by Mark Smith
‘Now walk,’ Fenton yells. He’s backing away towards the road, his attention focused on the houses again. They’ll have heard the shot.
Kas’s face is covered with dirt and her hair is thick with mud. Her shirt is ripped at the back and her shoulder blades poke through. We trudge towards the road, Fenton behind us. When we reach the fence, we have to crawl under the lowest wire, rolling to the side to get to our feet again. Fenton just steps over it. I chance a look back at Rowdy but he hasn’t moved. He’s just a brown lump in a black field.
Fenton is limping, though, and his ankle is red with blood. Rowdy has bitten him deep. I’m past caring about my own survival, now. I turn and run straight at him, colliding with him front-on before he has time to lift the gun. He overbalances and I fall on top of him. Kas is beside me, kicking Fenton again and again. But he’s so much bigger than us. He grabs Kas’s leg and pulls it from underneath her. She falls heavily and I hear her head hit the ground. I’ve somehow managed to bite his neck and I taste the salty blood. But he throws me off easily and I land next to Kas.
Fenton climbs to his feet, picks up the rifle and stands above us.
‘Stuff this. Who’s goin’ to know,’ he says, pointing the gun at my head. I close my eyes. I try to think of Dad and Mum. My body shudders and I’ve pissed myself.
A shot rings out.
He must have missed. Then his whole weight falls over my legs, the rifle caught between us. There’s blood everywhere, but I can’t tell whose it is.
I’m breathing. I’m alive!
There are other footsteps on the gravel now, coming closer. I wriggle and push and shove his body off me.
When I look up, Stella is standing on the road, blocking the sun. She has a rifle in her hands. I can’t make sense of Fenton’s face; there’s blood all over it. His eyes are blank.
I feel a knife cut through the rope around my wrists. My vision is all blurred and I’m struggling to work out what’s happened. Rachel is kneeling next to Kas, wiping the dirt from her face with her sleeve.
I stagger to my feet. My legs are like jelly, my pants wet with piss but I half walk, half fall down to the fence. I slide through the wire and run to Rowdy.
His body is warm and he’s breathing. I lift him into my lap and push my face into his coat. Kas has followed and she kneels next me, running her hands over his body, searching for the wound. Rowdy’s eyes stare at me, and he pants.
‘Here,’ she says.
She has her hand on the top of his back leg. Then she shifts her other hand underneath him.
‘It’s gone through!’ she says, smiling and crying. ‘It’s gone through, Finn!’
She tears at her shirt and pulls away two strips, placing each one carefully on the wounds. Rowdy flinches and tries to get to his feet but I hold him tight. He licks my arm.
Stella calls from the road. ‘We have to get back. The rest of them could be here any minute.’ Rachel has picked up Fenton’s rifle and she and Stella turn towards the house.
I lean over Rowdy and push my forehead against Kas’s.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘We can carry him.’
I cradle Rowdy in my arms across the paddock to the fence, where I pass him to Kas. Between the two of us we get him to the house.
Willow runs at Kas and hugs her.
‘What’s happened to Rowdy?’ she asks.
‘He’s hurt,’ Kas says.
‘Will he be okay?’
‘I don’t know.’
Kas and I take Rowdy to the washroom. The wound doesn’t look quite as bad once we clean away the blood and caked dirt. He paws at us, as if trying to understand what’s happened to him. When we’re done, we wrap him in a blanket and bring him into the kitchen where it’s warmer.
I notice how messy the house is. Dirty plates are stacked in the sink, clothes and food scraps litter the floor. Stella seems not to notice—all her attention is on Willow. She holds her as though she might disappear again at any moment.
We barricade the door and sit in the half-light, exhausted but knowing we’ll need our energy again soon. I’ve seen two men, maybe three, die this morning. I know it was part of our plan, but I can’t quite believe what’s happened.
Stella sits across the table from me, still holding the rifle she used to shoot Fenton. It’s the first time I’ve had the chance to look at her closely. Her face is lined in a way I don’t remember last autumn. Her hands are scabbed and her nails black with dirt. Her collarbones stick out against her shirt and her chest is hollow.
She sees me looking and drops her head. ‘It’s been hard, Finn,’ she says.
I don’t know what to say.
‘Did Harry tell you what happened after you escaped?’ she says.
‘A little.’
‘As if it wasn’t bad enough having Ramage’s men ruling us night and day. But Tusker’—she spits his name out—‘Tusker turned against us. He was as bad as them.’
Then her face brightens a bit. She reaches across and takes my hand. ‘How is Rose? She would’ve had the baby by now.’
Kas sits down next to me. She leans her forehead against my shoulder. When she speaks I can feel the words on my skin.
‘Rose died,’ she says. ‘And Ramage took the baby. We called her Hope.’
It sounds like too few words to explain all the pain and anger and hurt.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Stella says. I can tell she wants to ask more, but she looks at Kas, releases my hand and sits back in her chair. Through habit, she goes to run her fingers through her hair, smiling when she realises how silly it must look. ‘I swear I’m going to sue that hairdresser,’ she says.
Willow rubs the uneven fuzz on her mother’s head. ‘It feels like a rabbit,’ she says.
Stella asks Rachel and the girls to come and sit with us. She introduces Rebecca and Katherine. Kas already knows them. She stayed with them when she was captive here last year.
Looking at the girls sitting side by side I realise they’re twins—probably a year or two older than Willow. They have the strange combination of blue eyes and jet-black hair. Like Rachel and Stella, their faces are gaunt and there are dark rings under their eyes. They huddle close to each other, holding hands and hunching their shoulders. They haven’t said a word.
Kas sees the hesitation in the women and girls. ‘Right,’ she says. ‘We’ve got no way of knowing when the others will be back but we have to be prepared.’
I can see what Kas is trying to do—sound confident, take charge.
‘Wils,’ she says. ‘You take the twins back up to the rock where we slept last night. All our gear is there, so make yourselves comfortable and stay out of sight.’
Willow looks to Stella, who nods.
‘Surprise is our best defence,’ Kas says to Rachel and Stella. ‘We need to wait until they’re in the yard before we make our move.’
I’m onto her plan now but I can see a problem. Fenton’s body is still lying in the middle of the road. They’ll see it before they get anywhere near the building.
‘I’m going to shift Fenton’s body,’ I say. ‘I’ll stay hidden out there and get behind them when they’ve passed. Fenton left the rifles on the riverbank.’
Kas nods. ‘What other guns do we have?’
‘This one,’ Stella says, lifting the rifle by her side. ‘Rachel’s got Fenton’s and we found another one by the back door.’
‘Good. Give me one, and you and Rachel stay in here with the other two. Barricade the doors again after we’ve left.’
Willow leads the twins out of the kitchen. Stella follows, and hugs her briefly. Willow passes the bow over her head and hitches the arrow bag onto her back. ‘Don’t worry Mum,’ she says, ‘I’ll be okay.’
‘Go now,’ Kas says. ‘Stay low and be careful.’
‘I should move, too,’ I say. ‘I’ll give you the whistle to warn you in case you can’t see them coming.’
‘I’m not staying in here,’ Kas says. ‘I’ll be behind the old tracto
r. I want to be able to move if I have to.’
I look back. Stella is standing with the rifle cradled in her arms. She’s got her shoulders back and her chin up. Suddenly, she looks ready for a fight. Rachel is next to her. I don’t know anything about her, how reliable she might be, but we don’t have any choice now. We need to believe in her, too.
Kas and I run for the protection of the low hedge by the front gate. Clouds have moved in, bringing a chill to the air. The wind is picking up and it’s starting to rain.
It’s all quiet out along the road and Fenton lies where we left him, about two hundred metres away.
Kas touches the side of my face with a cool hand. ‘Good luck,’ she says.
Then she pushes me away and I start running.
My legs feel like they’ve got lead weights in them. I’m pushing straight into the wind, and the rain needles my face.
Fenton lies on his back, the rain, heavier by the minute, pounding into his chest. Blood washes off his body and soaks into the gravel. I’m about to try moving him when I remember something Harry told me last night—Fenton has the keys to the chains. I slip my hands into his pockets, but they’re empty. Maybe he left the keys with the others. Then I notice a chain around his neck. It’s smeared with blood but when I pull it up, there are two keys on it.
Everything is wet and slippery now, making it hard to get a grip on him. In the end, I sit down on the road and roll him with my feet. He’s heavier than I could have imagined but, with a lot of swearing and kicking and pushing, I eventually roll him into the ditch at the side of the road. Then I pull clumps of weeds from the soft soil to cover his body.
My breath is coming fast again and I can’t tell if it’s cold or fear that’s making my body shake. I slide through the fence and run flat-out for the willow trees, falling into the bank and hugging my knees to my chest when I make it.
I’m hidden from the road but open to the wind and rain. My clothes are saturated and I keep having to push the wet hair out of my eyes. I shimmy along to the overhang where Fenton hid the rifles and pull them out. Rat’s is wet and caked in mud, so I leave it there. But ours is still pretty clean. I wipe it with my shirt and check the bolt.
I wonder what Mum and Dad would think of me, holding a rifle and preparing to shoot someone. Somehow, I’ve avoided killing anyone, so far. It’s happened around me but it’s been kind of surreal. Kas has killed three men and I’m alive because of it. I know it’s changing her; she’s done it to protect us and now I’m going to have to make a decision about doing the same.
The adrenaline has been keeping me awake but my stomach is growling for lack of food. I’ve had nothing to eat since the can of beans I shared with Kas hours ago.
It’s well past midday when I hear movement along the road—the sound of metal dragging on gravel. Eventually they round a bend about fifty metres from where I’m sitting. There are eight men stretched across the road, chained together at the ankles. They’re walking in a horseshoe shape, protecting three other men, who each carry a rifle.
The Wilders are using the farmers as a human shield.
Harry’s in the middle of the line. He turns his head from side to side, scanning the valley and houses. He knows something’s happened. I’m a good distance from them as they pass. I climb carefully over the bank, sliding the rifle in front of me, and press myself against the trunk of a big willow. I give the wattlebird calls—one, two, three. Harry turns in my direction and touches his ear. He’s heard me.
I wait until they’ve gone past before I risk moving. I have to stay behind them, where the guards are exposed. They pass the spot where Fenton’s body lies in the ditch. No one sees him.
There’s a lot of open ground to cover to get to the road so I have to take a chance on none of the Wilders turning around. Thankfully, it’s raining. It pounds onto the gravel and disguises any noise I’m making.
I get to the fence without being seen, but now they’re a fair distance ahead of me on the road. Something is happening in the group—the horseshoe is closing in, getting tighter. The Wilders are making sure they’re protected. They stop when they reach the main gate where the road opens out into the yard in front of the houses and sheds. I find some cover about twenty metres behind them where a crumbled stone wall meets the road.
‘Fenton,’ one of the Wilders shouts. ‘What’s goin’ on? Come out.’
The yard is silent but for the steady fall of rain on the roofs of the houses.
‘Fenton,’ he calls again. ‘Stop stuffin’ around.’
I can’t see Kas near the tractor. Where is she?
One of the Wilders raises a shotgun and shoots into the air. The farmers duck, hunching their shoulders against the noise.
‘Anyone here better show themselves right now. And,’ he yells, stepping forward and pressing the shotgun to the back of Harry’s head, ‘I mean right now.’
Seconds tick by. No one moves.
I try to push myself upright, pressing against the wall to stop my body shaking. I know it has to be me that makes the move. I’ve got the advantage; I can take them by surprise.
I punch my thighs to get them moving, hold the rifle high and step out onto the road.
I walk ten paces towards them, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other.
When my voice comes it’s cracked and jittery.
‘Don’t move,’ I call.
The farmers drop to the ground, exposing the Wilders, who all swing around to look at me. I’ve got the rifle raised and I’m trying to keep it steady.
‘And who are you?’ the Wilder in the middle says.
Somehow, I keep moving forward, stopping a few paces from them.
‘Didn’t think this out too well, did ya kid?’ the one with the shotgun says. ‘You can only shoot one of us. Put your rifle down and we’ll let you live.’
‘Put yours down and I’ll let you live.’ It’s Kas. She’s standing in the yard, no more than ten metres away.
They swing around to her.
‘She’s not joking, Wilson.’ Stella steps out from behind the hedge to their left, her gun raised as well.
The Wilders are confused, looking for a way out of the trap.
‘Where’s Fenton?’ Wilson, the one with the shotgun, asks.
‘Dead.’ Stella says, her voice defiant.
‘And Rat? Smale? Douglas?’
‘Various levels of dead,’ Kas calls.
All their attention is now on Stella and Kas. The farmers edge in, tightening the space around the Wilders. The man closest to me looks up and nods.
The other two Wilders lower their weapons but Wilson holds his high. I keep him in my sights, looking along the barrel and aiming for his back.
Suddenly he lurches towards Harry bringing the shotgun down towards his head.
Do it, Finn. Do it.
I squeeze the trigger. There are more shots. Stella and Kas must have fired at the same time. Wilson jerks one way then the other, before dropping heavily onto the road. At the same moment, the farmers push in and throw themselves onto the Wilders in a pile of swinging fists and boots and chains.
Finally, all the commotion dies down. The farmers pick themselves up, trying to manoeuvre the chains so they can stay on their feet. Harry has his foot on the back of one of the Wilders who looks to be unconscious. The other one is on his side, in a foetal position. Blood pools under his cheek. Harry looks at me and smiles wearily.
I throw him the key and the men pass it around. As each frees his legs he steps away from the group and rubs his ankles. One picks up the shotgun and stands guard over the Wilders.
Stella throws herself at Harry. They hug, burying their faces in each other’s shoulders.
After a while Harry holds her at arm’s length, a smile mingling with his tears. ‘I like what you’ve done with your hair,’ he says. Stella laughs and softly punches him in the chest.
The rain has eased and, as if on cue, the sun breaks through. Harry and Stella look to me and
open their arms. I drop the rifle and fall into them. It’s so comforting after all the cold and fear of the day—the warmth of human bodies brought together. Stella motions to Kas, who hesitates, looking around and shifting her feet in the gravel.
‘Come here,’ Stella says, but Kas stays put. I take her hand. She pulls back but I draw her in, her body rocking and swaying until her resistance falls away. I hold her as tight as I can. Harry and Stella enclose us and we stand there in the sunlight, the tension seeping from our bodies.
It takes most of the afternoon for everyone to come to terms with the new situation. I recognise Simmo, from the meeting last autumn. He and Rachel walk everywhere hand in hand.
The dust has barely settled when Harry spots three small figures running through the top paddock, scattering the cows and making their bells ring out across the valley. Rachel, Simmo, Stella and Harry walk as quickly as their tired bodies can carry them to the gate to meet Willow and the girls. Willow throws herself at Harry and Stella, nearly knocking them over and the twins fall into the arms of Rachel and Simmo.
The two Wilders in the work party, Dillon and Ricardo, are taken to the shearing shed and their wounds tended to before they’re locked inside. Douglas is marched over to join them. Simmo tells us Rat is dead and three of the men dig graves close to the bush in the paddock above the hayshed. There’s no ceremony—Rat, Fenton, Smale and Wilson are buried quickly, with nothing left to mark their graves. I want no part of this. I don’t want to see their bodies or watch as they’re covered with soil. But I have a burning question that I need answered.
One of the men on burial duty is Jack, who was with Harry and Tusker when they first caught me at Pinchgut Junction. He looks ten years older. When I saw him last he was wiry and strong but now he’s half-starved, like everyone else. He walks back from the graves, a shovel over his shoulder, looking exhausted from the digging.
‘You come to piss on me?’ he says, smiling.
‘What?’
‘That was me in the shearing shed last night. You scared the shit out of me!’