Blood & Dust

by Jason Nahrung

  'Penthouse was taken.' He checked who might have seen them arrive - no-one - and locked the door before, as casually as he could, edging closer to his pistol.

  'I've just spent an hour convincing the redneck coroner in Charleville that your partner died from a bullet to the brain and that no further inquiry was necessary.' Mira wiped the corners of her mouth with her thumb. 'He reeked of body odour. He ate tomatoes, raw, with salt, like they were apples. It was disgusting.'

  The driver stood with her back to the veranda door. Reece caught the flash of a shoulder holster through her open jacket.

  'I had to pay through the nose for a charter flight. Drag Felicity here off the GS roster with no notice.'

  He re-appraised the driver. A jackal? Yeah, she was Gespenstenstaffel all right - no collar flashes, but she had the economy of movement, the hint of cherry glazing across the eye when the light caught it just right. And she was on first-name terms with the boss. The girls had obviously bonded during the journey.

  Mira shed her suit jacket and began unbuttoning her blouse. 'Hire a vehicle. Sort out those witless fools in Charleville, then drive up here, wherever here is. I am hot. I am tired. I am sunburnt.'

  'Dave didn't mean to get killed.'

  Mira stopped at the last button, her open blouse revealing a black band of bra, a hint of rib cage and a flat stomach. She gave him a look that said her patience was stretched as thin as his luck. The Strigoi didn't appreciate being interrupted. 'And I would not have expected the retrieval of one Rogue on ice to have been so problematic.' She stared at him, her presence filling the room. 'I needed Taipan, Reece. I needed him and you let him go.'

  'You should've sent the chopper.'

  'The chopper's out of commission.'

  'Would've been nice to know that before we came out here with our arses bared.'

  She arched an eyebrow and he felt Felicity tense. He thought, this time, finally, he'd gone too far. But to hell with it. Dave and he had driven twelve fucking hours to collect Taipan from holier-than-thou Jasmine Turner, only to be kicked out before sun-up with nothing more than a slice of cold shoulder - straight into the Night Riders' ambush. It should never have happened; he wasn't wearing the blame.

  'We could've brought some back-up, at least,' he said. 'We were completely outgunned. Who knows where they got that much firepower.'

  Mira held his stare, her purple-tinted eyes examining, divining, weighing. Then she blinked, and he breathed again as she shook her head, rubbed her temples, her eyes flashing green on the way back to their natural brown.

  'Strigoi?' Felicity asked, poised but uncertain.

  Mira removed her blouse and draped it over the chair. Above the lace of her bra, the rust-coloured pentacle tattoo on her left breast glittered with silver streaks, like fish swimming in a stream. The sight triggered the familiar constriction in his throat, the dryness in his mouth, the tightening of his balls. Damn her.

  'Long day, Reece?' Mira said.

  'You could say that.'

  'And you've been smoking.'

  'And I've been smoking.'

  'And drinking.'

  'Medicinal only.'

  'How's that wolfbite?'

  'It isn't. We were in the car most of the time. Just got a bit toasty in the roadhouse, that's all.'

  'It was unfortunate timing, Reece. The helicopter's upgrade is taking longer than anticipated. And as I said, the mission was routine. We tried to handle it quietly and it blew up in our faces. Now, we have to deal with the fallout. Felicity - my belt.'

  Felicity retrieved Mira's weapon belts from the duffel and stood with them at the ready. One held a sidearm and ammunition pouches, the other a long knife and a curved sword in their scabbards. That hit Reece like a splash of cold water - Mira had brought her blades. She meant business.

  'Show me.'

  He opened his shirt and turned his head. She drew the smaller of the blades, as long as her forearm, and sliced the side of his neck. He flinched; the cut had gone deep. She handed Felicity the basilard to clean, then bent her lips to the wound. The pain spiked as her fangs tore at the lips of the wound, her tongue probing, lapping, and then he groaned with the familiar sense of himself draining out as she swallowed him down. 'You taste like a brewery,' she murmured, 'and smell like an ashtray.' Mira stepped back, deep purple eyes staring as she sifted his lifestream. Blood smeared her lips and chin. A few drips made short, languid lines near the tattoo over her heart. Reece wanted desperately to lick her chest clean, but he stood still, a hand pressed to the wound in his neck, blood trickling through his fingers, feeling woozy.

  'You're sure about the boy?' Mira asked. 'Taipan brought him across?'

  'Not for certain, but it looked like he'd gone through the motions. Needless to say, I didn't go back for him.'

  'Shame. The grease monkey could've given us a valuable link to the gang. I expect more flexibility from my Favourite.'

  'Standing orders are to destroy all unauthorised newborns,' he said, unable to put much fight into it. He'd been running on empty before she tapped him. He lowered his hand from his throat, letting the blood flow down his chest. His gun was on the table, the hall door locked, Felicity barring the exit with a sidearm and two blades in her hands, not counting what she was carrying herself. He was royally screwed and, honestly, too exhausted to give a damn. The kid would've thanked him, if he'd any idea what Taipan had done to him.

  'Basilard,' Mira ordered Felicity, who handed her the dagger once more.

  Reece smelled the girl's anticipation, saw it filling her eyes like a kid's on Christmas morning. He could've told her to hold her horses, the ambitious little bitch. He wasn't being retired just yet. He hoped.

  'Come here,' Mira said as she ran the blade across her forearm. The skin parted, just above two vibrant scars circling her left wrist, and dribbled crimson. 'Have a drink, Reece. It's medicinal.'

  He was on his knees, sucking down her blood, aware of Felicity looking on, all but panting, when his phone rang. Felicity answered it. 'He's in the loo… Yeah, I'm his secretary… What do you want?'

  Constable Smith, she reported after she'd ended the call. Diana Matheson's son had turned up at the house, hardly hurt at all. Smith would let Reece know if he found out anything when he spoke to the lad.

  Mira pulled her arm away. 'So, not dead. That changes things.'

  Reece leaned against the bed, waiting for the rush to subside. It was taking longer to kick in each time; each time, it ended too soon. Through that delirious haze, past the burning itch of wounds healing, he heard Mira tell Felicity to contact this Constable Smith - no interference. No cops, no doctors, no verdammt reporters. Reece would handle it. Make it sound good.

  'Get cleaned up,' she told Reece. 'Felicity's got a new kit for you in the car. I haven't decided yet whether the cost should come out of your wages - or your hide.' She scooped scarlet drops from her chest and licked them from her finger tip, then rubbed her temple again. 'Everybody just needs to be quiet for a moment while I think this through. We might be able to salvage this yet.'

  Reece headed for the en suite. He felt sorry for the mechanic and his family, sorry he'd pulled in there and achieved nothing. Dave had died anyway; Taipan had escaped; and now the boy had a death warrant hanging over him. Usually it was Reece's job to defend the herd, or avenge them. But this time, he'd brought hell to their door, and now the devil had come to sweep up the mess.

  SIX

  There was a knock at the door and Meg answered it.

  'Well, hello,' a male voice said, and Kevin's mother looked over from the pan and said, 'Sergeant, what is it?'

  'Constable Smith told me your good news, so I had to come out and see for myself. Hope you don't mind.'

  Hunter walked into Kevin's line of sight. A faint rash down one side of his face. New clothes, same scruffy coat. Same raggedy bullet-proof vest. Belt bulging with pouches, some kind of baton.

  His mother twiddled with the stove and then moved to the kitchen entry.
'I was just cooking-'

  The chair scraped a rude interruption as Kevin hauled himself to his feet, using the table for support. 'What the hell are you doing here, Hunter?'

  The man held up a hand and Kevin stayed where he was. 'Calm down, sport. We're here to sort it all out.'

  A woman in black walked in behind him. She wore an ankle-length skirt and a blouse under some kind of wide-shouldered, hooded Driza-Bone. Her hair was cropped close to the scalp, her face all angles, tight and hard, humourless, the mug shot of someone who'd blown up a bus. Her eyes glimmered green, like a cat's. Something about her reminded Kevin of Taipan.

  Meg closed the door and walked over to hold his arm tight. He pulled her to him. This was not going to go well.

  'My, quite the welcome home party we're having,' the woman said.

  'My, um, supervisor,' Hunter told them. 'From Brisbane.'

  The woman studied Kevin. 'Well, our star attraction's up and about. How do you feel, boy?'

  'What's the story, Hunter?' Kevin demanded. 'What the hell happened? What happened to my dad?'

  The woman glanced at Hunter when Kevin said his name, an eyebrow arched in inquiry, faintly amused or annoyed, he couldn't tell. Who wore a 'Bone out here in summer, anyway?

  'Kevin,' his mother said. 'Stay calm, son.'

  'He's fine,' Meg said. 'But the ambos are on their way from Charleville. I think he should be under observation or something.'

  'Oh, definitely or something,' the woman said. 'In fact, I think he should come with us.'

  'With you?' Kevin's mother said.

  Meg tightened her grip on his arm. 'He hasn't done anything.'

  'He is a material witness to the death of a policeman,' the woman said.

  'And my dad,' Kevin added.

  'And your father.'

  Kevin pointed at Hunter. 'This bloke knows more about it than me. He brought that biker to the servo. He left us to die in there.'

  'That's not what happened, sport.'

  'Don't sport me. I saw what you did to that bloke's arm. I saw-'

  'Oh, Reece,' the woman said, reaching inside her coat.

  'Wait,' Hunter said. 'Mira.'

  Mira gave him the look of a school teacher being told bullshit about homework not done, then walked toward Kevin's mother. She picked up a photograph of Kevin in his cricket whites, leg streaked with red from his bowling stint that netted his first five-for. 'You must be very proud to have such a fit son.'

  'Very proud.'

  'I like you, little mother.' She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. 'You smell of strength. Not here.' She squeezed his mother's bicep. 'Here.' A hand on her chest, dark-coloured nails glinting. His mother stood, as straight as a crowbar. 'Strength and anger. A little bit of fear, too, I think. The smells of the peasant, leavened with dirt and sunshine.' Mira's hand slid down, over his mother's stomach.

  Kevin held Meg closer. He could smell his own sweat. Realised that the sausages were starting to burn, the sizzling growing louder. His pulse reverberated in his ears. Meg radiated heat beside him; a trick of his hearing made it sound as if he could hear her racing heartbeat, too, feel it thudding against him where their bodies pressed together. He could see only Mira: her face so close to his mother's cheek, the crown of her head reaching only to his mother's nose; that hand, spread wide as though to sense a baby's kick.

  'Stop it,' he said, but she ignored him, lost in some kind of reverie.

  'I, too, was a peasant once,' Mira said. 'So, dirt and sunshine, I understand, though I have left them far, far behind. But I do like to taste them sometimes. It is good to be reminded of where we come from, don't you think? Of our heritage. Of the blood in our veins.'

  'I don't know what you people want. Sergeant, what do you people want?' his mother asked, shuffling away from Mira.

  'Yes, sergeant, tell these good citizens: what is it we want?'

  'We just need to talk to your son, Mrs Matheson.'

  'Mrs Matheson? It was Diana this afternoon.'

  Mira looked at Hunter, amused. 'The night changes everything, does it not?'

  'Mira!'

  'They know you, Hunter, and now they know me.'

  'We know nothin',' Kevin said.

  'Oh, but I think you do, boy; because you don't look very well at all.'

  'I'm all right.'

  'You have no idea what you are.' Mira cocked her head, listening. 'Is that the Night Riders I hear? Do you hear them, Hunter? Coming to clean up their loose ends.'

  'Not necessary, Strigoi. These people-'

  'The boy is officially dead-'

  'The constable knows he isn't. And who else by now? You can't make the whole town go away.'

  A frown. 'No, I suppose not.'

  'Cut our losses, Strigoi. Take the Rogue and go.'

  'I was thinking, cut and run.' A finger nail drew a thin line of blood down Kevin's mother's cheek. She tried to pull away, but Mira held her firmly by the upper arm.

  The smoke alarm sounded. Mira, flinching, told Hunter to take care of the pan. Smoke spiralled over the stove as Hunter stepped toward the kitchen.

  'Run, Meg, run!' Kevin pushed her out of the way and charged.

  Mira shoved his mother. She smacked into the table and tumbled to the floor. He lashed out but Mira side-stepped his clumsy, distracted punch and her stiff arm slammed into his chest like a cricket bat. His feet flew out from under him and he hit the floor so hard his vision turned black, lit by fireworks. When he could see again, the woman had him pinned under her boot, the chunky heel grinding into his diaphragm, the evil snout of a pistol pointed directly at his face.

  Hunter helped his mother up. Meg stood petrified, backed against the table. His mother found her feet and yanked her arm from Hunter's grip. Blood smeared her face.

  Kevin pawed at the boot holding him down, but Mira shook her head at him, the gun barrel mirroring the action, and he forced himself to lie still, the anger seething inside him.

  A squawk and Hunter stepped back to answer the two-way radio at his belt.

  His mother grabbed the rifle. Worked the bolt and levelled it at Mira.

  Hunter snapped his pistol to her forehead. Murmured into the two-way, 'Gimme a minute.'

  Mira chuckled, shook her head ever so slowly. She lifted her foot, just a little, and in that ease of pressure Kevin thought he was free. He began to sit up. Her boot pushed him down again, this time grinding across his throat so hard he choked.

  'Don't,' she told him, and her eyes flashed green behind the huge tunnel of the gun barrel.

  'Step away,' Kevin's mother told her. 'Let him go.'

  'Diana,' Hunter said, his voice so calm he might have been reading the news. 'They get up. Remember? They get up.'

  Near Kevin's ear, water dripped from the table to the lino, keeping time wet and slow, slower than the clock on the wall, drip, drip, drip, puddling beside the dead rose on the floor. The smoke alarm kept its own shrill time, barp, barp, barp. In the background burning meat hissed and popped. The harsh stench of it made it even harder to breathe.

  Above him, Mira's skirt hung open to reveal her leg above the rim of her knee-high boot, black tights shrink-wrapped around her thigh. It might've been sexy if she hadn't been killing him.

  'They get up,' Hunter repeated. He took his pistol away. Put the radio down. Reached for the rifle.

  'Who are you people?' Kevin's mother asked, her voice the barest of whispers. She let him take the rifle. She stepped back, shaking, and Meg hugged her, pulling her into a knot of arms and terrified expressions.

  The radio squawked again and Hunter swapped the rifle for it. 'Go.'

  He then stalked into the kitchen and took the pan off the stove. 'There's company coming.'

  'Riders?' Mira asked.

  'Probably.'

  'How many?'

  'Too many, would be my guess. Unless you got something a little extra tucked away under that coat.'

  'Then let us see what the newborn knows. Take the women out of the
room while I talk to him. Keep them quiet.'

  'Mira-'

  'I mentioned my sunburn, did I not?'

  'Ladies.' He re-slung his radio. 'This way, please.' He motioned with his pistol.

  'Don't hurt him,' Kevin's mother pleaded.

  'Only a fraction more than he finds pleasurable, I assure you, little mother,' Mira told her. When the women had been shut in the nearest room, Hunter standing watch in the hall, she holstered the gun and hauled Kevin to his feet. He pedalled backward as she bulldozed him into the wall. His vision burst with a new set of flashing lights.

  'Kevin?' his mother yelled, and Meg shouted too, a fearful 'Kev!', and Hunter kicked the door.

  'He's okay. Just stay where you are.'

  Mira held Kevin tightly by the throat, her face next to his. 'I understand you've had an intimate meeting with Taipan. Is that right?'

  'What?' he croaked.

  'I just need to make a blood test. It will hurt, but I promise you, you will like it.' She bit his neck and he cried out, the sound a strangled, pathetic hiccup under her carpet-snake grip. She sucked on the wound in his throat. The room spun, as though she was the centre of a whirlpool and he was a leaf caught in the swirling current.

  'You getting anything?' Hunter asked.

  'He's too weak. Barely had enough to get him across the line.'

  Hunter sounded resigned when he asked, 'Cut and run, then?'

  'Plan B,' she said, her gaze fixed on Kevin as though he was some new kind of bug and she was trying to identify him. 'How far out is that Night Rider?'

  He talked into the walkie-talkie. 'A couple of minutes. Taking it real careful, Felicity says.'

  'Enough time to put in a trace.'

  'They'll find it.'