by M C Rooney
“A role model, Maurice?” she said in shock. “Surely you must be kidding.”
“No, I am not kidding,” he said sharply, “and your hatred for your own son has always puzzled me.”
“He killed your father,” Rebecca cried out.
“Yes, he did,” Brett replied, “but why did you choose my grandfather’s family over your own?”
“You didn’t know him when he was a fat slob,” she replied. “He was a disgrace to his family name.”
“And Hannah Roberts,” he replied, “was she a disgrace?”
Her daughter’s face flashed in her mind, dead, and so long ago. “No … yes … she was just like her father,” she replied. She was a sweet girl, her inner voice said, and you forgot her, and you abandoned her as well.
“Not good enough for you,” Brett said.
“I don’t know what you mean?” she replied in confusion.
“It must be hard being so perfect,” he replied with a look of loathing. “Now get out.”
Warren ‘Junior’ Martin and Shane Martin
After searching for hours and hours the big man laughed and laughed and laughed at what they eventually found. “Who did this?” he said as he tried to control his laughter.
“I’m not sure,” his brother Shane replied, “but the bite marks on the legs are a bit disturbing … and you’re supposed to be the bloody tracker, you big dickhead.”
“It’s hilarious,” Junior said and continued to laugh for another few minutes.
Shane looked at the bodies lying on the ground. Two had stab wounds to the eye, the other two had their throats cut, but also massive chunks were taken out of their legs. What on earth caused that? It didn’t look like any wildlife that he knew about.
“We should tell Father.”
“About what?” Junior replied.
Is he serious? He can’t be, can he? “About our brother lying dead on the ground, you fucking moron.”
“Oh, yes,” Junior replied and began to chuckle again.
“Well …?” Shane said.
“Well what?” Junior replied.
“Don’t you think you should get going and tell Father?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Junior replied and lumbered off back towards the mansion.
“Hey, wait, you idiot.”
“What?” Junior replied.
“Your brother is dead by some unknown hand in the wilderness, and you just intend to run back to the mansion on your own?”
“So?” The big man shrugged.
I should just let him go, Shane thought. But if he was killed on his own, his father’s anger would be fearful. “Go with him,” he said to two of his companions, who ran after his younger brother. “What a complete wanker,” Shane muttered as he watched the big redheaded turd waddle off back home.
Flynn Carter was very pleased that the six men had been split up into two groups of three.
“Two birds with one stone,” he murmured to himself.
Should I try it? he wondered.
“Nah, just one bird.”
But which bird?
He chose the big dumb bird.
Junior ran in the middle of two of Shane’s men and could not stop the laughter from leaving his mouth. Glen Martin was dead and had died a horrible death. What a truly deserving fate for such a smug bastard. Glen was the oldest, their father’s favourite for years, and the heir to their throne. He knew it as well, so he treated everybody else like scum.
The man on Junior’s right suddenly fell down dead with an arrow through his neck.
Glen always looked down on his brothers, Junior thought as he kept running. He especially looked down on Warren ‘Junior’ Martin because he thought he was dumb. Well, no more, he thought with a chuckle. I mean, I am the brother who is still alive, aren’t I?
The man on Junior’s left, who had been standing over his dead companion, fell down dead with an arrow to the heart.
Glen is gone, and now my family will finally treat me with the respect I deserve, Junior thought as he kept on running homewards. A chuckle still escaped his mouth when he thought of Glen’s lifeless body. I mean, I am the toughest of the brothers, of that there is no doubt. I am the strongest—
Junior fell down dead with an arrow through his eye.
Flynn Carter walked out of the nearby tree line. “You’ve got to be kidding me?” he said in amazement. “He just kept running!” Flynn quickly ran over to the dead bodies and retrieved his arrows.
“Five,” Flynn Carter murmured. Should I keep going? he wondered. Would three dead sons send Brett Martin crazier than two? “Do it,” he said and went looking for short angry bird.
Shane looked down at the bodies and noticed some strange prints headed off to the north. Rumours had spread of beasts called horses. His Great-Great-Aunt Rebecca had said they were very common in her day, but Shane didn’t believe her. She was a nutter who still thought she was attractive in some way. Shane gave a shiver and then looked at the smaller prints on the ground. What were they? They certainly had bitten deep into the two men’s legs. A Tassie Devil, perhaps? Nah, they were too small. A Tassie Tiger, maybe? Weren’t they extinct?
He was contemplating all of this when one of his men fell down to his knees with an arrow through his stomach. Unlike his now-dead brother Warren, Shane was quick on the uptake that he was now in danger of being killed and pulled out his knife from his belt. He looked around and saw a young man with dark hair stab his other guard in the back and focus his stare on his next victim.
“G’day,” the killer said calmly as he stalked around Shane.
“Who the fuck are you?” Shane asked as he watched the killer prowl around him.
“Oh, just a man who wants peace,” he replied.
“Strange way of showing it,” Shane grunted and shifted his knife from one hand to the other. The killer wasn’t a physically strong man, but the calm way in which he talked made Shane very nervous.
“My brother is out there,” Shane said. “Just one shout, and he will come running.”
“Ha, I doubt it,” the man replied. “I just took my arrow out of his eye. But don’t worry, he didn’t feel a thing.”
Junior was dead! Yeah, no great loss. “So did you kill Glen as well?” Shane asked.
“No, a girl did, actually,” he replied as he continued to stalk around Shane, looking for some weakness to attack.
“Bullshit. Girl’s can’t do shit.”
What a stupid comment, Flynn thought. Were all Martins as ignorant as this one? Yes, they were, unfortunately. “No, truly,” he said, smiling, “it was a girl and a dog.”
“A dog!” Shane said as he again looked at the bitten leg.
It was a stupid move, as Flynn used this moment of distraction to attack him with his knife. Flynn was not all that strong, but he was quick, and try as Shane might, he couldn’t stop the knife from entering his stomach.
“You son of a bitch,” Shane groaned as blood began to flow from his wound. “My father is going to find you. War is declared now. Your loved ones will pay.”
“I hope not,” Flynn replied. “But you Martins need to be stopped if we are to come out of the darkness.”
“What crap is that?” Shane spat out.
“Nothing people like you would understand,” Flynn answered sadly as he stepped forward and blocked a weak attack from his victim and then stabbed Shane through the neck.
Shane Martin fell to the ground, dead.
“Four,” he murmured to himself. And he went running straight for Danni Roberts. It was late in the day, but he should make it by early morning. For Shane Martin was right in one thing: war had just been declared.
The Hippy Village
The following morning at dawn the Roberts clan was on the move back to their ancestors’ hometown by the sea. Well, it actually wasn’t Veronica’s ancestors’ home; it was her own home, as she had been born there. She felt like her life had come around in a full circle. Except, of course, someone very impor
tant was missing, but that was her choice not his.
The village mayor stood with his arms crossed and watched as they headed northwest. He really couldn’t wait for them to be gone.
“Have you got everything, Mum?” her third daughter, Anne, asked.
“Yes, dear,” Veronica replied. “I just wish we had some of the horses Danni saw to help move our belongings.”
“Don’t worry, Mum,” Anne replied with a smile, “my husband is as big as a horse.”
Veronica laughed and Anne frowned. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Oh, just a joke from another age,” she replied, grinning.
“Can you explain it?”
“Maybe later,” Veronica replied, “especially if we do get horses one day, but say ‘strong as a horse’ next time.”
Veronica turned and saw Kerri, Caroline, and Danni herding the young children forward. The men were pulling the carts laden with all their belongings. There was an urgency to them she realised. Perhaps they should have left last night. It was her own stubbornness with the mayor that made her family stay the extra night. Had she put her family at risk, her daughters and even her own precious grandchildren?
“I hope it doesn’t rain,” Anne said. “The carts will get bogged, and it will take more than a few days to reach Buzz.”
“I hope it doesn’t either,” Veronica replied as she looked back at the village. No, she wasn’t looking at the village, she was looking beyond it. She was starting to feel very uneasy about today. “Have the men brought their bows?” she asked.
“Yes,” Anne replied, “and Kerri’s oldest son is very good with the bow as well.”
“Good … good,” she replied as she kept looking behind them.
“Mum, are you all right?” Anne asked, concerned.
“I’m …” She was about to lie to her daughter and tell her everything was all right, but she deserved to know the truth. “I’m worried that what the mayor said was true,” she finally said. “If the Martins seek revenge for Glen’s death, then they may come looking for us.”
“What should we do?”
Veronica didn’t know. If Maurice was around they would not need to feel so unsafe, but he wasn’t, she thought in despair; he was most likely dead.
“Mum,” Anne said, “why are you crying?”
Veronica took a deep breath. Surely some of Maurice’s commanding attitude had rubbed off on her. “What we should do, Daughter,” she said firmly, “is move towards Buzz as fast as we can.”
“Yes, Mum,” Anne replied and went running towards her children.
Veronica, though, looked back at the grassy pathway that led all the way to the Martin Clan. “Stay away, Brett,” she murmured to the grassy pathway. “We mean you no harm; just leave us alone.”
The pathway didn’t listen.
The Martin Mansion
At the break of dawn three bodies were dragged along on the back of a makeshift cart by ten or so warriors, three dead bodies who all shared the one father.
The three exhausted, live bodies that shared the one father walked in front of the cart and contemplated their father’s reaction.
“He’s going to explode,” Brad said.
“I hope he doesn’t,” Ozzie replied, who was always exhausted from doing any amount of exercise.
“Would you want him to be angry if it was one of you in these carts?” asked Jonas.
“Well, yes, of course, if it was me,” Ozzie said as he wiped his blond curly hair out of his eyes, “but not for these jerks.” He indicated his dead half brothers.
Jonas was about to argue, then he realised that he didn’t really like his dead brothers either. Glen was an arrogant bastard who thought he was better than everybody else, all Shane could do was complain and swear, and Junior … well, Junior was a completely different entity entirely. Vacant was a word often used to describe him.
“All right, but I think we should prepare for some violent retribution,” Jonas said.
“Who against, though?” Brad replied. “We don’t even know who did it.”
“And what was those bite marks on those men’s legs?” asked Ozzie. “And those strange markings that went to the north.”
They had left the other bodies where they fell. Only the brothers were to be returned for a proper burial.
“I don’t know what they were,” Jonas replied, “and we will have to wait and see who Father wants us to kill.”
“Well, we won’t have to wait long,” Brad said.
Jonas turned and saw his father walking very quickly towards them; his face looked like thunder.
“I don’t want to be here,” Ozzie whispered.
“Just shut up and nod your head to everything he says,” Jonas whispered back.
Ozzie had noticed that Jonas seemed to be taking the lead out of the three remaining sons. He was acting almost as arrogant as Glen used to. Perhaps he could come up with an idea to impress his father and take the attention off of Jonas.
“Brace yourselves,” Brad whispered.
“Who did this!” their father screamed as he looked at his dead sons. “Who killed my boys?” he demanded again as he stalked around the cart. “Did you see anything?” he asked his sons with a face of a madman. “Anything? Well, come on, speak!” he raged at his surviving sons, who were looking at the ground.
“No, Father,” Jonas managed to say. His father was absolutely terrifying him now. “Only some bite marks on two of Glen’s men.”
“Bite marks?” his father said as he grabbed Jonas by the neck. “What do you mean fucking bite marks?”
“Their legs,” Jonas managed to squeak. “Their legs were bitten.”
Brett Martin let Jonas go and looked at his three dead sons. Glen had a wound to the eye, the same as Junior, and Shane had been stabbed in the neck and stomach.
“Who would do this?” he muttered. “Who would attack the Martins?” People were scared of his family. That was the way good leaders ruled. People were terrified of Hockey, and nobody made any attempts to hurt his family.
“I think I know who did this,” Ozzie suddenly said.
Brad and Jonas looked at their brother in surprise. If he knew who the killer was, he was previously making a good show of looking clueless like everybody else.
“Who did this, Ozzie?” his father spat out. “Make it a good answer, as my patience is low.”
Ozzie gulped and made a nervous gesture with his hair. “The people who hate us the most,” he replied.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Our enemy, the feud of the clans,” he replied.
“You said there was no sign of Buzz Roberts in this land.”
“I know, but there are other Roberts in this area,” Ozzie replied with a knowing look.
Brett Martin stopped for a moment in thought. The Roberts lived over at that cowardly hippy village as it was called and had been there for years. But it was only the daughters and mother who lived there. It certainly wasn’t one of them who killed his sons, and that showed how stupid Ozzie could be.
But on the other hand, he did rule his people by fear, and he had to make a statement that his family was not to be touched. He had to seek vengeance; he had no choice, and besides, Hockey was dead, so that tough bastard would not come looking for him.
“Take twenty men,” he said to Ozzie. “Kill them—kill them all.” As he watched his blond-haired boy run off, he murmured, “And I have to do some killing myself.”
Hockey and his Crew
“And this is the letter A,” Kirstin said as she rode her horse.
“The first letter in the alphabet,” Ian replied.
“Very good, Ian,” Kirstin replied, smiling at him.
“Son of a bitch,” Sam muttered as he walked alongside her horse.
“Bastard,” Alex grumbled just as quietly. “I need to learn to read as well.”
Ian was sitting behind Kirstin on her horse. Kirstin had a book out and was reading him a stor
y whilst teaching him the words and letters at the same time. He looked really happy, but not happy in the same sense that Sam and Alex would be if they were up on that horse.
“You know I could teach you to read as well,” John Carter called out from behind them.
“No, we’re fine,” Sam and Alex said together and went back to looking at Kirstin … and Ian.
John Carter grinned and shook his head. The pretty girl was making them crazy. But he’d had years of not thinking straight himself with his wife, Freda. People may have thought she was harsh, which she was if truth be told, but he had loved her passionately until the day she died.
“Not far now,” Cheng whispered by his side as he was patting one of the dogs.
“I know,” Carter replied, another dog by his side. So huge they were that you didn’t need to bend down to stroke their fur. He loved the way their ears would perk up when he talked to them. Over forty years without seeing a dog. He never realised how much he missed them until now.
“How angry do you think he will be?” Cheng asked.
“Heaps,” Carter replied simply with a grimace. This was something that Hockey needed to face, though. He couldn’t just die a lonely old man and leave all these things unsaid with his wife and daughters.
“Horse!” Hockey cried out as he walked at the rear with another of the dogs by his side.
Everybody turned around and saw Dave Hussein riding quickly towards them. He was the rearguard so to speak of this little gang of travellers.
“Someone is running towards us,” he said when he arrived.
“Just one?” asked Hockey.
“Yes,” Hussein replied, “and he has war paint on.”
“A scout maybe?” said Cheng.
“Could be still looking for Buzz?” Carter said.
“Everybody off the pathway now,” Hockey called out. Buzz would have long gone from these lands. But to be honest, Hockey didn’t know where he was himself. None of the paths and roads they had taken looked in any way familiar. Soon no trace of their group could be seen as they hid amongst the bushes and trees. Kirstin’s dogs ran to her as she gave a whistle. So well trained they are, and I want one, Hockey thought once more.
