River Run

by Alexander, Nicole

  Leaving Garnet to stand in the sun, Robbie searched around for a sturdy branch. With one in hand, he unwired the door and stepped inside. The crows fluttered anxiously about the confined space as Robbie lifted the stick and began to hit them.

  ‘Robbie! Stop that. It’s awful!’

  Halfway through bashing a crow to death, he looked up. ‘Seeing a lamb’s eyes pecked out, that’s awful,’ he retorted, before continuing on with his task. He swung the stick until his arm tired and his shoulder ached. All but one of the crows was dead and it lay in the corner, spindly legs kicking at the dirt. Outside the trap, Robbie rewired the door, leaving the bloodied branch nearby. Eleanor had ridden some yards away.

  ‘You shouldn’t be doing that,’ was his sister’s only comment when he caught up with her.

  Robbie hunched his shoulders, not knowing what answer was expected. He was only doing what his father did, what Rex did, what the jackeroos did. They rode on in silence, which suited him just fine.

  Finally the tree line marking the river grew closer. It snaked towards the west, twisting and turning as if some mythic creature from another world. Twitching the reins, Robbie took the lead. Now they were heading slightly downhill towards the waterway, he was getting an anxious feeling in his stomach. It was always the same just before the first glimpse of the land beyond the water. And there it was, straight ahead. Wide, flat and seemingly empty. Sensing shade and water, the horses increased their ambling pace as the timber closed in and the land beyond was curtained from view. Robbie touched the holstered rifle, wishing he’d thought of making Eleanor bring a firearm as well. Now wasn’t the time not to take every precaution.

  ‘I forgot how far the river was from the house.’ Eleanor squinted from beneath her hat and shifted in the saddle.

  Robbie took a different path every time he rode to the waterway and this afternoon he led Eleanor over fallen timber and through close-knitted trees. The going was difficult. Twice they could barely squeeze their horses through the trees. Eleanor complained of grazing her knees on knobbly bark and questioned the route they’d taken, her complaints only ending on reaching the water’s edge ten minutes later. The bank was steep and dangerous in parts and glimpses of the river showed the liquid glistening like the shards of broken glass.

  ‘We’re here,’ Robbie announced. Leaving Garnet to graze, he tucked his sandwich down his shirtfront, strung a pair of binoculars about his neck and tied the rifle to his waist with rope.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Robbie looked upward. ‘I’m going up there. Are you coming?’

  ‘I’m not climbing that,’ Eleanor stated. Dismounting, she bent from side to side, stretching out aching limbs.

  He glanced at her cotton trousers, pale shirt and old leather boots. ‘Are you scared? You’re bigger than me.’ He shimmied up the trunk, grasping branches and pulling his body skywards. Once seated on the platform Robbie dragged the rifle up after him. ‘It’s a great view.’ A scatter of sheep moved across the open plain. ‘Come on, don’t be a sissy. Give it a go.’ Robbie tied the rope to a branch and dangled it down through the tree limbs towards his half-sister. ‘You only have to pull yourself up a couple of feet and then there’s a branch you can reach.’ He watched nervously, with one eye shut, grimacing as Eleanor tried unsuccessfully to climb the woody plant. ‘Girls are useless,’ he said loudly. Maybe his father was a better sentry to have. Even if he did have one bad leg, he could always get a ladder. ‘Come on, Eleanor. You just have to try.’

  Eleanor grabbed the rope and began climbing, her face contorting with effort. Her hat fell to the ground, her hair came loose, but she succeeded in placing one foot in front of the other and finally, inch by inch, branch by branch, she pulled herself upwards. He shifted a little to make room as she squeezed next to him, pale and shaky looking. One of her nails was ripped and bleeding. But Robbie couldn’t help feeling just a bit proud. He offered her half his sandwich. ‘It’s nice and warm.’

  Eleanor screwed up her nose. ‘No thanks.’ She rubbed at her biceps. ‘That was hard work.’ She sucked on the injured finger.

  They sat silently, surrounded by a cascade of leaves, their skin clammy with the heat, Robbie chewing on his sandwich as they gazed out across the river.

  ‘You’re right,’ Eleanor finally acknowledged when she’d got her breath back, ‘it is a good view.’ She wiped at the dots of perspiration on her brow, noticing the hollow in the trunk. ‘What have you got in there?’

  ‘It’s for when we’re attacked.’

  ‘Attacked?’ Her voice was disbelieving as she sorted through the stash of tinned food. ‘Where did you get all this from? Mrs Howell? She’ll tan your backside if she discovers you’ve been stealing food from the pantry. Robbie, you don’t really think the communists would come here, do you?’

  ‘Have you even listened to the wireless?’ he replied crossly. Finishing his sandwich, he folded the paper wrapping, stuffing it into a pocket.

  ‘Of course I have. But, Robbie, really? Out here? We’re in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘We’re not. Well, not really.’ Robbie drew a map in the air. ‘See, here’s the north of Australia. That’s Indonesia.’ A grubby fingernail traced an imaginary path from northern Australia over the New South Wales–Queensland border down to the middle of the western plains. ‘Then there’s us. River Run is right in the middle.’

  ‘The middle of what?’

  Girls were so dumb. ‘An invasion, silly.’

  Eleanor looked at him as if he were mad.

  ‘Mr Goward says that no-one expected the Japs to bomb Darwin,’ Robbie continued, ‘but they did, didn’t they? And no-one thought there’d be another war either. But there is. This will be the third war that my dad’s lived through and he told me about the army and the coalminers and Mr Goward said that anything could happen.’

  ‘You’re serious?’ Eleanor hung her legs a little further over the edge of the platform.

  At last, he had her attention. ‘You should listen to the news, Eleanor.’

  ‘I do, but no-one ever talked about Australia being invaded,’ she replied. ‘The war’s in Korea, Robbie. It’s miles away.’

  Eleanor sounded and looked a little like his mother. One eyebrow was raised and there was a questioning expression that plainly said she didn’t believe him. ‘So this is my sentry post. What do you think?’ he asked. ‘If the Russians join up with the Indonesians, they’ll come south to invade Sydney. They’d head straight there. They couldn’t come at Sydney direct from the east because of the submarine nets. Remember when we caught that Jap sub? Well, anyway. We’re right in their path, but it’s alright because I’ve got a good view up here of the north, so I’ll see them coming and I’ll be able to warn everyone in time.’

  ‘I see,’ Eleanor said, her voice flat. ‘I think you’ve been reading too many comics.’

  ‘So what I wanted to know,’ Robbie persisted, ‘now that you’re home, was if you’d help me. Cause we really need two people. I was going to ask Dad, him being a crack shot and all, but I don’t think he’d be able to climb the tree with his bad leg. And I figured that you could be a runner. I’d let off three shots and that would be the signal for you to get home as fast as you can and let everyone know they’re coming.’

  ‘Wow, you have got it all planned out.’ The doubt hadn’t left Eleanor’s face. ‘But I really don’t know if the communists would travel this far, Robbie,’ she said carefully. ‘And I don’t want you wasting your time. You know, when you could be doing other, more fun things.’

  ‘But you don’t know for sure that they won’t come,’ Robbie probed.

  ‘Well no, but I really doubt it. Besides, even if they did, they’d travel through other towns first, wouldn’t they, and you’d hear about it on the wireless.’

  Robbie hadn’t thought of that. Eleanor was ruining everything. Pulling his knees up under his chin, they sat in silence. A bird twittered in the branches above. When his half-sister finally
asked if she could have a look through the binoculars, he pushed them across the uneven planks towards her.

  ‘I suppose I’m in your bad books now. I’m sorry, Robbie. I don’t mean to ruin your fun, but I just think you got a bit carried away, that’s all.’

  Robbie chewed his bottom lip and stared through the leafy branches at the land below. The afternoon sun was slanting through wispy clouds, throwing shadows across the grassy plains. The sunlit shapes changed size as they crisscrossed the land, elongating and then shortening.

  ‘There’s someone down there.’ Eleanor rotated the lens, trying to focus the binoculars. She held them to one side for a moment, attempting to spot the object with the naked eye and then returned to peer through them. ‘There, can you see?’ She pointed. ‘A man on a horse.’

  ‘Jiminy Cricket,’ Robbie stammered.

  ‘Another idiot out riding in this heat.’ Eleanor moved closer to the edge of the wooden boards as she continued to peer through the field glasses. ‘I bet he’s one of our men.’

  Robbie wasn’t listening. ‘A scout, for sure,’ he decided.

  ‘From this distance it could even be Mr Goward.’

  ‘No it can’t. He’s supposed to be overseeing the jackeroos fixing the plunge dip and the busted tank. Give me the binoculars.’ Snatching the field glasses, Robbie quickly found the man. Horse and rider were heading for the river. Straight towards them. ‘He’s only about a mile away.’ The .22 calibre rifle wouldn’t even poke a man’s eye out at that range.

  ‘Can you see who it is yet?’ asked Eleanor. Sunlight and shadows made visibility difficult.

  ‘No, no I can’t. But he doesn’t look like anyone we know.’

  Eleanor gave a groan. ‘Robbie, it probably is just one of our stockmen.’

  ‘Yesterday someone broke one of my cray-bob traps and stole my catch. That’s never happened before.’ His hands tightened on the field glasses. Someone had needed food. A stranger on their land.

  ‘So I suppose you’re going to tell me that’s a Russian in disguise or something?’ Eleanor gingerly levered herself over the edge of the platform, briefly looking at the ground. ‘I should never have climbed up here,’ she grumbled, as her boots made contact with one branch and then another.

  ‘Wait, where are you going?’ Robbie called anxiously.

  ‘And I thought I had an imagination.’ She climbed down the tree clumsily, the descent marked by nervous mutterings.

  Wiping sweat from his face, Robbie observed the man through the binoculars as Eleanor let out a string of objections as she inched her way to the ground. Sure enough the rider hadn’t budged from his direction. In a few minutes he’d be half a mile away.

  From the ground, Eleanor called out to him to come down from the tree. ‘It’ll be dark in a couple of hours,’ she reminded him. ‘I have to get changed in time for dinner.’

  ‘Fine. Go!’ he yelled back down to her.

  ‘Don’t get cross, Robbie.’

  He wished Eleanor would be quiet. The man might hear them. Setting the eye-glasses down, Robbie lifted the rifle and inserted a bullet into the chamber, then wedged the stock of the gun hard against his shoulder. He looked through the sight on the barrel. The man was still coming. He could see the outsider more clearly by the second.

  ‘What on earth are you doing up there, Robbie? Come on, we have to get home. You don’t want to be locked in your room again, do you?’

  The rider stopped. Maybe Eleanor was right. Maybe the outsider was one of their men. Robbie scratched his head. But something didn’t feel right. He didn’t feel right. There was a blackness inside of him itching to be released. He thought of the crows, of bashing them to death. The metal trigger was cold against his finger.

  ‘Robbie!’ Eleanor yelled.

  The stranger scanned the river before urging his horse forward. He’d heard them. Robbie swallowed, his throat dry and lumpy. This was exactly like the story in The Outsider comic. The outlaw had ridden closer and closer, convinced that he hadn’t been spotted by the sheriff. Robbie guessed the man to be less than a half-mile away and the distance between them was closing quickly.

  ‘That’s it,’ Eleanor shouted from the ground, ‘I’m leaving without you.’

  Robbie reasoned that if it was one of the men who worked on River Run, they would have let out a coo-ee by now, or at least given a yell to say who they were. After all, the man clearly heard Eleanor, for that was exactly when the rider began to move in their direction. Robbie’s hands grew sweatier; the rifle heavier. Across the waterway the stranger lifted a rifle and pointed it. In Robbie’s direction. That definitely wasn’t right. He was on their land. Webber land. Robbie repositioned the butt against his shoulder and took aim. He’d fire one shot. A warning shot. That’s what his dad would do. But maybe, just maybe, it would be better if he winged the man, then he couldn’t give chase.

  Robbie gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger.

  The gunshot rang out, echoing along the river. Startled birds flew from the trees.

  ‘Robbie?’ Eleanor called in annoyance. ‘What are you doing?’

  His mouth went dry.

  ‘Robbie?’

  Hands trembling, he set the rifle down and picked up the binoculars. His heart beat loud and hard and he was vaguely aware of Eleanor yelling at him as he slowly pressed the binoculars to his face.

  It took time to focus on the countryside as his hands kept shaking. Finally Robbie took a breath as his father taught him when he’d first learnt to shoot, before panning the binoculars across the paddock. He located the horse some distance away, riderless. The hairs rose on his arms. The stranger lay face down on the ground.

  ‘Robbie?’ his sister shouted up at him. ‘You get down from that tree this instant.’

  ‘I got him,’ he whispered, then more loudly, ‘Eleanor, I got him.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  Robbie lowered the rifle to the ground and then climbed down, falling the last few yards in haste. He landed on his backside at Eleanor’s feet.

  ‘I hit him,’ Robbie said breathlessly, standing. ‘Winged him.’

  His sister’s eyes grew to the size of plates. ‘What?’

  Robbie whistled to Garnet and the horse came immediately. ‘We’ve got to go,’ he told her, holstering the rifle and flinging himself up into the saddle. Eleanor had turned white. ‘Come on,’ he urged.

  Not waiting to see if his sister followed, Robbie raced Garnet along the water’s edge, hitting the horse’s rump with his hat, urging him on. The gelding snorted but obeyed. Soon they arrived at the spot where the cray-bob traps were usually set, and it was here Robbie turned Garnet towards the river. A sand bar straddled the middle of the waterway and knowing it was a reasonably shallow place to cross, Robbie clucked his tongue, tapping the horse’s flanks with his heels. ‘Come on, Garnet.’ The horse walked out begrudgingly. ‘Come on.’

  The cold water climbed quickly, reaching the girth straps, but it dropped almost instantly as they reached the shallow bar midstream. Garnet wasn’t impressed. The horse whinnied in protest and backed up at the sight of the faster current. Digging his boots into the horse’s flanks once again, Robbie fought the animal’s inclination to turn back.

  ‘You haven’t got any choice, Garnet. We’re crossing this river and that’s an end to it.’

  Eventually Garnet relented. He nickered softly, walking from the shallow stretch of sand. Immediately the river swirled about them, quickly inching higher and higher. Robbie felt the wetness creep up his legs to his thighs and then the river bottom fell away, forcing Garnet to swim. Robbie coaxed the horse with gentle words as he held on tightly, but the gelding didn’t need any encouragement, he swam straight towards the opposite bank, his hoofs finally striking the bottom. Eventually they reached the sandy flats on the other side.

  ‘Robbie?’ Eleanor called from across the expanse of water. He waved at her to follow before turning his concentration back to the thick-rooted trees that lined th
e steep slope.

  ‘Come on, Garnet.’ Robbie kept the reins slack as the animal found purchase in the loose soil, finally making their way to the top of the riverbank. Robbie caught a glimpse of Eleanor as she walked Hilda into the water, following in his wake, and then he was twitching the reins and steering Garnet through the timber. Once clear of the trees, the plain spread out before them, flat and wide. Free of the water, Garnet happily cantered across the paddock.

  Robbie found the man still lying face down. Arms by his sides, one leg twisted under the other. He rode around the body slowly, cautiously. When he was convinced that the man was not dangerous, he dismounted and, rifle in hand, walked carefully towards the prone figure, nudging the body with the toe of his boot. The man didn’t move. He pushed a little harder. Still no response. There was blood on the back of the man’s head. A lot of blood. Robbie paled. Had he done that? He was sure he’d only winged him.

  A hat and rifle lay in the grass a few feet away. The horse grazed in the distance. The wispy clouds had been replaced by streaks of red and yellow and a shimmering heat-haze danced across the land. Everything seemed brighter, colourful and far too real. Robbie stared at the figure, lifeless before him, wondering what he should do next. Part of him wanted to ride away, to not look back. To never tell a living soul what he’d done. Instead, he gingerly reached out, touching the man’s arm. It was still warm.

  Was he dead? Had he really shot a man in the head? What would his father say?

  Every soldier carried identification papers or wore dog tags. Robbie tasted vomit as he reached into one pocket and then the other. His fingers touched paper. In one of the man’s pockets he found a wad of bills, a few coins, but there was no wallet, no licence, no identification, and there was certainly nothing around the neck.

  ‘Hell, Robbie.’ Eleanor arrived at the gallop.

  Robbie turned to his sister. She was drenched from head to foot and river-mud splattered her trousers. ‘I-I shot him in the head.’