‘Oh Mum, you worry too much. She’s not going to find out.’
‘What do you think, Luke? Is it worth the risk?’ Gwen asked.
As desperately as Luke wanted to join his father on this trip, he knew that what his grandmother said was right. Alison was always threatening to cut Luke off from his father, looking for ways to have the law do it officially. He was only supposed to see Wayne on weekends. At any other time, like holidays, Alison had to give her permission. What should he do?
The story about his mother’s reckless behaviour sprang into his mind. If she had really been suspended from school a record number of times when she was young, then she must have had scant regard for such details. In Luke’s position, his mother would probably have declared, ‘Damn what anyone else says! I’m going and that’s that,’ and she would have worried about the consequences later. She had been misleading him, just as much as if she had been lying straight out. She’d kept him under her thumb for as long as he could remember, when in fact, in her day, she had gone her own sweet way. This was Luke’s chance to get out from under her thumb.
‘Yes, Dad, I think we can get away with it. When do we leave?’
Wayne Aldridge beamed at his son. ‘Early tomorrow, Luke. Hey, this will put one over on old Alison and she’ll never know it!’
six
Luke slept lightly that night. When Wayne came into his room to wake him he was already sitting up with his feet over the side of the bed. Dressing quickly, he joined Wayne in the kitchen and less than five minutes later they were gone. The deserted suburban streets were eerie and cold, each street lamp topped by a misty cone of light in the darkness as they hurried by. Luke wondered why his father had not taken a direct route to the highway to escape the city more easily. He was about to voice his concern when the panel van stopped outside a small fibro house. Standing by the gate was Kieran Doggitt, an old army kitbag at his feet. He threw this into the back of the van then said: ‘Wait a sec, mate. Got to fetch me gun.’ He trotted out of sight down the side of the house, reappearing almost immediately with the telltale shape of a rifle in his hands.
‘What’s going on, Doggy?’ called Wayne.
‘Well, I could hardly stand out here at four o’clock in the morning holding a rifle across my chest, could I. The cops cruise by here every now and again. I’d have a wonderful time explaining it to them, if they didn’t shoot me first.’
Doggy climbed in as he was speaking, paying little attention, and so he almost sat on top of Luke. It was the first time he’d noticed him. ‘Oh, hi,’ he said in surprise. ‘You coming with us, are you?’
‘That all right with you, Doggy?’ asked Wayne.
‘Sure, fine with me,’ was the reply. ‘But does Jacko know?’
‘Nope,’ answered Wayne. ‘Let’s worry about that when we get out there.’
‘Yeah, well by the time we link up with him out in the mulga he can hardly send you back, can he, Luke?’ Kieran Doggitt didn’t seem to mind Luke’s presence at all — but then Kieran Doggitt never seemed to mind anything.
The door slammed and they were away again. This time Wayne made straight for the western highway out of the city.
As they drove the sun rose behind them, lighting first the tops of the mountains which grew closer with every mile, then the tops of the tallest trees. There was no fog, just a hint of mist in the deeper gullies; not enough to make Wayne slacken his speed. They climbed the range and passed through a sizeable town where people were beginning to appear on their way to work, though the street lamps still glowed. Then they sped out across country, with the dark soil of freshly ploughed fields on either side, on towards the sheep and cattle country of their destination. Their excitement had fuelled conversation in the early hours of the journey, but with the heat of the day they knew the monotony of the flat open plains.
After a quick lunch at a petrol station, Luke crawled into the back of the van; settling amongst the untidy mounds of gear he fell asleep. It was the continual stop and start of the vehicle which woke him as Wayne and Doggy negotiated the gates through a series of large paddocks. By the time Luke crawled forward to peer through the filthy windscreen they had arrived.
The three tired travellers emerged, stretching themselves in front of an old wooden house set on low stumps and made to appear enormous by the veranda that went right around it. Luke had seen many similar houses in the older suburbs of the city, freshly painted and rather magnificent city dwellings, but this homestead was shabby and in need of repair. He was still examining the house when a tall man in moleskin trousers and riding boots emerged to welcome them.
There were handshakes and introductions, but Luke missed the man’s name in the confusion; from the way he spoke he appeared to own the property. ‘Your mates arrived mid-morning, boys. They’ve gone off to set up camp. Same place as last year. You think you can find them before dark?’
‘No sweat,’ said Wayne. ‘We may as well get going, then.’
‘Righto,’ agreed the owner. ‘Er — Jacko said you were bringing a little something for us. Is that right?’
‘Oh sorry, almost forgot.’ Wayne opened the rear doors of the panel van and extracted from the mess a cardboard carton emblazoned with a Bundaberg Rum label. The box chinked and rattled with the sound of bottles knocking against one another as he brought it over. ‘Half a dozen, as agreed. All yours with our thanks.’
‘Thanks, Wayne. Best of luck. Oh, I mentioned this to Jacko and I’ll tell you as well. I’ve got a man checking fences on the western edge of the property. Just to be on the safe side, I want you to stay on the eastern side of the creek. That shouldn’t worry you, though. That’s where all the pig country is anyway.’
Luke climbed in between his father and Kieran Doggitt for the bumpy last stretch of their journey. As they buffeted along the meandering tracks, startling the occasional sheep, Luke began to worry about his own welcome at the camp. He glanced at his father. If Wayne was similarly concerned he certainly showed no sign of it. The concentration needed to negotiate the rutted tracks absorbed him completely.
At a fork in the road Wayne and Doggy argued over which branch to take. In the end Wayne won out, mainly because he held the wheel in his hands, but Doggy wagered ten dollars that they were headed the wrong way. Doggy lost his ten dollars and Luke shared the enormous smile which broke across his father’s face when they sighted the camp. He felt very much at ease to be sitting here next to his father. He could trust him.
Jacko and Dave had set up the camp high on the bank of a creek bed which seemed far too deep and wide for the trickle of water which wandered along it. A screen of trees protected the site from the westerly wind which at this time of the afternoon put the camp in shade. It was already cool when Wayne stopped the panel van beside Jacko’s four-wheel drive.
Jacko was the first to emerge into the open. He greeted the newcomers with a shower of friendly abuse and immediate offers of a beer. When he spotted Luke he halted in his tracks.
‘What’s this, Wayne? What’s Luke doing here? You didn’t say anything about your boy coming.’
‘His Mum’s sick and I’m looking after him,’ replied Wayne, bending the truth somewhat. ‘He’s a big lad. He can take care of himself. Besides, it’s about time he learned to shoot.’
‘Now look, Wayne. You should have discussed this with us first,’ continued Jacko.
Luke couldn’t work out whether he was still surprised or becoming annoyed.
‘Luke’s not going to be any trouble. And Doggy’s got no objection, have you, mate?’
They all looked at Kieran Doggitt who smiled and shook his head.
‘What about you, Dave?’ asked Wayne.
‘Suppose not, as long as Luke pulls his weight. This is no holiday camp.’ That was Dave’s opinion.
Jacko wasn’t happy but he was outnumbered. He walked up to Luke. He put his hand on Luke’s shoulder, squeezing firmly but not enough to hurt. ‘Okay, Luke, you’re here to stay. But one c
ondition before anything else. Don’t whinge, right. Not one complaint, or you’ll be out of here so fast your boots will set the bush on fire. Got it?’
Luke nodded. What else could he do?
With the daylight that was left, Wayne, Luke and Kieran set up their tent and arranged their gear for as comfortable a five days as they could manage. Jacko and Dave prepared the meal, and as they had all driven a long way that day, after a quiet couple of beers the fire was doused and all five hunters went to sleep.
Luke woke with the first gentle light of morning. It was bitterly cold. He quickly donned every piece of clothing he could find, wishing that he had brought ten jumpers instead of two. Outside, a light fog was already lifting, though its presence was still enough to absorb every sound and give the morning an eerie silence. Around the fire, which had died to a paltry wisp of smoke, the camp was a mess, littered with beer cans, the odd bone and empty bottles. Luke set to, tidying the area and working up the fire into a welcome blaze upon which he balanced the billy, as he’d seen the men do the night before. There was still no sign of life from either tent by the time the water boiled so Luke made himself a cup of black tea and fried up an egg and some bacon as he had always wanted to do at home. It seemed such a simple task, but his sense of freedom was immense as he transferred the meal onto his plate. The wonderful aroma brought the men from their sleeping bags, and to the surprise and delight of all, Luke produced breakfast for everyone.
‘I can see why your father brought you along,’ commented Jacko, handing back his empty plate. It was the closest Jacko ever came to a compliment, and if Wayne Aldridge’s proud grin hung from ear to ear, Luke’s grin must have circled his entire head and bowed down to his knees.
With food in their bellies and the lethargy of sleep falling away, the men began to chatter and tease one another once more. Wayne decided this was the moment he had been waiting for and he rummaged through the bag in his tent to emerge with four small packages. He tossed one to each of the three men and began to unwrap the fourth himself. Each package contained a white T-shirt, and as Kieran Doggitt immediately slipped his on over his shirt, Luke could see that they had been screen-printed. They all followed Doggy’s lead and immediately began to inspect the illustration on the front and laugh at one another. A large red circle with a thick diagonal stripe through it was emblazoned on each shirt, and poking grotesquely through this circle was a crudely drawn pig’s head. Underneath the circle, simple black letters spelled out: PIG BUSTERS. Luke thought it was the best screen-printed T-shirt he’d ever seen and he desperately wanted one the same. His father saw the disappointment in his face. ‘Sorry, Luke, I didn’t know you were coming, did I?’
Luke understood and just smiled in return, but he couldn’t help thinking that the four T-shirts must have cost a lot more than the sweat shirt his father had promised him two months ago.
They congratulated Wayne on the shirts and laughed at themselves for a few minutes until Wayne brought his new rifle from the panel van. Sitting on a log, he began to work the lever.
‘Time to get down to some business, gentlemen.’
The others closed in to examine Wayne’s prize, murmuring their appreciation and envy. A subtle air of tension grew. Each man retrieved his own weapon and ceremoniously made ready, loading, ejecting a round, polishing, re-checking. Then, without a word, each of them seemed to know it was time to go. Though Luke had been anticipating this moment, he had to be called to take his place in the vehicle.
Jacko’s four-wheel truck was a red Toyota Hi-Lux. There was a driving cabin which could seat three men in reasonable comfort and behind this cab the enclosed tray of a utility. In the city, a moulded fibreglass cover was attached over the rear section to turn it into a van, but last night Jacko had removed this and bolted into place a metal frame. This gave the passengers in the open tray something to hold onto and a surface on which to steady their guns when it came time to shoot. Luke hauled himself onto the tray and took hold of part of this makeshift frame.
There was still no banter, no joking. It seemed that with the guns wedged in their hands, serious business was underway. The only talk was where to head the vehicle, with Jacko at the wheel and Wayne and the others scouring their own sector of the open ground, like sailors on watch.
‘The cocky said to try the areas of low scrub a mile or two down this way,’ said Jacko, repeating yet again what he had explained a dozen times around the fire the night before. ‘Reckons he saw a family of pigs there a few days ago.’
Wayne looked across at Luke, huddled against the rear of the front seat. ‘Luke, you stay in the truck, as I said, right. Soon as we spot a pig, things will happen very quickly. You’ve got to have your wits about you.’
After a few minutes, Jacko slowed the vehicle to a crawl and, dodging tree stumps and low branches, brought the vehicle to the high bank of the creek bed. There was nothing to see but a sorry trickle of water a few feet wide in the middle of the deep gully. They stopped and all the men climbed out. After a moment or two, Wayne called his son to join him.
‘Look at this, Luke,’ he said, and as Luke reached his father, the others joined him. The soil for yards around where Wayne stood had been roughly broken and turned over. ‘Pigs do this,’ said Wayne, kicking at the ground. ‘Digging out the softer roots. Doesn’t seem too long since they were here.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Doggy, returning from his own reconnoitre. ‘There’s fresh droppings beyond those bushes there.’
Luke pointed towards the thick scrub farther along the bank. ‘Do you think they’re hiding in that lot?’
‘God, I hope not,’ answered Wayne. ‘We certainly aren’t going in on foot to find out, anyway. They’d cut us to ribbons even if we did get a few shots at them first.’
They returned to the four-wheel drive and set off slowly, weaving between trees, skirting the dense undergrowth as closely as possible. The men returned to scouring the scrub with their eyes, leaning over the side looking for fresh droppings or tracks, but Luke was jammed in against the seat once more with his back to the creek. The effort needed to twist himself into a position where he could join in the search soon became too much. Frustrated, he sat watching the open paddock which spread away on the opposite side of the truck, and that was how he came to sight the first pig. A dark shape in the distance seemed to be moving. At first he thought it was a tree trunk given the illusion of movement by the motion of the vehicle, but he decided to risk making a fool of himself anyway.
‘Dad, what’s that moving in the grass over there, a couple of hundred metres away?’ He flung out one arm to show the direction. Wayne turned, his mouth open to reprimand his son for the interruption, but when he followed the line of Luke’s arm, he reacted instantly. ‘Pig! Jacko, quick, out in the paddock.’
Jacko swung the four wheel drive out from among the dusty trees and threw the vehicle into pursuit. Though the ground was level and dry, each tussock of grass and small depression buffeted the truck and threw the occupants heavily onto their seats and the unpadded sides. It was not so difficult for the driver, strapped into his seat, with the steering wheel to hold onto, but in the rear, everyone held on frantically as they were tossed about like dolls.
The pig had been trotting steadily towards the river, which brought it on a diagonal path towards them. It was unaware of their presence until it heard the sudden roar of the vehicle’s engine. Then the chase began. The pig altered course to make prudent progress away from this noisy creature; as the vehicle sped closer, its alarm increased, and its flight finally turned into a gallop.
As the front wheel of the truck drew level with the pig, Jacko flicked the steering wheel a fraction, trying to knock the animal off its feet. But it was too quick. Just as the tyre dipped towards it, the pig bucked to the side and set off at right-angles to the course of the truck. Jacko had to swing the truck round in a wide arc to follow it once more and Wayne, who had been standing in the rear to get a better view, was almost thrown cl
ear. He swore and laughed at the same time. Doggy whooped like a cowboy on the TV westerns.
Jacko quickly overtook the pig again but the wily beast was ready. He feinted to the right then swung away cleverly in the opposite direction, heading this time for the river bed and the thick scrub along its banks, sensing that its tormentor could not follow it in there.
Jacko brought the truck to an abrupt halt, cursing loudly. He had just managed to stop short of a hidden ditch, but the engine was stalled. He snatched at the key, turning the engine over with the starter, wasting precious seconds.
‘Come on, Jacko,’ called Dave. ‘Don’t let him get into that mulga. We’ll never get him out of there.’
‘Hold it, Jacko. Leave the engine off for a moment!’ Doggy stood up, snapping his rifle into the firing position. The pig was already a hundred metres away, dancing slightly from side to side to find the best ground. Doggy fired, but there was no sign of where his bullet went. Moments later there was another report as Dave tried his luck with similar result. By this time, Wayne had worked himself into position and as Dave was lowering his gun, the loud crack of the thirty-thirty cut loose. Almost instantaneously, a puff of dust spurted from the pig’s back.
‘Hit it!’ cried Dave. ‘See the dust? What a shot!’
‘Yahoo!’ shouted Doggy.
Jacko started the truck again and slammed the vehicle into reverse, the gears meeting with a sickly clunk then spinning the wheels furiously, showering them all with grey dust. Luke was crushed against the rear of the cab by the weight of Doggy beside him, then launched hard against his companion as the truck shot forward.
‘Why didn’t the pig drop if Dad hit it?’ he asked.
‘The bullet ricocheted off, Luke. That old pig has a back covered in thick dry mud and its hide is tough as nails. At this distance and this angle, the bullet couldn’t penetrate. Magnificent shot, though. Your Dad’s a marvel.’
Crossfire Page 7
