Lunch with a Soldier

by Derek Hansen

  And shit scared of what he’d do if he did.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Billy stopped when he reached the crest of the outcrop where the ground was stony and barren but for a scattering of gidgee trees. Below him both Grant and Linda were yelling at him to slow down but that wasn’t why he stopped. The fact that Rodney had made it to the top heartened him and gave him hope that he hadn’t been hit anywhere vital, although there was still the possibility that he could bleed to death if they didn’t get to him. He blamed himself for letting Linda use Rodney, although he’d no idea that Grant would panic and react so blindly and desperately. They had no right to put Rodney in that situation. It wasn’t his argument. But what could he have done? Nothing could have prevented Rodney from coming running once he heard the gunshot that killed Bella. The sound of boots skidding on stones signalled that Linda and Grant had finally made it to the top. Grant was furious.

  ‘Clear off like that again and I’ll shoot Linda. Understand me?’ Grant was puffing hard from the effort of climbing the ridge. Linda wasn’t much better off.

  Billy ignored them.

  ‘Rodney could’ve gone anywhere from here and cut through the scrub any number of ways. We’ve got to hope that he’s taken the most direct route and that he’s still dripping blood. Once we get down on the sand, Linda, you come on my left, Grant, you come on my right. Look for blood spots, okay?’

  They found Rodney’s footprints once they reached the sandy soil and, though it was impossible to tell which were the most recent, they all seemed to channel towards the same gap in the scrub. Billy spotted blood, not on the soil but on the leaf of a bush Rodney had brushed against. It was the confirmation he was looking for.

  ‘He went this way. Stay behind me.’

  Billy realised he was the only one capable of following a trail. Neither Linda nor Grant could’ve spotted the blood on the bush. They didn’t even know to look for it there; in fact, hadn’t a clue what to look for. He found another blood spot and another and the semblance of a track. The further he went the more Billy appreciated what a creature of habit Rodney was. The pines and coolibahs in the saddle between the two sand ridges were well spaced yet Rodney had followed the same path as faithfully as a feral pig. It had only fanned out into a delta towards the outcrop above Linda’s. Billy pressed on, flicking his torch from left to right, checking both sides of the track to make sure Rodney hadn’t collapsed or stopped to rest. He thought it unlikely but he wanted to be sure. There were regular indentations and drag marks alongside the track, probably made by the butt of the shotgun. He guessed Rodney was using it as a crutch or for support.

  He found another blood spot and another and more at regular intervals. There was never much, just enough to let him know he was still on the right track. His concern for Rodney made him slow to realise just how regularly spaced the drops were and how well placed. It was as though Rodney had deliberately dripped them there so they couldn’t be missed. It slowly dawned on Billy that Rodney might be up to something. But then he’d heard his cry of pain when he’d been hit and his awful howling when he’d run away. He knew his friend was a tough little rooster but there was also his whimpering when he’d climbed back up the ridge. That hadn’t been faked. Rodney was hurt badly, but how badly? And were the blood spots just natural seepage? He thought he was reading too much into the spots until he found another exactly where he expected it to be. His suspicions grew, though he felt it was still too soon to draw a firm conclusion. Rodney had probably rested somewhere on top of the ridge and he almost certainly would have stayed long enough to see the light from their torches and know he was being followed. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe Rodney had counted on it, realised he needed help and had also worked out the only way he could be sure of getting it. Billy groaned under his breath.

  ‘Jesus Christ! How much further are you taking us, Billy?’ Grant was puffing hard. ‘We’ve come a long way, especially for a man with a bullet in him. You sure he made it this far?’

  ‘There’s a trail of blood. Come up here and I’ll show you.’ Billy hoped that Grant would come close enough so he could grab his rifle. He had to do something.

  ‘Just point it out with your torch and back away. Right away. Linda, you stay where you are.’ Grant stepped cautiously around her and up to the patch of soil lit by Billy’s torch. The drop of blood was small, less than the size of a five-cent piece, but the colour was unmistakeable. ‘Okay. But how much further?’

  ‘His cabin’s on top of the ridge and in a bit.’

  Grant stepped back so Linda could pass in front of him and followed her on up the slope.

  Billy slowed as they climbed higher. The soil became more gravelly and Rodney’s tracks became harder to find. He was considering doubling back to look in another direction when the beam of his torch picked up a telltale splash of red. Billy wondered how anyone could miss it. It was sitting on top of a grey-white, football-sized piece of shin-cracker, as clear as any signpost. Billy bit his bottom lip. That was no accident. The odds of the drop of blood falling on the one spot where it could not be missed were astronomical. He was almost certain he knew what Rodney was up to. It was exactly what he’d do in the same situation, but that didn’t make it right.

  ‘Rodney!’ he called out. ‘It’s me. It’s okay.’ Billy had to do something and calling out seemed his only option. But would it make any difference? ‘Call to him, Linda. Tell him it’s all right.’

  ‘Rodney! Where are you? Tell me so I can help you.’

  They stood still for a few seconds waiting for a response. When there was none they continued up the hill.

  ‘Rodney!’ Billy called again. ‘It’s okay. Don’t be frightened. Linda’s got the first-aid kit. Where are you?’

  Rodney didn’t reply but Billy was sure he was watching them or waiting for them to come into view. He wanted to tell Rodney to put down his shotgun but couldn’t without alerting Grant and making him even more agitated. God only knew what Grant would do if he thought there was a chance Rodney would shoot at him. Of course there was always the possibility that Rodney had collapsed from loss of blood, but Billy doubted it. The signposts were too obvious. Rodney was still thinking clearly. He headed towards the cabin but suddenly a small cluster of spots showed that the little man had turned away towards his diggings. Billy’s heart sank.

  ‘Rodney! Don’t be scared. We’re only going to help you. Understand? We’re only going to help you. Tell him, Linda.’

  ‘It’s okay, Rodney, don’t be frightened.’ Linda staggered and caught herself when she tripped on a piece of rock.

  Billy led them on into the diggings, taking care to avoid the mineshafts and heaps of mullock.

  ‘Bloody hell, Billy, where are you taking us? I don’t like this.’ Grant stopped and shone his torch around him, stunned by the incomprehensible landscape. ‘What the fuck is this?’

  ‘We’re on Rodney’s diggings. He’s probably holed up down one of the shafts. Stay close.’

  ‘Why?’ demanded Grant.

  ‘So you don’t fall down any of the mineshafts.’ That was just one of Billy’s worries. With no moon and only torches lighting their way, the shadows were as black as the entrances to the shafts. But what he was really worried about was giving Rodney a clear shot at Grant.

  ‘Rodney, where are you?’ called Linda.

  Billy’s dismay grew when he realised Rodney was leading him towards the triple where, years earlier, he’d found the opal. Of course Rodney would lead him there and he knew exactly what he’d find when he got there. Blood spots on the rungs of the ladder. An invitation to descend, leaving Grant on top alone and a sitting duck. Billy had had enough. His dog was dead, Rodney was wounded and he didn’t need any more drama. He had to gamble on Grant holding his nerve, or at least what was left of it.

  ‘No, Rodney,’ he called. ‘It’s okay. Don’t do anything!’

  ‘What do you mean, “don’t do anything”?’ demanded Grant immediately. H
is voice rose an octave. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’

  Billy ignored him.

  ‘Where are you, Rodney? It’s okay. Trust me, don’t do anything!’

  ‘What are you doing?’ screamed Grant. ‘Tell me! What’s going on?’

  Billy could hear the panic in Grant’s voice and it filled him with dread. The panic was just going to hasten what was probably inevitable anyway.

  ‘Turn off your torch!’ he ordered. He flicked his off. Linda followed suit.

  ‘No way!’ said Grant. ‘I know what you’re trying to do!’ He raised his rifle, left hand holding his torch hard along the stock so he could see his target.

  The sudden explosion from the shotgun made Billy jump even though he’d been expecting it. It came from nearby but not quite as near as he’d feared. Billy lunged towards Grant but collided with Linda. She fell to the ground, screaming. Billy staggered. He could see Grant’s torch lying on the ground but he couldn’t see Grant.

  ‘Grant! Are you okay?’

  ‘He shot me.’

  There was more disbelief in Grant’s voice than pain, which made Billy think the pellets had spread too wide to have done serious damage. He didn’t know if Grant was still standing or not. He flicked his torch on and caught Grant in the beam. He was still standing, still clutching his rifle.

  ‘Turn it off!’ Grant’s eyes were wide with fear and shock.

  ‘Just drop your rifle and put your hands up. I’ve got to keep the torch on so Rodney can see you’ve surrendered.’

  ‘Turn it off!’ He raised his rifle and pointed it at Billy. ‘Turn it off!’

  Billy flicked the torch off and dropped to the ground. Then he heard the sound he least wanted to hear, the sound of Grant doing the most stupid thing he could possibly do.

  ‘Stop!’ he yelled. ‘Don’t run! Stand still!’ Billy flicked his torch back on and searched for Grant. Just as he caught him in his beam, Grant disappeared. The scream that followed confirmed the worst.

  ‘Oh, Jesus! He’s fallen down a shaft! Linda, you go and attend to Rodney. And take the bloody shotgun off him. Rodney! Linda’s coming to help you. Tell her where you are.’ Billy used his torch to point where he thought the shot had come from. ‘Head that way and watch where you put your feet.’

  Billy turned and began to circle around to where he’d last seen Grant. He held his torch out to his side in case Grant had faked the fall to regain control. He doubted Grant was capable of thinking clearly enough but had to be sure. He crept up to the shaft from the opposite side, crouched down and turned off his torch.

  ‘Grant, can you hear me?’

  He heard a faint groan in reply and it definitely came from the shaft. He edged slowly towards the lip.

  ‘Grant?’

  A scrabbling came from deep down, a sharp intake of breath and something that sounded like a sob. Billy peered over the lip and turned on his torch. Grant yelped in fright and tried to pull himself away into the cover of a tunnel that Rodney, or more likely his dad, had dug along a horizontal fault. The mine was old and decaying. Part of one side of the vertical shaft had collapsed, leaving a sloping ledge which had probably helped break Grant’s fall. Still, he’d tumbled at least five metres and landed on rubble. Blood streamed from a gash in his head and there were red buttons of blood where shotgun pellets had struck.

  ‘Mate, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Stay where you are and I’ll go find a ladder.’ Billy looked for a sign of acknowledgement but Grant ignored him. Instead, his hands groped around in the rubble as though searching for something and Billy realised what. The rifle had fallen in with him. ‘For Christ’s sake, no one’s going to hurt you!’

  ‘Where’d the bar-tid hoo-wah? Where id he? I’ll ged him!’

  Billy whirled around. A panicked cry of ‘no’ came from beneath him and he pushed himself backwards as Grant fired up the shaft.

  ‘Where the bar-tid? Where id he!’

  ‘No, Rodney!’ yelled Billy. He could hear Grant desperately trying to find cover from Rodney’s shotgun. Billy winced as Linda’s torch finally located then held on him, blinding him.

  ‘Get the bloody torch off me!’ Billy shone his own torch towards Linda, centring the beam low around knee height. Rodney had his left arm over Linda’s shoulder and his right used the shotgun to share his weight. Even in the spill of the torchlight he looked terrible. There was a dark wet stain on the left side of his shirt. ‘Linda, for Christ’s sake, what are you doing? Get him away from here! Take him to his cabin.’

  Billy didn’t dare stick his head over the edge of the shaft but called anyway, ‘Grant? You hear me? They’ve gone, they’ve gone. I’m going to get a ladder and get you out. Okay? Just put your rifle down.’

  There was no reply.

  Billy rocked back on his heels, suddenly aware of what he’d promised and his lack of alternative. The consequences hit him like a brick. The beam of his torch flickered wildly as his hands started shaking.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ he said softly to no one, not even himself. He forced himself to his feet and shone his torch about to get his bearings. He’d thought it was all over, finished, done with, consigned to his past. He forced himself to concentrate, to acknowledge the difference in circumstances. But were they so different? He doubled back to where he’d stood when Rodney had fired. He marked his start point and, with his boot, carved an arrow in the soil pointing towards the shaft Grant was hiding in. That done, he followed the blood spots to the triple, certain that was where Rodney had set up his ambush. If they’d got that far, there was no way Rodney would’ve missed. Sure enough, there was a ladder in the shaft and, as he’d predicted, blood spots on it. He put his torch on the ground and began hauling the ladder up. At any other time, Billy might have savoured fond memories, but a smile had never been further from his lips.

  His brief look down the shaft showed him that Rodney, or his dad before he’d died, had been busy. The triple now had five separate digs radiating out from the main shaft at different levels. Obviously when other diggings had yielded nothing, they’d come back to it in the hope that it would again produce. Hope, a shovel and a bucket: the opal miner’s holy trinity. Billy didn’t bother checking the ladder. Rodney wouldn’t have led him there if there were problems with it. He put his left arm between the middle rungs and hoisted it up onto his shoulder and backtracked. His heart rate increased and his breath came in short gasps when he realised there was no escaping the next step. Fate had turned the clock back and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. When he reached the arrow he’d carved in the ground it felt like it also pierced his heart.

  ‘Grant?’ he called. His voice sounded scared, like someone else’s. There was no answer. He put the ladder down and edged up to the lip of the shaft. ‘Grant. It’s me, Billy. I’m unarmed. Linda’s taken Rodney to his cabin. She’s also taken the shotgun. You hear me, Grant?’

  Billy waited for a reply but there was none. He lined up his torch so that it shone down the shaft and put his finger over the flash button. One quick flash and he’d know if there was a rifle pointed up at him. One quick flash. He hit the button and instantly released it.

  Nothing.

  He hit the button again and kept it on, watching for movement.

  Nothing. Just blood drying on the rubble. Somehow Grant had managed to crawl away into the tunnel. Billy pulled back from the lip, feeling as though someone had wrapped metal bands around his chest and tightened them a notch.

  ‘You there, Grant? Can you hear me? I’m coming down. Put your rifle away. It’s just me, and I’m the only hope you’ve got. Okay?’

  Silence.

  ‘Grant, for Christ’s sake!’

  More silence. The bands around his chest tightened another notch. He picked up the ladder and tentatively lowered it down the shaft.

  ‘Here I come, Grant, here I come.’

  Billy’s palms were wet with sweat, his heart jack-hammered inside his chest and he struggled to d
raw breath. As soon as his head dipped below the surface he felt the whole weight of the world close in on him. Every fibre of his body screamed at him to climb back out.

  ‘Here I come, Grant.’ He said this as much for himself as for Grant. He braced himself and turned off his torch. ‘Oh, Christ!’ Darkness came crashing in on him. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could. He tried pretending he was up on the ridge in an attempt to slow his breathing and stop the pounding in his ears. He had to listen. Listen. Listen. Listen! But the walls were pressing in on him, closing over the entrance, entombing him. The metal bands tightened, squeezing the air from his lungs.

  He forced himself to defy every instinct and step down another rung, eyes shut, trying to hear over the pounding, fighting back his terror. If he could only calm down. If he could only hear. If he could only stop the pounding inside his head. If he could only get the hell out of there. He stepped down another rung.

  ‘Here I come, Grant, here I come. Take it easy, okay?’ His voice sounded so distant and alien. Billy guessed his feet were now level with the opening of the tunnel and that he was entering the area of greatest vulnerability. He braced himself for the gunshot. This was the moment when the Vietcong cut intruders in half with a burst from their Russian-made rifles. He stepped down another rung, and another, his scrotum contracting, his knees trembling. Sweet Jesus! After all this time he was back in another tunnel. Another tunnel. Another live one.

  His foot touched rubble. Billy had ceased breathing. He was no longer capable of calling out to Grant or to anyone. His concentration was hopelessly fragmented and he struggled to think through his next step — something which, years earlier, would have been automatic and calculated. His hand located the entrance to the tunnel. It was narrower than the width of the shaft but not by much. Nevertheless, he pressed himself hard against the shaft wall to protect as much of his body as he could. With his arm extended as far away from his body as it could go, he pressed the button on his torch. Just a quick flash, a quick look-see.