The Faller

by Daniel De Lorne

  Charlie would be alone, in pain, and afraid for his life.

  Business as usual.

  Fred, Doug, and Sam arrived back in camp well after noon, nursing sore heads, lugging crates of supplies, and looking about as festive as a half-dead wallaby. Jack and Charlie heard their approach long before they reached camp, and so they parted—slow, reluctant, neither one of them willing to go back to how they’d been—and returned to camp separately, Jack first and a little while later Charlie once the work was done. His palms were raw, and the flies had been a nightmare.

  At least he’d have no trouble getting the men to believe he’d been working.

  Not that they’d given him a single thought since walking off into the trees four days earlier. They gave him a couple of grunts hello but barely looked up. Fred threw him his sack of supplies and some shrapnel in change—minus a carrying fee that Charlie would have gladly paid ten times over, considering how good his Christmas had been.

  “You managed to not lose a hand while we were gone.”

  He gave Fred a short laugh. “Done all right, thanks.”

  He walked to his tent, keeping his eyes away from Jack’s but imagining the heat of his gaze on his back. He put his new supplies away until the intensity faded, a slow departure like fingers caressing his skin and drifting away one by one. It would be fine if the others thought badly of him; he’d be damned if they were going to turn on Jack as well.

  His attention fell on the book of poetry; he tucked it deeper into his pack and buried it under supplies.

  When he risked turning, it was to look up at the same time as Jack, who had a simmering intensity to his gaze that made Charlie’s skin flush hot. He bit his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling and giving themselves away more fully than he feared he already had. Grabbing whatever he had available to eat, he walked over to sit in the circle with the other men. Jack turned in soon after, long before sunset, like he had every day since he’d known him. Every day except these Christmas days. Hearing him speak a few words of farewell was enough to send a shiver through Charlie’s body. He craved to be near him, to feel his breath against his skin. But he had to stay still, had to stay behind, because otherwise he’d give him away, and then they’d both be lost.

  He slept poorly that night. And the next. And the one after.

  THREE TORTUROUS days passed since the return of the men had pricked the heavenly bubble of their seclusion. Each dawn he woke with a little less strength and a little more fear. The only way Charlie could keep himself from looking at Jack, or falling toward him, or wanting to talk to him, was to work as steadily and as hard as possible. The sleepers piled up, but not fast enough. He became distracted, anxiety gripping his throat and throwing off his balance as misshapen sleepers went to waste once again.

  That, too, was business as usual as far as the others were concerned.

  But on that morning, his focus sharpened, and he’d cut four good sleepers come lunch. The contractor was due right after New Year’s Day; maybe he could hold off from exposing their attraction that long. He’d get paid, and maybe they could leave. He hadn’t spoken to Jack about it, hadn’t spoken to Jack at all. Too frightened of being close to him and letting on how badly he wanted to kiss him.

  But he had a plan: cut his fingers to the bone, cash in, and then run. With Jack. Wherever Jack wanted to go. He brought the axe down with the confidence of a man with direction, and the wood split in exactly the way he wanted it to. A crack echoed behind him and he spun around.

  Jack stood there, axe casually slung over his shoulder.

  “Want a hand?”

  His smile was bright and warm, coming out like a sun that had been hidden too long in an overcast sky. Three days since he’d last seen it. Three days since he’d last pressed his mouth to it.

  “What are you doing?” Charlie whispered. He worked alone while the other men dotted themselves through the forest, carving out their own territory, but any one of them could appear as silently as Jack had to ask for his help. They’d done it more often since returning from town, now that he wasn’t likely to hurt himself or them.

  “I’ve reached my quota for today,” Jack said, his smile falling along with his axe as he rested its head on the dirt and leaned on the handle. His muscles danced, and Charlie watched them, transfixed. “I’m here to help you.”

  What would this look like to the others? What did it matter? They didn’t know anything. There was nothing unusual about the best faller helping the weakest. With the contractor coming, the more sleepers the better, never mind who cut what. Charlie nodded. Jack hefted his axe back onto his powerful shoulder and chose an unmarked piece of wood. His hands slid effortlessly across the smooth timber, trimmed of its bark, his fingertips learning every contour…. In all the time Charlie had stood in the forest, battling logs that wouldn’t cooperate, bleeding from blisters that wouldn’t quit, gasping and coughing in the dust of a fallen tree, he’d never blamed the trees. He’d never hated them….

  Until now.

  He forced himself back to the cut. There wasn’t time for standing around, but there was something warm and welcoming and right about working side by side with Jack. A comfort, a reassurance that this was a good enough life for the two of them. He was about to whisper his plan to Jack, but then a voice spoke behind them.

  “Well, bugger me. It’s a Christmas bloody miracle.”

  The blood drained from Charlie’s body and collected in a vile mess in his stomach.

  He and Jack both turned to Fred, who stood between two trees, his axe across his shoulders, hands dangling over the handle.

  “Giving the kid a hand,” Jack grunted.

  “I can see that. Just surprised, is all.”

  Fred didn’t look at Jack as he spoke. His focus fixed on Charlie’s eyes, a touch of craziness in them.

  “You must have asked very nicely, Charlie-boy.”

  Every snide comment, every barely veiled insinuation, every suspicious glance he’d ever endured all came together in Fred’s keen gaze.

  He shrugged stiff shoulders. “Didn’t need to ask. Jack offered.”

  “He’s a good man is our Jack. Right Christian of him to help out the less capable.”

  Was it his imagination or did Fred lean on the word extra hard?

  “Talkin’ about it isn’t going to get these trees cut, Fred,” Jack growled.

  He pursed his lips in a smug sort of way. “No, but like I said…. Surprised.” He tossed his chin once in Charlie’s general direction and walked away.

  Charlie had to fight the panic, but he managed it, turning back to the sleeper he’d been working on and pouring all the anxiety into the handle of his axe, into the tree. Fred could well be in the shadows, watching. Whatever he thought was going on, it wasn’t just one man helping out another. He looked like a man who knew something.

  “What was that about?” Jack whispered in between one swing and another, without so much as glancing away from the log.

  “Maybe he’s jealous that you’re helping me rather than him.”

  Those were coins going directly into Charlie’s own pocket, after all, and not Fred’s.

  Jack didn’t speak again, and Charlie took his cue from that. But the rest of the afternoon passed in a tense silence as they finished off another load. Near day’s end, Jack returned to his cut.

  “See you back in camp, Charlie.”

  It should have filled him with anticipation. It should have been as welcome and inviting as being invited into Jack’s own home, Jack’s own bedroom. But camp was full of enemies, and their return had sucked the joy out of the place.

  But not from his memories.

  Charlie dragged his feet as he returned in the day’s dying light. Voices filtered through as he approached—Fred the loudest of the lot. They were indistinct, but he thought he heard his name and Jack’s, and then as soon as they were aware of him, they stopped talking altogether. That never happened.

  A chill raced up Charlie’
s spine.

  He forced a smile and a nod on his way to his tent. Three pairs of eyes tracked him like a pack of dingoes. He lowered his axe, downed two mugs of water, and rummaged around his tent for some tins.

  “Leave Jack out there to finish off more of your work?” Fred said, a little too loudly given how close he was to the entrance to his tent.

  Charlie ignored him and the smirks from Doug and Sam. He stayed out of their little ring, keeping beneath the fold of his tarpaulin. A man’s tent was holy ground. Even Fred wouldn’t venture inside. Charlie cracked a tin and shoveled its contents into his mouth to stop himself from saying anything he’d regret. Or maybe Jack would.

  “Fancies himself a boss man, our Charlie. Isn’t that right, mate?”

  He took his time swallowing, measuring the man. “Not if it means having to take charge of layabouts like you, Fred.”

  The others laughed. So did Fred, but it had a jagged edge to it.

  Jack appeared at the clearing’s boundary, silencing them all as he crossed it and ducked into his tent. Charlie scoffed his food and, through a full mouth, said, “I’m off to the river for a wash.”

  Sitting around with three predators angling for a fight would lead to more trouble. And he couldn’t trust himself to not look at Jack.

  “Good idea,” Jack said. His voice deeper than normal, authoritarian. He made to follow.

  Charlie froze, his body slamming to a halt, jerking before he could smooth out the movements. Jack was already halfway toward him.

  “You fellas too good to sit with the likes of us?” Fred called out.

  But Jack ignored them, and Charlie followed, their cackling firing after him. By the sounds of it, they’d hit the grog hard as soon as they’d lowered their axes.

  Had he truly ever wished they’d speak to him more often?

  Jack led them to a spot farther down from where they usually went, a spot not as direct or as obvious. A spot they could be alone. That, in itself, made them appear like they were trying to hide something, and Charlie’s stomach quavered. How would they explain it? They wanted to catch marron? Snakes on the other bank? What if someone followed them to pick up the sniping where they’d left off? The way Fred looked at him—could he possibly know? Had he guessed? Jack said he’d sensed it right from the start. Charlie massaged the back of his neck to ease the building tension, but it was the fear constricting his heart that he was really worried about. Why couldn’t Jack have stayed behind?

  Jack settled on a spot, secluded from the little track the men had worked into the bush, and the water looked deep enough for a soak in the soft light. The lazy heat made the river more welcoming than a muggy and muddy stream should, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and sleeper cutters couldn’t either.

  Jack undressed. Charlie came closer, whispering urgently, “Why did you come?”

  “Because I wanted to be with you, not them.”

  “Bloody hell, Jack. What if they see us together? What if they suspect?”

  “They won’t. There’s not one of them with enough imagination.”

  “You can’t know that for sure. We have to be careful. Fred’s already suspicious about something.”

  Jack, bare-chested, leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, the dangerous shock of it sending Charlie stumbling back like he’d never been kissed by a man before. Jack’s face sagged with defeat.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m scared,” Charlie hissed.

  Jack reached for him, but he ducked out of reach. Each step back was another tear through Charlie’s heart.

  “I think we should leave.”

  It took a moment, but when Jack smiled, it was big and broad. “Couldn’t agree more. We can set up a camp by ourselves on the far side of this ridge, tell the contractor where he can find us, and not have to worry about anyone else. Let’s leave now.”

  Was the man heat-struck? “We can’t go yet.”

  “What’s stopping us?”

  “Jack, we haven’t been paid.”

  Water droplets shook themselves free in all directions as his shoulders shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me! I’m not leaving until I get my money, Jack. It’s only a few more days until the sleepers are collected, and then we can go.”

  A crunch of leaves came from the bushes behind them, but when Charlie turned, there was no sign of anything or anyone—probably a bush rat shuffling through the leaf litter.

  Even so, his pulse kicked up its protest.

  Jack frowned. “It’s just money, Charlie.”

  “It’s not just money; it’s proof that I can do this, that the past month hasn’t been a waste.”

  Jack reared back in the murky waterhole.

  “I’m talking about the hard work, Jack. I’ve never had to do anything like this before. I’d always survived on my parents, but when this first load gets paid off, then I can say I did it, that I’m not going to die in the gutter like they would have wanted.”

  “We can get by on my savings.”

  Jack’s savings. Jack’s earnings. Jack’s training.

  “I’m not leaving until I get my money.”

  It wasn’t the money he was worried about. He couldn’t shake the feeling that if the two of them announced they were leaving—together—then the others might suspect something. Fred was already like a dog on the scent of something juicy, and they just had to be smart for another few days. Get past New Year’s Day and wait for the money to come in. Then they could go.

  Separately.

  Jack’s voice, when it came, was painfully calm. “Do you know what attracted me to you in the first place, Charlie?”

  “I looked like your lover.”

  It was juvenile. But it killed him that Jack could be so calm when so much was at stake. Maybe calm was easier when you were the size of a house.

  “No, it was because here was this brave kid coming into a strange world and tackling the impossible. You inspired me, Charlie. Don’t let your fear of them stop you from doing what you want to do.”

  Charlie’s heart stuttered over Jack’s words before his head reminded him it was necessity that drove him to the forest, not bravery. If he’d truly been brave, he would have stayed in Perth, come what may.

  “Jack, please. This matters to me. Let’s wait until January 2, and then you can get paid and leave, and then I’ll follow behind, or the other way around.”

  Jack folded his arms. “If I wait, we’re leaving together. I don’t care what they think, and if they start anything with you, they’ll know what it means to take me on. I’d leave right now if you’d come with me.”

  Jack’d do that? For him?

  No one had ever been willing to sacrifice anything for him. Not that he’d expected it of Billy, but the man had fled at the first bloody nose. Then again, so had he. But Jack…. Strong, silent Jack Tapper would stare down anyone who dared to sully his lover’s name. And plenty of people would back down rather than risk a swing of those massive fists—or Jack’s axe.

  But there would be no need. They could survive a few days more. The contractor would come, they’d get paid—he’d get paid—and then they’d be able to move on.

  They just had to be safe until the day after New Year’s Day.

  Charlie crossed the distance between them and stood on his toes to kiss Jack for as long and as deep as his fear would allow.

  “Three more days,” he affirmed, afraid and excited at the same time by this bold new future. His heart trembled, too used to its layer of fear to shed it easily, but if Jack was willing to wait, then he could find the strength in himself to agree to Jack’s terms. “Three more days and then we’ll leave. Together.”

  When they returned to the camp—damp but separate—Fred, Doug, and Sam had put quite a dent in the grog they’d bought with them from town, and the small amount of time he and Jack had shared together had come at the expense of greater risk. Charlie’s smile fell from his face and he walked farther ahead of Jack. It was a relie
f that their tents were on opposite sides of the clearing so they didn’t have to keep this up for long.

  Although what he would have given to have Jack an arm’s length away if he needed him….

  “Good swim?” Fred sneered.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Fred to try bathing sometime, but the man was itching for a fight, and it wouldn’t take much to set him off. He was as likely to ignite as the forest floor in a lightning storm.

  “River’s getting low,” he said instead and kept right on walking. “Not much for swimming.”

  “Charlie?” Fred shouted after him. “Hey, Charlie-boy!”

  Charlie sighed and turned.

  “What’s your secret, Charlie-boy?”

  Jack watched on from the other side of camp and inched closer to his axe. Meanwhile, Charlie’s heart was pumping so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised if they could see his veins jumping. He had to remain calm. Fred didn’t know anything.

  “I’ve got no secrets, Fred.”

  Incompetent, vulgar, and a flat-out liar.

  “Well, you must have something. Jack doesn’t come within two feet of you the whole time you’ve been around, and then we get back from town to find you two best mates and he’s cutting your sleepers.”

  Charlie chewed and tried to think of something to say that didn’t sound suspicious, that wouldn’t provoke Fred further, that wouldn’t give them away. But Fred didn’t give him more than a heartbeat to think.

  “What did you offer him?” Nasty eyes leered out of that freckled, ginger countenance; whether he meant it to be lascivious or not, it had an oiliness to it, a desecration of what they’d shared. Like Fred was using his fat, ugly fingers to try to pry open something delicate and—

  “He offered me a cup of tea,” Jack said out of the shadows. Three men swiveled their heads toward the faller, the growl in his voice not so much making them cower but snicker.

  They wanted this, all along.

  “If I’d known it was that easy to get you to cut wood for me, mate, I’d have brewed you tea ’til the cows came home.” Fred chuckled, but the others didn’t; they were waiting for something. “Or maybe it’s not my tea you’re after.”