Each of our cars had a similar set up, and I ran a mental checklist over the contents of the get-home bag in Gemma’s car. It was enough to last her 24 hours. It had now been a day and a half and she wasn’t home.
No messages had come through on any of our phones, there was nothing new on the radio, and I had no idea where she was. What she was doing. If she was okay.
I lifted Archie’s BOB into the cupboard and sat back on my haunches. The weight on my shoulders was oppressive. I closed the cupboard door and stood, my knees cracking as I straightened up. I was happy enough that we were okay where we were, at least for now. The burglars of last night bothered me but if they were stupid enough to come back they’d get another dose. I hoped they didn’t.
Gemma worried me. She was a smart lady, determined and stubborn to a fault. Resilient. I knew that, wherever she was, she’d be busting a gut to get home. The sooner the better.
Standing there in the silence of the garage, with only my thoughts for company, I made a decision. Now that Rob was there, the rest of the family would be safe at home.
If Gemma wasn’t home soon, I would hit the road and look for her.
Forty-Two
The Gardens was the more upmarket area of Manurewa, an enclave of prosperity in one of the poorest, high crime areas of Auckland.
This was where double-income white collar families lived when they worked in the south side, driving their Jeeps and Land Rovers, sending their kids off on the train to the private schools in the city, avoiding the slums by jumping on the motorway to visit their friends in Howick or do their shopping at Botany or Sylvia Park, before returning home and turning left, not right, away from the ghetto where the great unwashed staggered through their days.
It had always seemed an oddity to Gemma, an oasis of upper middle class in a desert of misery. But right now, she wasn’t complaining. Leaving the wounded dog and the probably-dead bogun and the rest of their crew behind them, she and Alex had jogged through the park, making a beeline for his home.
They saw other people in the park, heard some up in the bush, saw some hoons racing about on dirt bikes further away. Gemma prayed that they made it through the park unmolested – she had had enough of other people’s shit for one day, or even a life time.
Never had she ever considered the thought that she may one day be fighting for her life. That was Mark’s world, a place where, as he liked to say, hard men did bad things so good people could sleep safely at night. It was a world she had glimpsed into, that she was painfully aware of, but that she had never wanted to inhabit.
As she ran, she wondered what he was doing right at that moment. Probably organising everyone like they were his private army, rallying the troops and making sure they were all safe and prepared. Prepared.
Had she been prepared for the events of the last two days? On the plus side, she had some gear and she had a rough plan and she was executing it. She had to admit, so far she was doing okay. She was alive and still moving towards home.
Of course, she was pretty sure she’d killed two men, and probably a dog too. The realisation of that weighed on her, but she wasn’t falling apart. It hadn’t kept her awake last night; in fact, she’d fallen asleep fast. She knew she’d dreamed about it though because she remembered snatches of the dreams, remnants of strong emotions – terror and anger, mostly.
Terror because she thought they were going to get killed. Anger at the thugs who had caused the incident, who had killed the two cops – no, executed the two cops – and who had caused her to defend her and Alex. Now it had happened again today, twice. Twice in the space of one day she’d been forced to pull the trigger to defend herself. And the day wasn’t over yet.
How dare they? She was a middle-class mother, a member of the school PTA, a mum who watched her son’s soccer from the side lines every Saturday, who baked and did crafts, who visited her aging parents and ran around after everyone and always had a “to-do” list a mile long. She wasn’t some Terminator woman who ran around getting into gunfights and breaking into buildings and running for her life.
The absurdity of it made Gemma almost laugh.
She realised that Alex was slowing down as they reached the exit from the park. The internal access road came out onto Charles Prevost Drive, the main thoroughfare through The Gardens, and she could see activity. Cars going past, people bustling about at a few houses. Youngsters on bikes – not youngsters from The Gardens though. These were hood rats from the bad side, clearly up to no good. She wasn’t surprised.
‘Wait up,’ Gemma said, grabbing the back of Alex’s bag to stop him.
‘We’re nearly there,’ he said impatiently. ‘It’s just round the corner.’
‘Look.’ She pointed at the hood rats on their bikes, watching as they circled lazily in the road, scanning the area. One pulled a wheelie down the footpath on the other side.
‘So what?’
Gemma saw a family station wagon in a driveway a few houses down, the doors left open as a man lugged bags out from the house and loaded the car. The wife waited near the front door with a toddler beside her and a baby in her arms.
The man went back inside and the wife turned to go after him. As soon as her back was turned one of the hood rats was there on his bike, snatching a chilly bin from the rear of the wagon. He was gone in a flash, balancing the bin on his handlebars with practiced ease as he pedalled away. His mates followed him and the man came out with another load, oblivious to what had just happened.
‘We need to watch our backs,’ Gemma said.
They moved off, their heads on swivels as they trotted across the road and left, away from where the group of hood rats on bikes had gone. Alex led the way into a side street a few hundred metres later, then into a short cul-de-sac off that. The street was quiet, the street lights were out and most of the houses seemed to be shut up.
Somebody had been there though, because there was broken glass in the street and a Honda CRV parked at the kerb had been smashed up. Gemma wondered where all the residents were; maybe they had bugged out, or maybe they were laying low inside.
Alex headed to a single storey brick home with a neat garden and a red front door. He took keys from his pocket and turned to Gemma as he unlocked it.
‘This is us,’ he said, his voice catching. ‘I hope Mum’s okay.’
Gemma nodded and followed him into a darkened hallway. The house was completely silent and felt empty. The air smelt like it hadn’t moved for a couple of days.
Back at the mouth to the cul-de-sac, unbeknown to Gemma and Alex, Cody and Dice watched them enter the house.
While Alex went through the house, calling for his mother, Gemma waited in the lounge at the front. It was a nice tidy house and Alex’s mother obviously had a taste for knick-knacks and Lladro china. She moved softly to a side table laden with photographs – Alex at school, Alex graduating from university, Alex and his mum in a restaurant, Alex and a bunch of similarly-geeky-looking mates.
No dad, no siblings, no girlfriends. She shrugged mentally and turned as he came back.
‘She’s not here,’ he said, ‘looks like she hasn’t even been home.’
‘Is her car here?’
‘No.’
Gemma nodded. They stood in the silence for a few moments. Gemma could feel Alex’s anxiety and she sympathised. She knew that his mum worked as a medical receptionist in Hillsborough. It didn’t surprise her that she hadn’t made it home yet. With any luck she was hunkered down at work or at a friend’s place.
‘It’s nearly dark,’ she said. ‘I think we should stay here the night. Maybe she’ll get home in the morning.’
‘Maybe.’ Alex’s voice was heavy.
‘I need to leave in the morning though,’ Gemma said carefully. She didn’t want to add to the stress she knew he would already be feeling, but he needed to know her intentions. She’d always been clear on that.
She needed to get home.
Forty-Three
I heard the
m coming before I saw them.
They had their headlights off but the piece of shit cars they drove gave the game away before they’d even got to our road. One had a rattley exhaust and the other was a V8 that hadn’t been tuned since the turn of the century.
I was outside already, checking that our own vehicles were locked and secure. Archie was asleep inside and the oldies were getting ready for bed. Jethro had been out for a crap and gone back inside to sleep outside Archie’s door. I had intended to stay up longer and take a patrol of our property. I was so wired I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon anyway.
The Rossi was in my hands and the Ruger GP100 was holstered on my hip. I felt like a sheriff in the Wild West. Hearing the cars approaching, I knew with absolute certainty that shit was about to go down. There hadn’t been a single car go down our road all day. For two to arrive together once night had fallen meant only one thing.
Whoever was driving the vehicles obviously had no tactical training. Brake lights flared as they slid to a stop near the end of our driveway, lighting up the road nice and red. I was at the side door already, calling urgently to Rob. He came hurrying out, buckling up his jeans as he did so.
‘We’ve got visitors,’ I said in a low voice. ‘Get your gun and look after these guys. Keep Jethro inside.’
‘Who is it?’
‘I’d say the same guys from last night.’
‘Where’re you going?’
I worked the lever on the Rossi. ‘I’m gunna stop the fuckers.’
With that I moved off, hearing the cars starting to move. I crossed the parking area to the other side, away from the house. I doubted they had any night vision capability, and the house would be their focus. The ammo belt around my waist carried spare .357 Magnum rounds which could be used in either weapon, and I had more in my pockets.
These pricks had made a bad call coming back.
I leaned in against the post and rail fence to the right of the driveway, hearing the rumble of the engines and the crunch of the gravel under the approaching tyres.
I let them get half way up the driveway before I fired the first shot. This was not the time for warnings, nor was it the time to fuck about. They had signalled their intent with their almost-stealthy approach, and I couldn’t afford to let them get close enough to harm my family.
The bullet cracked the windscreen of the lead vehicle, which was an old Ford Fairmont, and the car came to an immediate stop. The one behind it crashed into its rear and nudged it forward before both vehicles stopped. I could hear shouts inside the cars.
I chambered a fresh round and sighted on the glass right in front of the driver. I knew the windscreen would be much weaker now, and the second shot should nail the driver. Luckily for him he opened his door and debussed. Unluckily for him the second driver chose that second to hit his headlights, lighting up the front car like a Christmas tree.
The driver had a long weapon of some sort in his hands and the front passenger was also carrying what looked like a rifle.
I didn’t hesitate. The second round punched through the passenger’s window, showering him with glass and dropping him like a screaming stone. I crabbed along to my left, working the lever, and took a bead on the driver. He was standing there gaping like a fish, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
My third shot pulled slightly right and skimmed across his shoulder, spinning him into the side of the car. I could hear screaming and shouting above the humming in my ears. The second car started racing back down the driveway, and its headlights showed me that there were two more heads in the back of the lead car. Wisely, they had stayed put.
Using the fence as a shooting platform, I put a round into the front grill of the retreating second car. It wobbled but carried on, and I gave it a second round. That bullet shattered the left headlight and it went dark. In the partial light I recognised it as a crappy Subaru with primer paint. The driver hit the gas and careened down the drive. He did well not to veer off into the fence either side, but he overshot and went straight across the road into the ditch opposite.
I left them to it and turned back to the guys in the Ford. The driver was still screaming and propping himself up against the door. I couldn’t see the front passenger but I could hear him, whimpering and groaning. The rear doors were open now and I could see one dark figure at the back of the car, another off to the side. It was too dark to see any weapons, but I was treating them all as armed and out to kill. I gave myself a mental uppercut for not having any night vision kit.
My mind racing for the next move, I was scanning for targets when I saw movement from the rear of the car. One of the passengers came around and hustled the wounded driver into the back seat, slammed the door, and got behind the wheel. He revved the engine and ground the gears and lurched forward. The headlights came on and lit up the whole drive and turning area.
I was shifting my aim across to my right, looking for the other rear passenger, when I caught movement off to the left. It was the guy I was looking for and he had picked up the driver’s discarded weapon. The weapon was swinging towards me and I came back to get a bead. He knew I was there and he wanted me.
A heavy shot boomed out from the house and the guy dropped.
The Fairmont revved, the taillights came on and it started backwards. The fallen front passenger was down on his side, not moving. The Fairmont kept going, leaving him where he was. I shifted to my left, taking the risk of exposing myself to push the point home. I heard my last round ping off the bodywork somewhere and I stepped back into the shadows, reloading as fast as my fumbling fingers would go.
‘Mark!’ Rob came from the back door with his rifle in his hands. ‘I shot the bastard!’
Jethro came with him, barking excitedly.
‘I saw,’ I said. My ears were ringing so much it made my voice sound disembodied. ‘Thanks. I’m going after them.’
‘They’re gone.’
‘Not far enough. You stay up here and cover me.’
I jumped the fence and set off at a trot towards the road. Jethro came with me, a comforting figure darting about in the dark. The Fairmont had swung around and was idling on the road while a bustle of activity took place at the Subaru. Dark figures were heaving it out of the ditch and there was frantic shouting and swearing. They were panicking and I felt myself smile. They were going to get the good news and some.
I hung back from the fence, keeping myself in the dark and assessing what was going on. One guy was standing guard with a rifle and another guy was pacing round with a baseball bat. From what I could see most of them were guys with just a couple of girls, a range of ages and all were scruffy looking thugs.
I had no doubt they were related to the clowns I’d chased off the previous night, and if they thought they could come here and intimidate me, they were sorely mistaken.
The Subaru was up on the road now and they were starting to get themselves sorted. There was still lots of chaotic shouting and arm waving, until one older guy told them all to shut up and listen.
‘Get in the fuckin’ cars,’ he said, ‘we gotta get some help for that boy. Where’s Kayden, where’s he at?’
‘He got fuckin’ shot, man,’ one of the girls wailed. ‘They just shot that nigger down, man. He’s dead!’
The older guy cursed, paced for a few seconds, then waved his hands for silence. ‘Shut the fuck up,’ he said. ‘Ain’t nothin’ we can do ‘bout that now. Get home and I’ll come up with a better plan.’ He turned towards my house and shouted into the darkness. ‘We comin’ back, bitches! Gonna fuck you up!’
My voice cut through the few whoops he got.
‘You cunts come back here,’ I said, ‘and I’ll kill the fuckin’ lot of you.’
‘Jesus fuck!’ The older man jumped with fright and a couple of them ducked for cover.
The guy with the rifle turned in my direction, bringing his weapon around. The crack of the Rossi was loud and he dropped with a bullet in his chest. I moved offline, keep
ing a bead on them.
‘Get him in your car and fuck off,’ I called out. ‘You got ten seconds before I start shooting you one by one.’
They began to move, the older man and another guy grabbing the gunner I’d just dropped and pulling him towards the Fairmont. Someone else went to pick up his gun.
‘Leave it,’ I said.
The guy paused with his hand over it, searching for me in the dark.
‘Touch it and I’ll kill you.’
He backed away and I became aware of a strange dragging sound coming from my left. I looked that way and spotted Rob as he reached the roadside. He dropped something and stepped away from it.
‘Come and pick up your shit before you go,’ he called out, his voice wheezy.
The older man and his mate got the gunner into the car and hurried over. In the ambient light from the headlights I saw them grab up a fallen figure, slinging his arms over their shoulders.
‘You fuckin’ shoot him, old man?’ the older guy said, a hint of menace in his voice.
‘Yeah I did.’ Rob’s tone left no room for argument. ‘And I’ll shoot you too if you don’t hurry up.’
They muttered and cursed but they got him to the car too. Everyone else was already in and waiting for them. I could hear crying and groaning from them.
‘Remember what I said. Come back here, any of you, anywhere near here, and we’ll kill the whole fuckin’ lot of you. You had your chance.’
‘We never had a chance,’ the older guy spat. ‘You just shot us down like dogs. Is that all we are to you?’
‘You called it. Your boys walked away yesterday; they should’ve stayed away. You came back here trying to hurt us, and you lost. Don’t try again.’
‘Or what?’ He was surprisingly defiant for someone who’s gang had just been ass-kicked. The belligerence of these types of people never ceased to amaze me.
‘You don’t have enough body bags,’ I told him. ‘Now go.’
Early Warning (Book 1): Martial Law Page 19
