saturday morning drop off out of town nigh, Sharon stood with the enthusiasm of an inmate on death row. At the very least, the window had been fixed.

  “Morning Shaz,” said Charlene, inserting the nozzle into the hole.

  “Morning Charlene. What’s news?”

  Funny, how two simple words could conjure such barbed thoughts.

  “Same old. Expecting many to head out today?”

  “A full tub. There’s a Farmers’ Market in Eden. Last time I had to make an extra trip. Jerry will be pleased because it means more outsiders for him to swindle later on. But I swear, if any of the Ridge boys give me shit I’ll be leaving them in Eden.”

  “Just make sure Mick and Billy get back. We have some business later on.”

  Sharon turned her thick neck and glanced at Charlene.

  “Those bastards are the ones I’m worried about.”

  “I imagine they will be on their best behaviour today.”

  Sharon muttered something under her breath, scratching her rear with her free hand.

  “How’s Karen, anyway? I’ve got a toe that’s going green. Might need her to lop it off.”

  The mere mention of Karen in a friendly context sent sharp pains into Charlene. Despite living in the Ridge, Sharon remained on the outskirts of the chaos. She knew of Tom’s death, and was a familiar face to all citizens, but during the week you were lucky to spot her within town. This was because of Hayes. Had Sharon removed her cardigan, the full view of Killer’s bite and scratch marks would cause most people to turn away. Hayes had tempted Sharon’s teenage son into drug-use, and he soon became a prime client for the gang. When payments weren’t being made but his hits were necessary, Hayes used her son as a weekly combatant in the barn. He never won. The drugs had thinned him out and weakened his bones. Every night he would turn up on his mother’s doorstep broken and bleeding and pleading for money, needing Karen or Lilly to stitch him up for his next drug escapade. Sharon, fed up with this cycle, knocked on the barn door one day and demanded that the gang leave her son alone. Hayes let her in. Nobody else was around. He muttered a single word and Killer attacked with vicious intent. Charlene had seen Sharon as she stumbled into Karen’s house. Her arms were completely red and dripping. She never spoke of her son again, and nobody else ever saw him.

  “Might need your help later on, if you’re interested?” said Charlene, shaking the nozzle and trying to sound indifferent.

  “What’s the job?”

  Up ahead, at pump 9, Harvard started to fill up his ute. This usually triggered tails between legs. But in the locals Charlene saw pure anger seeping out of their pores. There was no fear in daylight. As much as she wanted to run up to Harvard and shake him for Karen’s location, the time was near.

  “It’s a bit of a clean-up. A return to old ways.”

  Sharon watched Charlene closely, seeing the eyes dart towards Harvard. She nodded.

  “You know I’m always up for a fight,” she said.

  Charlene’s final stop was with Wallace. She entered the property to see Lilly tending to the pot plants on the veranda. Sun always shone brightest here. The animals were always content, as though an invisible dome separated them from the politics of the Ridge. Lilly wore thick gloves and was covered in soil, full concentration on a stubborn green stem.

  “Wallace around?” asked Charlene, just as the old man stepped onto the veranda.

  “You rang?”

  He was dressed in hunting gear, a rifle slung over his back. To Charlene’s surprise, he’d even had a shower and shave.

  “Off on another hunt?” she asked, watching the grace in which Lilly fingered the soil.

  “You could say that.”

  Wallace was in no mood to talk. He kissed Lilly on the forehead and started to walk towards the drive
way.

  “We need to push the plans forward. And I mean fast-forward: tonight.”

  Charlene struggled to keep up, tripping on a tyre and almost falling into bush.

  “Can’t do,” he said, entering his ute and turning the ignition.

  “What do you mean?” she yelled, competing with engine. But Wallace was too preoccupied. He reversed out of the driveway so fast that by the time the dust settled Charlene couldn’t even see his ute. She cursed under her breath. Wallace, the man who had placed a rat in Siphon’s ranks, now seemed disinterested in joining the cause. Charlene thought to follow him, now suspicious of the old man’s role in Sulley Ridge, but she heard Lilly’s voice over the rustle of the leaves above. The tune was old, stolen from a vault five decades ago and updated with a fresh new sound. In the soothing melody Charlene stopped and took in her surroundings. The Randall farm rivalled the Corden farm in grandeur. The angle to which it viewed the Ridge made the rock formations appear more united. Charlene leaned against her car and absorbed the view, acknowledging her own views as very basic. But she knew to someone like Greg, such surroundings would emit a calmer vibe.

  The woman drove away, watching the sun bake the eucalyptus trees for perhaps the last time.

  Four Million Stalkers

  The man unlocked the barn door and peered within. He heard the sniffing and scratching of Killer, the dog’s ears pricking up at the animal wedged under the man’s left arm. He expected the Rottweiler to charge at the door and rip the chicken in two, but Killer cautiously stuck his face through the gap in the barn door and stiffened at the sight of live poultry flapping in constraint.

  “C’mon, little fella,” said the man, moving backwards and dropping the chicken to the grass. With a leash around its feathered neck, the man continued a slow pace as Killer crept forward, mouth salivating with thick foam. He watched the chicken with such focus that the man may as well have been invisible. They waded through thicker bush and fallen trees to avoid the recognition of Billy, the sound of his radio filling the atmosphere. Killer’s pink tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth, the view of teeth that had gored so many citizens now sparkling against the sunlight. When the chicken got too close to Killer, his predatory instincts kicked in and he lashed at wings. But the slow chase was preferred. The man looked over his shoulder and saw Wallace start up his ute. He picked up the chicken, tossed it in the back, tying the leash to the handrail and watching Killer leap up with ease. And then they were off.

  “I’ll admit, I expected to see you bleeding from a few holes. I’m almost disappointed,” said Wallace, swerving onto the scenic route towards the ridge formation.

  “That dog scares the shit out of me, but when he saw live lunch he entered a trance.”

  They expected to hear the vicious sounds of teeth ripping flesh, but instead the rear was silent. The man saw Killer curled up in one corner watching the chicken try to fly away. But with the leash tied to the back, the poor thing couldn’t move far and sensed danger.

  Wallace rattled his ute up the incline on ground rarely travelled. A likely tourist hot-spot in its prime, the Ridge was now left to those who dared remain. From the side-mirror the man could see all of town behind them, a pebble dropped in murky waters. He noted the beauty of the region, the hills and rock formations creating panoramic views worthy of hanging in a family home. Green thrived the further they climbed, towering trees craning branches in freedom.

  The ute went off road and bounced down a narrow pass. The chicken fluttered, but Killer managed to remain rooted to the same corner. When Wallace parked alongside a steep cliff, the man cut the chicken free and watched a white heap bound out of the ute and into the shrub. Killer glared at the man. It was a look of understanding. The Rottweiler leaped out of the ute and followed the chicken into the wild.

  “You know he’ll get another dog, right?” said the man, leaning against a tree to look out from the viewpoint.

  “Yeah,” said Wallace, blowing smoke rings. “But fuck this one.”

  The wind whipped at their clothes, slapping cloth against skin. The man noticed how easy it would be to jump off the rocks and plummet fifty feet to his death.

  “Are you sure I should do this?” he asked.

  “What’s that old saying about two birds and one stone?”

  Despite their plans with Charlene and Morris, these men had been forced to re-evaluate and alter the rules.

  “I know how bad Siphon is. Hayes too. But the others are just lost men caught in the net,” said the man, trying to talk himself sane.

  “They chose to hurt the people of this town just as much as their boss. They chant in the barn, they take from hard workers. And they would follow a new boss with the same motives.”

  The man withdrew Wallace’s mobile phone and entered the town’s name into the text message. His finger lingered over send.

  “Do you trust Morris?” he asked. “Your conversations were quite heated.”

  Wallace stamped out his cigarette and lit another.

  “You’ve got to realise that Morris can’t hang around in town after dark. After what happened to Max…who would want to? He’s as frustrated as anyone. Morris grew up in Sulley Ridge when the town was peaceful, so to see his home this way cuts deep. He’s a good lad. He’ll do what is necessary, I guarantee it.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Because he’s my son.”

  The man turned, noticing the pain on Wallace’s face.

  “Your son? The cop is your son?”

  “He was training with Max to be a cop. Looked up to his brother more than he looked up to me. Rightly so. If Morris remained here after Max was murdered, he would’ve received the same fate. The town believes we had a falling out and we hate each other. I’m not even sure Siphon knows, but either way he doesn’t care. Morris has been waiting for the opportunity you’re about to provide. He will deliver, I promise you that. I’ve lived here, waiting to watch my boy avenge his brother.”

  The man pressed send. He expected a wave of fear to wash upon him, but nothing changed. The wind still blew, the view still impressed, and Wallace still smoked his cigarettes. From this vantage point the world seemed calm. Devils did not dwell in mountain ranges. They lived off the good deeds of the people and thrived when adding anarchy to innocence.

  “I’ll be watching your back, kid. Nobody knows these parts like I do.”

  “It’s not my back I’m worried about,” said the man, kicking a stone and watching it disappear into forest below.

  “Hundreds are dead. Your name ruined. Physical and mental scares. Oncoming confrontation. Tell me: was she worth it?”

  The man saw Jasmine’s face as clear as the clouds parting way for the sun. He heard the gunshot, felt her shudder. But the most prominent memory was the way she looked at her boy. Pure. For he could have been without all four limbs and all five senses and she still would’ve looked at him that way. Before this he lusted her and desired her in his life. Once he saw that look, nothing else mattered in his workaholic existence.

  “If I contributed to the death of those people, I’m truly sorry. Jasmine was worth what I sacrificed, and in the end, I didn’t sacrifice much because I’m still here. But everyone thinks I’m a mass murderer when real mass murderers are on the loose. It’s time we push the boundaries a little more. Either way, it seems easier out here in the country.”

  “Easier?” said Wallace, trying to hide his anger.

  “Wrong word. Maybe simpler. You don’t have more than four hundred in this town. I was running from four million.”

  After a brief moment of silence, the men climbed back into the ute and drove down through the mountains.

  “What if Siphon breaks up my meeting?” asked the man.

  “I get the feeling he’ll be busy tonight.”

  As they rumbled towards town the barn loomed with red vigour, the afternoon sun casting its deepest yellow beams onto the surface. The man remembered his time vividly.

&
nbsp; “I’m surprised the Pritchard boys haven’t burned the barn down,” said the man, recalling Wiggles and Tom beneath the tree after a severe beating.

  “Fire doesn’t solve everything, kid. In my experience, burning only causes more death and pain. In your experience too, perhaps?”

  The man nodded.

  Keys to the Kingdom

  The burned man received a text on his dead wife’s phone. The vibration sent a powerful feeling through the muscles in his legs. As afternoon declined, the warehouse windows were too bright to look through as his employees packed pills into a thousand clothing bundles. It read:

  Sulley Ridge. Tonight. The Pub. If not tonight, never.

  He showed Ren and she used Google Maps on her phone to check the travel distance.

  “Five hours if we leave right now,” she said, shaking slightly. The excitement was contagious, and everyone wanted to know where Brady Lockhart was hiding. Ren became the second person in the world to read of his current location, and the gesture made her giddy. Mason was next. He smiled a disgusting grin. As he cupped his hands to his mouth to announce the whereabouts of their enemy, Ren kicked him in the genitals. He went down like a man converted to religion. The burned man leaned down to his level.

  “If you tell them,” he said, lips barely moving, “the location of Brady Lockhart will spill onto the streets. And then, while I’m sitting across from the man who killed my wife and boy, others will raid the pub and do my job for me. I don’t want that. Keep your mouth shut and load the car with the pistols. Don’t make me remind you to put them under the fake flooring.”

  The burned man waved William over. The young man was yelling at another for not packing the drugs properly.

  “Yes boss?”

  “Point out my five hardest workers in this warehouse right now. Five people that will do anything I ask and not hesitate.”

  William raised his arm and chose diligently, a mind promoted. The burned man cared not for their reasoning, he just wanted mercenaries willing to kill for coin should the time arise.