by Hager, Mandy
‘You’d bloody better be,’ I say, pulling away. ‘Just make sure you’re ready to pick us up.’
‘Roger that.’ He salutes, spins on his heel all soldier-like, and marches over to the car.
‘Come on,’ I say to Jiao. ‘We’d better move.’
We change our position several times, trying to figure out the best place to hide yet still be ready to dash out to the small-goods truck without getting sprung. By the time we’re happy with our spot behind a flowering manuka, dawn is breaking salmon-pink above the eastern hills. Not a good sign. Red sky in morning, shepherds take warning. Damn. Rain will make things so much worse.
A few minutes later I hear the rumble of a vehicle. My heart leaps to my throat. This is it. My eyes meet Jiao’s. She crosses her fingers and pins on a brave smile. The rumble’s coming closer now. My muscles jerk and twist with nerves.
‘False alarm,’ Trav calls. ‘It’s just a car.’
We stay hidden as Trav scarpers as well. The last thing we need is some real do-gooder who wants to help him out. But the vehicle’s slowing as it approaches, and I catch a glimpse of red as it crawls past. Don’t stop, you bastard. Bugger off. It idles beside the Toyota for two or three long seconds before it revs again and speeds away.
A minute or two later Trav calls out again. ‘Okay — we have lift-off.’
Oh fuck. Jiao grabs my hand and squeezes it really tight. God knows how Trav is feeling — stage fright must be heaven compared to this.
Like the car before it, the truck slows as it approaches. It’s clearly seen something. We move around so we can check what’s going on, be ready to run. Trav’s on the road, reeling like he’s just staggered out of the car. He truly looks the part: bleeding, dazed and desperate as he flags down the truck.
It works! The truck draws to a halt, idling as someone leans out the window.
‘What’s your problem, mate?’ a voice clips out.
‘I dunno what happened,’ Trav says, raising his hand to his head, then staring at the blood. Shit, he’s good. He’d suck me in. ‘Could you just give me a quick hand to sort the car? I’ve munted my ribs.’
I can feel Jiao shifting position beside me, the tension building as we both prepare to sprint. Wait, I mouth. Not yet. The canvas cover on the truck is held in place with elasticated ties. Should be a doddle to unhook, but we need to time our run perfectly.
Two guys climb down from the cab and follow Trav over to the car. It’s time. We have to make our break. I squeeze Jiao’s hand. ‘Now,’ I say. ‘Go!’
We hurtle over to the back of the truck and start to tug at the ties that hold the canvas flap in place. The first couple pop off nice and easy, but the next one I attack won’t budge. Come on. Come on. I can hear Trav talking over by the car. Have no idea how long we have. Fuck. My fingers fumble and I’m thrown off balance. I glance down the driver’s side, trying to spot Trav.
No! This isn’t right. There’s a third guy in the driver’s seat. His eyes meet mine in the side mirror. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He leans on the horn and holds it down.
‘I’ve blown it,’ I hiss at Jiao. ‘Run back!’ I push her towards the scrub, hoping like hell Travis will be all right. It’s hard to think. Need to run. The horn’s still blaring and the truck is graunching into gear. Men’s voices rise. I hear Trav shout an insult back. Then there’s a shot. A fucking shot. Holy mother of God.
The truck bunny-hops down the road before it picks up speed, the canopy gaping open at the back. I run over to check on Trav, who’s crouched beside the Toyota.
‘I’m so bloody sorry, mate. I thought there were only two of them—’
But Trav’s not responding. His shirt is weeping real blood.
‘He’s hit,’ I croak, throwing myself down beside him. Jiao’s at my back. I shake him gently. ‘Trav?’ His eyes track up to mine, but he doesn’t speak. His face is white as hell.
‘We have to get his shirt off,’ Jiao says, her voice all wobbly. She reaches around behind him and rips his shirt right down his back while I peel it off him at the front. So much for the fancy-arsed bulletproof vest — the shot has smashed right through into his collar bone. God only knows what kind of mess the bullet’s made inside.
My head’s buzzing with static as Jiao rams a wad of bunched-up shirt into the wound. Trav grunts. His eyes roll back. He’s breathing all shallow and fast. We have to get him to a hospital. Really bloody fast.
‘Help me get this stupid vest off him,’ I say to Jiao. The weight must be killing him — it’s bad enough for me. All this is my fault. Mine. Jeannie will never forgive me.
We ease the sleeve down his good arm first, cringing every time he grunts with pain. Then I work it off his other arm while Jiao keeps pressure on the wound. Finally I get the damn thing off. I’m about to throw it in the ditch when something makes me look again. There’s black stuff leaking from the tear. And small red wires.
Reality detonates inside my head.
‘Get your vest off,’ I scream at Jiao, already struggling to shed my shirt. ‘Get the bloody thing off now!’ I fling my shirt away and writhe out of my vest. Rip open the seams to see what’s hidden inside. Explosives. A fucking heap of them. All wired to some kind of radio remote.
I chuck up in my mouth.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THERE’S NO TIME TO PROCESS what this means: Trav needs help right now. I spit my puke, gather up all three vests and hurl them the hell away.
Jiao’s trying to comfort Trav, her face as pale as his. She must be thinking the same way as me, because her only words are practical ones. ‘Let’s get him into the back seat,’ she says. ‘Can you drive the car?’
‘I hope so. Take his feet,’ I say, already working my way around behind him so I can loop my arms under his chest. I heave him up, wincing at a bitchy spasm in my back. Trav lets out a terrible mew of pain. ‘I’m sorry, mate, I’m sorry.’ There’s blood caking my hands now and cold sweat stinging my eyes.
We manoeuvre him on to the back seat and lie him down. Next we have to get the damn car out of the ditch — and that means I’m stuck pushing it myself. I shove it into reverse (thank god the gears are etched into the stick) and show Jiao how to accelerate and use the clutch. It’s the blind leading the bloody blind — I only ever had one lesson in George’s car, and that was over two years ago. When she’s ready, I turn the engine on. Run round the front.
‘Go!’ I say, bracing for action. She revs the engine and releases the clutch. Too quick. The car jerks backwards and stalls.
Jiao groans. ‘Sorry.’
‘Just try again. You can do this.’
The bloody thing stalls three more times, but each backwards lurch helps inch us out of the ditch. I’m sweating like a bastard by the time we’ve finally got it back on the road. Now Jiao races round to Trav and lifts his head into her lap so she can brace him. It’s up to me to drive. I test out the pedals. Try to coordinate my two left feet. Turn the key.
There’s a deafening explosion, and the whole car rocks. The weird thing is I’m still in one piece, feeling no pain. I spin around to check on Trav and Jiao. They’re safe in the back too. But I can see smoke in the rearvision mirror, and as it starts to clear it’s obvious what’s just gone down. Un-bloody-believable. One of the vests has blown itself to bits. They’ve detonated the one we peeled off Trav. Ray’s little diversionary explosion was meant to blast the shit out of my mate.
I hate him. Hate her. How could she even think up something as sick as this? I have a sudden flash of Dad in that bloody white bag.
Trav groans. I shake my head to clear the shock. I’ve still got ringing in my ears. Turn the key, forgetting I’ve already done it until it makes an awful metallic shriek. I ease my foot off the clutch just like George taught me, the car jolting forward in a rush. Ram through the gears. Graunch them. Jerk us to hell until I hit top gear and can finally concentrate on the road. It’s a bloody nightmare matching the speed to the camber and I slew off on to the grass far too many
times before I start to get the feel. I don’t even know where the hell I’m going, just driving as far away from those murderous pricks as I can.
‘Is there a hospital in Hawera?’
‘There’d better be. I think he’s going into shock.’
‘Okay, lift his feet up higher than his head.’ I hope like hell I’ve got this right — I haven’t done a first-aid course since Mikey was a kid. ‘Hang on.’ I slam my foot on to the brake and screech to a stop. Tear off my sweatshirt and chuck it over to Jiao. ‘Use this to keep him warm.’ I hook into my pocket and bring out a squashed, furry-looking pineapple lump. ‘Get him to suck on this. The sugar might help.’
While she’s coaxing Trav to take the sweet, I go through the whole frickin’ gear-changing process again. I’m just as shit this time, but by some miracle I manage not to stall. And it seems Trav’s still conscious — he’s managing to keep the sweet inside his mouth, though it ain’t a pretty sight. All the time there’s this ticking doomsday clock inside my head, counting off the minutes since Trav was shot. What if he dies? Jeezus. I’d never be able to look Jeannie in the eye.
It’s ten more minutes before we pass the sign that indicates we’re on the outskirts of Hawera. I stifle back a relieved sob. I head straight for the centre of town, hoping they have a hospital and that we’ll spot it along the way. There’s no traffic but it’s harder driving slow like this, stopping for bloody intersections — always changing gears, up or down. I’m clutching the steering wheel so tight my right hand starts to cramp.
At last Jiao cheers from the back seat. ‘There’s the sign!’
I swing the car around the corner, bumping up over the kerb. Trav grunts and I try to be more careful, but I can hardly steer the damn car any more, I’m so shaken up. My sweaty hands keep sliding round the steering wheel, my legs so weak it’s hard to press the pedals down without my knees throwing a shaky spaz. Nearly there. Have to focus. Keep driving and don’t think of anything else. Like that bitch. Like the fact she buttoned me into a suicide vest and kissed me goodbye on the nose. Like she drove off with Mikey.
‘Fuck!’ I nearly drive into a stop sign. ‘What about Mikey? Oh god. What the hell will she do with him?’ Mum’s face materialises inside my head saying he never should’ve been born. ‘Oh shit. Oh bloody hell.’
Jiao slaps her forehead. ‘Jesus, I can’t believe I forgot him.’ She pauses as we bunny-hop through an intersection. ‘Hurry, Ash, Trav’s starting to pant.’
I turn around to check on him. The car swerves across the road and mounts the footpath, crashing into a shell-encrusted letterbox. We stall. I slap my hands down on the steering wheel. Reverse, leaving a mess of wreckage on the footpath as I pull away.
Thank god it’s only a couple more blocks to the hospital, because I’m a bloody wreck by the time I pull up outside the main entrance, and scream into reception. A nurse looks up, taking in the fact I’m smeared with blood.
‘My friend’s been shot.’ I push back the clipboard she’s foisting on me. ‘I think he’s dying.’ I point towards the doors. ‘He’s outside in the car.’
‘Okay. Hold on.’ She turns to call for extra help.
But I’m back outside already, wrenching open the back door of the car. And now there’s a couple of dudes coming up behind me with a stretcher. They pluck Trav from Jiao’s lap. Lie him down, start checking for vital signs. Race him inside. Jiao and I run in after them, as staff materialise from nowhere, stripping him down, washing away the blood, sticking things into his arms. I give a nurse Trav’s name and tell her his mother is a cop. It shouldn’t be too hard for someone to let Jeannie know he’s here.
Now that Trav’s in the care of the experts, my knee joints melt. It’s only Jiao’s steady hand on my elbow that props me up. But we’re only half done — we both know it. The nurses bustle us out of the treatment room and tell us to wait for news, but there’s no time for that. Worst-case scenario is they’ll have to get him to Whanganui if they don’t have the expertise to treat him here — but that’s not our biggest problem right now. I meet Jiao’s eye, and I swear I know what’s going through her head. The same as mine.
‘Shall we?’
She nods. ‘The old house first. If not, Monica’s.’
We climb into the car and I take off so fast the back tyres squeal like a skanky tweenage girl. I head straight out of town, stopping on the outskirts to fill the car with petrol — thanking good old Erich for providing the cash — and follow the route we drove with Mum, struggling to remember landmarks while we keep a wary eye out for their truck.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Jiao asks. Dumb question, but someone has to ask.
‘Surprise them,’ I say. ‘Though they could still be over near the farm, waiting till they think we’re inside before they blow our vests.’ The horror of it strikes me again. ‘I can’t frickin’ believe it.’
‘I’m so sorry, Ash,’ she says. ‘It never entered my head.’
‘Hell, I’m sorry. Not only did my mother try to kill you and your parents, but we didn’t even get them out.’
‘We have to find Mikey first,’ she says. I glance at her, to check if she means it or is just being kind. Her clothes and hands are stained with blood, her face pale and streaked by the tracks of tears. But there’s a steely set to her chin and anger in her eyes. ‘Just so you know, if they’ve done anything to hurt him I might just be tempted to shoot them. I don’t care if she is your mum. They’re scary.’
‘No argument from me.’ One of Dad’s mantras seems apt about now. If you’ve got a gun, one day you’re going to use it. His justification for gun control. But how right he was. If it comes down to the wire, I’ll shoot them too. Blood may be thicker than water but sometimes not by very much. Mikey and Grandma are my only family. Mum can rot in hell.
When we’re nearly at the turnoff to the farmhouse, we start to search for somewhere safe to hide the car. Just past the entrance there’s a big stand of macrocarpas, so old and dense their branches have intertwined. They form the perfect camouflage for the Toyota as Jiao and I continue on foot. It’s quiet as hell, with only the baaing of sheep and the odd birdcall to break the silence. We circle through the fields to come out at the far side of the house. I slip the gun out of my belt.
The truck’s not there. We burst inside, weapons drawn like bloody gun-slingers, but the house is empty too. I’m relieved and disappointed, desperate to find Mikey but terrified at the thought of what might happen when we do.
‘Should we wait?’ The fact Mum told us to meet back at this dump means stuff-all now. They clearly never thought we’d live long enough to follow through.
Jiao sinks on to one of the grimy beds. ‘I don’t know. Maybe we should keep going on to Monica’s? She’ll know how to find their place.’
The thought of driving all that way completely freaks me. I already feel like I’ve run several marathons end on end. My brain’s so tired all I want to do is howl. ‘Shit I don’t know.’ My head is filled with pictures of Mikey’s bereft face.
‘Then come on. We have to find him quickly. Monica’s our safest bet.’
We return to the car and set off back towards Hawera, by-passing it just north of town to link up with the highway south. So long as I’m on the open road I can handle the driving, but it’s the towns and the few other vehicles along the way that give me the creeps. Jiao keeps lookout for Mum and Ray’s truck but there’s no sign. What if we’re driving in completely the wrong direction? What if he’s already dead?
At Whanganui we stop off at the whale. I didn’t really expect to find him there, but I’m gutted all the same. It’s the one place he might have found a friend. I duck over to the campground in search of Erich. Don’t care if he’s part of some conspiracy to flush out Mum — in fact, right now nothing would please me more. But, though his crazy car’s still there, I can’t find him and there’s no time to waste in asking around. We keep on driving straight to Monica’s, only stopping once at Raetihi to refuel. That
’s it for money: the second round of petrol eats up all the remaining cash.
I take twice as long as Erich did to navigate the gravel roads: it’s bad enough trying to see out through the dust and bump through all the ruts, but now it starts to piss down. I slow to a crawl, eyeing every puddle to gauge its depth. Twice we crash into a hole, the noise so loud I think we’ve ripped the bottom off the car, but somehow we get through. It’s well past lunchtime by the time we pull into the parking space outside the general store.
But Monica’s not there. Only Bitchface is out front, her face pruning up when she sees it’s us. The other two girls huddle in the corner of the café and whisper as if this is the scene in a Western when the bad guys walk into the bar.
I stride over to Bitchface. ‘Is Monica around?’
‘No.’ She straightens up the papers on the counter. Refuses to look up.
‘When will she be back?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Is she at home?’
‘No.’
‘For Christ’s sake!’ I slam my hands down on the counter. ‘Where is she?’
One of the girls calls out. ‘Down the river.’
‘Do you know when she’ll be back?’
‘A couple of days.’ She shoots a nervous glance at Bitchface.
I turn to Jiao, completely stumped. My brain’s gone into freak-out mode. She pushes me aside and leans towards Bitchface.
‘What’s your name?’ she asks.
Bitchface folds her arms across her chest. Narrows her eyes. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘Quite a lot actually.’ Jiao’s voice is as cold as a southerly. ‘Your father just tried to kill me.’ She jerks her head towards me. ‘And him. And our friend Travis.’
Bitchface’s eyes nearly pop out on to her cheeks.
‘She’s Ana,’ one of the other girls pipes up. Bitchface sends her a death glare.
‘Listen Ana.’ I’m back in gear now, fury driving me.
‘Your father tried to blow us up, and now he’s kidnapped my brother Mikey. We need to know how to get back to that shit-hole they call home.’
