Getting Home

by Angus McLean

‘I think you’re right, bud.’

  ‘I think I should spend some time with her today, Dad.’ So serious and sincere. ‘I think maybe she’d like to have some company. After all, I am good at cheering people up.’

  I laughed and ruffled his hair, making him smile. ‘You are, Archie, you’re a good boy. We’re very lucky to have you.’

  Jethro got the message that there’d be no more ball games for now, so took himself off for a drink instead, while we went inside. The three grandparents were all at the table drinking tea and Archie slotted himself in beside Grandma, giving her one of his cars to play with. She looked at it for a second as if not knowing what to do, and he prompted her.

  ‘That’s a Mustang, Grandma. It goes really fast. I got that in a Lucky Dip at the fair, didn’t I Dad?’

  ‘That’s it.’ I watched Grandma give it a nudge with her finger, and she glanced over at me. ‘Come on Grandma,’ I chided her, ‘it goes faster than that.’

  She got the hint and joined in playing with him, while I got myself a cup of tea from the flask they had made.

  I stood at the bench and Archie and Grandma play together. He was right; he was good at cheering people up. One thing that parenthood had taught me was to get over myself, to lose myself in the moment and just enjoy the innocent pleasure of playing with a kid.

  They didn’t carry the baggage and scars that adults did. They didn’t have the same worries and stresses. Financial pressure was deciding which toy to spend your pocket money on, not how long your car could last without a service, or whether you could make the next mortgage payment.

  Gemma and I had been through all that, both in our younger years and also after I left the Police. Although I had gone straight into a job, with an overlap between being suspended and actually leaving, it had been a struggle before I really gathered momentum. Another ex-cop had a private investigation firm and took me on contract, doing mostly insurance investigations and security consultancy. It wasn’t what I had ever planned on doing but the hours were more regular and family-friendly than policing, and it paid pretty well. As I watched my son and mother play together at the table, Nana and Poppa also watching, my mind drifted back to my departure from the cops.

  I’d been a frontline Sergeant at Papakura. It was a night shift. A shitbird by the name of Maurice Panaho, known as Tintz because he always wore sunglasses, had been picked up by one of my crews from a disorder incident. He was drunk and belligerent and gave them a hard time, resisted arrest and they called for back-up.

  As with all calls for back-up, the rest of the team broke their necks to get there. I was the first unit to arrive, finding the two young cops scrapping with this clown wearing sunnies out in the street at two in the morning.

  They had got a handcuff on one wrist but not the other, somehow he’d broken free from them and he’d managed to get his hands on the OC spray that one of them had drawn.

  He’d successfully sprayed one of them and was trying to get the other one when I arrived. One cop was on his knees, nose running and eyes closed, out of the game. The other one had his Taser out and was challenging Tintz. He should’ve just dropped the prick but he was new and green.

  I had approached with my own Taser out. Tintz rode the lightning and it was all over quickly.

  Tintz was an associate of the Roimata family from Pukekohe, two of whom I’d had a run-in with on the day the state of national emergency was declared. He had a conviction list as long as your arm, spent most of his life sliding in and out of jail, and was just a general piece of shit.

  Half an hour later I was in the Custody Unit at Manukau Hub, waiting for a doctor to arrive and take barbs out of Tintz’ flesh. I’d have been happy to rip them out myself but that was against policy.

  Seeing me appear in the doorway to the medical room, Tintz had staunched up. The cop guarding him – the same new kid who hadn’t Tasered him – had deferred to me and stepped back.

  Tintz had recovered from the 50,000-volt ride and decided it was time to share his thoughts on my pedigree. It was water off a duck’s back to me, but he made one mistake. He took it too far.

  ‘I know who you are, Dobson,’ he said, squared up to me. ‘I know where you live.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you sit down before you do something you regret?’

  ‘You got a wife,’ he continued. ‘And a kid. I seen them at the supermarket, doing my shopping.’ He flicked his eyebrows at me, his lips curling to expose his rotten and gappy teeth. His sunglasses were off and I could see the boob tats at both eyes. His breath smelled of booze, ciggies and poor health. ‘She’s a pretty thing. And your boy…’ He shook his head and whistled, still smirking. ‘I dunno which one of them I wanna rape first.’

  And that was that. The line was crossed.

  I gave him a good right hook to the jaw and dropped him. The crack as his jaw bone broke was loud and distinct. As he went down he collected a second hook to the side of his face.

  The doctor arrived shortly afterwards to more work than originally planned. The young cop, who’d been on my section for all of a week, was easy pickings for the internal investigator and made a full statement, throwing me under the bus. I was immediately stood down and never returned to duty.

  Dark days followed, days and nights where I mentally beat myself for my stupidity and lack of foresight. My actions had placed my family in a very perilous position. We faced losing our home if I couldn’t get a job. It was publicly humiliating not only for me but for Gemma and the rest of our family. People I had thought were friends distanced themselves, not wanting to be associated with the angry man.

  The strain it all put on our marriage was horrendous, and I wouldn’t have blamed Gemma if she had pulled the pin. To her absolute credit, she had stuck by me and stayed true. I had vowed then that I would never let her or my family down again. Nothing could ever be allowed to hurt us like it had before.

  If we were to make it through this time of martial law, family would always have to come first.

  Thirty-Five

  Curtis Green woke with a crick in his neck and a sore back from sleeping on the tray of the truck.

  He rubbed his eyes and sat up, the dirty blanket falling away to expose his pale, hairy stomach. He scratched his balls and yawned. Lena was sitting in the tray, leaning against the tailgate with her knees up. She was staring at him and her eyes were red-rimmed and baggy. She was chewing on a fingernail, shredding it as she stared at him.

  ‘What?’ Curtis sniffed hard, sucked a bogey into his mouth and hoicked it over the side of the truck. ‘What’s wrong with you this morning?’

  Lena said nothing, just stared at him and continued shredding her nail.

  ‘Ah, fuck.’ Curtis got to his feet, farted and stretched. The only clothing he wore was a pair of white Jockeys that were fast turning a dirty yellow.

  He clambered over the side of the truck and got down, walking unsteadily towards the table where he had last seen food. Sure enough, the gas burner had been at work and there was a pot of boiled water. He found himself a cup, dumped a spoon of instant coffee into it and added three sugars. He poured in the water, stirred it with a dirty knife and looked for the milk. There was no milk.

  ‘Lena, where’s the fuckin’ milk?’

  When no response came, he turned to shout. When he turned round he saw Lena had got down from the truck and was standing a few metres behind him. His shotgun was in her hands and it was aimed at his gut.

  Curtis stared at her. ‘What the fuck’re you doin’, woman? Put that down.’

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Lena whispered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You son of a bitch,’ she said. ‘You cold…heartless son of a bitch.’

  ‘You watch your fuckin’ mouth, Lena,’ he warned her, waving a finger at her. ‘Now you put that down and stop being fuckin’ stupid.’

  ‘I’m not stupid,’ she hissed, gripping the shotgun harder. ‘I’m not stupid! I know what you’re up to, you and that
girl.’ She gestured past him with the barrel of the shotgun, and he realised that Shavaunne had also got up.

  Lena’s hands were trembling on the gun.

  ‘I know what you’re doing,’ she said. Her voice quavered. ‘After everything we’ve been through, all these years…all the shit you made me do…you fuckin’ prick.’ Tears were welling up and she shook her head. ‘You fuckin’ prick.’

  ‘Babe, come on.’ Curtis tried a different angle, his voice soothing. ‘All the shit we did paid for our life…’

  ‘What life?’ Lena was incredulous. ‘Cars and guns and shit that you wanted to do? Hanging out with cunts who just helped themselves when they wanted a piece?’

  Curtis gave a snort. ‘A piece of what? Of you?’

  The tears were coming properly now, rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘Yes me.’ Her voice was small, fragile. ‘Remember the parties? All the fucking you thought I wanted? I hated it. I fuckin’ hated it.’

  Curtis licked his lips. He knew very well what she talking about. Years of drugged and drunk parties, girls on the block, everybody having a good time. ‘Come on babe, that was just all fun, eh? A bit of drunken fooling around with friends? Nobody got hurt.’

  ‘I got fuckin’ hurt,’ Lena screamed at him. Her nose running, dribbling snot down her lips onto the stock of the shotgun. The barn was cold and still, the only sound being her sobs. ‘I never wanted that. And you got our boys killed. You miserable son of a bitch…’

  Her vision blurred with the tears and her shoulders shook as she sobbed. The shotgun barrel wavered and she moved her hand away from the trigger to wipe her eyes.

  Curtis moved fast.

  In three steps he was on her, grabbing the gun barrel and pushing it away with his left hand. Lena let out a squeal of fright then a grunt as he rammed the dirty knife into her stomach.

  Curtis plucked the Beretta from her grasp, withdrew the knife and plunged it in again. Lena stared at him with horror, not comprehending what was happening. Her hands were at her stomach, unable to staunch the blood flow.

  ‘I…I…’ she gasped. ‘Love..loved you…’

  Curtis gave her a look of contempt and stepped back. She grabbed hold of his chest to stop herself from falling but he brushed her bloodied hands away, leaving streaks of red on his chest and gut.

  Lena dropped to a knee, breathing hard, her eyes still locked on his. ‘I…my…boys…my boys…’

  Shavaunne appeared beside her, Dice’s big Crane survival knife in her hand. ‘You’re weak,’ she said, her lip curling with distaste. She stepped forward and stabbed her aunty in the ribs, pulled out, and stabbed into her back. Lena collapsed forward onto the dusty floor, groaning and wheezing, and Shavaunne leaned in, stabbing faster and faster, blood flicking off the blade every time she pulled it out.

  Within seconds Lena was no longer groaning and wheezing. Shavaunne gripped the knife in both hands and plunged it down one last time, into Lena’s neck all the way to the hilt.

  She stood again, breathing hard from the exertion. Blood dripped from the blade of the Crane. She licked her lips and wiped a sleeve across her nose. She met Curtis’ gaze with a smirk.

  ‘Happy now?’ she said.

  Curtis scratched his balls and sniffed. ‘Helluva way to wake up.’ He stepped over to where Lena lay face down on the floor, Shavaunne standing over her. He pulled his undies open and waggled his cock at her.

  ‘You know how to make me happy, sweetheart.’ He held her gaze as he began to urinate, the stream of piss splashing down over his dead wife’s head. ‘And this is what happens to people that cross me.’

  Shavaunne said nothing, her eyes shifting down to his member. She wrapped her fingers around the grip of the Crane.

  Dice appeared at Curtis’ side, that goofy grin on his big dumb face. He looked down at the body of his aunt, then at his sister.

  ‘Shoulda asked,’ he grunted. ‘Don’t use my shit without asking.’

  Shavaunne shrugged and handed the knife back to him.

  Curtis finished and put himself away. Dice looked at him.

  ‘What we gunna do now?’ Dice said.

  ‘Get ridda this.’ Curtis looked from one to the other. ‘Then we get back to huntin’.’

  Thirty-Six

  One thing Gemma was looking forward to about getting home was sleeping in her own bed.

  As romantic as it sounded about sleeping under the stars, the reality didn’t quite meet the fantasy. Not when you were on the ground, top-and-tail with someone you hardly knew, sleeping with a gun in case you were attacked, being hunted by armed psychopaths.

  No, she’d be quite happy to put the gun away and slip between some clean sheets with her husband. That said, she had managed a few hours and they were up early, preparing for the day. The shelter was collapsed and packed away, and they straightened themselves up. Her socks felt marginally fresher after shaking them out, beating them against her bag and putting them back on. Just marginally, though. Unfortunately she couldn’t do the same with all her clothes, and she was confident she was badly in need of a shower.

  Alex must have been having the same thoughts, shaking out his clothes and doing his best to feel a bit fresher.

  ‘A hot bath wouldn’t go astray,’ he remarked as he pulled his sneakers back on and laced up. ‘And a nice breakfast.’

  ‘We’ve got a nice breakfast,’ Gemma said, holding up a Mars bar from her bag. ‘What’re you complaining about?’

  He managed a smile, but she could see he was just tired as she was. ‘At least our bags are getting lighter.’

  They sat and ate a makeshift breakfast of snacks and water, before Gemma shoved her rubbish into her bag and stood. She dropped into a downward dog pose and began stretching her calves. Alex watched her and chuckled to himself.

  ‘You could do with some stretching,’ she told him and he pulled a face. ‘I saw you hobbling at the end yesterday.’

  ‘My feet were just a bit tired,’ he said, finishing off a chocolate bar.

  ‘You’ll slow us up if you’re injured,’ Gemma insisted, changing legs. ‘I want to get home today; if you slow me up I might have to leave you behind.’

  Alex grumbled to himself, but he got up and joined her. He groaned again as he started to stretch out his aching legs.

  ‘See? You’re not too young to stretch.’ Gemma stood and pulled a foot up behind her for a quad stretch.

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ he said sarcastically. ‘How old d’you think I am, anyway?’

  Gemma considered that for a moment. ‘Twenty-six.’

  He looked up at her awkwardly from his downward dog. ‘Wow, really?’

  ‘Too young?’

  ‘No, bang on.’ He squinted at her. ‘And I’d say you’re…’

  ‘Be careful,’ she said. She dropped her foot and grabbed the other.

  ‘Thirty-three?’

  Gemma gave him a questioning look. ‘Really? You’re sure about that?’

  Alex stood up, shaking out his legs. His face was flushed, but she couldn’t tell if it was with embarrassment or from holding the pose.

  ‘Too high?’ he asked.

  ‘No, a bit low.’ She put her foot down and leaned into a hamstring stretch. ‘But it’s probably safer to leave it there.’

  ‘Safer?’

  She looked at him. ‘For you.’

  They took a last drink and checked their weapons before shouldering their bags again. Gemma took a last glance around their campsite then looked to Alex.

  ‘We’re getting home today,’ she told him. ‘This was our last night sleeping rough.’

  ‘I hope so,’ he agreed.

  ‘We will,’ she said firmly. ‘We’re nearly there, and we’re not stopping for anyone.’ She hefted her bag. ‘Let’s go.’

  Thirty-Seven

  The day the Prime Minister declared a state of national emergency after the massive earthquakes and devastation in Wellington, things went to shit very fast.

  I’d been given
early warning by my brother, Matt, who worked for Parliamentary Services at the Beehive, giving me and my family a head start of about two hours. I hadn’t heard from him since, and could only hope that they’d come through it okay. That window of two hours – and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one to get the heads up – had allowed me to contact my family and get the ball rolling to make sure we were ready.

  In between calling and texting them and picking up Archie early from school, there had been a mad dash around Pukekohe to the supermarket, the hunting store and the gas station.

  The results of that mad dash were still not fully unpacked, with boxes and bags of non-perishable groceries still in the garage. The kitchen pantry was full so we set to work getting ourselves sorted out.

  It looked like this situation wasn’t going to be resolved in a week so we needed to make ourselves as comfortable as possible. Archie passed us items and my mother and I placed them.

  The emergency supplies cupboard in the garage already had a weeks’ worth of food, and we filled it to the brim with more. I cleared a shelving unit of tools and painting gear, stacked that to the side, and we filled the shelves with the remaining supplies. Standing back, it looked like a lot. But with five of us to feed, and six when Gemma got home, it gave us a better idea of how long our supplies would last and what we might need.

  ‘A bit more than a month, do you think?’ Jenny asked.

  I nodded. ‘About that, I’d say. Maybe six weeks.’ I had never been too good at guessing, but we definitely had more than double our normal fortnightly grocery shop here.

  Archie put his hands on his hips and nodded sagely. ‘Yep, I’d say about six weeks’, Dad.’

  I ruffled his hair. ‘Good. You in charge of cooking, then?’

  ‘No,’ he laughed. ‘I’m a kid. I can get my own breakfast, though.’

  ‘And that’s helpful, buddy. We all need to do our bit, don’t we?’

  ‘Yep.’ He nodded again. ‘At least ’til Mum gets home.’

  I raised my eyebrows and my mother chuckled. ‘And then what happens?’ I said.