Tunnel Vision

by Andrew Christie

  “So when will you get home?”

  “Dunno. Depends if I find Billy or not. I’ll keep in touch, let you know how it’s going.”

  She sighed. “You should just come home.”

  “Probably. But it’s Billy.”

  Shasta said nothing.

  John went on. “They took my phone. I’ve lost all the contacts. Sally McPhedran’s number…I think Billy wrote it on the fridge. Can you have a look? Please?”

  “All right. Hang on.” He heard Shasta move through the house, the slap of her feet on the floorboards, followed by a pause. “Yeah, here it is.”

  John wrote down the number, and Shasta told him to take care of himself, to be careful.

  “Yeah, I will,” John said. What else could he say? “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I hope Billy appreciates what you’re doing for him,” Shasta said. “I love you.”

  John looked at the blank screen of the phone for a moment, then punched in Sally’s number.

  “My God. Are you okay?” she said after he’d told her what had happened.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. They put some stitches in my scalp, made a bit of a fuss about my having a concussion. I’m all right, though. Just a headache.” He rubbed at his temple with his free hand.

  “Where are you now?”

  “Back in Brunswick Heads. I had to get a new phone, this is my new number.”

  “God. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” John said.

  “I know but—”

  “Have you heard from your father?”

  “No. I’ve left loads of messages, but he hasn’t bothered to get back to me.”

  “Do you think there’s anywhere else they might have gone with him?”

  “I told you, my father and I aren’t that close. We don’t confide in each other.”

  Neither of them spoke for a moment and John wondered what had happened between Sally and her father. It seemed like Rashmi was the only point of contact between them.

  “Rashmi did say something once,” Sally said breaking the silence. “Something about a farm. He took her there a couple of times, I think.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “Not really. Somewhere out in the hills I presume. Had a funny name.” She paused. “Sorry, I’m not being much help, am I?”

  “No,” John said. “I mean, no, we’re all doing what we can. Don’t worry. Someone here will know. Your father must have friends or neighbours who would know if he’s got a farm somewhere.”

  “I’ll have a look through Rashmi’s room again, see if there’s anything there about it.”

  John told her he’d call again tomorrow, give her an update. He left the phone plugged in to charge and lay back down again. He needed more sleep.

  Chapter 26

  Hide

  Billy opened his eyes. The stars were still there. He felt hollow and full at the same time as panic grabbed him. He couldn’t breathe; his lungs weren’t working. I’m just winded, he thought. Stay calm. Shallow breaths. He got some air in, little puffs. Felt his chest relax a bit. Got a couple more in and started to think about the rest of his body. His back hurt, but it was an everywhere hurt, nothing that stood out. As he tried to roll over, he winced, the pain in his ribs suddenly getting very specific. Rashmi lay a couple of metres away, next to the upturned bike. She was moving.

  “Rash?” He could barely hear his own voice. He crawled towards her, still concentrating on his breathing.

  The bike had fallen onto Rashmi’s left leg. She was trying to push it off, but it wasn’t moving at all. The world spun as Billy stood up; he had to steady himself against one of the wheels that was sticking up in the air.

  “Oww…shit, don’t. It’s on my foot,” Rashmi shouted at him.

  Billy let go of the wheel and glanced back up the embankment. The Falcon’s headlights were moving again, swinging along the fence line towards the gate. Billy crouched next to Rashmi and gripped the bike’s steel frame. “Get ready to pull yourself away when I lift.” Billy began to straighten his legs, taking the weight of the bike on his arms. Pain shot through him from his back to his chest. He tried again, ignoring the pain, focussing on his legs, straightening them slowly. Breathing steadily. The bike moved. Just a bit at first, then a bit more. Rashmi slid away, and Billy let go, gasping, falling back to sit beside her.

  “How is it?” he managed to say.

  Rashmi was pulling her jeans up to look at her ankle. “I don’t think it’s broken. Hurts like hell, but it probably isn’t any more useless than it’s always been.”

  Billy looked back up the bank. He heard the car now, saw the glare of its headlights lighting up the long grass and the gateposts. He turned and looked along the tracks towards the tunnel. The mouth was an empty oval, deeper and blacker than the dark mass of the hill. About fifty metres, he thought. “We have to get the bike going.” He got back up on his feet and tried to tip the quad bike onto its wheels.

  “Don’t bother,” Rashmi said. “Look at that wheel. The bike’s not going anywhere.” She was pointing at the left front wheel, which was hanging off at a right angle.

  “Fuck,” Billy said, listening to the big Ford crunch and roar across the paddock. He glanced back at the tunnel. “We’ll have to walk.” One of Rashmi’s crutches was jammed underneath the bike, completely bent. The other one lay in the ditch. Billy picked it up and pulled Rashmi to her feet. They stood together, holding on to each other for a moment, propping each other up. “You all right?” Billy asked.

  Rashmi nodded. “Yeah. Let’s bounce.”

  Billy smiled and nodded back. “Yeah.” He slipped his arm around her waist. Rashmi put her crutchless arm across his shoulders, both of them grimacing as they picked their way up onto the old tracks.

  The Falcon was at the gate as they set out towards the tunnel. Billy heard Ruth shout something over the engine noise but didn’t bother turning to look at her. If they could just get to the tunnel… Then what? He didn’t have a plan, but it was dark in there. At least they’d be out of sight. What else could they do? They couldn’t just wait for her.

  The two of them limped along the tracks, stumbling occasionally on the loose ballast, trying not to let their feet get tangled in the weeds. Billy tried stepping on the timber sleepers, but the spacing was wrong. It was impossible for him and Rashmi to get into a rhythm. He tried to focus on moving forward. Just keep going. Don’t think about Ruth. Don’t think about the gun, about the pain in your back. Keep moving. That’s all. Ignore the sound of the car behind you.

  A metallic crash and a long horn blast made Billy stop and turn. The car was nose down in the ditch next to the quad bike. Stuck. Definitely this time. It wasn’t going anywhere now. Billy thought about leaving Rash and going back. Taking the gun and shooting Ruth. He checked how far they were from the tunnel. Much closer now. Rashmi leaned against him, panting as they looked back at the Falcon. The interior light came on; Ruth was a plump silhouette against it, clambering out, becoming a shadow again when she slammed the door shut.

  Billy tried to make her out in the darkness, knowing she was looking straight back at him. At the two of them, out in the open, lined up between the tracks. He turned away and they kept limping towards the tunnel. He knew the next thing Ruth would do was raise her gun. There was nothing they could do about that. All they could do was keep moving.

  They were closer to the tunnel now. The skin on Billy’s back prickled at the thought of Ruth getting them in her sights, maybe resting her unsteady left hand along the roof of the car. Her finger squeezing the trigger. He kept going, half lifting Rashmi, their movement a poorly-coordinated stumble, concentrating on the dark hole slowly growing in front of them.

  Billy felt the cold breath of the tunnel before they got to it. Carbon dark air seeping out. Glancing back, he saw no sign of Ruth, just a faint glow of starlight reflecting off the car. They kept going, limping beneath the brick arch of the tunnel mouth. Fifteen metres
in, they stepped completely out of the starlight and into the solid darkness of the tunnel. The only thing Billy could see in front of them was a faint gleam from the tracks, which curved and faded into the distance.

  “We can’t outrun her,” Rashmi whispered.

  “I know.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Hide.”

  They kept moving, the sounds of their footsteps echoing off the tunnel’s brick-lined walls. Billy tried hard to keep his balance, to keep them going quickly and quietly into the darkness. He didn’t know how far they could go, how far they needed to go. Fifty metres? A hundred? It didn’t matter, really; there was no way of judging distance in the pitch black.

  Each time he looked back, the silver-grey oval of the tunnel’s mouth was a bit smaller. He hadn’t seen Ruth yet, but surely it wouldn’t be long before she appeared. She was old, but she could move much faster than they could now.

  Gradually the mouth disappeared, shuttered off by the black wall of the curving tunnel. Billy guided Rashmi to the right side of the tracks, the inside edge of the curve. They felt their way along. Billy slid his fingers over the rough bricks, loosening the dirt and soot as they went. He hoped there was nothing there that would bite him as he traced the cracks and joints. When his hand lost contact with the bricks, he stumbled for a moment, his hand flapping at the gap. This was what he’d been feeling for, one of the niches in the tunnel wall. It would have to do; they couldn’t risk going any further. Every noise they made echoed through the tunnel.

  He guided Rashmi into the back of the niche, and they slid down the wall, sitting in the darkness and dirt, leaning together for warmth. There was no light, nothing to see, but they could feel each other, give each other warmth. Billy held Rashmi tightly, his arm wrapping around her narrow shoulders, hoping the darkness would be enough. Darkness and quiet—it was all they had.

  Billy’s breath was loud in his ears. Would that madwoman be able to hear them? Just wait, he told himself. Be quiet and wait. Maybe she’ll give up. Maybe she already has. In the roof of the tunnel above them, he saw lights. Like stars, but they couldn’t be. Glowworms he realised. They must be the glowworms.

  The noise was faint, a ringing sound. Something hitting the rails. Billy leaned forward to look around the corner of the niche, back the way they’d come. There was nothing to see, just darkness.

  A couple of minutes later, more sounds came. Footsteps, a muttered curse, and then a beam of light swept along the tracks and up, picking out all the individual bricks in the arch of the tunnel. Billy swore silently; he should have thought she’d have a flashlight. Better still if he hadn’t crashed the quad bike. He and Rashmi would be out the other side of the tunnel by now. They would have found help.

  The light marked out the dark slots of the niches in the outer curve opposite them. As Ruth came closer, the beam swung and jittered. A couple of times it flashed towards their niche, outlining the rough edges of the corner bricks. Billy and Rashmi squeezed back as far as they could. The brick-lined recess didn’t seem nearly deep enough—or dark enough—now. Billy released Rashmi’s hand and felt around him on the ground. His fist closed around the biggest piece of ballast he could find. A cold, hard piece of rock the size of his fist. He didn’t know what he was going to do with it, but it felt good to have something hard in his hand. He felt around for another. One for each hand.

  Ruth was shining the flashlight into each of the recesses as she moved along the tunnel, sweeping the beam back and forth from one side to the other. The niche opposite them lit up, and then the beam leapt across the tracks towards them.

  The old woman stepped into view then disappeared, the flashlight’s glare momentarily blinding Billy. He and Rashmi huddled in the back of the niche, shielding their eyes. Billy held a rock in each hand. Rashmi muttered, “Fuck this” then lowered her hands as she stared unblinking into the beam of light.

  “Hiding like rats in a hole,” Ruth said. “Nowhere to run now, you little shits.” Her right arm was rolled up in a makeshift sling, using the hem of her orange T-shirt. Her left hand gripped the gun, with a flashlight fixed beneath the barrel. “You’re gone now. It’s over. Tell me where the gold is, and I’ll make it quick.”

  “We don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, you mad bitch,” Rashmi shouted. “We never heard of any gold.”

  “Pity,” Ruth said. The flashlight beam and the muzzle of the gun twitched towards Billy. “I think I’ll shoot your boyfriend first. Then take my time with you, girl.”

  Rashmi was sobbing. “Fuck off. Just fuck off.”

  The rocks dug into Billy’s palms. He was planning to throw them. Could he do that, then get up and tackle Ruth? Before she shot him? Or Rash? If he moved, she’d just shoot him where he sat. But she was going to do that anyway.

  “You might want to move away from him a bit, darling,” Ruth said. “Unless you want his brains all over you.”

  “No.” Rashmi wrapped her arms tightly around Billy, burying her face against his neck. Billy kept looking at Ruth; his arms were trapped beneath Rashmi now.

  “Stupid girl. At this range, even left-handed I’m going to hit something. Doesn’t really matter what. Or who.”

  The gun trembled in Ruth’s hand. Billy didn’t want this crazy woman to be the last thing he ever saw.

  He closed his eyes. He heard a roar. Light flashed red through his eyelids. Rashmi’s body leapt beside him. “No,” he shouted, struggling against her weight, her hair in his eyes and mouth.

  She pushed away from him. “Billy?” Her voice was high and scared.

  Billy looked around. Ruth was gone. Lying on the tracks, the flashlight beside her, shining on red blood and rusted steel. Half her head was gone.

  “I’m all right,” Billy said, trying to stand, leaning against the wall, his legs wobbling.

  “Rash. You there?” A man’s voice echoed through the tunnel. Billy heard footsteps moving fast on the gravel.

  “Grandpa!” Rashmi shouted. “Grandpa. We’re here.”

  Billy crawled out of the recess and pulled Rashmi up. She ignored Ruth’s body, instead looking back down the tunnel, where Dave was running towards them. Billy couldn’t take his eyes off Ruth. The side of her head wasn’t there; it was just gone. Blood was everywhere, slick and shiny in the beam of the fallen flashlight.

  “Grandpa, Grandpa.” Rashmi let go of Billy and threw herself at Dave, still sobbing.

  He put his arms around her and held her tightly. His right hand was still holding the shotgun that had killed Ruth.

  “Rashmi, Jesus. I’m sorry, love.” Dave gave her another squeeze then held her away from him. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m okay. Just hurt my ankle.” She nodded and sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

  “What about you?” Dave looked over at Billy.

  “I’ll be all right.”

  Dave glanced down at Ruth, then back at Rashmi and Billy. “Okay then. We have to go. We have to go now.” He swept his granddaughter up with his left arm and threw her over his shoulder, then turned and headed back towards the tunnel entrance. He still held the shotgun in his right hand as Billy followed along, carrying Rash’s crutch. Trying to keep up, he glanced back at the dark mound of Ruth’s body, silhouetted by the flashlight beam.

  Chapter 27

  Nothing Good

  John woke up on Sunday morning with a pounding headache. He took some paracetamol and codeine and had a long shower while the drugs kicked in. Down the street, he found a café that looked busy enough to suggest that the coffee would be passable. He ordered a double-shot flat white and some toast. While he waited for the order, he pulled out his new phone and punched in the few contact numbers he could remember.

  The arrival of his toast and coffee coincided with the arrival of an older couple who were ordering takeaway coffees. They seemed like locals, greeting the girl behind the counter by name. Just back from a morning swim, judging by the towels ove
r their shoulders and their T-shirts, damp over their swimmers. Both of them had skin that was deeply tanned and wrinkled by years in the sun. As they chatted with another couple sitting at one of the tables, John watched the pelicans perched awkwardly on top of the streetlights on the other side of the road. They looked big and unwieldy out of the water but seemed comfortable enough sitting up above the street, preening. His consideration of the life of a pelican was interrupted when one of the locals mentioned Larkin Street. That was where John had been yesterday, where Dave McPhedran lived.

  “The police have closed the whole street,” the seated man said. “I had to come around the back way this morning.”

  “Have you heard who it was?” the woman who’d been for a swim asked.

  “Michelle down the bakery said it was Kurt.”

  “No. Not Kurt? Why? Who would—”

  “He’s such a lovely guy.”

  “A real character. And a sweetheart. Do anything for you.”

  “Doesn’t make sense. Who would kill him?”

  The takeaway coffees arrived, and the couple that had been swimming said their goodbyes. As they paused to let a waitress past, the man said quietly to the woman, “It’s probably some drug thing. All that irrigation work Kurt does? It’s all for the dope growers.”

  “No.”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “Who said that? Reg? That’s just pub talk. And Reg is an idiot.”

  The man shrugged. “Maybe, but I’ll bet it’s something to do with drugs.”

  For a little holiday town, a lot of people seem to be getting hurt, John thought, as he finished his toast and threw back his coffee.

  Back at the hotel, he collected his things and checked out. The manager, Allan, waved off the new credit card John offered him. “There’s no charge. Not after what happened. I’m just sorry we can’t offer you another night, but we’re booked up.”