Crossfire

by James Moloney

  Not surprisingly, Alison made no objection. Her eyes were riveted on the muzzle of the gun, the tiny hole from which death might emerge at any moment. But Luke wasn’t quite finished. He wanted to warn his mother against making a sudden escape dash, for there was no safety to be found behind walls or doors. ‘That’s Dad’s new thirty-thirty, Mum. Very powerful. It would easily shoot right through the walls in the house here, even the outside walls.’

  This information, given for Alison’s benefit, soothed Wayne noticeably. The power of his weapon had been recognised and his foe brought to heel by his control over this power. He was totally in charge of the situation now. This confidence helped him find his voice.

  ‘You always could beat me in an argument, Alison. You never gave me a chance. Well, things are a bit different this time. You can’t make a fool of me while I’ve got this gun in my hands, can you? This is all your fault, you know. Luke told me before that he doesn’t want to go shooting with me ever again. You put him up to that, didn’t you. You’re turning him against me, so he won’t even want to see me any more.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ retorted Alison. ‘You’re doing that quite nicely by yourself.’

  Wayne was incensed. ‘Don’t speak. I warned you. Not a word!’ he bellowed. He gripped the rifle closely towards him, as though bracing to fire with the gun slung low.

  Luke was horrified. What the hell did his mother think she was doing? Wayne had only to pull that trigger and that was the end for her. What did it matter what he said, what rubbish he threw at her? And if only she would stop using that infuriating tone of voice …

  Wayne ranted on. ‘I’m sick of things going wrong for me, of people deserting me left right and centre. Danny goes and leaves me and then the slave-drivers I work for show me the door just because I’m away for a few days, and now you’re trying to make Luke desert me as well. Well, I’m not having it. You’re going to tell Luke right now that he can do whatever he likes. He doesn’t have to listen to you. He and I can make our own rules. This gun lets us do that — doesn’t it, Luke? Nobody argues with a gun and gets away with it; it doesn’t matter who you are. Now you just tell Luke that he can go hunting with me any time he chooses. Go on.’

  Alison said nothing. Defiance and hatred blared from her eyes.

  ‘I’m waiting, Alison. Tell him.’

  Still the woman hesitated, determined to resist no matter how great the folly.

  ‘Tell him!’ bawled Wayne, and in his fury he raised the rifle to his shoulder, taking aim at her chest.

  Luke could see that his mother was close to fainting; he knew that if she staggered even slightly his father would fire.

  ‘All right,’ gasped Alison at last. ‘Luke, you can do what you like with your father. Go about murdering mindless beasts like he does, for the glory of mankind.’

  Wayne retreated from his fever-pitch of frustration. He had made Alison bend to his will. He almost smiled, lowering the gun from his shoulder but still keeping it trained on his adversary. He wasn’t about to surrender his advantage.

  ‘What did that achieve, Wayne?’ asked Alison, managing a remarkable calm in her voice. ‘You know that as soon as you’re gone from here any promises I make to your miniature cannon here will mean nothing.’

  Luke couldn’t believe it. His mother had just averted death by the thinnest of margins and she was immediately on the attack again. His father might be drunk, but his mother had become stupid with rage, unable to comprehend her own danger. With a sickening jolt, Luke realised that if a tragedy was to be avoided here, it was up to him to take control. Only he could save his parents from each other.

  Slowly, making sure his father was aware of his movements, he rose to his feet and inched his way forward. The pain from his lip was forgotten. His body could feel only one thing at that moment: an enormous fear of what he was about to do. Still watching his father, he stepped into the line of fire, making sure that his father’s view of his mother was not obscured but that his clear shot at her was interrupted.

  ‘What are you doing, Luke? Get out of the way!’ Wayne bellowed. He shifted to one side so that he could sight once again on Alison without Luke’s body in the way.

  ‘You move, Alison, and I’ll blow you away before you’ve taken two steps, Luke or no Luke,’ warned Wayne.

  Alison had more sense than to move: she recognised very clearly the risk she would place Luke in if she did.

  Luke eased himself across to block his father a second time, and when he moved again, Luke followed.

  ‘Luke, stop it,’ snapped Wayne and with an irony that might have brought laughter had there been no gun in his hands, Alison seconded the demand.

  ‘Luke, stay out of it.’

  ‘No!’ shouted Luke, defying both of his parents. For almost a minute he stood between them, Wayne having decided it was undignified to keep shifting about and Alison maintaining silence in case she jeopardised her son. It was Wayne, his slender patience eroded by alcohol, who acted to break the stalemate. Without warning, he flipped the rifle in a flashing arc, sending the butt crashing against Luke’s ear. The blow was measured and accurate: while it left Luke sprawled on the carpet, it did no more than stun him. The field was clear now for Wayne and Alison to continue their gambling on the brink.

  Alison was outraged. ‘How can you do that to your own son!’

  Wayne silenced her again by waving the barrel menacingly.

  But Luke wasn’t finished. Still dazed, he picked himself up and swayed back into the no man’s land between his mother and father.

  Alison couldn’t contain herself. ‘You don’t deserve to have a son with this much courage, Wayne Aldridge, even if he is a fool to stand between us like this. Barely a teenager, yet he’s more a man than you are. ‘Armalite Aldridge’, they call you. Just look at yourself. Is it any wonder your son doesn’t want to have anything to do with you?’

  ‘No, no,’ cried Wayne in genuine distress. Alison’s new attack cut at him in a way he couldn’t stop. ‘Luke, Luke, it’s going to be okay. Don’t listen to her. We can still be mates just like before. Say it. Say it.’ Wayne was begging, desperate that Luke should not reject him.

  Luke was confused. His ear and his lip throbbed and he was finding it difficult to keep his balance, but suddenly he knew what he wanted to say. ‘Dad, you’ve got to give away the guns. No more rifles, please. Then it’ll be okay.’

  Wayne stepped back as though Luke had struck him. He stared down at the gun in his hands with horror in his face. ‘Alison!’ he roared. Then again, ‘Alison, you’ve done this!’ He firmed his grip on the rifle and shouted at his son. ‘Get out of the way, Luke. Get out of the way for the last time.’

  ‘No!’ Luke shouted.

  Alison screamed, then reached forward and hauled Luke backwards, pulling him off-balance until he toppled onto his backside in front of her chair. Now Wayne had his clear line of fire and he snapped the gun to his shoulder, taking aim quickly before Luke could get to his feet and interfere again. Alison, emitting a series of piercing shrieks, had curled herself into a ball on the chair, holding out one futile arm against the impact of the bullet she anticipated at any instant.

  There was no more time for argument, for shouting, for angry abuse, no more time for heroics, nor pleas for reason. For these three people a single room was the whole world, and for a moment it was swept into a whirlwind of fury with Wayne standing at its centre. Within that frenzied moment, he fired.

  There was a tremendous roar as the gun discharged, made all the more terrifying by the confines of the room. Alison continued to scream, the short, piercing screams of one who is afraid to take stock, to see what is real. She was sure she had been shot and that these terrifying moments of consciousness would be her last before the pain and the blood gushed in and she watched her life slip away.

  On the floor beside her, Luke stared up at his father and met his gaze of horror and fear as the man turned towards him. The rifle swayed to and fro, swinging Luke
into the line of fire then out again. But Luke knew what had happened and he felt no fear. At last the gun clattered to the floor, as though Wayne’s hands were unable to support its weight any more. Wayne Aldridge stared down at the weapon for a few moments then turned and fled. Luke felt the house shake as his father hurried down the front steps. Seconds later he heard the panel van roar into life. Revving furiously, it pulled away into the street.

  Luke lay on his back on the floor, staring at the wall behind his mother. ‘Mum!’ he called. ‘Stop screaming. He’s gone.’ This barely interrupted Alison, so he called again. ‘Mum, he didn’t shoot you, it’s okay!’

  This time Alison stopped. Leaning forward in her chair she stared down at her son, who still could not raise himself from the floor.

  ‘He shot a bloody great hole in the wall,’ he said, pointing lazily to a spot a few feet above his mother’s head. Then, peacefully and quietly, Luke Aldridge began to laugh and to cry.

  First published 1992 by University of Queensland Press

  PO Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland 4067 Australia

  Reprinted 1994, 1996, 1998, 2000, 2001, 2002

  This edition published 2007

  www.uqp.com.au

  © James Moloney

  This book is copyright. Except for private study, research, criticism or reviews, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any foram or by any means without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

  Typeset by Peripheral Vision

  Cataloguing in Publication Data

  National Library of Australia

  Moloney, James

  Crossfire

  I. Title.

  A823.3

  ISBN 9780702236273 (pbk)

  ISBN 9780702239526 (pdf)

  ISBN 9780702239557 (epub)

  ISBN 9780702239533 (kindle)