by Simon Haynes
He tore across the flat in front of the house, raising a dust trail that swirled in the night air.
Then the remains of the screen door banged to, and he halted his mad rush long enough to close the inner door and throw himself against it.
Suddenly, the rumble came closer. Bright orange light flooded under the door, shining off the jumbled fishing rods like moonlight on roadkill. There was a crackling sound, a flash of blue, and one of the rods leapt across the floor. It jammed against the bottom of the door, stuck for an instant, then parted with a splintering crack.
Ken blinked as the orange glow flicked out. The rumbling sound stopped, replaced with the thudding of his heart as he stood there in the darkness. Suddenly he heard a car, the engine barely turning over and the tyres scrunching on the dirt.
A door closed, quietly, and a shadow fell across the door. Ken held up the carving knife, mouth dry, and prepared to defend himself. There was a click and he winced as the overhead light came on.
Steve stood in the doorway, his jaw slowly dropping as he stared at Ken's swollen eye, the scratches on his arm, the large knife clutched in his hand. He took a step back.
Ken shielded his good eye with the back of his hand. "Steve? Where the hell were you?"
The other man looked sheepish. "Went to the roadhouse."
"Not that --"
"Yeah. It was you she didn't like." Steve eyed the knife in Ken's hands. "Let's put that down, shall we?"
Ken stared at the carving knife, at his whitened knuckles on the grip. He loosened them with an effort, and the knife dropped to the floor, the point burying itself in the planks between his feet.
"So what happened to you?" asked Steve.
"Got attacked."
"I can see that. Who was it?"
"Christ knows." Ken held his hands apart. "Must have at least this big."
"Where is it now?"
Ken eyed the splintered rod, jammed against the foot of the door. "I think it got away."
About the author
Simon Haynes was born in England and grew up in Spain, where he enjoyed an amazing childhood of camping, motorbikes, mateship, air rifles and paper planes. His family moved to Australia when he was 16.
From 1986 to 1988 Simon studied at Curtin University, where he graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in Film, Creative Writing and Literature.
Simon returned to Curtin in 1997, graduating with a degree in Computer Science two years later. An early version of Hal Spacejock was written during the lectures.
Simon has four Hal Spacejock novels and several short stories in print. Sleight of Hand won the Aurealis Award (short fiction) in 2001, and Hal Spacejock: No Free Lunch was a finalist in both the Ditmar and Aurealis Awards for 2008.
Simon divides his time between writing fiction and computer software, with frequent bike rides to blow away the cobwebs.
His goal is to write fifteen Hal books (Spacejock OR Junior!) before someone takes his keyboard away.
Simon's website is https://www.spacejock.com.au