‘What about Maggie?’ Greg said. ‘By the sounds of it, she took care of herself just fine.’
The girl said nothing. Her eyes narrowed. Greg braced himself. Part of him, a part getting louder with the passing seconds, wanted her to do it. Wanted this to end.
‘Hunters don’t just kill pigs,’ she said. ‘They kill dingos too.’
Greg took a breath and tried to keep his voice steady. ‘Not if she kills you first.’
The entry to the cellar was under the rug near the back of the hall. Maggie and Allie rolled it back. His left arm now in a makeshift sling, Frank tossed Maggie the key; she unlocked the door and together they lifted it. An immediate smell of mingled dust and mildew filled Frank’s nose. He switched on his torch, keeping it low so that the light only shone into the cellar. Frank handed Maggie the torch.
‘You first,’ he said. ‘I’m going to be slower.’
Maggie glanced at her leg then moved down the stairs into the cellar.
Frank looked at Allie. ‘Are you good to stay up here? While we see what we have?’
Allie nodded, but she looked far from certain.
Frank put his hand on her arm. ‘If you hear anything – anything – you shout and we’ll come running.’
Allie went to speak, then stopped. She bit her lip. ‘Are we going to get out of this?’
Frank looked at her for a long time. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay, that he had a plan. Instead, he squeezed her shoulder. ‘We’re going to try. We’ve done alright so far.’
Allie attempted a smile.
Frank walked down the dusty old stairs, each one creaking as he went. He hadn’t been down here in years. Boxes were piled up everywhere. A single bulb hung from the ceiling. Off to his left he could see the exit that led outside the house. He ignored that. It was no good to him yet. Maggie was moving through it all, holding the torch. She stopped at one of the boxes. Recognition struck Frank along with the churn of shame in his gut. He made himself keep looking as Maggie took the whisky bottle from the box. She looked at Frank.
It was stupid, this sudden need to defend himself. Stupid considering their situation, and that Maggie had no idea of his past, or of the nights he’d come down here and just stood looking at the bottle, wondering whether this would be the time he finally caved. The times when he couldn’t get to sleep and the thought of the whisky’s burn and the immediate unwind that would follow was so sweet he wanted to cry.
‘Lot of dust.’ Maggie put it back.
Frank nodded.
‘How long?’
‘As long as I’ve owned the place.’
She watched him a second longer, then kept moving through the boxes.
‘I don’t think there’s anything useful down here,’ Frank said. ‘The only weapons were in the roadhouse.’
‘You need guns a lot out here?’ Maggie said, scanning the boxes.
‘Evidently.’
‘But before tonight.’ Maggie looked at him. ‘Did you ever have to use one?’
Frank held her gaze. ‘I like to be safe.’
Something sad or angry or both crossed Maggie’s face and it struck Frank how young she was. In her mid-twenties, at most. The hollow look in her eyes made it hard to tell.
‘Why are you out here?’ Frank asked. ‘Why didn’t you want us to call the police?’
She returned her attention to the boxes. ‘I was delirious. I didn’t know what I was saying.’
‘Except that was the one thing you did say.’
In the dark, it was hard to see Maggie’s expression. ‘I’m sorry. That I brought this shit to your home. It really, really wasn’t . . .’ She took a shuddering breath. ‘Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t want any of this to happen.’
‘Well, that makes two of us,’ Frank said. ‘But for what it’s worth, I don’t think this is the kind of thing somebody intentionally walks into.’
‘Still,’ Maggie said. ‘I never should have said that about the police.’
There was more to that. Frank could see it in the set of her shoulders, in the way she kept her face down and masked by night. She was, he thought, a skinny thing. But not fragile. Whatever she was carrying was as heavy as anything that had ever weighed Frank down.
‘The thing about guilt,’ Frank said, ‘it only matters to a point. That point being what you decide to do about it. After that, it’s a useless emotion.’
Maggie lifted her head, just slightly.
‘Who are these people?’ Frank asked. ‘Why are they after you?’
It was the question at the heart of everything that had happened that night, but it surprised Frank then how little it seemed to matter. Knowing the reason wasn’t going to change the situation. Still, if he was going to die, he might as well know why.
‘They hunt humans.’ Maggie turned to face Frank. In the dim light from above, her face was harsh lines and shadow. ‘For sport. There’s a whole town of them.’
Frank leaned against the wall. ‘Fuck.’
‘Yeah.’
It seemed such an abstract thing, now that he knew. It tracked with everything he had seen and yet the truth of it was distant somehow, too absurd and terrible to fully accept.
‘I was travelling with this guy. Simon.’ Her voice caught on the name. ‘They killed him. I tried to get out. They tried to stop me. I killed four of them before I got clear.’ She spoke as if she was just reeling off facts.
‘And they’re mad at you.’
‘Yeah, I reckon they’ve missed the irony of the whole thing. Feel free to go point it out.’ Her smile was wan, drawn.
Something tightened in Frank’s chest. This girl – so goddamn young, so bruised and damaged and, somehow, so strong. This girl who had fought her way out of hell, nearly died, then got up to fight again, protecting Allie and standing with them to whatever bitter end finally arrived. It didn’t matter what she was hiding or running from. What mattered was that, in the midst of horrors none of them could have prepared for, she was still willing to fight. Something about that, small and brittle as it was, gave Frank a flare of hope.
‘I am sorry,’ Maggie said. ‘For whatever that’s worth at this point.’
‘Tell you what,’ Frank said. ‘Kill another four of the hick fucks and you’re forgiven.’
‘We’re gonna have to kill a lot more than four to see the morning.’
‘I’m game if you are.’
They stood in silence.
‘Is everything okay?’ Allie’s voice from above was small and scared.
‘All good,’ Frank called back. ‘We’ll be up in a sec.’
Maggie exhaled and looked to the outside exit. ‘If we come through there and attack—’
‘They’ll be on us in seconds. They still totally outnumber us.’
‘We might have to take a risk to get out.’
‘That risk is too big.’
‘That risk is the only option I can see.’
Frank shook his head. ‘That doesn’t make it the only option there is.’
‘So what’s the alternative?’
The girl’s hand tightened around Greg’s neck, then—
‘What the fuck are you doing?’
She let go and stood.
Greg looked over his shoulder. Trent, Janice by his side, was looking between the girl and Delilah’s still body.
‘G’day, Trent,’ the girl said. ‘I thought—’
She was silenced by Trent’s punch. She staggered back, tripped over Delilah’s body and fell.
‘You stupid bitch,’ Trent snarled. ‘We could have used her.’
The girl sat up. There was no sign of pain on her face. She showed bloody teeth. ‘For what? The last hostage didn’t do shit.’
‘I said she wasn’t to be hurt. I give the orders, Kate.’
‘Do ya?’ Kate stood fast, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Cos the last time I checked, Janice had you by the balls.’
‘Are you trying to bait me?’ Trent said. �
�You of all people should know that’s a stupid fucking move.’
‘A stupid fucking move is waiting around trying to lure her out by killing hostages she don’t give a fuck about,’ Kate said. ‘In the meantime, more of our own are dying. We need to fucking act.’
For a moment, nobody spoke. Trent looked away, scowling. ‘We will. We’re going to burn the place to the ground and dance to her screams.’
Kate raised an eyebrow. She looked to Janice. ‘And that’s enough for you?’
Janice said nothing.
‘I mean, it’ll hurt, sure,’ Kate went on. ‘But after what happened to Steve and the others, I want to see her hurt.’
‘We can’t always get what we want,’ Trent said. ‘This is how it’s gonna be.’
‘Nah,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘You wanna burn with them?’ Trent said. ‘I’ll throw you in the fire myself if you don’t shut the fuck up.’
‘Or you can listen to me,’ Kate said. There was no fear in her voice. ‘There’s a better way. A smarter way. That old fella in there, he’s got a weakness. And the thing about weaknesses – they can make people very fucking agreeable if you use ’em right. Agreeable enough to give us what we ask for.’
It was the kind of silence that could only be followed by action. And so they waited. Maggie in the living room, shotgun in hand, seated beneath one of the three windows. Allie huddled in the dark of the kitchen, hand tight around the knife in her belt. And Frank, standing in the hall, watching the back door, pistol cocked. The glare from the headlights infiltrated every crack and crevice in the house, like a monster trying to get in.
The pain in his shoulder throbbed. He felt weak and shaky, but better than he had. Not that that was worth much. That same sick roiling dread filled his gut; the knowledge that the next turn was about to come and he had no idea what to expect. He looked over his shoulder. Then walked into the kitchen.
Allie sat at the table where he had arranged her breakfast that morning. The empty bowl was still there, untouched. Frank sat. Allie looked up.
‘You didn’t eat,’ Frank said.
‘I don’t like cereal.’
Frank raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh. Your dad said . . .’
‘Dad doesn’t know anything,’ Allie replied. She met Frank’s eyes. ‘They’re getting a divorce. Mum and Dad.’
Somehow, despite everything that had happened, the news still took Frank aback. ‘I had no idea.’
Allie shrugged. ‘Technically I’m not supposed to know either. But I’m not dumb. That’s why they sent me here.’
Frank looked at the table. Nick had dropped Allie off himself, even though Frank offered to pick her up. It would have been almost ten years since they’d last seen each other. Frank had had no idea what to say; it wasn’t as though Nick even called regularly. But Nick had walked through the roadhouse, going on about how great everything looked while all Frank could see was mustiness and dreariness, and all he could think was how he wished he’d done the big clean-up he’d meant to do a month ago. By the time they’d sat down together on the bench out the front of the roadhouse, Frank had felt well and truly ashamed. He’d barely listened as Nick, faltering, eyes on his hands, explained that he appreciated Frank doing this, that the space would do them all good. It had never once occurred to Frank that there might be something else his son wanted to say. Another reason for him making the trek.
‘Fuck,’ Frank whispered.
‘What?’ Allie said.
‘He couldn’t tell me.’ Frank ran a hand through his hair. ‘Of course he couldn’t. I warned him about marrying young. He didn’t listen. I mean, why should he listen to me, really? He told me he wasn’t going to make my mistakes. Now he can’t even come to me for help. Because he doesn’t want me to think we’re anything alike. Stubborn bugger.’
Allie considered him for several long seconds. ‘What happened? Why don’t they ever want to talk about you?’
Frank tapped his finger on the table, right next to where he’d put the gun. He thought about a couple of excuses, but there wasn’t much point. Now, at least, he could be honest.
‘I wasn’t a good dad, Allie. I was seventeen when your gran got pregnant. It wasn’t that I had any big, exciting plans that got derailed or anything, but suddenly, overnight, my future went from a blank slate to hours of work to make rent and coming home every night to a screaming baby and a girlfriend who hated me. And look, your gran, Amber . . . She wasn’t a saint or anything, but she was far, far better than I ever was.’ He looked at the curtained window. Light shone under it. ‘When you’re a kid, everything is still going to happen. Usually, it takes time to realise that the paths you can take are being whittled away. But for us they just went like that.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘And by the time that realisation hits home, it’s too late to do anything. You don’t want to be the shit father who runs out on his family, so you become something worse. Because even though you know it’s wrong, part of you . . .’ He didn’t want to say this.
Allie took his hand. Frank pulled it away. He didn’t deserve her comfort, not now. But he made himself look at her and despite the burning shame, held her gaze.
‘Part of you hates your family.’
There was no shock or disgust on Allie’s face. She just waited.
‘So you do what you can to hide from the fact,’ Frank said. ‘You surround yourself with guys who don’t care about anything except getting drunk and going on big hunting trips. Because it’s an escape and, more than that, it’s . . . I dunno . . . a way to take out all that anger that you don’t know what to do with. Except that’s the thing about hate. The only way to lose it is to let go of it, and that can be hard. Impossible.’
‘So how do you do it?’ Allie asked.
‘You . . .’ Frank looked at the roof. ‘You try really hard. Even when it’s pointless.’
‘Pointless how?’
The bottle, down in the dark.
‘Amber always thought I wanted something from her, whenever I reached out. So I stopped. Bought this place. Figured if I isolated myself, cleared my head, proved I wasn’t trying to be better for any kind of agenda, it might . . .’ His voice was cracking. Allie took his hand again. This time he didn’t pull away. ‘By the time I’d done all that, she was already sick.’
‘Have you ever thought about telling Dad?’ Allie asked. ‘All of that?’
Frank shook his head.
‘Maybe you should.’
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Allie stood, rounded the table and hugged him. One-armed, he hugged her back. Frank rested his face in her hair.
‘You came back for me,’ Allie said. ‘You could have left. But you didn’t.’
Gently, Frank took her by the shoulder and guided her back so he could meet her eyes. ‘Families look after each other, Allie. Simple as that.’
She smiled and he knew. Whatever happened tonight, that bottle in the cellar would never be opened. He pulled her close again.
A deep male voice came loud from out the front.
‘Enough is enough.’
Frank turned. Allie let go of him.
‘We’re getting nowhere like this,’ the voice continued. ‘You’ve killed a bunch of our people. You know you’re outnumbered, and you know we can torch the place to the ground. But we don’t want to do that. And you sure as fuck don’t want us to do that. So let’s talk.’
Maggie appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, listening.
‘We’re sending one of ours in to have a chat about the way this is all gonna go. Before you tell us to get fucked, take a look from whatever hidey holes you’ve made yourself. Shoot at her and we’ll skip straight to burning you all to the ground.’
Moving almost silently, Maggie looked through one of the tears in the curtain. Wincing, Frank stepped up beside her and did the same.
Standing in the wall of headlights was a young woman. She could have been a teenage girl, by the look of her. Skinny, dressed in
a baggy shirt and jeans, with a tangle of thick blonde hair that obscured her face.
‘She’s got no weapons,’ the voice went on.
As if to underline the point, the girl turned on the spot, arms outstretched.
‘Here’s what’s gonna happen.’ A short silence. ‘You’ve got five minutes to decide. At the end of that time, you’ll tell us yes or no. Say nothing, we torch the place. Say no, we torch the place. Say yes, Kate comes in for a chat. Twenty minutes, no more. We hear any gunshots or anything in that time, we torch the place. So talk fast and think faster. This is your only chance to get out of this alive.’
Frank and Maggie looked at each other.
‘There’s only one thing they’ll settle for,’ Maggie said. ‘You know that.’
Frank said nothing.
‘If they light the place up, we can get into the cellar,’ Maggie said. ‘Get out that way.’
‘We’ll die down there,’ Frank said. ‘It’s the same problem as before, only we’ll have a fire bearing down on us as well.’
Maggie kept her gaze on Frank. ‘You know they’ll kill you as soon as they have their hands on me. They’re only sending her in to convince you to give me up so they can torture me properly. But we’re all dead either way.’
‘They’re not getting their hands on you,’ Frank said.
‘Then you missed what they were saying,’ Maggie replied. ‘If you don’t hand me over, they torch the place. The only reason to meet with them is that you’re considering it.’
‘It buys us time.’
‘Buying time doesn’t buy us much else.’
‘Depends on what you do with the time,’ Frank replied. He called out into the night. ‘Send her in.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Maggie stood beside Frank, facing the front door, hands tight around the shotgun. She forced her grip to loosen. Ready, not rigid. Ready for the turn she knew this was about to take.
‘I don’t like this,’ Allie whispered from behind them.
Maggie said nothing.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Frank said. ‘I promise.’
The Hunted Page 18
