“Bloody pigs are back again stirring up the horses. One of them is a real nuisance. Killed a stock horse last month! Can you use one of these?” he asks Jed, holding up a Winchester 30/30 mounted with a four-power scope.
“No problems Stuart,” Jed responds, taking the rifle. “Used to have one.” He catches the box of cartridges Stuart tosses at him, empties some on the couch and starts to feed them into the loading gate on the side of the action. As he slips the first in, he leaves the base exposed so he can place the nose of the next cartridge against it to push it all the way in. He repeats the procedure until he loads six rounds, but doesn’t work the lever so the chamber remains empty. Stuart watches him as he picks out a rifle for himself, satisfied Jed knows what he is doing.
“Six loaded, chamber empty,” Jed states aloud.
Jed in turn watches Stuart pull back the bolt on the Winchester Model 70. “Wouldn’t the .308 be better? The 22/250 might be a bit light for pigs.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right, but the rounds for the .308 are locked away in the safe. This is my fox gun and I’ve got a few rounds handy. This is no time to be fussy. Chamber clear,” he confirms.
Jed picks up one of the 22/250 cartridges and sees they are loaded with an eighty-five grain soft-point. “You’ll have to go for a heart or head shot.”
“No problems at this range,” Stuart announces with confidence and Jed doesn’t doubt him.
Alex joins them in the living room, sees them both cradling rifles and with the sounds in the background can guess what is happening. “Pigs?”
“Yep!” Stuart replies. “Hope they haven’t got through the fence. The stallion is a top breeding horse!”
“Horses see pigs as a predator. They’ll be stressed and frightened! What are you going to do?” she demands.
“Scare the bastards off or maybe shoot a few! Don’t worry, the horses are used to the sound of a shot. Pigs are something else!” Stuart explains. As they leave the living room Jed flicks off the living room lights. Alex follows onto the verandah to a side door from where they can see into the horse enclosure.
“Our eyes will adjust to the dark,” Jed says. The yellow-tinted glow from the moon and the bedroom lights provide subtle background illumination. “Stuart, if you go right and get on the tank you can get a good view over the enclosure with the .250. I’ll go left. Between us we’ll be able to cover the whole area.” He stands the Winchester butt down between his knees and pulls off his T-shirt and throws it on the steps. “You’ll be able to see me better now.” He pulls out the Nightstalker torch from his back pocket and holds it between the fingers of his right hand under the fore end of the Winchester. Alex notices he is left handed with the rifle. Jed cycles the action to place a round in the chamber and sets the hammer on half cock.
They make the plan up on the spur of the moment, but Stuart and Jed move together as if they have done it many times before. Having shared the experience of hunting, they work as a natural team with a minimum of communication and natural respect. Alex watches as Jed starts moving left while Stuart takes a position on top of the water tank. The dogs increase the frenzy of their barking as vague, shadowy shapes flit through the darkness, tempted by the tantalising targets almost within reach. Alex can see the horses galloping in short spurts, then stopping to step sideways in bouts of nervousness. The stallion is the worst and she can see him on the edge of going berserk with the stress.
The shadowy black shapes dart fleetingly in the moonlight across the compound. “Pigs are in!” Stuart yells with concern.
Jed doesn’t respond but keeps sliding along the wire mesh fence, rifle at the ready and pulls the hammer back to full cock. He flicks the torch on and slides the lens all the way forward with his fingers as he holds it under the rifle. It throws a narrow spot of light a good distance across the compound. He sees a black shape flit across in front of him and brings the Winchester up in a smooth, flowing movement and fires a snap shot. The shot creates a flash of light like lightning and a blast of noise that makes Alex flinch as the shape cartwheels from the impact of the one hundred and seventy grain bullet.
The stallion rears up in fright and gallops randomly around the enclosure in a burst of alarmed energy. It is driven by a fear that can end up with him breaking a leg or impaling himself. Aware of the danger, Alex looks around in desperation and sees a rope hung neatly on the fence. She grabs it, uncoils it with a flick of her wrist, ties a quick knot to make a lasso and races into the enclosure. As the stallion stops momentarily in a nervous freeze, she throws the loop over its head, tightens it gently but firmly and eases him toward her while bracing her legs. She throws her left arm over his neck, using the rope in her right hand to pull him into a circling clockwise walk, creating the nearest thing to a feeling of security. In the wild a frightened horse will hook its neck over another for security. Here she does the same, trying to copy nature.
Wary of the recent gunshot, a boar eyes the slowing stallion, now a tempting target with its exposed belly. At that very moment Stuart fires at the pig, the eighty-five grain projectile hitting just behind its shoulder for a heart shot that should drop it to the ground. But a thick layer of dried clay impregnated among its wiry hair above a layer of thick skin and fat acts like an armour plate. The bullet disintegrates as it expends its energy into the impenetrable barrier, hitting the boar with an impact that shocks it more than it hurts. It spins around and races for the opening torn into the wire mesh around the compound. Between it and safety are Alex and the stallion still just held under control, stepping sideways in a clockwise circle around her in barely contained panic.
Jed sees the dark shape explode toward Alex and the stallion. As she circles the horse Alex catches a brief glimpse of the shadowy shape lunge toward her and the stallion. Jed has been here before and knows that nothing will stop a boar in full charge to safety. His reaction is instantaneous. The angle between Alex and the boar is closing fast. He brings the Winchester up smoothly, estimates the lead for a quartering head on shot and touches the trigger. The Winchester recoils upward as the muzzle blast echoes across the compound. The bullet smashes into the boar’s chest, destroying its heart and it slides to the ground in a cloud of dust as its front legs collapse. It comes to a tumbling stop, only metres from Alex. She sees the black shape lying in a sprawled heap in the dust but doesn’t stop and keeps the stallion circling, still talking in a low tone.
Both Jed and Stuart see another shadowy shape dart across the compound straight toward the mesh fence. They are both distracted by Alex and the stallion and have to reload, Stuart working the bolt action and Jed flicking the lever action. They see the boar, a big one, crash into the fence, dig its tusks into the ground and lift its head up and sideways, ripping the mesh out of the ground. They both take aim and fire, just as the boar slips under the mesh and disappears into the darkness.
“That’s a fucking big pig!” Jed yells to Stuart as he returns into the light coming from the bedrooms. “Sorry,” he corrects with embarrassment as he sees Alex still circling the stallion, “That was a bloody big pig!”
“A fucking big, lucky bastard!” Stuart yells in reply. “He’ll be back sometime!”
Jed watches Alex continue a few more circles, soothing the stallion until they slowly come to a stop. He watches her stroke him and gently slip the rope from his neck as the dogs stop barking and the normal sounds of the night take over. They walk together over to Stuart, who jumps down from the tank rifle in his hand.
“You can use that 30/30!” he says to Jed with approval.
“That was a good snap shot on the boar Stuart. The 85s are just too light with the mud!” Jed responds. They both look to Alex and then to each other as Stuart flicks his head to the side. Jed takes the hint. “It was a good move with the horse Alex. That one could have gone crazy and caused itself grief.”
“I can agree with that!” Stuart confirms. “You’re a cool lady under pressure.”
They return to the living room
to lock up the rifles and wind down with a cup of tea. “That big boar will have to go, otherwise he’ll just keep coming back,” Stuart concludes.
“Horses are terrified of pigs! Can’t you do something about them?” Alex asks with a hint of accusation.
“There’re thousands of them out there Alex,” Stuart responds after a few moment’s thought. “They get hammered by shooters in helicopters and hunters on foot but will always be there. It’s part of the outback. We just have to learn to cope. Tourists may love the romance of the Territory but the reality can be brutal. Nature is harsh and cruel with no forgiveness.”
“I know that Stuart,” Alex responds abruptly. “I’ve been around animals and nature for a long time. I just thought the enclosure could be a bit more secure.”
“I did my best Alex. Those pigs have strength you can’t imagine!”
“I bred pigs,” Alex throws back. “I know what they can do. I fought one off with a shovel once!” Jed and Stuart both look at her in surprise.
“Okay Alex, I’ll get the boys to put some time in on the pigs and strengthen the mesh. That’s about all I can do.”
Alex accepts the affirmation of her concerns. They settle into less confronting chatter before the urge for rest lures them back to their beds. When the lights go out the homestead descends into darkness, caressed by the gentle glow of the moon and a wafting night breeze. Faint creaks from the timber building are complemented by the occasional call from bird and insect life making the night their own. Finally, the gentle, caressing tentacles of sleep claim them for the last few hours before dawn.
Chapter Twenty-five
Decker’s satellite photographs show a lot of tracks through the property so they can skirt the homestead. They set up a fly camp out of sight in a depression that is part of a dry channel system. They eat a meal from cans heated up over a gas cooker, washed down with beers and roll out their swags. Decker can’t sleep, even after the day’s driving. He loves the exhilaration of being close to his prey, relishing the times when he has been close enough to watch her unseen and let his mind savour the revenge he has planned for so long, just waiting for the right opportunity.
Prison had been a bastard and the shame of what happened in there still eats away at him. There he had finally met someone tougher and meaner than him. He had been used at a whim for someone else’s pleasure. He shuts the memory from his mind and concentrates on revenge, slow and drawn out.
It is close to midnight when he finally gets up. His restless energy has to be used somehow, so he climbs into the Patrol and fires up the diesel. Its subdued rattle barely disturbs the quiet of the night. Jesse is out to it. Kid can’t handle his bloody beer! But Decker doesn’t mind. The kid is young and he wants to be alone. He eases the Patrol carefully in the direction of the homestead, the light of the moon letting him pick his way across the grassland studded with the scattered trees and scrub of open woodland. When he is as close as caution will allow, he parks the vehicle, takes a GPS waypoint to add to the one for the campsite and walks the remaining distance.
The night is quiet and still under the star-studded heavens. He is careful to make no sound, even feeling carefully with his boots as he has been trained to avoid the sharp sound that comes from snapping pieces of dry timber. He gets close to the homestead, real close, thrilled by the exhilaration of lurking unknown in the shadows of the night, enjoying the pleasure of anticipation. He finds a comfortable spot under a tree, flicks away the twigs and pebbles and sits down, his back leaning against the trunk of a tree to enjoy the company of his thoughts.
He listens to the sounds of the night, the occasional insect as it buzzes by on miniature wings, the occasional call from a bird, the faint rustle of the gentle breeze through the leaves over his head and other odd sounds he can’t place. He hears dogs barking and the nervous neighing of horses as they become increasingly anxious, fretting from some unseen cause. Suddenly lights go on and he sees shapes moving in the house toward a main room. They are there for a few minutes before he again sees movement framed as dark shadows against the lights.
Three people come out onto the verandah. He watches the men talk together and then separate. He watches as one stalks into the dark against a fence while the other climbs onto a water tank. He hears a gun shot and sees another shape. That bloody woman! She runs out to catch a horse. Bitch and her horses! More shots and a pig goes down in the light of a torch. A running shot. Good fucking shot! That fucking headmaster’s got a rifle and he can use it! That’s something he hadn’t expected. A fucking headmaster who can use a gun! That changes things a bit, he decides in the darkness as peace descends again on the homestead and finally the lights go out.
He sits for a while cursing himself for missing such an obvious complication. Never assume anything or underestimate anyone, he tells himself over and over again. He’s a bully at heart and by nature, but enjoys bullying on his own terms. Beneath his cruelness is a streak of yellow, a fear that someone could be better than him and not succumb to physical or emotional manipulation. The same fear he experienced in jail that gave birth to an all-consuming desire for revenge.
He stands carefully, dusts off his trousers and makes his way back to the Patrol and the camp, thinking through what this new knowledge means for his plans.
Chapter Twenty-six
By the time Stuart and Jed stir themselves out of bed, they can smell the delicious aroma of breakfast being cooked. Eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes, the smell of bread in the toaster and the sight of a tossed salad with greens, cheese, potato, chopped nuts, crispy bacon and a dressing both of them actually like the look of. Men are men after all and salads don’t quite fit their image. It is all wolfed down with no complaints and honest compliments for Alex.
“Now that’s a breakfast to start the day!” Stuart offers generously, patting his tightly muscled stomach. They linger longer than necessary over the last of the coffee and light conversation before all chipping in for a clean up. While Alex packs her gear into the Landcruiser, Jed and Stuart move the dead pigs from the enclosure onto the back of a flat tray for disposal and do a quick patch up on the hole in the mesh.
“The boys can do the rest later today,” Stuart decides. “You guys better get moving to make the most of the day.”
Farewells are exchanged with an earnest promise to catch up again on the return trip. Alex and Jed head northwest along the dusty property track. They travel in silent companionship, contemplating the country, the recent events and the adventure ahead, each considering their own range of possibilities. Gates are few and far between as the paddocks are huge. They rarely see cattle even though the property carries thousands.
“I’ve seen plenty of kangaroos and goats, but barely any cattle and this is supposed to be a cattle station!” Alex says.
“There’s a lot of land out here for the cattle Alex. Makes you wonder how many kangaroos, goats, pigs and everything else are out here as well,” Jed replies with passion. “There are more kangaroos across this country than ever before thanks to water holes and bores put in by the farmers. Don’t get me started on that topic!” He cuts himself off before he gets wound up on an environmental topic he believes has been skewed for political purposes.
“How far are we going today,” Alex asks to change the subject. The track slowly deteriorates, winding through savannah grassland covered with open stunted trees and a variety of scrub. Twin-wheel tracks mark the way across smooth red dust and grey soil, in some places interspersed with rocky patches of iron rich, red, sharp pebbles. The occasional red, rocky hill ‘jumps up’ out of the landscape to break the even line of the horizon.
“Today we cover distance. If we’re lucky we’ll probably average twenty kilometres every hour so we will make good time to start with. Eventually the track might fade away, but we’ll keep on a GPS bearing. We should be able to make camp fairly close to the plane and spend tomorrow trying to get through to the coast.”
Alex is in a reflective mood. “A he
licopter would have been a lot easier and quicker. But you’re right, if word got out there’s no guarantee what would happen to the site. It would’ve made a big hole in my budget as well! Plus we’d have missed out on this part of the adventure. It’s a queer feeling being alone out here with just us, our gear and our wits. It’s scary but also exciting. It makes me feel so small but also so connected to the country.”
“Out here that bastard Decker will need a miracle to keep track of us,” Jed prophesises.
They hit their first real obstacle for the day, an almost dry channel with the remains of wet season mud still lingering in the bottom. Jed stops the vehicle to check it out and decides the approach and departure angles are too steep for the Landcruiser. He scouts along the channel and finds a better spot to cross. Driving up to the crossing and checking it again, he decides the approach angle is still too sharp. He pulls out his knife, a Mulay survival knife issued to Portugese Special Forces, and proceeds to chop away the edge of the channel with rapid, hard, downward strokes.
“Wouldn’t a pick or shovel be easier?” Alex asks wryly.
“There’s an entrenching tool in the back but by the time we get it out I can have this done,” he replies, denying the fact she has a point. “There, done!” he exclaims. He kicks away the loose soil and gives his work a satisfied inspection. “Now we won’t get hung up as we go over.” They climb back into the Landcruiser and ease it over the edge, down into the channel in low range and back up the other side at a slight angle to lessen the departure angle.
“You make it look easy,” she says with grudging respect.
“It is if you know what you’re doing,” he replies in a tone that implies he does know what he is doing. “Most times it’s just a matter of thinking things through and using some common sense. There’ll be more yet.”
Fire Eye Page 14