Wilder Country

by Mark Smith

  Without turning to look at us, she whispers, ‘Don’t move.’

  We can hear voices inside the house, now.

  She begins to hang out the washing.

  The back door opens and a man’s voice calls, ‘You know where the shed key is, Mum?’

  ‘Where it always is, dumb-arse. On the hook by the fire.’ Her voice is casual.

  When she’s finished the washing, she wanders back towards us. Leaning against the wall, her voice low and hurried now, she says, ‘There’s a church this side of the street, couple of hundred metres. Wait for me there. I’ll come after dark.’

  She walks back around the corner and we hear the door open and close. I’ve been holding my breath, pushing my body back against the wall.

  ‘Come on, let’s go,’ Kas says.

  We follow the wall along the side of the house, climb a low brick fence and run back up towards the trees. My heart’s in my mouth and my breath is coming in gulps. It’s hard to run with the rifle. I almost wish I hadn’t brought it.

  When we reach the trees we drop to the ground. ‘Shit,’ Kas says, ‘that was close.’

  ‘Can we trust her?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘She could’ve given us away, but she didn’t.’

  The conversation goes back and forth like this for a while. In the end, we decide we need to know what’s happened to Hope, so we have to meet her in the church.

  ‘There’s one thing I don’t like,’ Kas says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you see the washing on the line?’

  ‘Yeah. So what?’

  ‘There were no baby clothes.’

  Once the sun drops behind the hills to the west, the valley starts to cool. It’s an hour off sunset, but we make our way along the back of the buildings until we can see the church. There’s not much left of it. The stained-glass windows along one side have been pushed out and they lie in coloured pieces on the ground. Two doors hang by their hinges, looking as though they’ve been attacked with axes.

  When darkness finally comes, we approach the church from the back, listening for any sound that might spell danger. Inside, it’s almost empty. All the pews are gone, probably for firewood; even some of the floorboards have been pulled up. The place is littered with leaves and over in one corner there’s a pile of moth-eaten blankets and a dirty pillow.

  There’s a small space behind where the altar must have been. We squeeze ourselves in there, sit with our backs to the wall and wait.

  It’s not long before we hear footsteps on the wooden floor. I peer around the corner to see Bridget Monahan, her red hair frizzing around her head like she’s walked through a storm. She’s carrying a rifle.

  ‘You there?’ she whispers.

  We step out slowly. She raises her gun then lowers it when she sees ours pointed to the floor.

  ‘Come closer,’ she says. ‘I can’t make you out.’

  We walk towards her, careful to avoid the gaps in the floor.

  ‘So,’ she says, ‘you two must be either brave or stupid, coming here.’

  ‘We don’t want trouble,’ Kas says, her voice firm.

  ‘If you didn’t want trouble, luv, you should’ve stayed where you were. There’s a price on both your young heads.’

  ‘The baby,’ Kas says. ‘We’ve come for the baby.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ Bridget sighs, ‘I didn’t think you’d come for afternoon tea.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Kas insists.

  ‘Slow down, luv.’ She eases her weight onto one hip and tilts her head a little. ‘I’m sorry for what happened. If I’d got there earlier I might’ve been able to save your sister.’

  Kas meets her gaze. ‘We did the best we could,’ she says.

  The woman makes a tsk-tsk sound. ‘And you,’ she says, pointing her chin at me, ‘you’ve made yourself an enemy. Benny, Mister Ramage, he wants you most of all. You tried to kill him. Big mistake.’

  I’m getting a squirming feeling in my gut. The hairs on my arms are standing up. She’s stalling us.

  ‘Where’s the baby?’ I say. ‘Where’s Hope?’

  ‘Hope. That’s a nice name. Mister Ramage called her Shauna, after his wife.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Kas’s voice is urgent now. Something’s not right about this meeting, the way Bridget looks so comfortable standing here talking to us in secret.

  ‘She’s not here. We went back to Longley for a while. I looked after her, little mite that she is. She cried a lot, though, and Benny didn’t like that. There was a Siley of his, young girl, just lost her baby so Benny gave Shauna to her and sent them to live in another part of town. The Ramsay place. Guards them night and day.’

  ‘How do we know you’re telling the truth?’ Kas says.

  ‘Well, that’s it, luv, you don’t. But right at the moment, I don’t think that matters much.’

  She turns her head as though she’s listening for something then slowly brings her rifle up until it’s pointing at us.

  We lift ours quickly, but two heavy figures appear in the doorway and another leans through the open window.

  They’ve all got guns.

  ‘Sorry, kids,’ Bridget says, ‘but Mister Ramage will pay well for you two and I have to look after my own first. They’re family, after all.’ Her voice hasn’t lost its singsong kindliness but the smile has left her face and her mouth turns down at the edges. ‘It’s a pity, I miss having young people around.’

  A much harsher voice, deep and menacing, a man’s voice, says, ‘Put your guns down slowly and step back. I’m not as nice as my mum. I’ll shoot if ya make me.’

  Kas is breathing heavily and I’m sure my heart is beating loud enough for everyone to hear.

  We place our rifles on the floor and step away from them.

  Another man comes in from our left and picks up the guns. He stands in front of us, cradling them in his arms. He’s huge, as big as Fenton and as wide as Kas and me put together.

  The other one in the doorway lights a lamp and brings it over to us. Our hands are pulled behind our backs and tied tight until the rope burns.

  There’s no conversation. We’re hustled out into the street and back to the general store. Inside, we’re pushed into a windowless room and the door is locked behind us. Then we hear them in the next room.

  Bridget is calling the shots, the others waiting on her instructions.

  ‘Joey, take Griff. Ride quick as you can to Longley and tell Ramage what’s happened.’

  ‘Why don’t we just take them ourselves?’ a deeper voice asks.

  ‘We’re not giving them up for nothing. I want enough supplies for a year, at least. He can send his men out here to negotiate.’

  ‘That’s a dangerous game, Mum. You know what he’s like.’

  Her voice is firm. ‘We’re on his side. We’re valuable, guarding the road. We need to be looked after.’

  ‘She’s right.’ It’s the deep voice again. ‘He needs us out here, especially with them Sileys on the loose and fighting back.’

  Kas has found me in the dark, her shoulder touching mine. She hasn’t said anything since the ambush in the church. ‘Sileys,’ she whispers. ‘Must be the No-landers.’

  There’s the sound of pots and pans in the kitchen, heavy footsteps moving around the house and, every now and again, Bridget giving orders. Eventually, the smell of cooking meat finds its way into our room. We’ve hardly eaten all day and my stomach is rumbling.

  Our eyes start to adapt to the dark and I make out Kas worrying away at the ropes behind her back.

  ‘Shit,’ she says. ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ her voice is quiet but frantic.

  I know we’ve stuffed up, but maybe I’m getting more used to being in tough situations. It doesn’t mean I’m not scared, but I know there’s nothing to be gained from panicking.

  ‘Hey, ease up,’ I say. ‘We gotta think our way through this.’

  ‘We walked into a trap, Finn. It was stupid. They’re going to hand us over
to Ramage.’

  ‘I know. It doesn’t mean we can’t be smart now, though.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We know they’re sending someone to get the Wilders. They’re going to try to bargain with Ramage. That gives us a little bit of time. We have to keep alert for any chance we get.’

  Just as I say this, a key turns in the lock and the room is flooded with light. We see a mattress in the far corner and a large bowl that looks like a piss pot. Two men lift us to our feet and walk us out into the kitchen. One unties the ropes around our wrists and the other picks up a rifle from the corner by the stove and rests it in his arms. Bridget is working at the stove. She doesn’t bother turning around.

  ‘When did you last eat?’ she asks.

  ‘Had a little bit this morning,’ I say.

  The two men look like father and son. The older one has a grizzled beard streaked with grey. He could be fifty or seventy, it’s hard to tell. The younger one’s probably in his thirties, the same round face as his father, his cheeks red with veins close to the surface. I’m guessing they’re drinkers, probably some rotgut they’re making themselves.

  ‘Tom and Joey,’ Bridget says without us asking.

  She places a big pot in the middle of the table and starts to ladle watery soup into bowls.

  ‘Wallaby,’ she says. ‘It’s not much but it’ll fill your gut. Don’t want Ramage thinking we haven’t looked after you.’

  The big guy from the church comes in, stooping to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe. He sits at one end of the table. Bridget is at the other end and Joey and Tom sit opposite us. Joey stands the rifle against his chair, with the barrel sticking up far enough to remind us it’s there.

  ‘So,’ Joey says, the fat from the soup greasing his moustache, ‘which one of you’s the horse thief?’

  Kas looks up from her bowl.

  ‘I thought so,’ he says. ‘He’s a bastard to ride, isn’t he. Needs a good flogging to keep him in line.’

  ‘Yogi?’ Kas says, her eyes wide.

  ‘What sorta name’s that for a horse? His name’s Griff.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘One of Ramage’s raiding parties found him on the coast before the winter,’ Joey says. ‘Not much left of him by the time they got him up here, all skin and bone. Took a lot of convincing to stop them killing and eating him.’

  I can’t help myself. ‘Was there an old man with them when they came back? Grey hair, beard, walks kinda funny?’

  ‘Not that I saw,’ Joey says.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Tom cuts in. ‘They don’t need to know all that. They’re prisoners, remember.’

  ‘Means nothing to them, now,’ Joey says. ‘The boy’ll be dead within the week and Ramage’ll have plans for the girl. Pity about that mark on her face. She’d be a looker without it.’

  The soup is salty and thin but there’s a bit of meat on the bones and I eat it all. It does nothing to stop the sick feeling in my stomach.

  Bridget finishes hers and pushes her bowl away. ‘What were you thinking? You must’ve known Ramage was after you. And even if you found the baby, what then? She’s too young for you to look after.’

  I’m struggling to match the woman in front of me with the one that helped Rose escape. Is the big guy at the end of the table who hasn’t said a word the one she hit over the head with a shovel? I want to ask but as soon as we’ve finished our bowls we’re bundled back into the room. At least they haven’t tied our hands this time. We find each other in the dark and feel our way to the mattress in the corner. It stinks of something, rat or maybe possum, but it’s more comfortable than the floor. We sit on it, with our backs up against the wall.

  ‘Yogi’s here,’ Kas says. ‘He’s alive.’

  ‘Yeah, not sure that’s going to help us, though.’

  ‘It was dumb to think we could trust Bridget.’

  ‘Easy to say, but we had to find out about Hope.’

  We’ve got no energy left to talk. We lie down on the mattress. It’s not much, but at least we have each other.

  Then her voice comes soft and low in the dark. ‘Finn?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Ray’s dead.’

  ‘Maybe, but I’m not going to give up until I know for sure.’

  The next afternoon, the Wilders arrive. I listen carefully for Ramage’s trail bike but I don’t hear it. Maybe he hasn’t come. There are new voices in the kitchen and the sound of an argument. Bridget is negotiating.

  ‘Fair’s fair,’ she says. ‘You never would’ve caught them if it wasn’t for us.’

  There’s the sound of chairs scraping on the floor and a louder, harsher voice. Kas’s hand grabs my arm.

  It’s Tusker.

  ‘You think Ramage gives a stuff about fair?’ he demands. ‘We’re taking them to Longley, and that’s it.’

  Tom enters the argument. ‘We did the right thing. We sent word to Ramage. Joey rode hard to get the message to you.’

  Tusker isn’t impressed. ‘You Monahans are up yourselves. This is Ramage country. Think yourselves lucky we let you stay here at all.’

  ‘We’re not asking for much,’ Bridget says, ‘just supplies to see us through. Some food, a bit of ammo.’

  ‘You’ll get whatever Ramage thinks they’re worth. We’re leaving here with them, as soon as we get a decent feed.’

  ‘We don’t have any food to spare,’ Tom says, his voice nervous but angry, like he’s not sure how far he can press his case.

  ‘Well, you’d better find some. We’re not going to travel on empty stomachs. In the meantime, you can show us where they are.’

  We move back and stand in the middle of the room. As the key turns in the lock, I reach for Kas’s hand and we hold on tight.

  Tusker’s big frame is silhouetted in the doorway. He steps in and stands in front of us, arms folded. ‘I knew you’d come. Couldn’t help yourselves, could you?’

  We do our best to hold our ground but he leans down, his face close enough for Kas to reel back with the stench of him. ‘You bitch,’ he spits, touching his hand to his ear, ‘I’m gonna make you pay.’

  Two more Wilders come into the room. They pull us apart. One grabs me by the throat and pins me to the wall, and the other holds Kas’s arms from behind. Tusker’s great paw runs down the side of her face then he clamps her by the jaw and squeezes. Kas struggles.

  ‘You see this?’ he says, turning to show his disfigured ear. ‘You should’ve had more respect.’

  Kas plants her feet and tries to work her way free but the Wilder pulls her arms tighter behind her back.

  ‘Don’t hurt her, Jimmy,’ Tusker says. ‘We don’t want damaged goods, now do we? I want her in tip-top shape when we get back to Longley.’

  The Wilder laughs.

  ‘You see,’ Tusker continues, pulling Kas’s face even closer, ‘me and Benny Ramage, we’ve come to a little agreement. If I bring him your boyfriend here, I get you.’

  He grins and the scar creases up the side of his face. Then his hand traces Kas’s body, down to her hip.

  Bridget appears in the door behind him. ‘There’s some grub ready.’ She doesn’t look at me or Kas.

  I’m praying Kas isn’t going to say anything to provoke him. She doesn’t—but she spits in his face. He raises his hand to hit her but holds himself back. He just smiles and wipes his face with his sleeve.

  The Wilder throws her onto the mattress, and he and Tusker walk out into the kitchen. The one pinning me to the wall punches me hard in the stomach and I collapse. He locks the door behind him, leaving me gasping for breath and Kas huddled on the mattress.

  When I can move again, I crawl over to Kas. She is trembling. I can’t tell if it’s from anger or fear, or both.

  Within an hour, our wrists are bound behind us and we’re marched out through the kitchen to the yard. We both squint against the light. There are six Wilders, including Tusker, standing in a half-circle. Tom, the big guy, and Bridget are off to the side.
Joey is nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Let’s get moving,’ Tusker says. ‘Where’s that halfwit son of yours?’

  As he speaks, Joey walks into the yard, leading a horse.

  It’s Yogi.

  Kas can’t hold herself back. She breaks free of the Wilder restraining her and runs towards Yogi.

  Tusker shakes his head.

  Attached to the ties around her wrists is a length of rope. The Wilder braces and pulls on it. Kas’s body lifts off the ground and she falls heavily on her back, her arms trapped underneath her.

  The Wilders laugh.

  Kas struggles to her feet. Yogi drops his head and nudges her. ‘Hello, boy,’ she says. ‘Hello, Yogi Bear.’

  ‘See that, boys?’ Tusker snorts. ‘Doesn’t it melt your heart?’

  The Wilder pulls Kas back in by the rope and Joey drags Yogi away.

  ‘Thanks, son,’ Tusker says, taking the reins from Joey. He lifts himself into the saddle and pulls hard on the reins. ‘I’ll teach him who’s boss along the way.’

  Yogi skitters sideways, but Tusker stays with him. ‘Save your energy, you bag of shit. We got a long way to go today,’ he says.

  Kas can’t look as Tusker slides out of the saddle and Joey hands him a riding crop. He raises it high and hits Yogi across his flank and neck. The horse rears away but Tusker pulls him back and holds him on a tight rein.

  ‘You see that, girl,’ he yells at Kas, ‘that’s how you train a horse.’

  Finally, he drags himself back up into the saddle and slides the crop into his boot. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘let’s get this show on the road.’ He wheels Yogi around and out onto the main street.

  The Wilders move off after him, with Kas and me wedged in the middle of them.

  As we shuffle past Bridget, she can’t meet our eyes. She turns and walks back into the house.

  We move at a quick pace. The Wilders make no attempt to hide themselves. This is their country and they’re comfortable in it. Tusker slouches in the saddle, sometimes whistling but more often barking at his men to get a move on.

  It’s not easy to walk fast with your hands tied behind your back, and the Wilders kick us every so often to speed up. We pass the road junction where we left Daymu and we both avoid looking up to the stand of wattles that hides our packs.