The Undercurrent

by Paula Weston

  As soon as they clear the corner Ryan pulls her to him. Jules has a second to catch her breath and then his lips are on hers, hungry. She wraps her arms round his neck to keep him there. She feels the heat from his body, tastes beer on his tongue. Her whole body is buzzing, nerve endings alive and the heat coming in waves.

  Ryan walks her backwards until she’s against the wall, kissing her hard. One hand cradling the back of her head and the other guiding her by the hip. He slides up her dress so he can position his leg between hers. The contact sends a ripple of pleasure through her and she squeezes her thighs to intensify the sensation. Ryan’s breath quickens. His mouth is on her neck, his hand cupping her breast through her dress.

  The charge is building, burning through the alcohol haze. Jules ignores it. She’s done this before without hurting anyone. That was slower, gentler, but it doesn’t matter. She’s got this.

  Her fingers are in his hair. She’s not feeling the cold. She can feel him, hard. She reaches down and traces the length of him through his jeans. Ryan presses closer. He runs his palms up the outside of her thighs and takes her dress with it, bunching it around her waist. The current surges through her, stinging her fingertips. More demanding than Ryan’s touch. Oh no.

  Not in control. Really not.

  Jules tears her lips from his. ‘Ryan…’ She concentrates hard on reeling in the charge, but she’s left it too late. Ryan’s nuzzling her neck, pushing down her underwear.

  ‘Ryan,’ she pants, palms pressed to his chest. ‘Slow down.’

  He covers her mouth with his and his hand is between her legs—

  The charge leaps into Ryan from her fingertips before she can stop it. It strikes him hard, throwing him backwards. He doesn’t even have time to swear before he hits the dirt.

  43

  Dickhead. Dickhead.

  Ryan rolls to his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath. She said no and he didn’t stop. What did he think was going to happen? His chest is on fire and his hard-on well and truly gone. Jules has got herself together and straightened her dress. He can’t see her face but he doesn’t need to.

  He picks himself up from the dirt. He had one job to do here—keep Jules safe—and he’s managed to fuck that up. The only threat she has to worry about here is him.

  ‘Ryan…’ Jules hasn’t moved from the wall.

  Dickhead. No discipline. That’s what his old man always says. It’s what the Major says too. Julianne De Marchi is never going to trust him. Why should she?

  ‘Ryan—’

  Jules doesn’t finish because a lanky silhouette with rounded shoulders slips around the corner. ‘Ryno? You got your pants on?’

  ‘What do you want, Macka?’

  ‘Mate, I think Tommy’s about to do something stupid with my old man.’

  Ryan’s already moving. ‘Where?’

  ‘By the oval.’

  Jules follows them.

  ‘Go back inside.’

  ‘No.’ She walks past him after Macka. He doesn’t have time to argue because as soon as he clears the clubhouse he sees Tommy huddled with a handful of mates under the scoreboard. Keith McKenzie’s in the middle of them, his face lit up by the field lights.

  Macka melts into the darkness, not wanting his old man to know he’s been telling tales. Ryan sticks to the shadows as he approaches.

  Let it be dope.

  He sees the glass pipe in Keith’s hand and rage explodes across his chest.

  ‘What the fuck, Tommy.’

  Tommy looks up, mortified. ‘I wasn’t going to, honestly.’

  ‘Back off, Ryno,’ Keith says, breaking clear from the pack. ‘It’s his present.’

  ‘You’re giving him black resin? We not dying off quick enough for you, Keith?’ He stops his hands from tightening into fists.

  ‘Settle down,’ Keith says, laughing, ‘I’m helping your little brother escape his shit life for a while.’

  ‘The only shit he needs to escape is you.’

  ‘Ryno, I wasn’t going to take a drag, I swear.’

  Ryan eyeballs Keith McKenzie. ‘You don’t know anything about his life so why don’t you shut your mouth?’

  ‘I know your old man’s going to lose everything when that legislation goes through. And for what? His fucken pride? He could’ve saved your farm a dozen times over in the last five years but he never will because he won’t admit he’s wrong.’

  The music throbbing from the clubhouse swells louder for a few seconds. Someone else is coming out. Ryan has a quick look and his chest constricts. It’s his old man and Spud. Both drunk. Jules moves further away from the light.

  ‘Get the fuck away from my boys,’ his dad says, slurring.

  ‘I tell you what, Walsh, you start paying for your drinks and you can give me orders.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  Ryan watches his father approach with uneven steps. Does he stop this? What if his old man turns on him? The last thing their family needs is half the town watching the two of them go at it—at Tommy’s party, no less.

  Ryan’s head thuds double-time and his shoulders are strung too tight. Tommy is silently begging him to intervene and Ryan shakes his head. ‘Stay out of it,’ he mouths at his brother.

  His dad stops a few paces from Keith. Back in the day, Jamie Walsh threw a good punch. But tonight, beaten down by life and full of piss, he’s not in any state to pick a fight. ‘You hear me, Keithie? You don’t come near my boys.’

  ‘Your boys?’ Keith’s laugh is harsh. ‘They don’t want nothing to do with you, Walsh. Tommy gets wasted here every weekend to get away from you, and Ryno joined the fucken army to escape.’

  ‘Dad, that’s not true—’

  Tommy doesn’t finish because their dad charges Keith McKenzie. He barrels into him and they both end up in the gravel under the scoreboard, two middle-aged pissheads scuffling and throwing wild punches.

  A circle forms. Tommy knows better than to interrupt a fight in Mitchellstone and moves in with everyone else. Ryan grits his teeth. Somebody needs to break this up before their mum comes out and sees it.

  ‘Let ’em go, Ryno.’

  It’s Rabbit, joining the circle. Most of the senior team has followed him outside and Ryan knows exactly where their loyalties lie.

  ‘Your dad’s had a beating coming for a while.’

  ‘My dad’s had it coming? Yours was the first to bend over for Pax Fed and the banks. Now they tell you what to plant, what to breed and when to take a shit.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ Rabbit snaps. ‘Nobody bent over. We made good business decisions—’

  ‘You buckled at the first sign of pressure and everyone else had to fall into line or get sent to the wall.’

  ‘We all had choices.’

  ‘Nobody had a choice after your old man sold out.’

  Under the scoreboard, Ryan’s dad and Keith McKenzie are still laying into each other. Nobody’s talking, it’s all grunting and smacking flesh when one of them lands a punch.

  Ryan’s had enough. He breaks formation and Rabbit grabs him by the elbow.

  ‘I said don’t—’

  Ryan’s well aware of how many blokes are around Rabbit but he goes anyway: a quick, sharp blow to the throat that steals Rabbit’s air and sends him to his knees. Ryan has a fleeting moment of satisfaction before three blokes jump him. The same mates who piled on top of him in celebration three years ago are now throwing punches at him. They’re all a blur. He head-butts the full-forward, elbows the rover in the guts, and lands an uppercut on the half-back before someone takes out his new knee. Two defenders pin his arms long enough for Rabbit to get up and take a swing, which lands square on his eye socket. The night turns white and his head splinters.

  ‘That was a cheap shot, Ryno,’ Rabbit wheezes without irony.

  Ryan’s eye throbs, the blood rushing to it. More scuffles have broken out around them. Not everyone was happy to see him outnumbered.

  ‘Stay back Tommy, or you’re next,’ R
abbit warns and then he frowns at something behind Ryan. ‘Come on, gorgeous, you don’t want to get involved—’

  Ryan feels a twinge of voltage before the two defenders drop to the ground either side of him. Rabbit lunges at Jules and drags her towards the light under the scoreboard. Ryan tries to get up but his head is three sizes too big.

  ‘Where is it?’ Rabbit’s rough, trying to see what’s in her hands.

  Bad move.

  ‘Show me—’

  There’s a flash of light and he’s juddering on the spot. Jules lets him twitch for a good few seconds before he drops to a heap on the ground.

  ‘Holy crap,’ Tommy says, hauling Ryan to his feet. Ryan’s trying to see his old man through the mass of brawling bodies and finds him back on his feet, mouth bloodied, dragging Keith McKenzie around in a headlock.

  A gunshot splits the night and everyone hits the ground, Ryan with them. He scrambles around to locate the shooter, heart thrashing. Sinks to the dirt with relief.

  ‘Break it up now or I’ll arrest the lot of you.’

  Senior Sergeant Beth Horrocks manages to scare these blokes, even in a gold dress and sparkly cleavage. The Smith & Wesson helps.

  Ryan’s mum is behind her, surveying the scene—men and boys, bloodied and bruised, climbing back to their feet. She holds up a palm at Tommy and Ryan. ‘I don’t want to hear it. Julianne, are you all right?’

  Jules nods.

  ‘The three of you go home. I’ll take your father to Beth’s and get him cleaned up.’

  ‘You’re taking him to the cop shop?’ Tommy asks.

  ‘I’m taking him to Beth’s. Unless he resists and then, yes, he might spend a few hours in the cell. Gemma’s sober. She can drive the Monaro and you can leave Macka to sort the band gear.’

  His mum frowns at the three sprawled-out footballers coming to in the glare of the field lights.

  ‘Why have they all wet their pants?’

  44

  Angie can’t tell if she’s playing Xavier or he’s playing her, and it’s killing her not knowing.

  It’s why she and Waylon have hiked under a crisp sky to a service station on the outskirts of Port Augusta to find a landline. The contact hub will be a monitored connection on an ancient network, but it won’t be Xavier or his cronies listening in.

  ‘Why hasn’t Voss made contact?’

  She and Waylon linger outside the halo of light on the deserted concourse. The night is tangy with brine and Waylon sighs with the frustration of repetition. ‘We’ll only hear from him if my orders change or something goes pear-shaped.’

  ‘Something has gone pear-shaped. Xavier’s made me the face of whatever he’s got planned here—and don’t go on about me making that easy. He was setting me up whether I stepped onto that stage or not.’

  ‘Yeah, well, at least now you’ve got more clout to influence his mob when the time comes.’

  ‘How? I don’t know what he’s going to do and he’s been avoiding me all afternoon.’

  ‘He’ll tell you when he’s ready. He’s the kind of tool who needs to brag to someone.’

  ‘You’re taking all this in your stride, Waylon.’

  His silhouette turns to her. ‘We’ve got a job to do and so far we’re getting it done.’

  ‘Fine. Do your job and fix the light over that contact hub.’

  She catches a hint of smile in the moonlight, which only fans her irritation.

  Waylon screws the suppresser on his pistol, takes a moment to steady himself and fires. There’s a pop of tinkling glass as the light winks out.

  Angie jogs from the saltbush and skirts the bowsers. Waylon hangs back, covering her. She takes the handset from the hub cradle, swipes the pre-paid card and holds her breath. The dial tone crackles but at least the screen works, even coated in grime from years of tapping fingers. She tries Khan’s number first. It rings out.

  Angie disconnects and wipes her palms on her jeans. Khan could be out of range. She won’t answer a number she doesn’t recognise. Nothing to worry about.

  Angie fishes out the number for Ryan’s farm. It’s in code—every second number is two lower than the actual digit. She taps it in and waits, her agitation growing when it rings out twice. Her scalp prickles. Did Jules even make it there?

  Voss didn’t give her his number, but Angie needs to talk to someone. She dials Vee.

  ‘God, Ange, I’ve been worried sick.’ Vee’s wide awake despite the late hour. ‘Tell me that stunt at the camp wasn’t your idea.’

  ‘Of course it wasn’t.’

  ‘Have you heard from Jules? Or Khan or Voss?’

  ‘Total radio silence so far.’

  A beat. It’s the type of pause Vee takes when she’s got bad news to deliver.

  ‘What have you heard?’

  Vee doesn’t answer and the silence is long enough to trap the breath in Angie’s throat.

  ‘Vee—’

  ‘The government shut down an unsanctioned corporate pilot project twenty years ago involving our soldiers in Afghanistan.’ It comes out in a rush. It’s not what Angie was expecting and it takes her a few seconds to change gears.

  In the silence, Vee pushes on: ‘Pax Fed was in the mix but I can’t prove Mike’s unit was involved. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for sure—which I need to stress I don’t—but I told Jules it was a possibility on Wednesday and I wanted you to hear that from me.’

  Angie stares at a line of graffiti scrawled on the perspex in streaky black texta, backlit by the concourse lights: #PortAguttaGlowsInTheDark. She can’t see Waylon but she can feel him watching her from the shadows.

  ‘When did you find out?’

  ‘About a month ago.’

  Angie De Marchi is well acquainted with incendiary rage. The sensation building right now is slower and much, much colder.

  ‘I thought you’d be yelling at me by this point.’

  ‘Because you lied to me?’

  ‘I haven’t lied. I don’t have any proof.’

  ‘You didn’t trust me enough to tell me you might have something: the only lead in a decade. I’m so sick of you thinking you have to save me from myself.’

  ‘Somebody has to. What happens to Jules if you get yourself killed because you can’t let this go?’

  ‘You’re not her mother, Vee, I am.’

  ‘Then act like it.’

  Angie slams her palm on the Perspex. ‘I may not hug her like you do, or take her shopping and clubbing, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love her. I need to know who did this to her—’

  ‘So you can punish them?’

  ‘So I can give my daughter a life. She’s eighteen and she’s shut herself off from the world because she’s scared she’s going to hurt someone.’

  Vee doesn’t respond and Angie knows she’s giving her room to seethe. Managing her. Air brakes hiss on the highway: a semi slowing for the station.

  ‘What else haven’t you told me?’

  ‘Angie, I didn’t mean that you don’t love Jules. All I meant was—’

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  Vee exhales like she’s winded.

  ‘Pax Fed has poached the top senior geneticist from Queensland Uni for a short-term offline contract. It only happened this morning and nobody’s supposed to know about it.’

  ‘They have their own geneticists.’

  ‘Theirs specialise in genetically modified grains. Professor Mian’s an expert in human bioengineering.’

  Angie puts her back to the concourse. The nuclear plant looms half a kilometre away, its cooling towers dressed in twinkling lights. Somewhere to the east of that monster, beyond the silo and the moonlit fields of the sun farm, Jules is meant to be safe. But how can she be when Pax Fed is paying the unit that’s supposed to protect her?

  ‘Where is the geneticist now? The government tracks our top scientific minds, right? So you should know. Or are you going to feed me more sugar-coated crap?’

  ‘Ange…’ Vee sighs. ‘The p
rofessor boarded a flight late this afternoon. She’s headed to South Australia.’

  45

  ‘What’d you do with the taser?’ Gemma asks as she guns the Monaro out of the clubhouse car park. The engine’s loud and meaty, hungry for speed. Ryan’s in the back with Jules. Ordinarily he wouldn’t let anyone else drive but his left eye is so swollen he can barely see out of it.

  Jules hesitates. ‘I, ah…’

  ‘You don’t want to know,’ Tommy says from the front, saving Jules from lying.

  Gemma glances at Tommy. ‘Right.’ She finds Ryan in the rearview mirror. ‘We should’ve told you about Missy and Rabbit. Sorry.’

  Jules shifts position on the leather seat and Ryan can’t look at her.

  ‘What happened with Nunnie?’ His voice is flat.

  ‘He went to Queensland last year looking for rousting work and didn’t come back. She waited six months. That’s a big effort for Missy.’

  Ryan stares out at the town flashing by. Everything’s in darkness except the pub. His face throbs and his knuckles are raw but he’s sobered up. And at least those fuckers didn’t wreck his knee. It’s sore, but it took his weight when he got up.

  ‘Missy and Ryan go way back,’ Gemma explains to Jules.

  ‘You were a couple?’

  Ryan glances at her, surprised she’s interested.

  ‘Friends with benefits,’ Tommy says.

  ‘Mates, first and last.’ Ryan sees Rabbit’s hands on Missy. ‘And she can do better than that cockhead.’

  Gemma puts her foot down as soon as they get out of the town and the Monaro eats up the road. It doesn’t smell like his dad’s car anymore. Right now it reeks of make-up and hairspray.

  Tommy and Gemma don’t get out when they pull up by the shed.

  ‘It’s still his birthday,’ Gemma tells Jules and her gaze slides to Tommy.

  Ryan taps the drivers headrest to get Gemma’s attention. ‘About bloody time.’

  Tommy’s watching Gemma with bright eyes, not game to open his mouth. The drama at the club is all forgotten for now. It’s the best gift Gemma could give Tommy and Ryan loves her for it.

  ‘Don’t prang Dad’s car.’ Ryan gets out and stands on the opposite side of the driveway to Jules, watching the Monaro roar back towards town. He needs to lie down, but from the way Jules is lingering he knows his night’s not over yet. And if there’s one thing the army’s taught him, it’s how to take his punishment.