Fire Eye

by Peter d’Plesse

  He doubles up with a grunt and drops to the ground, boots kicking up dust as he writhes in pain and shock. Decker turns slightly to the right and slams the butt up into the younger man’s jaw, flinging him back against the Troopie. He hangs against the side of the vehicle for a few seconds and then slumps to the ground, screaming in pain through his broken jaw.

  Decker steps over him with his boots on either side of his moaning body, slings his shotgun over his shoulder and extracts some plastic ties from his pocket. He loops one around each of his wrists. Decker joins them together with another tie, handcuffing his hands behind his back. He does the same with his feet but with enough slack that he can shuffle along when needed. He leaves him groaning on the ground and walks back over to the older man.

  “Jeez Pa, you slammed ’em both fuck’n good! They didn’t even see it coming!” Jesse exclaims admiringly.

  Decker rolls the older man over onto his back, unslings the shotgun and points it into his face. “Now Joe me boy, we need to have a chat. Are you listening?”

  Alex and Jed continue to watch, silent and unmoving.

  Joe, struggling for breath, opens his eyes to look up at Decker as he taps him on the nose with the barrels of the shotgun. “Things have changed around here,” Decker explains in a conversational tone. “I need you to do some tracking for me. I was told you were good at tracking. Can you track animals? People?” He looks down at Joe and waits.

  Joe is tough, but the blow to the stomach has knocked the wind out of him. His breathing is slowly returning to normal but he appears stunned and disoriented. He nods.

  “That’s good,” Decker replies. “I need you to track some people, a man and a woman. They were here but they’ve gone off walkabout somewhere. I need you to find them Joe.” Decker’s voice is calm, condescending and, most of all, threatening. Joe is looking into his eyes. “I have great faith in you Joe but I have to let you know that if you don’t find them, your little brother over there is done for. I’ll do him slowly, maybe a gut-shot or both his knees, and leave him for the pigs.” Decker emphasises his point by jabbing Joe in the stomach with the barrels. “I’ll be fair though,” he continues, as he looks down at Joe with black, emotionless eyes. “If you can’t do it, just tell me now and I’ll finish you both with a head shot. Quick and easy! If you stuff me around, there’ll be hell to pay!”

  Joe is bush smart. He takes Decker’s words in as he regains control of his breathing. Jed and Alex can sense him sizing up the situation, just as they are. Decker is a killer. He is going to kill both Jed and Alex. Then he will kill Joe and his brother when the right time comes. Buying time is Joe’s only option. Joe nods again.

  “That’s good Joe,” Decker acknowledges, his anxiety decreasing as he gets things under control again. “I thought you would be reasonable. Maybe all this will work out alright for you and your little brother.” Decker’s smile offers no comfort to anyone.

  Joe rolls up onto his knees and staggers to his feet, still wobbly after the blow to his body. He looks over at Brad moaning on the ground and exchanges brief, meaningful eye contact. Even in their pain and shock, there are thousands of years of communication in their glance. They are hunters and words are unnecessary.

  Alex contemplates the scene, recalling brutal memories from a past she thought was long gone. “What do you make of all that?”

  Jed is silent for a few seconds before responding. “The man’s a bastard—a real psycho! He’s out to kill you and me. He wanted me out of the way first to have some time with you. He probably wants what might be on the plane as a bonus on top of his revenge. He’ll also kill those two Aboriginals when the time suits him. The son is just as bad by the look of him.”

  Jed falls silent, thinking, while Alex waits.

  “He brought the Aboriginals along for a reason. But what reason Alex? He tried to do something with the laptop and satellite dish, but it didn’t seem to work. I’m thinking he has another tracking device that either isn’t working or he can’t turn it on. The Aboriginals are back up in case something went wrong with his plan, which it has. Whatever that tracking device is, he expected it to work even though he just burnt everything we had.”

  “What do you suggest we do?” Alex asks.

  Jed stares at her with a contemplative expression. “He intended to take me out. Painfully! That’s personal. We can go to war Alex. Do you want to be part of it?” He’s made a decision and is prepared to commit his trust to her.

  “I want this nightmare to end,” Alex replies. “I want to get on with my life without the threat of that bastard always in the background.”

  Jed nods, rolls slightly onto his side to free his right arm and reaches across, offering her his hand. She accepts it and they shake as equals. He can feel the firmness of her grip. It conveys confidence and commitment.

  Jed releases his grip still feeling Alex’s lingering touch, like the burning of dry ice on the skin. Reaching down to the scabbard holding his knife, he unclips a small pouch and gives Alex a container of matches. “I want you to head about a click west, behind the scrub line, with the sun directly behind you. That’s about a fifteen minute walk, less if you move faster. Light a fire and make smoke—not a lot, just a bit, as if we were being careless. Feed it so it’ll burn for a while, toss on a bit of green stuff to keep the smoke going, then head over to that little sharp pointed bluff and wait for me. Don’t stay at the fire for more than ten minutes.”

  The situation isn’t remotely funny, but Alex still has to ask with just a hint of a smile, “You mean head for the hill that looks like a nipple?”

  “That very one!” The description is spot on, but Jed hadn’t dared use it.

  “What will you be doing?”

  “Evening up the odds.”

  Alex doesn’t ask any more pointless questions. She looks Jed in the eyes, sees the decisiveness there and nods, wriggling backward down the sloping rock. She slings her bed roll and bag over her shoulder and jogs toward the scrub line. Jed notes she grabbed the roll without being told and knows she is a useful ally.

  Alex drops down to ground level. Down here things don’t look quite the same. The nipple-topped hill is hidden by the trees and scrub. She takes a bearing from the sun and notes it should be about a right angle to her right shoulder. She works her way through the country, trotting in the clear patches spotted with tussock, stepping carefully where the scrub has collapsed to lie horizontal across the ground. Through gaps in the scrub she catches glimpses of the nipple off her right shoulder, confirming she is heading in the right direction. She judges the thousand metres off her watch and can just see the top of the bluff where she lay alongside Jed only a short time ago.

  She finds a suitable site, scrapes a shallow depression with her hands to keep the fire tight and gathers kindling—twigs, leaves, pieces of bark and small branches and sets them in a pile. She then gathers bigger dry branches, breaks them into smaller pieces and snaps off a collection of greenery from the shrubs and stunted trees. The first match splutters out before she can light the kindling, the second almost does it but can’t quite defeat the slight early morning dampness. The third match finally gives birth to a slowly growing bed of flame, consuming the kindling and creating the foundation for a good, hot fire.

  It doesn’t take long for a bed of coals to develop. She throws on some bigger branches, breaking them first by leaning them against a fallen log and jumping on them. Finally, she drags across a small stump, laying on some branches of greenery. Grey smoke billows into the air as she feeds the fire with more dry timber.

  She looks at her watch. Ten minutes has passed. One last pile of greenery mixed with more dry timber and the smoke is billowing into the air, rising straight up in the morning stillness, a bit more than intended but too bad. Satisfied with her work, she scans around to catch sight of the nipple, checks the direction against the sun and heads toward it.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Decker congratulates himself about the way he is
reacting to events. It was a good call to bring in the black fellas as back-up. He has been proven right again. He always makes the best decisions. Brad has been bundled into the back of the Patrol and Jesse is about to tie him to the seatbelt attachment on the B-pillar of the Nissan.

  Jesse glances up through the windows on the other side and sees a plume of smoke climbing into the early morning sky. “Pa, look! There’s a fire out there!” `

  Decker spins around, scans the horizon and spots the smoke to the northwest, a narrow white plume rising into the early morning sky. It climbs almost vertically in the stillness of the morning, an alien beacon in the wilderness. He watches it for a short time, scans the horizon for a full three hundred and sixty degrees and then looks back to the smoke. “Bloody fuckers might be gett’n careless,” he mutters. “Probably think hunters are out here. Maybe they found that bloody plane.”

  He stands motionless, contemplating the smoke and what it might signify. The headmaster and the bitch are careless. Weakness gives them away, he decides. They found the transmitter but want a hot breakfast or coffee. Maybe they found that plane and are celebrating. He’ll show the bastards.

  “Jesse, bring the black fella here.”

  Jesse drags Brad out of the Patrol to his father. Joe is still leaning against the Troopie, stunned by the turn of events. Behind his expressionless face he is thinking things through. If there is going to be any chance for Brad and him, he’ll have to play along with these white fella bastards until a chance, any chance, pops up.

  Decker is still thinking about the best way to deal with the latest turn of events. Different plans rear up in his mind and he is getting confused. In the end he is taken by the thought of doing the whole lot of them at the same time, except the bitch who he’ll take his time over. “Jesse, I want you to look after the black fella,” he says, pointing to Brad. “I’ll take Joe and have a look at the fire. You follow at a distance and meet me there.”

  “Okay Pa,” Jesse replies, unsure, but willing to do whatever his dad says. Decker is his hero and Jesse looks up to him as an example of how to deal with all the pricks in the world.

  Decker walks over to Joe and prods him with the shotgun. “We’re going for a little stroll matey. Don’t try anything stupid or Brad will pay for it. We’re a team, so just do the right thing and everything will be just fine.”

  Joe is well aware that everything will never be fine. His time and Brad’s are limited to the extent of their usefulness. He staggers off in the direction of the smoke, aware of the white fella behind him with the shotgun. They make good time across the red, pebble-strewn landscape. He hears behind him the sounds of Brad being yanked across the campsite and herded in the same direction. Brad’s agonised groans firm his determination to save his brother from these murderous white bastards.

  From the bluff above, Jed watches the procession move out, one pair in front and the other pair trailing behind. The Aboriginal in the cuffs shuffles along as best he can in front of Jesse who carries a rifle slung over his shoulder. So far, so good. The plan is working. He’d been worried Decker would go alone and is relieved to see them all move out. He has gambled that the sociopath will want to maintain control and be tempted by the thought of an easy target.

  He creeps backward until he is down slope enough to stand and get back to his bed roll. He doesn’t have a lot to work with. Undoing the laces from his boots, Jed slices two strips off his blanket and wraps them around his boot and leg, tying them off with the laces, applying techniques taught to him by a Kadaicha man on Cape York, a medicine man and enforcer of tribal customs and law. Where he would have used emu feathers wrapped around his feet to mask his footprints, Jed has to improvise.

  He stands up and steps carefully across the ground, avoiding twigs or leaves that would break or bend and leave a trace of his presence. He approaches the vehicles from the rear, using them as cover in case anyone returns. He sees the fuel containers in the back of the vehicles and is tempted to burn them. He realises the best way out might still be with one of the vehicles so he refrains. Instead, he draws his knife and uses the tip of the blade to depress the tyre valves on the Patrol, deflating three of the tyres and slashing the last. He finds the portable air compressor, disconnects the air hose and hides it under a rock. Then he locates the wheel brace and undoes the spare wheel.

  He moves over to the Troop Carrier, a wreck of a vehicle but still surviving, a good advertisement for Toyota. He decides to up the stakes so this time he slashes all the tyres, then jumps onto the tray and does the same to both spares. Whoever makes it back here will have the use of one vehicle only. He picks up the spare, left hand gripping it through the axle hole and supports it under his arm. He is about to leave the scene but stops, resting the wheel on a log, and goes back to the Patrol. He is tempted to grab some food and other items but knows he can’t carry much. He opens the tail gate and scans the contents. The laptop catches his eye so he opens it, pulls out his knife and rams the brass hilt into the screen. Whatever Decker is trying to do with it isn’t going to happen. He doesn’t have time to discover whether there is a back up of some kind.

  He opens a carry bag for a quick look and rummages around, finding a passport, no, a pile of passports, held together with a rubber band. He flicks through them. Nigel Decker and then another with the same picture but under the name Matthew Strong. And another, Stephen Smith. The next one is Jesse Decker and the last also has a picture of Jesse under the name Joshua Strong. Jed is impressed. The man is organised and obviously has contacts. He tosses the passports back in the bag.

  The diesel in the jerry can is tempting, but vehicles are life out here so he refrains again from burning them. He sees an open box of shotgun shells, together with three more unopened packets of five. Then a box of rifle cartridges catches his eye among the mess in the back. Their short, fat shape grabs his attention. They are stamped .223 Winchester Super Short Magnum. He notes they are loaded with forty grain projectiles. It is a hot, long-range cartridge. The choice of calibre is interesting. Jed decides it suits the personality of the man who is hunting them—‘I’m better than all of you and will dominate everything around me!’

  His choice has one minor flaw. The cartridges are loaded with fragile varmint projectiles that can disintegrate against a hard target. He puts one in his pocket for future reference. He also notes that four shotgun shells are missing from the opened packet. Decker has fired two so he guesses he still has two more with him. The .223 WSSM box has six missing, enough for a bolt action rifle. He lifts all the boxes of ammunition, along with a litre bottle of coke and a billy can. He also takes a blanket to replace the one he cut up and stabs his knife into the plastic twenty litre water containers in the back. He spies some boxes of fruit and nut bars and grabs a few, wrapping his goods in the blanket and throwing it over his shoulder. It’s time to leave. He’s been here too long already!

  He lifts the wheel and heads along the edge of the billabong. At a certain point, he stops, drops the wheel against a log and buries the boxes of cartridges in a clear patch of sand, brushing the spot with a branch and marking it with a rock. Finding a patch of thick scrub, Jed hides the wheel, then works his way around the billabong toward Alex’s nipple. A tempting, but inappropriate thought! He checks for any trail he is leaving and is pleased to see there are no visible footprints. The dust and gravel leave no clear trace of his movements, but he continues to take care not to step on any twigs or grass.

  The hill is further than he estimated. He pushes his way through the scrub, being careful not to break any branches. In spite of his best efforts, he steps on some twigs, cringing at the sound of every snap, but time is pressing. Disabling the vehicles took longer than expected and he wants to reach Alex quickly. It was a risk to send her off on her own but she seems capable enough to manage. He is going to find out soon enough.

  The hill looms up ahead through the scrub sooner than expected. Distances can be hard to judge through the scrub when approaching j
ump-up country. What appears to be a large hill may rise only a small distance above the ground. The conditions throw normal judgement out the window. As he approaches the foot of the hill he slows to a careful stalk, scanning cautiously to the front and either side. She should be on this side of the hill but could be on the north, west or southern flanks. He stops to check the direction from which Alex should have approached and continues his slow progress. Scanning the rock and sandy gravel around him, he tries to pick up any sign.

  Ahead is an exposed rock slab. Sand and gravel have filled in shallow depressions in the rock surface. He sees a broken twig on the ground, a pebble upturned and the faint outline of a footprint impressed into the gravel. He stops to predict the line of the track.

  “Are you going to stand around all day? We’ve got a plane to find!”

  There she is, sitting on a log in a shadow with scrub behind her, holding a broken piece of greenery between her knees to break up her human outline. He hasn’t seen her, only twenty metres away!

  Impressed, Jed says, “You’ll make a good hunter!” Breaking up her outline and sitting still is a basic bush craft hunting skill. She’d got him! By forgetting to look through the vegetation rather than at it, has missed seeing her. It is a small but crucial mistake he files away. “Have you been waiting long?” he asks to mask his admiration.

  “I was about to call missing persons! What have you been doing?”

  After the morning they have been through, Jed has the handle on her. “I stopped for a cappuccino. A crappy blend and lukewarm. They need lessons on coffee out here.”

  “Typical man. You didn’t bother to bring me one by any chance?”

  “Sorry Alex, they were out of takeaway cups.”

  “Next time, I want one too, double strength, one sugar, skinny and in a mug. No second chances!” She tosses the branch of scrub aside and stands up.

  Jed likes that. They are out in the sticks, no food or water, with a psychopath after them and she can still stir him. No one has ever done that before. He is excited and stimulated by it but the thought of Decker somewhere out there reminds him to stay focussed. “We have to move. Sit back down,” he orders. To his surprise she does so without question.