Getting Home

by Angus McLean

  ‘You know.’ He grinned. ‘She does it all.’

  ‘What am I, chopped liver?’

  He frowned at me. ‘I don’t know what that means, but Mum does all the household stuff. Anyway, she’s better at it than you.’

  My mother laughed and I shrugged. ‘That’s actually true, but it gives me an idea. We need to divvy up some jobs, I think. Come on.’

  We took Archie’s old blackboard/whiteboard easel into the lounge, he fetched Rob and Sandy, and we sat down to formalise some responsibilities. Being our fourth day without regular power, things were starting get a little out of hand.

  Laundry washing was piling up, washing dishes and food prep and cooking were far more laborious than before, and the house wasn’t as tidy as it normally was. The thing we’d got really good at in the last few days was using the toilet. A morning ritual had formed whereby we refilled the cistern then we all used the toilet and emptied it with one flush. The males in the house watered the grass outside, while the ladies got to use the throne and let it sit for a single flush later on.

  Using the whiteboard, we divvied up duties. My mother took charge of the cooking, Sandy took the laundry and cleaning, Rob took responsibility for feeding the farm animals. Archie took feeding the dog and cat and keeping his room tidy – his normal jobs anyway, but it made him feel included – and I took maintenance and security.

  ‘We’ve about 5-6 weeks’ worth of food,’ I said, sitting on the arm of the couch with Archie beside me. ‘The water tank is pretty full but I’m going to hook up a couple of barrels to the gutters as well, so we can collect rain water.’

  ‘How much diesel have you got, Mark?’ Rob asked.

  ‘As long as we only use the genny sparingly, we’ll be okay for a few weeks. Don’t want to push it though, and that’s high on the list of things we need more of.’

  ‘The neighbours over there,’ Rob pointed toward the Macklin place, now occupied by Amy and her kids, ‘have they got a tank on their property?’

  ‘I believe so.’ Like many larger farms, the Macklins had a fuel tank, but I wasn’t sure whether it was diesel or petrol. ‘I’ll need to talk to one of their workers. We might be able to buy or trade for some.’

  ‘If we don’t use the lights and watch TV,’ Archie chimed in, ‘we can save power, eh Dad? Plus it’s also better for the environment.’

  ‘That’s right buddy. It means we get to bed earlier because it’ll be dark anyway, and we can play board games and read books instead.’

  ‘And we can talk,’ my mother said. ‘Just like when we were young, before we had TV.’

  ‘In the olden times?’ Archie asked, and the older folk all smiled.

  ‘Yep, just like in the olden times,’ she said. ‘When I was a little girl, we used to go camping with our family. We were in a heavy old canvas tent and we had one lantern that my Dad, your great-grandfather, used to light once it was almost dark. No earlier than that, because it wasted paraffin. We’d sit and play cards or we’d just talk and tell stories, and that was our entertainment.’

  Archie’s brow was furrowed. ‘So no TV then, Grandma?’

  ‘Nope, no TV. Not until I was much older.’

  ‘And no internet either, then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Wow.’ He looked up at me. ‘I know how to play Snap, and Go Fish.’

  I grinned. ‘Well that’s us sorted for tonight then, eh?’

  In the interests of hygiene, Sandy loaded the washing machine up. Once the generator was going, she put the machine on a short cold wash.

  ‘Any hand washing’s fine,’ she said, ‘but at least if we can do a load every two or three days we can keep on top of it.’

  I went down to the implement shed with Archie and Jethro in tow, and took the opportunity to cut some firewood. We had plenty stacked and dried already, but without knowing how long this situation would last, I went with my usual approach of planning ahead. It felt good to swing the axe and work some muscles that hadn’t been worked in a while, and I chopped enough for a week of fires.

  Archie used a tomahawk in both hands to try and cut some kindling, not knowing how blunt the blade really was. I kept an eye on him and he worked at it, getting a few sticks of pine cut and tossing them into the wheelbarrow. I cut some more once he’d had enough, and we stacked the logs before taking the wheelbarrow full of kindling down to the house. Being autumn, it would soon be fire season, and we may even need to cook over the fire. I was contemplating the benefits of digging a fire pit when I saw three figures approaching up the driveway.

  I recognised Amy and her kids, Caleb and Mandy. I hadn’t seen a whole lot of them since Bevan and I had brought them here the previous day. The ladies had been over to welcome them and check on them, and I had seen Bevan there.

  We intersected by the house, and I set down the wheelbarrow. Amy gave me a tired smile.

  ‘Been busy?’ she said, nodding towards the kindling.

  ‘Yep. How’re you guys getting on?’

  ‘Fine, fine. The kids wanted to know if Archie wanted to come and play. Is that okay?’

  I looked to him and he nodded eagerly. There was a shortage of kids his age around our area, and he needed more play than I could give him at the moment.

  ‘Would it be okay if they played over here?’ Amy asked, and I sensed something more behind the words. ‘I mean, they don’t really have many toys or anything over there…’

  ‘Sure.’ I shrugged. ‘Archie, you wanna get your toys out with the kids, or you could play outside?’

  He was leading them off before I’d finished speaking, and Amy laughed. It was a short, forced laugh, and I could see the strain and tiredness in her face.

  ‘You okay?’ I said. I didn’t know her and I had little interest in any personal problems she may have had, but having brought it here also gave me some sense of responsibility.

  ‘Yeah…nah. I guess. I’m just tired.’ She ran a hand through her hair and looked away. ‘It’s…you know.’

  I didn’t, but I hoped she was going to get to the point. She looked at me.

  ‘You know what it’s like. Alistair’s gone, who knows where. I don’t know whether he’s even alive…’ Her voice caught and she paused to gather herself. ‘He’ll never find us here, anyway. Who would come here? And your wife, you know what it’s like.’ She met my gaze. ‘Wondering. Not knowing.’

  I nodded. ‘I do. You just gotta have faith.’

  ‘Huh. Your wife knows where she’s going. Alistair thinks we’re still waiting for him back there.’

  ‘If you were still there, you’d either be dead or at least in a bad way by now.’

  She shrugged. ‘Probably. At least I can feed my kids here, and they have a bed to sleep in.’ She rubbed her face then looked at me again. I could see she was chewing something over in her head. ‘What if she’s dead?’ she blurted.

  ‘She’s not dead,’ I said. ‘She’s going to make it home soon.’

  ‘But what if…’

  ‘She’s not dead,’ I said, more forcefully this time. ‘It’s not a thought I can afford to entertain right now. I believe she’ll make it home safely.’

  I locked eyes with her and she held it, studying my face. Eventually she nodded.

  ‘Bevan said you were a hard man,’ she said.

  I shrugged.

  ‘He said not to cross you. He said you’d killed a lot of people.’

  I had nothing to say to that, so that’s what I said. When she got no response, she nodded again.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ I said. ‘I understand the stress you’re under. But don’t question my belief, or doubt that Gemma will make it home. She will.’

  Thirty-Eight

  The white Range Rover rolled into Meremere with two outriders on chopped Harleys. Both riders wore Bandits patches and had weapons slung over their backs. The bikes went first, cruising up the main drag to the top before cir
cling and facing back the way they had come.

  One stayed where it was, idling, while the other cruised back down, past the community hall where people had come out, attracted by the thunderous engines, back down to where the Range Rover waited.

  The bike cruised past it and took up position at the bottom of the road. The Range Rover moved forward, stopping outside the hall.

  The rear left passenger door opened and Little Dog stepped out. He was also decked out in his colours, as was Pua, who joined him. Dion stayed behind the wheel with the engine running. Like his four sidekicks, Little Dog had a pistol in a thigh holster, spare mags on his belt. Pua carried a Steyr AUG rifle in his hands and had wraparound shades under the low brim of a cap.

  Jake came to meet him and they clasped hands, pulling in for a shoulder-to-shoulder hug.

  Stepping back, Jake eyed the rifle in Pua’s hands. ‘Mean, bro.’

  ‘Eh.’ Little Dog tossed his chin towards the hall. ‘Where’s your bro at?’

  Jake sniffed. ‘Dead, bro. Got shot up on a raid.’

  Little Dog squinted. ‘Real? Cops raid you?’

  ‘Na, he and some of his boys went and hadda look at that guy they was talkin’ ’bout. Shot him and a coupla the boys.’

  Little Dog nodded silently. That gave an extra edge to the reason for his visit. ‘Sorry for your loss, my bro.’ Little Dog looked skyward, kissed his fist and raised it to the heavens. ‘Rest in peace, Henry.’

  Jake nodded too, accepting the condolences. ‘Good to see you, Dog.’

  ‘We should talk,’ Little Dog said.

  Jake led the way, the bystanders parting to let the two gangsters through. Pua silently followed close behind. They moved into the kitchen area of the community hall and took seats at a rickety, stained table. Jake lit two smokes and passed one to Little Dog.

  ‘So what happens now, Jake?’ Little Dog said, dragging on his ciggie. ‘Henry’s gone. You callin’ the shots round here then?’

  Jake exhaled like a dragon. ‘That’s it. No one else here got any balls to do shit, bro. I gotta look after my town now.’ He drew on his smoke again. ‘Need to sort that cunt out, the one what hit Henry and them.’

  ‘First job,’ Little Dog agreed. He eyed his compadres across the table. ‘Gotta be done and done good, eh? Fuck him up, show the rest what happens.’

  ‘Eh, bro,’ Jake agreed.

  Little Dog exhaled, licked his lips, and showed his yellowed teeth. ‘Last time I’s here we was talkin’ about some guns an’ shit. That was Henry’s biz though; you interested yourself? That your biz now, Jake?’

  Jake blew a grey stream towards the ceiling. ‘Gotta be,’ he said. ‘This cunt’s got a fuckin’ war arsenal, says the boys anyways. We ain’t got shit, they fuckin’ lost the ones I had.’

  Jake felt it wise just now not to mention he’d actually handed over a weapon. Losing cred with Little Dog would do him no good.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Little Dog stubbed out his smoke on the table, just another scar on the battered surface. ‘Well I can help. You see what we got? That’s just a taste.’ He called over his shoulder. ‘Bro, c’me ’ere.’

  Pua came to him and handed over his Steyr. It was a bullpup-design assault rifle with an integral scope and a 30-round magazine.

  ‘This is what the army used to use, eh. Looks like a space gun but fuck, ain’t no toy. This is the real shit, Jake.’

  Jake took it from him and turned it in his hands, admiring it, loving the feel of it. Little Dog saw the gleam in his eye and knew he was on the hook.

  ‘How much?’ Jake said.

  Little Dog tut-tutted him and handed the rifle back to Pua. He drew the pistol strapped to his thigh and laid it on the table. ‘Sig Sauer P226,’ he said. ‘Army used to use these too. Now they got the Glocks, same as the five-oh’s.’

  Jake handled the pistol as well, aiming it at the wall and squinting down the barrel. He put it down again and looked Little Dog in the eye.

  ‘We need some,’ he said. ‘Gotta protect our village, bro. Plus I need to deal with that guy, whoever the fuck he is.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Little Dog holstered the pistol again. The whole visit had been planned and well-executed. The bikes, the Rangey, the weaponry. The image screamed power, and that was what Henry had wanted. Little Dog could see it was working equally well on Jake.

  When the government had returned the Hopuhopu Military Camp at Ngaruawahia back to Maori ownership thirty years ago, a large amount of stores had disappeared. Included was a significant number of weapons and other ordnance.

  Little Dog had a contact who was a former quartermaster, discharged from the Army for stealing. Fortunately, the military cops had no idea how much he had stolen over the years. Having moved on from the stores at Hopuhopu after its closure, he spent another twenty years or so with his fingers in the till, building an impressive stockpile of weapons which he hired out or occasionally sold to the right people.

  The former quartermaster still lived at Hopuhopu, sitting on top of his arsenal, and it didn’t take much to convince him to open the doors to the Bandits.

  Little Dog licked his lips again. ‘I can get you the Steyrs and the Sigs, no problem. I could get you a delivery of them by tomorrow.’

  Jake’s eyes gleamed and he listened intently. There had to be a catch coming. He’d done enough weapons deals when he was the Sgt-at-Arms to know that nothing came for free. Being a former office holder in the gang didn’t change that.

  ‘How much,’ he said.

  ‘Market rate for a Sig? Ten grand. Steyr’s twelve.’

  Little Dog was pitching high, but not too much higher than he would have done a week ago. There was a shortage of pistols in the country, so they always fetched a premium. Assault rifles were easier to get, even since the law changes, but full-auto military weapons were a different category again.

  Jake said nothing, waiting. There was no way he could pay that much and they both knew it.

  ‘You mentioned machine guns before,’ he said.

  Little Dog nodded. ‘Can get a Minimi,’ he said. ‘Take a few more days, pretty hard to get them, eh?’

  ‘How much?’

  Little Dog considered that for a moment, rubbing his chin. ‘More’n twenty,’ he said. ‘Hafta check that one with my guy.’

  Silence sat between them for a long minute, neither man wanting to make the first move. Little Dog knew Jake needed the guns, had nowhere else he could get them. Jake knew Little Dog wanted something. Whoever made the first move exposed weakness, showed their eagerness. Eventually Jake figured they couldn’t just sit there all fuckin’ day. Little Dog already knew he was keen anyway.

  ‘So what’s it gunna be?’ he said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. ‘I ain’t got cash for that. You know it same’s me. What’s it gunna be, Dog?’

  Little Dog crooked a grin. They’d known each other too long to play games. Trust Jake to get straight to the point.

  ‘A’ight,’ he said. ‘Got a issue, affects the club. Got some boys in Spring Hill.’

  Jake nodded. He knew that. Spring Hill prison was eight kilometres south of Meremere, next to the Hampton Downs raceway, and was home to a thousand low to high-medium security prisoners. He’d done time there himself and knew it well.

  ‘They still there?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, got them on lockdown. What I hear, some of the screws’ve gapped it, but some still there. Some inmates broke out when the power went down, but they still got a lot under lock and key, old school.’

  Jake eyed him across the table. ‘Wanna get ’em out?’

  ‘Aye.’ Little Dog sucked on his lower lip. ‘Ain’t seen any of our boys out yet, but we get ’em out, we in a good position to call some shots. See what I’m sayin’?’

  Jake did, and he liked it. But he knew there was more to it, so he waited.

  ‘Get them out, we got guns, we got numbers. We get patches out there, people know we callin’ the shots, eh? Cops on the run, Army’s out there now. Bu
t they ain’t give a shit about towns like this…all round here, heaps of places we can loot. Get all the shit we want, set ourselves up. When this all blows over we all good.’

  ‘Looters get shot, bro,’ Jake said.

  Little Dog gave a snort. ‘Huh. Fuckin’ Army boys all scared little kids. They see a buncha badass motherfuckers like us turn up, all gunned up and shit, they ain’t gunna wanna do shit. They do, we cap ’em, same as anyone.’

  Jake absorbed this, nodding. He wasn’t convinced on Little Dog’s assessment of the soldiers, but that didn’t make the plan any less appealing. If there was ever going to be an opportunity to run riot with little to no risk of being caught, it was now. The gang’s pad in Papakura would be like the Playboy fuckin’ mansion.

  ‘So we do this together, get out the boys, what then?’ Jake had his game face on now, knowing this was getting down to the business end.

  ‘That’s the thing.’ The slightest hint of amusement danced behind Little Dog’s eyes. ‘You want back in?’

  Jake’s face gave nothing away, but his mind started racing. He’d figured that could be on the table, but the way it was being sold wasn’t right. The Sergeant-at-Arms didn’t make offers like that; he dished out the discipline and did the heavy lifting. This was The President’s job, maybe the Vice.

  ‘What’s Horse say?’

  Little Dog showed his yellowed teeth again. ‘Nothin’. Horse is dead, bro.’

  Jake raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He saw where it was going now, and mentally kicked himself for not seeing it earlier.

  ‘You put him down,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Eh, bro. I fuckin’ put him down a’ight. I put a cap in his head and that’s that, eh?’

  Jake tried to slow his brain down. It was a big call to take out the Prez. Caused a lotta shit. ‘What about Marty?’

  ‘Marty ain’t interested, bro. Handed in his colours straight I did Horse.’ Little Dog’s eyes were dark and fixed. ‘No Prez, no Vice, jus’ me. Leo in the big house, got no Treasurer neither.’

  Jake nodded, trying to keep up. This was crazy shit, right here. Never had the Bandits had a coup like this before.