Wilder Country

by Mark Smith

  The other man snorts. ‘Why’d you reckon?’

  ‘Fuckin’ b-boss’s son.’

  ‘Just the way it is, Dougie. We gotta—’

  He stops mid-sentence and the whole valley seems to be waiting for him to go on. My heart is jumping in my chest again but I shift sideways and peek around the corner.

  The two men, who must be Smale and Douglas, are only ten metres away. One of them is tall with raggedly chopped hair. He is pointing. ‘See there,’ he says, one hand grabbing the shoulder of the other man. ‘Past the hayshed, the old tractor.’

  ‘W-what about it?’

  ‘Watch. I seen somethin’ move.’

  ‘You’re s-seein’ things, Smale. There’s n-nothin’ there.’

  ‘Wait.’

  The tractor is about thirty metres away. It’s rusted to a burnt orange and its wheel rims have sunk into the ground. I’ve got a slightly different view from the two Wilders and I’m sure I can see something sticking out above the back tyre. I can’t be sure but it could be the end of a bow.

  Willow breaks cover and begins to run, crouching low, towards the furthest house. She’s hidden from the Wilders’ view by the tractor but as she gets closer to the house they spot her.

  ‘There!’ one shouts, beginning to run after her.

  ‘Well, b-bugger me,’ the other says, almost laughing. ‘W-where did sh-she come from?’

  Then he takes off, too.

  Willow is fast. She disappears behind the house before they are halfway to the tractor.

  Kas grabs me by the arm and hauls me to my feet. We can’t risk running in the open, so we backtrack behind the hayshed.

  ‘They don’t have guns,’ she says, her breath coming in short bursts. ‘They must’ve left them in the house. This could be our chance.’

  There’s a pile of firewood stacked about twenty metres from the next house. We take up position behind it.

  Smale and Douglas have separated and they circle the building from opposite directions.

  ‘Rat,’ Smale yells. ‘We got something.’

  The door opens slowly and Rat appears, hitching his pants and struggling to do up his belt. He wears a dirty grey singlet and he limps heavily.

  ‘What’s up? he says.

  ‘Ya won’t believe it! We seen a girl, a kid, hidin’ behind the tractor. She ran over this way.’

  ‘You sure? The girls are inside.’

  ‘Positive. Little blondie, she was.’

  A smile spreads across Rat’s face. ‘Little blondie? I reckon I know who that’ll be.’

  He limps back inside and we hear stifled screams and raised voices. Female voices. Then, one by one, they stagger out into the light, their arms lifted to shade their faces from the sun. There are four of them, two women and two girls. I hardly recognise Stella, though I’m sure it’s her. Her hair has been hacked back to her scalp and her clothes hang loosely from her shoulders. The other woman must be Rachel. The two girls cling to her.

  Rat has a short-barrelled rifle and he uses it to prod the women forward. He separates Stella from the others and points the gun at her.

  ‘All right, kid,’ he yells. ‘I’ve got your mum. Come out or so-help-me-god I’ll shoot her.’

  Stella looks wildly around the yard. Her body is shaking uncontrollably but her voice is strong, ‘Run, Willow. Run!’ Rat smashes the butt of the rifle into her stomach. She staggers, then falls to the ground. Rat is on top of her, jamming the barrels into her back.

  ‘I won’t tell you again, kid,’ he yells. ‘I’ll kill ya mum. Right now.’

  Kas has lifted herself up to the top of the woodpile. She points the rifle to the ground and carefully opens and closes the bolt. Her hands move slowly and sweat runs down the side of her face. She brings the rifle up and rests the barrel on the top of the stack.

  There’s a stillness that comes with tension, like waiting for a storm to break.

  Willow steps out from behind a cypress tree beside the house. She holds the bow, an arrow pulled tight in the string.

  Stella has pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. She sees her daughter, just a dozen metres away. Willow stands with one leg slightly in front of the other, her shoulders back, like I taught her.

  ‘Mum,’ she calls. ‘Mum.’

  ‘Wils. My baby.’

  A leering smile crawls its way across Rat’s face. ‘Well, look at this, boys,’ he says. ‘Little girl lost comes home. Don’t it melt ya heart?’

  Smale and Douglas edge towards Willow.

  ‘I don’t know if you understand the laws of physics, girl,’ Rat says, ‘but your little play toy’s no match for my gun. Now, put it down and I won’t shoot ya mum.’

  Willow is panicking, pointing the bow at Douglas, then Smale, then back towards Rat. I can’t stand it, I begin to move but Kas pulls me back.

  The men are getting closer to Willow.

  Stella lifts her head and says, ‘I’m okay, Wils. I’m okay.’

  Willow begins to lower the bow, still holding the arrow tight in the string. Just when I think she’s going to drop the bow she brings it back up, pauses for a second, and shoots at Rat.

  Everything happens in a blur, then. The arrow hits Rat just below his right shoulder. He yelps in pain and drops the rifle. At the same time one of the Wilders lunges for Willow and I hear a sharp crack so close to my ear it deafens me. He drops to the ground.

  Kas has shot him!

  The other woman and the two girls look around, confused. Willow has reloaded the bow and holds the second man at bay. Rat continues to curse and scream. Stella has his rifle pointed at his head.

  Kas steps out from one side of the woodpile with the rifle aimed and ready, and I step out the other side. Everyone is confused, looking at each other and trying to work out what happened.

  Kas screams at the other Wilder. ‘On your knees! Now!’

  Willow runs to Stella, who holds Rat’s rifle in one hand and hugs her daughter with the other.

  Rat tries to get to his feet but falls back to the ground, his pain now turning to rage. ‘Fuck!’ he says, again and again.

  Stella looks up at Kas and me and shakes her head. ‘Finn,’ she says, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘Kas.’

  I can’t help myself. I walk to her and throw my arms around her. I can feel the bones through her clothes.

  Kas motions the second Wilder to his feet. The shot one hasn’t moved. ‘Finn,’ she says, ‘get some baling twine from the hayshed. Anything you can find.’ She pushes the Wilder over next to Rat and gets him to sit down.

  I take off, relieved to be moving. There’s heaps of twine so I choose a few good lengths and take them back.

  Rat is sitting on his arse, one hand gripping the shaft embedded in his shoulder and the other bracing himself to stay upright.

  Kas squats in front of him, with the rifle pointed at his chest. ‘Remember me?’ she snarls.

  Rat tries to spit at her. His voice is low, pained. ‘How could I forget that ugly face?’ he manages to say.

  But Kas smiles. ‘We should’ve killed you when you came to our farm the first time. If Rose’d been a better shot, you’d be dead by now. Not just a useless cripple.’

  Rat is panting for air. His hand claws the dirt.

  ‘Warda, you mean. I heard what happened to her. Served her right. Bitch!’ he says.

  Kas moves so quickly Rat has no time to evade her. She brings the butt of the rifle crashing across his jaw. I hear the sound of bone cracking and see a couple of his teeth fly into the dirt. He collapses against the arrow, pushing it deeper into his flesh. He lies still.

  The other Wilder cowers. I’ve tied his hands behind his back so he pushes his forehead into the gravel as he tries to get to his feet. Stella is next to him in an instant. She brings her boot down hard on his back and holds him there.

  We are all left standing in the morning sun, staring at each other and trying to figure what to do next. Rachel and the two girls look from Kas to me and back
again. There’s wonder and fear in their eyes.

  Stella runs her hand through the short hair on her scalp. She looks towards the river, shading her eyes with her hand. ‘They’ll have heard the gunshot,’ she says. ‘They’re working out by the valley entrance but the noise will carry. It’ll take them half an hour to get here.’

  Willow hasn’t said a word. Maybe it’s the shock of shooting Rat, or the sight of her mother all skin and bone. Stella tries to scoop her up in her arms but she doesn’t have the strength. She hugs her close and mouths thank you to Kas and me.

  Rachel looks as sick as Stella. Her skin is a dull grey colour, her hair knotted and wild. ‘We need to get organised,’ she says.

  We drag Rat and the dead Wilder inside the house. I can’t tell whether Rat is alive or not. When I try to shift him he shows no sign of life. Thick blood oozes from the wound and his jaw juts out at an odd angle where Kas hit him with the rifle. I don’t want to risk him waking up and giving us away, so I tie him up and find a rag to wedge between his remaining teeth as a gag.

  Back outside, Kas nudges the other Wilder with her foot and he struggles to his feet.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asks.

  ‘D-douglas,’ he says.

  ‘Don’t waste your time with him,’ Stella says, standing behind Kas. ‘He’s as dumb as a box of hammers. Does whatever he’s told.’

  ‘I was j-just followin’ orders,’ he says, pleading.

  When I get close to him I see he’s not as old as the others, maybe in his thirties. Rough stubble covers his chin but his hair is thin enough to see through to the scalp.

  ‘Well, here’s an order for you,’ Kas says, ‘Shut the f-fuck up!’

  I almost laugh, but time is running ahead of us and we have to get ready. We push Douglas inside with Rat and tie him to a cast-iron stove. Before I can get the gag into his mouth he spits, ‘You’re in s-so much sh-shit now, boy, and you d-don’t even know it.’

  I want to say something smart, like Kas, but all I can think of is, ‘We’ll see about that.’ It sounds lame and he knows it.

  We decide that Harry and Stella’s place will be the easiest to defend. It gives us a clear view down the valley. We make our way back there. Stella struggles to walk the few hundred metres, and Rachel has to support the girls.

  Once we get them inside, I step back out onto the verandah with Kas.

  ‘They’re so weak,’ I say. ‘They’re not going to be much help in a fight.’

  ‘I know, but hopefully it won’t come to that.’

  ‘What’d you mean?’

  ‘I think we should go out, you and me. Ambush them before they get here.’

  ‘It’s too late for that. They’ll be on their way. They must’ve heard the shot.’ I can’t figure out whether I’m being practical or I’m just plain scared.

  ‘Think about it, Finn. For all they know Douglas could have been shooting at that wild dog they were looking for.’

  ‘It’s a big risk.’

  ‘No bigger than sitting here and waiting for them.’

  ‘We’ve got cover here.’

  Kas stares out along the road. She’s a different person, now, so sure of herself. If I hadn’t seen her hands shaking when she raised the rifle to the top of the wood stack, I’d swear she’s actually enjoying this, her chance at revenge.

  I duck back into the house. Stella is sitting at the kitchen table, Willow behind her, with her arms around her mother’s neck. Rachel and the two girls, whose names I don’t even know, are sitting on the lounge room floor.

  Kas is right, we’ll have to do this on our own.

  There are two guns in the house. We’ve got Rat’s rifle too—that’s four weapons, not counting Willow’s bow.

  Kas, Willow and I barricade the windows and back door with furniture and make sure Rachel and Stella have ammunition. Then we close the front door behind us so they can bolt and barricade that too.

  How have I ended up here, armed and heading into a fight?

  Everything around me is at odds with how I’m feeling. Sunlight streams into the valley, pushing the clouds back towards the ridges. The wildflowers are all out along the edge of the road and the winter-sown crops are pushing rows of green shoots up through the dark soil. But my head is buzzing and all the colours blur.

  Kas has our rifle and I’ve got Rat’s. It feels strange in my hands, lighter than I thought it would be. The barrel has been shortened and the wooden stock is smooth. It feels oddly comfortable to hold.

  We make a run for the willow trees near the river. We have to cross about three hundred metres of open ground, but it’s the only place that’s close enough to the road for us to see anything coming. The ground is wet and spongy after the winter, and our boots are soon caked in mud, slowing our progress. Sweat runs down the inside of my shirt and it’s not just the mud that’s making my legs heavy. I’m out of breath by the time we make the trees. Their branches are bare so it’s only the trunks that give us any cover. A little further along, the river cuts in closer to the tree line. We can drop down onto the bank and still get a good view of the road.

  ‘How long d’you reckon it’s been since the gunshot?’ Kas asks.

  ‘Half an hour, maybe longer.’

  Her chest rises and falls slowly. She’s so much calmer than me. She puts her hand on my arm and squeezes.

  We sit for ages, watching the road. Maybe the others didn’t hear the shot, after all. Maybe the wind was too loud in the trees or they were shouting at each other at just the right time. Either way, we start to relax. We might have to wait until they finish work for the day, at least another seven or eight hours.

  Stupidly, we haven’t been watching in the other direction, back towards the buildings. When we do, we see Rowdy padding along, stopping every so often to sniff the breeze. He must have picked up our scent because now he slips through the fence and heads straight for us.

  When he gets closer, I whistle and he picks up speed, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth and his legs slipping a little in the mud. Finally, he reaches us and I try to pull him in to me. But he veers past us, his low growl turning into a bark. Kas and I spin around to see a man standing on the bank, a rifle pointed directly at us. He’s huge. It must be Fenton.

  Kas moves to lift her rifle but Fenton’s voice comes low and hard, ‘Go on, girl, pick it up. Give me an excuse to shoot you.’

  He slides down the bank, holding his rifle steady and maintaining his aim. Rowdy’s hackles are up and he bares his teeth.

  ‘Keep that dog away from me or I’ll shoot it,’ he says.

  I grab Rowdy by the scruff of his neck and drag him behind my legs.

  ‘Actually,’ Fenton says, ‘I should be thanking the mongrel. I wouldn’t have seen you two down here if it hadn’t headed for you.’

  He makes us sit on the ground against the bank then goes to kick our guns away. He stops when he sees the sawn-off barrel of Rat’s rifle.

  ‘You two better start talking,’ he says. He crouches low, close enough for us to hear his nasally breathing. He looks much healthier than Stella and the others, well fed—his cheeks are red and rigger’s gloves keep his hands warm. His hair is pulled into a ponytail. He half grimaces, half smiles, and his teeth are uneven under a thick moustache.

  Kas has been quiet until now but she stares him in the face and says, ‘We were bringing the kid back, Willow. We just wanted to leave her and go on our way.’

  She’s a good liar but Fenton shakes his head and he spits at her. The gob of phlegm catches in her hair.

  ‘I know who you are, girl. That birthmark stands out like a beacon. And I know you’re a fuckin’ liar.’

  He tells us to stand and turn around with our hands behind our backs, before pushing a piece of rope at me and telling me to tie Kas’s wrists. Tight. He stays close, the rifle barrel an inch from my cheek.

  Our plan has backfired before it even got started. I’m desperately trying to think of a way out.

 
; Once I’ve tied Kas he shoves her to the ground and kneels on her back. Then he motions me in to him so he can tie my hands too. The rope bites into my wrists. I try to flex them so it will loosen when I relax but he directs a punch to my kidneys and I stagger forward. He drags me back by the rope and loops it around again.

  When he’s finished, he pulls us to our feet and starts marching us across the paddock towards the houses. He leaves two of the rifles, ours and Rat’s, hidden under the bank.

  As we walk, he talks. ‘Dumb-arse kids! You’re out of your league here, you should’ve known that.’

  He laughs and prods Kas with the barrel of his gun.

  ‘I’d keep you for myself if Ramage didn’t want you so bad.’

  Kas doesn’t miss a beat. ‘As if I’d let an arsehole like you anywhere near me.’

  Suddenly Fenton is on top of Kas, his hand on the back of her head, driving her face into the mud. Her body writhes as she tries to get breath. But he holds her there, pushing his whole weight against her.

  ‘Stop!’ I yell, but he just looks up at me and smiles. I throw myself against him, but I bounce off. Kas is scrambling to get her face out of the dirt, spluttering and spitting, gasping for air.

  Next thing, Rowdy goes at Fenton and grips his ankle just above the boot. Fenton howls, hopping back on one leg and trying to shake himself free. He raises the gun high then levels it at Rowdy.

  The shot echoes around the valley and Rowdy slumps into the dirt. Kas and I kneel on the wet ground a couple of metres from him. I can’t move.

  Rowdy lies on his side, his breathing heavy, snuffling. He paws at the ground with one leg, trying to get to his feet. Blood trickles from his mouth and his eyes are wide.

  Fenton stands over him, pointing the rifle at Rowdy’s head. I throw myself forward, losing my grip in the mud, landing heavily on Rowdy. But I push myself up to my knees and lean in until I’m covering him.

  My tears are mixed with snot and dirt and they land on Rowdy’s coat. ‘Don’t!’ I scream.

  Fenton’s boots move back in the mud. ‘Get up,’ he says.

  I lean to the side and manage to get my feet under me, the whole time keeping myself between Fenton and Rowdy. Kas is dry retching, spitting dirt from her mouth.