Farm Kill

by Robert W Fisk

  "The mud!," cried Alex. "It's a river of mud coming down the gully. She reached up. Jo pulled, Richard lifted, and Alex was gone.

  The river of mud hit the car, pulling the front away from the pipe. The slender hold on the door mirror slipped away. Richard stood on the seat and grabbed the top of the concrete culvert pipe as the car was swept from under him.

  The level of the mud began to rise. The aftershock continued. In a precarious position, holding the top of the pipe and with his legs dangling past the tunnel, Richard tried to swing his legs into the pipe. Jo grabbed one foot while Alex grabbed the other. Richard let go of his hold on the top of the pipe and fell backwards.

  Jo and Alex were still holding his legs. "Jo, hold on. Don't let him slip," said Alex. She grabbed his trouser belt. "Now let go and grab his belt."

  Jo held her father by his belt on the left side, while Alex held the belt by the right. Without speaking, they pulled together. Richard was lying over the edge of the pipe, which had eighteen inches of mud flowing through it. He couldn't breathe.

  "If I panic, I'm gone," he thought. "Save my breath. Reach up with my hand."

  Alex felt Richard's hand come level with the rim of the pipe. She braced herself against the top of the pipe and gripped his wrist.

  "Jo, Dad's hand!" she called.

  Jo felt for her father's hand. The women pulled on Richard's belt while lifting him by the wrist. Pressed against the concrete ceiling, both were rubbed raw as they .pulled until their arms could go no further, then took another small step forwards, braced again, then pulled once more.

  When Richard felt the firmness of the arms that were pulling him he realised the women must be braced against the concrete side of the pipe so he pulled against them. His head popped free but his nostrils and mouth were covered with mud. He felt Alex put two arms around his neck and pull him forward by his shirt before he blacked out.

  18.

  Brendan felt guilty. Perhaps he could have done something for the family when the mud began to clear away. He should have tried. At the very least he should have checked on them, not put himself first. He stopped the truck and thought for a moment. Then he turned the truck around, a difficult task that took all of his concentration. Feeling a strong sense of urgency, he tried to turn too fast and almost drove over the side of the road. He told himself to take it easy, to go slowly. He backed and went forward and backed and went forward until finally the truck was pointing the right way. Brendan drove back the way he had come, back towards the place where he had seen the car disappear.

  The aftershocks lessened for a short time before a low vibration ran through the truck. It made a noise like a train approaching in the London Underground, something Brendan had only heard on television. He pulled over and watched in amazement as the ground below him on the left rippled rhythmically before splitting open like a ripe passion fruit. The air coming into the cab through the ventilation system was foul. It made him feel nauseous. He opened his window to let the smell out but that only made it worse. He expected movement with an earthquake but he had no idea there would be so much noise and such an awful smell.

  He found where he had been parked. This time, he stayed in the centre of the narrow road because it was higher at the crown and there would be no other traffic. He got out of the cab of the truck and walked to where he thought the sedan might have been pushed over the edge of the road and into the gully below. Seeing that the mud flow was moving slowly downhill, he walked parallel to the flow until he saw what he was looking for; the car had been tipped on to its boot with its front sticking out of the mud. The car was caught against a tree that had fallen and acted like a dam.

  Brendan did not like what he saw. It was as if a model car had been cast in a grey plaster. Brendan scrambled down the bank, which took him some time and more than a few breathless moments, but he felt he had to check to see if anyone could be saved.

  He reached the upended car. It was standing vertically with its boot and rear wheels buried in mud. Brendan moved along the bank beside the mudflow until he was alongside the car. It was as if a small river and all of its contents had been turned into stone. The car was filled to the windscreen with thick mud that was setting rapidly. Using a nearby stick, Brendan poked into the mud through the open sunroof, aiming for where the driver should have been. He could only penetrate a small distance. The passengers were either entombed or had escaped through the sunroof, which had probably broken under the weight of mud.

  Had the people managed to escape, he would have seen them. They would be on the road or would have left tracks of some sort. The mudflow was far too wide for them to have gone any other way. They were dead.

  Sadly, Brendan moved slowly back to the relative safety of the road. He turned the truck once again and drove back towards Grantville. He was stopped by a fallen bridge a few kilometres before the junction with the State highway. Everyone would have to use the highway, which was itself under repair. It was going to be a long wait.

  Stuck on the road in isolation, he at least had some food and plenty of water, and most importantly of all, contact with the outside world.

  Her called the Office again. "Hi Susan. Got close to State Highway One but not close enough. The bridge is out. I am between the original co-ordinates I gave you and here."

  Brendan gave his GPS position, which Susan had anyway.

  "Can you walk out?" asked Susan.

  "No. The bridge is totally stuffed. I don't want to leave the truck. When the aftershocks stop, I'll go back and get the trailer. Then I'll come back to here," said Brendan. "I'll use State Highway One to finish the run."

  "Dream on, bro," said Susan. "That road is still under repair. There's a queue of traffic stretching back for kilometres. And how are you going to get eight axles across a wrecked bridge? You won't be able to go across a cocky's paddock with that load! Look, hang in there. We'll get a chopper in to your present position eventually. Might be a couple of days, though."

  "Do I get paid?"

  "In your dreams," said Susan as she ended the call.

  19.

  "He's unconscious," said Alex as the two women pulled Richard clear of the layer of knee deep mud. "Lean him against the casing."

  "His pulse is strong but he can't breathe," said Jo in a firm manner as she fished in Richard's mouth for his tongue. "Clear his eyes and nose. I can't give him mouth to mouth like that."

  "There's no water. His mouth and nose are totally blocked."

  "Use your blouse. If necessary, squat over him and pee on him."

  Alex was shocked. She couldn't believe what Jo had said, then she realised how practical the answer was. She used her blouse to wipe her husband's nose and mouth and hoped that would suffice.

  As soon as Alex finished clearing his mouth Richard's lungs sucked air into them and then he snorted through his nose. Mud shot from his nostrils, then snot dribbled down his chin. Alex finished the job with her blouse, as one would clean up a baby who had gagged.

  They were in a concrete pipe used as an overflow for storm rains. Jo reasoned that because the level of mud was rising at the near end of the pipe, there was every reason to believe that the mud level in the pipe would also rise. "Come on, gang, we can't sit around here forever," she said.

  Alex had also seen the pipe as a danger. At the moment it was less than half filled with mud. With tremors still continuing, more mud might be on the way. Although the mud flow below the end of the pipe was rising and moving faster, the mud flow through the pipe had not increased. But Jo was right. It could rise at any time. It was hard enough to move with the present level. It might be impossible to move if the level rose.

  Before Alex could answer Jo, she felt Jo pushing and pulling at something under the mud.

  "What have you got, Jo? asked Alex.

  The tunnel was pitch black but a small circle of light was visible at the far end. A draft caused by the flow of mud past the end of the pipe was refreshing as it gently eased its way down the pi
pe.

  "I pushed some stuff ahead of me," said Jo. "We got everything ready a bit earlier, remember?"

  Again, Alex was impressed by Jo's presence of mind. She herself had been so busy fleeing the car that she gave no thought to the preparations they had made, nor what they might do next..

  "Richard, get in between Jo and me," said Alex. They awkwardly changed places, Alex having to pass Richard side by side on all fours. Her chest went into the mud. At least the mud was warm. Jo led the way, on all fours. They were a twelve legged caterpillar moving slowly up the slope of the pipe, sometimes slipping and sliding but continually moving forward.

  Although the mud acted somewhat as a lubricant, their knees ached and were bleeding, their hands were frayed and their arms felt as if they had been clinging too long on a children's climbing frame.

  "Keep going," said Richard. "We'll stop at a hundred." He meant a hundred steps forward of his knees but they all understood.

  "Make it fifty or I'll leave you," said Alex.

  "Make it forty or I'll divorce you both," joked Jo.

  They all laughed. In fact, forty steps forward on the leading knee was about as much as they could endure. As if to urge them on, as they made progress, the light got stronger.

  "Let's cut back to twenty," said Richard, who appeared to have recovered from his blackout. "We're nearly there. Look, the light is much brighter now."

  They arrived close to the end of the pipe. "Be careful, Jo," said Richard through gritty teeth. "Check what's out there first."

  Alex was at the rear. She desperately wanted to immerse herself in water, preferably a deep hot bath. She knew that wasn't going to happen. 'Never mind," she thought. "Immersion in nice fresh air will do."

  Jo stopped. She poked her head out of the pipe. A little below the pipe was a pond of mud. It was in a shallow basin. In other times, rain would collect in the basin, causing the surface to rise. The pipe was an overflow conduit. Judging by the size of it, there were enormous volumes of water at times.

  Jo eased herself over the packages she had been pushing in front of her so that she could look about. There wasn't much to see. The best way out of the pipe would be to exit backwards, climb over the top lip of the pipe and then scramble up the steep bank that rose above the pipe.

  Jo popped back into the pipe. "If you go straight out you'll end up in liquid mud," she said. "Go out backwards so you end up facing the slope above the pipe. Dad, I'll go first. Then could you pass the gear to me? Mum, you'll have to give the bags to Dad."

  "Give the gear to me please," said Alex, automatically correcting Jo's manners. Alex felt Jo had picked up a lot of bad habits while living in the boarding school.

  "Please," said Jo.

  "Enough," said Richard. "Go for it, Jo."

  Jo turned backwards, her legs and lower body towards her parents. The she heaved herself up and was gone. Then her head appeared at the top of the circle of the pipe. She put her arms down to receive the bundles she had brought from the car.

  The first was a blanket, inside which was a Winchester forty-four. Richard was surprised but quite pleased to have a memento of his friend Roy Rogers Langbein, who had been searching for Richard when he died in the bush just a few weeks earlier.

  Jo passed the rest of the things she had saved.

  "Just like a shipwreck," she said. "The Admirable Crichton."

  "Don't get revolutionary ideas," laughed Richard. "I'm still the Boss round her."

  "Oh no you're not!" roared Alex from inside the pipe. They began a pantomime routine that Jo had enjoyed as a seven year old:

  "Oh yes I am!"

  "Oh no you're not!"

  "Oh yes I am!"

  They all laughed and laughed. Laughter felt good. It took their minds of their predicament. Richard did as Jo told him; turned around then climbed out of the pipe and on to the ground above it. Alex followed suit. She had been dressed in a blouse and skirt, but had used her blouse to wipe Richard's face. Although she had buttoned it again, the clay like grey mud had dried and her blouse looked like cardboard. Her knees were bleeding from grazes received while shuffling up the pipe. Her light brown skin was as grey as a ghost. Richard burst out laughing.

  "Has anyone seen Alex?" he joked.

  "Pot calling kettle black," said Alex.

  "A family of zombies," laughed Jo.

  "Don't take any pictures, Jo!" laughed Richard.

  The laughter was good for them. Together they made their way up the slope to the low ridge above, carrying their 'shipwreck' goods. Richard had the rifle. He had put a box of ammunition in his jacket pocket for safety, to keep them well apart from the rifle. His jacket was a mess but the small box was still in a side pocket. New Zealand's gun laws are strict and public attitudes towards firearms were that guns were only for shooting game. They might have to do that if help did not arrive soon.

  From the ridge, they climbed to the hilltop beyond then looked down into a valley. The damage from the earthquake shocked them. The ground was riven by fissures and sheer falls of three or four metres could be seen. In the distance was a farmhouse.

  "We'll head for that farmhouse," said Richard.

  "They'll give us shelter, surely," said Alex. "They'll have food and drink."

  "And a shower," said Jo. "Even if it's a cold shower like at St Angela's."

  Richard had lost his watch. "Judging by the sun, it's early afternoon," he said.

  "Ten o'clock," said Jo, looking at her precious mobile phone.

  "Turn that thing off," said Alex. You're going to need to save the battery, Jo."

  Jo could see the sense in her mother's words and said, "Sure. Good thinking."

  Alex was pleased with Jo's agreement. At fifteen, Jo was challenging her mother's authority over her, while accepting Richard 's opinions without question. In a way that annoyed Alex but she knew that Jo was growing up and in two or three years' time would leave the family to go to university. By then she could not be 'Mummy's little girl'. Alex also knew that it would soon be Richard's turn to face the challenges from Jo. Alex wanted Jo to be equipped to be totally independent when she left home.

  "Let's move it," said Alex. "What's the best route, Jo?"

  Richard understood what was going on and remained silent.

  "Mr Meredith, my Outdoor Education teacher, would say to stay on this ridge until we get closer, then head downhill on a compass bearing. I have a compass on my phone but we don't want to waste the battery. I think it would be better if we head down there," she pointed to a spot, "where it looks like there's a small creek."

  They set off, with Jo in the lead and Alex and Richard following behind, glad to have given Jo an opportunity to contribute to their rescue.

  The stream was shallow but the water was crystal clear. The women tore off their clothes and splashed into the water. Richard couldn't look at Jo with no clothes on. He didn't want Jo to look at him. He was the most uncomfortable of the three.

  "Come on, Richard," said Alex. "It's the only way to get clean."

  "I'll go downstream a bit," said Richard. He went downstream and stripped off and rubbed the mud off in the clear water. It was surprisingly difficult to shift, leaving the skin a murky grey colour even when all the solids had gone.

  They all found their hair to be the most difficult. Alex tried to scrub Jo's hair. She got the solids out but Jo's hair was a grey colour when Alex had finished. The Jo tried to get the mud out of her mother's hair, with much the same result. Because the mud had found its way into every crack and crevice of their bodies they were both glad that Richard had found his own space.

  When they were finished they rubbed and scrubbed their underwear, putting them on although the garments were still wet.

  "Doesn't leave much to the imagination, does it?" said Alex. "Let's go and scare the dirty old man!"

  "He's not a dirty old man!" protested Jo. "Oh. You're right. He was a dirty old man! Let's see if he is just an old man now."

  They walked downst
ream to where Richard had washed. He had cleaned his underwear as best he could and was now sunbathing to get dry. The women lay down beside him.

  "What now, Chief?" asked Alex.

  "Sunbathe and doze for a little, I think."

  "Got to do the laundry first, guys," said Jo. "I don't want to put muddy clothes on."

  The three of them took their filthy clothes to the water. The clothing was stained grey by the mud. They wrung the clothes out and hung them on nearby bushes to dry. Then they lay down side by side.

  "Don't get burned, you two," said Alex, knowing that her light brown skin would take more sun than theirs. Richard's skin was pure pakeha, white English skin that burned quickly. Jo's olive skin was a mixture of her parents'. Alex had always envied her bronzed skin and fair looks when Jo had been in the sun. They lay silent in thought for a while.

  Alex looked covertly at her husband. He was no longer the light-hearted student who had made her laugh so much, but he was one of the most interesting people she had ever met. He just seemed to be able to read people's needs, and was willing to respond to them.

  As a university student, she had felt shy and out of her depth until Richard befriended her. He still had a good body. He went jogging regularly, played squash and cricket, and would join in any game of rugby.

  She still admired his long pale body. He was just under six foot tall, but lying down he seemed longer. His skin was Pommy White, although he had been born in New Zealand. His fair hair was grey from the mud. Alex thought that if he looked like this in twenty years' time, she would be very pleased. He would still be a very handsome man. Her nipples hardened and pushed against her bra.

  Jo got up off the ground. "Mum!" she said.

  Alex wasn't sure whether Jo had seen her arousal or not. She was often puzzled by this child woman that was her daughter. "Come on. Let's head for that house we saw," she said. Time's getting on.."

  They retrieved their clothing from the bushes where they had been drying. The clothes were hard and unyielding, as if they had been starched. It now seemed natural that they were all in their underwear, and almost too much bother to put their clothes on.