by C. J. Sutton
Hayes appeared from the far side of the barn where the cages were kept and charged at Kane. He drove the target hard into the ground as the baseball bat fell away. With his Akubra still fastened to his head, Hayes began swiping at Kane’s ribs.
“What the fuck did you do with Killer, huh? Where the fuck is he? I swear I’m going to tear Sammy and Wiggles apart limb by limb until you tell me where the fuck he is!”
Once the element of surprise was lost, Kane realised who was upon him and lifted his knees. With a powerful motion, he placed both feet at Hayes’ chest and kicked out with force. Hayes flew back two metres, landed against a bale of hay and charged once more.
“Enough!”
At the top of the stairs stood Siphon, smiling.
“Ease up, Hayes. They’ve come to fess up to their crime.”
“Yeah that’s great,” he said, panting. “But where’s Killer?”
Charlene remembered that Hayes set Killer onto Kane during the public hanging. Now the dog had vanished. She noticed the crew were losing their order, but with another twenty men ready to step into their roles it barely registered on Siphon.
“Your dog probably chased a chicken to the creek. You know how Billy lets ‘em out. Keep your cool.”
As if waking from a hypnotism session, Hayes straightened his vest and noticed Charlene and Mick for the first time. He stepped back, joining Harvard and Whizz. Charlene looked around. Where the fuck is Greg? she thought.
“It was the three of you who broke into my barn, stole my girl and smashed a hole in the wall?” he said. The silence was deafening. Charlene didn’t think such a thing was possible.
“It was my idea,” said Charlene, her legs quivering. “I thought Karen was being kept in here because I received photos in the mail. I forced these men to come with me. Blame sits with me.”
Siphon laughed and began to descend the rickety staircase.
“See what being a lesbian has caused you to do? You’re supposed to be the best of them, Charlene. And now you’ve broken my one rule. That girl died because of you. We burned her,” he said, reaching the floor and walking over to them. “But first, Whizz raped her. And then Wolfgang. Harvard couldn’t get it up, so Hayes used a broomstick as a replacement cock. She was still breathing then. Eighteen years old and with her whole life ahead of her. Now she’s burnt toast, all because of you.”
Charlene couldn’t erase the sight of the poor girl out of her mind. Her body now rested in a dumpster.
“Shut up,” said Mick. “Just shut up. I’m sick of your goddamn voice. I came in here to save my cousin. She wasn’t here. We freed a girl because she would’ve outed us to you anyway. So fucking shoot us if you think that’s wrong.”
He picked up Kane’s baseball bat and twirled the blue hitter around.
“If you wanted to know where Karen was, why didn’t you just ask me?”
Siphon spoke so genuine that Charlene, for a second, wondered why she hadn’t tried that approach before the break-in. And then she saw why, as Siphon tossed the bat to Whizz and withdrew a machete. He pointed the tip at Kane’s nose. Charlene promised the men that there was a card up her sleeve. That card was not here. She looked to every man in the circle, but the man who cooked breakfast in his kitchen that very morning was not here. And then the circle began to press in.
“I keep to my barn,” said Siphon. “I ask for a reasonable monthly sum. Outsiders earn the brunt of my aggression.”
The men continued to move forward. They were grinding their teeth and their muscles were twitching. Charlene began to feel claustrophobic. Mick pushed one away, but it only made the man more determined.
“I took Karen away because of Greg McDonald.”
Simultaneously their faces scrunched up.
“What?” she heard Mick say.
“You think I didn’t know?” he said, chopping air with his machete methodically as if warming his shoulder up for a wood-splitting contest. “Greg McDonald is Brady Lockhart, the bastard who burned down Barron Tower and killed all those people. Knew it from the moment I saw his bleeding face on the floor of The Ginger Bastard. None of you fuckwits even realised the most wanted man in Australia was sinking piss at your local pub. Nobody…except Karen. While you were all watching me shoot Billy in the foot, Karen’s eyes were darting from the television to Brady. Hayes spotted her. He always did fancy himself a bit of Karen.”
Charlene stepped forward, but Mick squeezed her arm.
“I knew it was an opportunity to recruit someone who needed us more than we needed him. And once we made him do all our foul deeds, we could sell him to the cops and collect a hefty retirement fund. Of the twenty or so million people in Australia, what were the chances of the least likely person in the country to rat to the cops strolling in to The Ginger Bastard and copping an absolute beating from Mick here. I love the way the world works.”
The revelations caused Charlene to forget about the huddle of men around her. They were within touching distance and ready to sink teeth. Closer-up their pupils were dilated. Teeth grinded with anticipation.
“Karen is locked away safely. All you needed to do was wait until we were done with Brady, and now we’re here.”
Four men grappled Mick, kicking the backs of his knees and causing him to fall heavily to the ground. Kneeling, he had two arms around his neck, two around his torso, two holding down his ankles and two restraining his arms. Surprise removed his strength.
“We would’ve been out of town within a month or two. We were done here. Our lives were set, and Sulley Ridge could’ve moved on from us. But now…now we’re here forever.”
Siphon lifted Mick’s left arm and brought the machete down in one swift motion. The blade dug into the man’s inner elbow and blood fountained out of the joint. Siphon lifted again and roared with power, splitting the forearm away like a fine cut of meat. He held the piece aloft as blood trickled down his arms and onto his face, and the rest of the barn roared with him. Mick’s eyes departed to the back of his skull and he collapsed onto the hay-strewn floor. Kane slapped Mick’s face to wake him, and Charlene watched in horror as Siphon lifted the machete once more. His eyes were wide, focused on Kane’s neck. Behind Siphon she saw Hayes smiling, chewing a piece of hay as though witnessing cows graze in the grass. And as the blade glinted off the dangling lightbulb, a gunshot blew a hole in the side of the barn. Everyone froze.
They waited. Looking to one another to see if a watcher had accidentally fired. And then another shot went off, and the head of a man in the huddle exploded as a bullet entered his brain. Everybody scampered, and order was lost.
Charlene took off her red jumper and tied it around Mick’s arm to stem the blood flow. Despite the frightened state of the fish trying to escape the barrel as shots filled the atmosphere around them, she saw Hayes approaching at a slow rate. He was holding a pistol and weaving through the crowd, transfixed on Charlene.
“Two shooters outside,” said Kane. “Who is the other one?”
“No time,” said Charlene. They tried to lift Mick off the ground, but he was too heavy. Bodies cannoned as they ducked for cover, splinters from the exploding wood showering around them.
“Get out there and find the fucking shooters!” yelled Siphon over the chaos. Kane found his blue baseball bat and started swinging in wide arcs, protecting Charlene as she brought Mick back to consciousness. When his eyes flickered to the present day, they soon winced in pain as he grabbed at a forearm no longer attached.
“We need to get out of here before we get shot.”
The sickening thud of Kane’s bat against a skull managed to galvanise Mick into action. He ripped away a knife from Charlene’s arm and stabbed the closest shirtless man with his only hand. The blade disappeared into skin.
“You didn’t think this through,” said Kane, missing another head by an inch. “We’re just as likely to get shot as these pricks.”
“You wouldn’t have a head right now if we didn’t pull the trigger.”
They moved towards the open barn door as the mayhem around them ensued. One shooter was using a shotgun at close distance and another had a rifle behind the tree line. Years of hunting made sounds easy to distinguish. Charlene couldn’t take her eyes away from Hayes, who seemed content in keeping a fair distance and stepping forward as if impervious to the gunfire around him. And then the barn turned upside down. Charlene slipped on a pool of blood and smacked her head against the wood. Dazed, she only saw the man with the Akubra strolling towards her with his pistol drawn and his mouth in a sadistic grin. She tried lifting her head, but it wouldn’t budge. Her body, while not small, felt heavy and hardened. The gunshots were muted now, as the shirtless men streamed out of the barn with their firearms drawn. She needed to move. If the shooters were dealt with, she would be next.
Without effort her body dragged against the wood and Hayes’ face twisted with rage as the gap between them grew. The roof of the barn was replaced with the endless night sky as wind and wet dirt brought sensation into skin. Charlene withdrew her remaining knife and lifted to her feet, but attention was not on her. The shirtless men fired in random directions hoping to hit the shooters, and they were as much a danger to one another as they were to the hidden figures.
“C’mon,” said a voice behind her. Charlene backed away and followed the sound as the shadow dashed into the forest alongside the barn. Only one man ran. Was it Kane or Mick? Where was the other? The shadow slumped against a tree and panted. It was Harvard.
“Fuck,” muttered Charlene. She noticed they were very much alone. Harvard held out his hands, eyes darting. She held out her knife.
“No,” he said. “No, no. I’m no threat to you. I promise.”
His voice was quivering.
“Why did you help me?”
“It’s them aliens. The aliens, Charlene. They’re raining gunfire on the barn because we’ve let them down. I should’ve known. I should’ve left long ago. But Siphon…I couldn’t. Do you forgive me?”
Harvard flinched with each gunshot, peering behind every tree as if expecting a green being to greet him in war or peace. Charlene guessed that he was on heavy drugs. The sight of Mick’s forearm ripped from the rest of his body caused her to lean over and spray vomit against their shoes.
“Do you forgive me?” he repeated, a whisper. Footsteps approached. Charlene turned to see Hayes behind the shrub. His eyes were wild now, a deep cut on his cheek. The gun still dangled loosely by his side.
“Harvard, well done mate. Caught the bitch in a trap,” he said, but his shoulders remained tense.
“It’s over,” said Harvard. “It ends tonight.”
“Some things end tonight, true enough.”
Hayes raised his pistol and shot Harvard in the leg. Despite the constant ring of shots around them, Hayes’ pistol sounded three times as deafening. Harvard leaned against the tree in agony.
“Them aliens,” he said through gritted teeth. “They’ll get you and the rest of town. They’ve been watching us this whole time. They knew.”
“Do you think I give two shits about the rest of town?”
He raised the pistol again and fired, landing a bullet between Harvard’s eyes.
“Go see your fucking aliens,” said Hayes as his crew member fell back into the shrub. Charlene felt a trickle of piss run down her leg as the gun now pointed at her. Hayes smiled.
“Disgusting. But if you think that’s going to stop me, you have no idea what I’ve done in my time. Drop the knife.”
Sheer terror caused her to obey.
“First I’m going to fuck you. Then I’m going to fuck Karen. And finally, I’ll take those little dogs and tie them to my ute. We’ll drive at a slow pace at first, let them have a free run in the paddock. I’ll start to speed up, get their legs pumping to capacity. And then I’ll hit the pedal and watch the rear-view mirror as their legs give way and they break against the dirt. I’ll drive for two hours, just to make sure. I want you to think about this while I fuck you. My Killer is gone, and you always hated him. I know you had something to do with it. And now you’re going to pay. Bend over.”
Charlene bent down to pick up her knife as she shook with rage. A bullet sprayed dirt an inch from her hand, and she fell back onto her rear. Hayes unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans. He started stroking himself in the pale moonlight, the stars an audience to his preparation.
“Drop your dacks,” he said. Charlene looked to the trees for help. She wanted to scream but her throat froze, a muted dream. Hayes moved behind her and kicked her rear, causing Charlene to fall onto all fours. He traced her spine with the gun, the warm nozzle rippling sensation through her clothes. Goosebumps rose on her arms. Feeling helpless, she pictured James and Jasper bounding to the door as she arrived home from a day on the hunt. Their innocent faces as she ate ice cream, the coolness on their tongues a rare delight. Tilted heads as she announced it was time for a walk through the forest. Her little family. Her children.
Hayes kicked her knees apart, and she thought of Karen. The gun pressed against the back of her neck, daring a scream. The knife was a metre from her hand. If she could hold on until he was pre-occupied…maybe…
A body fell against her, the weight of Hayes pushing her downward. He slipped off her back and onto the dirt, a trickle of blood leaking from a wound beneath his Akubra.
“You right?” said a voice. Charlene turned to see Billy standing over her, the butt of his rifle held aloft. She rose and hugged him tightly. Sharon stepped out behind him, aiming her shotgun at every tree as though they were also a part of Siphon’s crew.
“Where is everyone?” asked Charlene.
“Kane got Mick into my ute. He’s struggling, badger. Siphon, Wolfgang and Whizz are following them, quickly lost interest in us when we stopped shooting and hid. I’m not sure if they’ve gone into town or the opposite direction. Kane won’t risk the safety of his brothers, but he’ll panic with all the blood and probably take Mick to Lilly.”
“Karen,” said Charlene. “We need to find her.”
“She’s not in danger right now. But Siphon’s gone mad. He started chopping those shirtless men down when he realised the boys got away.”
They found themselves dashing to Sharon’s Pub Tub, parked in a hidden location to the side of Billy’s house. Billy tried to keep up with a long-stride limp, his foot dark and wet. Sharon unlocked the door and ignited the engine, and Charlene sat alone in the back with a dozen chairs to choose from. Billy remained outside.
“C’mon, what are you waiting for?”
“I’m staying here. I’m protecting Jane. Let the bastards try and get in. I’ve got enough firepower to keep them out all night. Here,” he said, handing Charlene his rifle. “Give ‘em hell, badger.”
Charlene accepted the rifle and stared at Billy.
“Why did you help us?”
He looked offended, eyes closing over and his shoulders slouching. He leaned against the van with a dirty hand and shook his head. Charlene wondered when this boyish fool had earned those lines that now creased his face and discovered the courage to keep his rifle steady.
“I’m one of you, don’t forget that. I’ve made mistakes…but we’ve also made mistakes together. This is my home. That was my barn. If anyone was going to drive them off, I wanted it to be me.”
Billy Corden slammed the roller door shut and stepped away from the vehicle as Sharon swerved onto the road. He limped onto his veranda as the Pub Tub sped towards town, and Charlene sighed in relief. She didn’t want to think about the possibilities had he not arrived when he did.
“Where we off to?” asked Sharon, her leg vibrating uncontrollably.
“The Ginger Bastard. Home to all things, of course.”
They continued, unsure who were the wolves and who were the rabbits.
The Men of Jasmine
The man sipped from his frothy pint while another fresh pint sat across from him, waiting for a drinker. He was seated on a stool at The
Ginger Bastard, expecting company. At the opposite end of the pub sat Wallace in conversation with Jerry at the bar, the old men comfortable in their tales of history and familiarity. All three had eyes on the door. On the screen was a game of tennis, to which nobody cared. That sport was too tame for the attention of the Ridge. Locals played pool quietly, their ritual in the weekly rut. And then the door swung open.
The man saw a figure walk in. He wore a denim jacket and jeans, but his face was deeply scarred and raw. The skin was a sickly white colour alarmed with blotches of red, hands grazed, and neck covered in bandages. The black shoes tapped against the wooden floor as he approached the bar, but then he turned and noticed the man seated in wait. This burned man smiled. The man knew his identity then, for those eyes and that smile weren’t unfamiliar. He clasped his hands together under the table to hide the shock and nerves. The man was expecting this entrant but had been unable to prepare for this moment. The killer of Jasmine. The reason for all of this. The leader of the man hunt, walking over with a grin.
“Brady Lockhart, the myth,” he said, extending his cracked and calloused hand. The man stared at the gesture and kept his own shaking hands beneath the table. This city slicker didn’t care who was in earshot.
“Very well. How do you deal with the fucking bugs?” he asked, swatting. “They all have wings. This drink mine?”
He nodded slowly. The man had manufactured this conversation in his mind a thousand times. Now, he was lost for words. The burned man sat on the stool, drank heartily from his glass and removed his denim jacket. The wounds on his forearms were worse, as though he had plunged into burning oil and waited for good measure.
“Of all the towns you could’ve chosen to hide your popular face, you really struck gold with this one. What a pile of shit. If you didn’t tell me where you were, I never would’ve found you. Maybe you could’ve even found your own wife.”