BACKWOODS RIPPER: a gripping action suspense thriller

by Anna Willett

  She shivered, not from the wind, but with the realisation that if she didn’t get them out tonight, there’d be two more new plots in the veg patch. It didn’t matter that Lizzy couldn’t possibly hope to get away with what she’d done or what she planned to do. Lizzy had made up her mind and nothing would shift her from the course she’d set for herself. If there’d been any doubt in Paige’s mind that the woman would carry her plan through to the end, Wade’s makeshift grave put it to rest. Paige turned away and plodded on towards the paddock.

  The soggy grass underfoot told her she was getting closer. Grateful for the feeling of lightness the adrenaline had given her, she lifted her knees and took loping steps to avoid the marshy ground sucking her down. The smell of manure hung thick and heavy in this area, but it was not distasteful. Paige glanced over at the paddock, the cows were silent hulks against the dimness.

  The barn rose like a tombstone out of the blackness, its peaked roof cutting a sharp outline against the cloudy expanse. The entrance to the trail was somewhere between the end of the paddock and barn. Paige readjusted the shotgun against her hip and felt the twinge of a cramp in her side. She’d been carrying the hefty gun for at least fifteen minutes, balancing it against her side and hip. She considered stopping and swapping hands, but the ground was too soft. If she stopped for any length of time, her feet would sink.

  The feel of the dampness seeping into her shoes and squelching against her soles made her hurry. The stiff edges of her tennis shoes scraped against her ankles and the beginnings of cluster blisters carved their way into her skin. Her thighs trembled with the effort of lifting her legs so high. A few more steps and I’ll be clear of the mud, then I can rest. Counting each loping step, when she reached seven, the ground began to firm up under her feet.

  The effort of walking through the mud left her light-headed, and the stitch in her side spread its way across her back. She balanced the gun on her thigh and used her right hand to massage her side and back. At the same time, she listened for any sounds of movement from behind her.

  A gust of wind blustered against her neck and shoulders tipping her forward, making it difficult to catch her breath. She let go of her side and clutched the front of her dress. She had to keep going, if she wasted time resting, the battery in her phone would die, and then she’d be stumbling around looking for the dirt track until sunrise. Straighten up and get moving!

  The left side of the barn was barely visible by the glow of the phone. To the right, massive swaths of trees and shrubs crowded in, their shadows drawing together to make them seem impenetrable. Paige felt tiny against the immenseness of the wilderness and the night. She stood before the thick twists of trunks and branches, defeat threatening to overtake her. Finding the entrance seemed impossible, she’d been an idiot to think she could retrace her steps and find the track using a phone light and her memory. Lizzy had chosen to hide the car on the disused dirt road because of its hidden location. She should’ve left something behind to mark the way. Tied something to a tree, anything.

  Her mind turned to Hal, waiting for her; putting his trust in her. There was no getting around it, his life was in her hands. If she gave up, whatever ghastly things Lizzy did to him would be on Paige’s shoulders. If she lived, which seemed highly doubtful, it would be with the burden of Hal’s suffering. Her body trembled, and a sob burst out of her mouth. Within seconds she cried so hard, it felt like the sobs would tear her apart. She let the gun slip to the ground with a dull thump and sank down next to it.

  “How the fuck did this happen?” She said around big, wet sobs.

  They were on holiday in the South West. Things like this didn’t really happen to people. This is supposed to be wine country, she thought stupidly; as if evil things couldn’t grow in the same ground as grapevines.

  Paige wiped at her face with the back of her hand, it came away with a mixture of tears, snot, and blood. The cut on her cheek had re-opened, she could feel it stinging but her mind barely registered the sensation. Sticks and honky nuts bit into the skin of her legs, but she remained motionless, her already grazed knees pushed into the debris carpeting the edge of the bush.

  When there were no more tears, she wiped her face with the hem of her dress. The coarse fabric pulled at the graze on her cheek, bringing fresh pain and a dribble of blood. The emotions that had overwhelmed her subsided, leaving her raw with exhaustion. The phone lay on the ground between her legs. She didn’t remember putting it down, but that didn’t surprise her; the enormity of her situation had swallowed her up, and for a few minutes everything else disappeared. Now the reality of the dimming light hit her like a fist.

  She pounced on the phone and looked at the battery indicator; almost empty. She’d wasted precious time sitting on the ground snivelling at the weight of her problems, while the only chance of finding the car was the light. Light she’d wasted.

  Paige climbed to her feet, noticing the cuts and grazes on her legs for the first time. If she found the car and got the hell out of this circus, she’d have plenty of time to examine her wounds, but for now she had more important things to do. The gun felt heavier than before, its stock bulky against her body. She tried to picture the morning she’d spent with Soona; walking past the cows, past the barn, and then where? Paige screwed her face up with the effort of trying to remember.

  “We came from the dam … and then …” She looked in what she thought was the direction of the gully dam, but could have been anything in the blackness. “Then we …” Her mind kept telling to go past the barn, but that couldn’t be right because that would walk her straight into thickly thatched trees.

  Paige turned back towards the hulking outline of the barn. She closed her eyes and shut out the night so she could picture the scene in clear brilliant morning light. She saw the cows, their big black noses snuffling in the grass. Soona’s back was to her as she ducked under the fence. Paige nodded to herself and moved her lips.

  “I have to stop for a minute,” Paige said, and her eyes sprang open.

  They’d walked behind the barn and she’d had a stitch, that’s why Soona went back to the cows. Paige turned to her left and headed towards the barn. She picked up the pace, not quite jogging, but definitely past walking. She reached the barn just as the wind kicked up another notch. It whipped her hair up and flattened her dress against her body. The temperature dropped fast. The wind felt like a cold hand pushing her forward. As well as propelling her, it blew the clouds to the west and the moon lit up the night. Paige gave a little cry of joy and pushed on.

  The way was clearer now. The ground partially visible, the sudden change from deep green weeds to a carpet of twigs and fallen leaves revealed by the silvery moonlight. She remembered being on the far side of the barn and heading slightly to the right. She took a few more steps when the light of the torch fell on something white.

  Her breath caught. She didn’t believe in miracles, not the sort that opened up paths through the seas or cured the blind. Those things were no more real to her than the fairy-tales she read to her class, but the scrap of her white sundress fluttering in the wind seemed like a miracle. Maybe it wasn’t a burning bush, but after the evil she’d experienced over the last four days, that scrap of fabric hanging on the spindly branch of some crazy bush shrub, clinging on despite the wind, seemed like a sign from heaven.

  “We’re going to make it. We’re going to be okay,” she said and put her hand to her belly. “Do you hear me, baby?” She felt tears on her cheeks and laughed. “I’m getting you out of here.”

  She pointed the phone at the bush around the strip of fabric and realised she was standing at the opening to the trail. It’s not far, she thought and then something that had been skipping along the edges of her consciousness all afternoon clicked into place. Something Wade said just before Lizzy blew him off his motorbike. She remembered having mentioned what a long drive he had but he’d said, “It’s not that f-”. At the time, she’d been too horrified to take it in, but now she
thought he was trying to tell her that the roadhouse wasn’t far.

  The shotgun grew heavier against her body, but she ignored the discomfort. The roadhouse and, more importantly, people and a phone were not far away. Her heart fluttered and her hands trembled. Could it be possible that help was close by? Lizzy had said the roadhouse was a two-hour drive, but Lizzy is a fucking lunatic.

  Paige forced herself to keep the excitement building in her chest under control. First things first, she reminded herself. Get to the car. She tucked the gun into her side and started along the trail. The looseness of the ground forced her to walk slowly and with care. Only a few steps and the smell of eucalyptus and wattle filled the air. The trees blocked out the moonlight plunging her back into almost total darkness. It didn’t matter though, as long as she kept the faint blue light on the ground ahead of her and walked straight, she’d hit the Ford within minutes.

  Finally things are going right for us, she thought and then another cramp hit her. This time it seized her back and her thighs. The pain surged up with a tremendous grip sending her lurching forward. Her mouth fell open in shock. She let the gun slip from her grasp. It hit the ground with a dry crunch. She tried to massage the pain away with her right hand, just as she’d done before. This time the cramp squeezed with an intensity she’d never experienced.

  Paige took deep breaths, forcing her lungs to sweep air in and then release it in a steady pattern. The cramp loosened its grip and she started to straighten up when understanding dawned and a heavy blanket of panic covered her.

  “I’m having contractions,” she said into the darkness.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hal gave up on trying to sit. About half an hour ago the pain in his stump began became unbearable. He slid down in the bed, his broken leg grinding in protest, and put his sweat-soaked head on the pillow.

  At first, he’d convinced himself the increase in pain was most likely the result of his little sailing trip to the window, but the steady pulsing in his stump told him otherwise. This new agony brought the unmistakable throbbing-burn of infection. His skin felt hot and clammy, and his mind jumpy. He could feel the infection taking hold and not in baby steps like a cut on the finger. No, this was a monster and right now, its ugly head started to rise. Pretty soon, it would lift its neck and then the snarling would begin.

  He felt around under his pillow and found the scissors. The cold feel of the metal in his hand reassured his failing senses. He wrapped his fingers around the handle and drew it out; it slid against the pillowcase with a satisfying whoosh, as if he unsheathed a sword. If I had a sword, I’d cut off the bitch’s head. That made him laugh – a chilling sound in the darkened room.

  Outside the wind picked up, making the panes rattle in their crumbling putty; he was amazed they’d lasted so long in the ancient frames. For all he knew, the whole house could be consumed by wood rot. Maybe the floor would collapse under him and he’d end up in the entrance hall still lying in his bed. His thoughts became increasingly scattered. He slid the scissors under the sheets and laid them along the side of his thigh.

  Satisfied they were within easy reach, he wiped his face with the edge of the sheet and focused on Paige; she’d been gone for at least forty minutes. Or had it been longer? He found it difficult to keep track of time in the dark with no watch. When she’d first left he’d tried to count, keeping track by minutes, but by the time he reached ten, invisible screws in his stump turned ever tighter.

  If it had been forty minutes, he had another twenty yet to wait. The thought of swinging his legs out of the bed sent cold shivers down his spine. He’d been so sure he could keep up his end of the plan. That’s before the monster woke up, now all bets were off.

  He’d never considered himself a cowardly man; he been in shit storms before his visit to Mable House. He’d done things that would terrify some people, but now thinking about getting his legs out of bed made him quake.

  The mixture of cold sweats and hot fear reminded him of Afghanistan. The smell of cordite and the dry heat. There were times when he’d felt the cold fingers of terror wrap around his heart while his body remained drenched in sweat. He closed his eyes and could see the bone-coloured sand in the streets and hear the shouts. Voices raised in high pitched panic, their fear clearly recognisable even though their words were foreign.

  * * *

  His breathing came faster, in rough pants, like a dog too long in the sun. A little boy, a toddler in a yellow T-shirt walked towards the truck, his small legs sticking out from under long shorts like two twigs. The air felt charged and alive as if lightening might strike. The boy picked up speed, his little legs pumping, he turned to look over his shoulder at someone. Hal could see the child’s face in profile; a smile lit his small chubby features and his dark hair sprang up and bounced on his small head.

  Hal’s eyes moved rapidly under closed lids and a moan slipped past his open lips. The boy turned back towards the truck. The vehicle was some sort of covered van, dented and crusted with sand. Hal felt the hairs on his arm rise and he called to the boy to stop. On the other side of the street – if the sandy track between rows of crumbling buildings could be called a street – the sound of empty cans tumbling into a cart rang out.

  The boy reached under the truck and touched what looked like a red ball. Hal could hear himself calling for the boy to stop, but it sounded long and hollow like yelling through a tunnel. Breaking into a run, he stopped short when someone grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked. Then the blazing sun disappeared and his vision filled with orange spots, all sound sucked from the air.

  When his hearing returned, sound bombarded him: metal tearing, glass shattering and, above everything, screaming. Hal tried to blink the dust out of his eyes and realised he lay on his stomach. He pushed himself to his feet and staggered forward.

  “Don’t mate. Don’t.” He heard someone say. Later he realised the warning came from Lindsey, Donald Lindsey his commanding officer. But at the time, the words made no sense. He pushed forward and his boot hit something soft, limp. He stumbled and almost fell on the body. If he hadn’t pulled himself back he would have fallen and a sheet of metal, crusted with sand, would have impaled him. The jagged sheet rose out of the child’s chest in a vicious point. The yellow T-shirt had been torn from his body to reveal his small torso. The child’s tiny frame was almost carved in two. His skinny legs curled around at an impossible angle so that his bare feet – no bigger than Hal’s thumb – almost touched his shoulder.

  He heard a scream behind him, unmistakably a woman’s. In the bed, Hal twisted the sheets between his hands. He didn’t need to understand her words to know she was the child’s mother. Her voice rose higher until her shrieking grew so loud he had to cover his ears to block out the anguish.

  “Where is she? Where the fuck is she?”

  * * *

  Light filled the doorway and sent blazing circles of yellow spiralling in Hal’s eyes. He tried to blink away the sudden blindness and make sense of what he saw. His heart pounding from the images invading his mind, made it take a few seconds for him to recognise his surroundings.

  “Where is she? I’m not going to keep asking.” Lizzy’s voice came from the doorway. The light from the landing behind her made it impossible for Hal to see more than her outline, but the shrillness in her voice made it clear she was enraged.

  Hal reached into the bed, the sheets were bunched up around his waist making it difficult for him to push his hand towards his thigh. Lizzy didn’t bother with the overhead light. Either she thought she didn’t need it or she’d gone past noticing that apart from the light that spilled in from the landing, the room remained dark. She stalked over to the bed, her feet pounding the boards like a military band on the move.

  His fingers found the scissors, but they were the wrong way around. He fumbled to turn them and keep his hand concealed. If she saw the scissors, he’d lose the element of surprise and something told him he’d only get one chance at this.


  She leaned over the bed, not close enough to grab, but within striking range. Suddenly the thought of her hitting him on his infected stump seemed worse than death. He could actually visualise the pain; it would be white. Startling and exquisitely clear white, it would swallow him up.

  He twisted the scissors in his damp palm and found the handle. Her face loomed above him. A shaft of light from the door fell across her right cheek. Her eyes looked like big balls of yellow glass, shiny and bulging in their sockets. Her lips were pulled down in grimace that made her chin jut out like a cartoon witch.

  “Where did she go?” She screamed with so much power, he was sure his hair blew back while the smell of sour milk covered his face.

  The movement of her right arm drew his eyes away from her face. He saw her fist rise and knew what that meant. The pain would be bad, but not as bad as the other leg. He almost relaxed and let her hit away, but in that fraction of a second he saw Paige’s face. Not as it was on the beach in Bali, but as it had been that afternoon – haunted, raw with fear. In that instant, he wanted to kill Lizzy. He wanted it more than he wanted to escape or find relief from the pain.

  He shot his left arm out and batted down Lizzy’s fist then grabbed her shoulder. He drew her into him. Her mouth opened in a circle of surprise and a rush of air blew out. She fell forward, her doughy bosoms mashed against his chest.

  “Let go!” Her voice sounded uncharacteristically high-pitched and panicky.

  Hal would never admit it, but her fear pleased him more than he cared to acknowledge. He pulled the scissors from under the sheet with his right hand and stabbed them into Lizzy’s neck. He felt them cut through skin and hit something solid. She gave an ear-piercing screech but continued to struggle.

  He could feel her right arm pushing against his thighs and knew if he didn’t stop her, blows would rain down on his legs. He pulled the scissors out of her flesh and heard a ripping sound like an old sheet tearing in half.