'If you want.' He adjusted the Steyr, to make sure the kid could see he was serious. 'Or you can just let it go. Like I told you - could've been Taipan, could've been me, could've been the two of us. Whichever way, your old man's still dead.'
'And my mum.'
'Don't know anything about that, sport, but it'd be a damn shame if she was.'
Matheson stood and Reece braced himself.
'Don't. Ask yourself: can she make it without you?' He indicated Kala with the barrel of his gun.
'Can Mira make it without you?'
'Of that, I've no doubt. Where's Taipan?'
'Gone to see his sister.'
'Sounds about right. So what's it gonna be, sport?'
Matheson smiled. 'I like your sword.'
'Don't!' He fired, point blank, as Matheson charged. His bullets blew the kid to mist, and he heard the noise, on the rock above him, and he realised he'd fucked up in a big way.
FIFTY-SIX
Kevin landed on Hunter, knees smacking him to the ground. He rolled to his feet, cat-like grace, cat-like speed. His blood surged. Time froze. The world narrowed to Hunter, just Hunter. The man rose, seeking to bring his assault rifle to bear but Kevin attacked, punching, a hammer against concrete. A burst from the gun blew fire and death past his shoulder and then the rifle was gone, hurled out into the bushes. Hunter was up against the rock, eyes unfocused, blood pouring from his mouth and nose. Kevin bit into him, bit hard, and he sagged against the limp body, pinning it to the cliff as Hunter's lifestream flowed. His life and his knowledge. Mira knew where Danica was. Danica and Cassie. She was going to kill them both.
Kevin tore himself free. Leaned, gasping, against the man's blood-drenched shoulder as he assimilated the knowledge, locking Hunter's experiences away behind a door in his mind. Hard to stop when he'd been so empty, so thirsty. Revelling in the man's sad, sorry life. A pawn, just another helpless fool floating on life's slipstream, trying not to go under. In over his head. So alike, him and Hunter, in their own way. It was true - Reece didn't know who had killed Kevin's father. But the shot had come from his pistol. Two fingers on the trigger. His father dropping. 'Sorry' falling from Hunter's lips, but not sorry enough to drag him out, to save him and Kevin as the flames roared up. Already knowing his father to be dead and believing that Kevin deserved to be. Nobody to save. Pragmatic cunt.
Kevin thumped Hunter in the stomach for good measure, then let him slide down, moaning, to lie in a pile at the base of the rock.
Kala's voice cut through his fug. 'Okay?' She stood nearby, his rifle in her hands.
'Okay,' he confirmed. 'We have to get to Danica. In a cave, like you said. Up the cliff a bit, on the other side of the gorge. We gotta hurry. Mira's closing in. She sent this bastard to stop us. She can sense me, so she'll know her man here has failed.' He nudged Reece with the toe of his boot, none too gently.
'Can you warn Mother? Can you reach her through the blood?'
'I don't think so. She's so shielded.' He looked up at the cliff on the other side of the gorge where he could just make out a smudge of grey stone through the tree cover. The sky was lighter there, the stars dim to vanishing. Somewhere in the gorge, a kookaburra cackled awake, an alarm clock for all the early birds. A new day was dawning, but there was still enough darkness for murder. Kevin unbuckled Hunter's belt and examined its pouches - sword in scabbard, pistol in shoulder holster, spare ammo, HeartStopper with spare gas cylinder and stake. Medical kit. Canteen. He passed the latter to Kala and she rinsed, spat, drank. He took Hunter's satellite phone from its pouch and smashed it against the boulder. Hunter wouldn't need it, and Kevin had no-one to call. He buckled on the belt and tested its balance on his hips. Passed the pistol to Kala. 'Swap you - you're better with handguns.'
She checked the gun and pocketed the clips he gave her, then asked, 'What about him?'
Kevin looked at the prone man through an overlay of memory and allowed it to fade under the urgency of the moment. 'Good luck to the bastard. I've got all the blood on my hands I can cope with right now. I'm more concerned about saving Danica.'
They made their way down the slope, heading for the caves where Danica and Mira waited.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Reece pushed himself to a sitting position, then used the rock to prop himself up as he stood. The kid had done him over but good. Quick learner, the little bastard. The wound in his throat: pulsing painfully but no longer bleeding. Jaw mending. Ribs cracked, maybe broken. Stomach a massive bruise despite his vest. Vision a little dodgy still, the combination of swelling and concussion. He checked his equipment. The kid had taken his Glock and utility belt, so his broadsword and staker were also gone. So too the first-aid kit - could've used a hit of go-juice and a couple of painkillers about now - and his canteen. It was gonna be a long, long day. But he still had his car keys in one pocket and his back-up revolver strapped to his ankle and a dirk sheathed on his inner arm.
He looked up at the rim of the gorge. There was go-juice and a two-way radio in the four-wheel-drive. It was a hell of a climb to get there. He'd make the most of the morning cool while he could. The sun would hit this side of the gorge first. He'd be plenty thirsty by the time he got to the vehicle. If he got there. Magpies trilled and he could've wrung their cheerful little necks. Cockatoos screeched and that rasping call felt a more suitable accompaniment to the state of his broken body. The kid had taken a metric shitload of blood. It was all he could do to stand. And then step. And then again. Eventually, he fell into a state of numbness that allowed him to put one foot after the other, using saplings for support. He could see his shadow growing darker as the world lightened, night slowly filtering to day. Behind, the eastern sky had faded from black to grey and the silhouettes of trees lined the cliff edge on the other side of the gorge.
Assuming Mira survived this little operation, she wouldn't be going anywhere before sunset. That gave him a good twelve hours of distance to put between them. The kid was right. There was enough blood on everyone's hands. Flick was welcome to it.
What now? He stopped his plodding, gasping climb. Voices. From his right. Through a veil of scrub. Golden wattle buds, birds already flapping about them. Wrens and some honey eaters with curved beaks. They darted away as he approached.
The voices again. Male and female. Familiar.
He could keep walking. Should keep walking. And drive.
He pulled his pistol and pushed through the undergrowth.
Back in his day, the police motto had been 'firmness with courtesy'. Special Branch had always been more about the firmness. Justice had failed, but revenge was a distinct possibility.
FIFTY-EIGHT
The air grew cooler as Kevin and Kala descended. Bracken carpeted the ravine floor. A creek gurgled its twisting, intermittent way through the gorge. Here it was reduced to a series of smooth-rocked pools, overshadowed by slender gums and bordered by thick hedges of ferns, cycads and palms. The eastern cliff towered above them, sheer and smooth in places, a tumble of vine-shrouded boulders in others. The caves showed as dark maws in the shadowed cliff, long and shallow, as though some mighty giant had carved footholds in the distant past.
Kevin's sense of urgency increased as they got closer. He couldn't tell if he was feeling Mira's anticipation or Danica's anxiety, or perhaps some feedback from Taipan or even Hunter.
Kala stumbled.
'Maybe you should stay here where it's cool,' he said. 'Rest.'
'No.' She sagged against a fibrous fern as tall as she was, its drooping fronds a strange umbrella above her head. 'I'm okay.'
'You've lost a lot of blood.'
'I said I'm okay. I'll see it through.'
'You don't have to,' he said.
'I was there at the start and I'll damn well be there at the finish.'
They sat by a waterhole, shallow and clear, and washed the worst of the muck from their faces. Her throat was still livid with the scar of the cut, her shirt dark with blood. 'Shoulda nicked another one, eh?
'
'And a brolly. It's getting light.' Kevin wondered if that was the source of his rising unease. He paced as she scooped up a drink.
'The cliff looks steep. A hard climb.'
'Hunter's lifestream showed me - he and Mira were hereabouts when they saw someone in one of those caves about halfway up. There's a spur, there, on the right, see it? We can go up that. Kind of a ledge where it joins the cliff.'
'Can you see anyone?'
'No-one. At least we know she and Hunter are here by themselves. Reinforcements are on the way, though, so we'll have to do this fast.'
He shouldered the rifle and helped her up.
They crossed the stream and headed for the spur, the ground rising, the ferns thinning to be replaced by sparse spiky grass and blue gums. Bird song filled the gorge - darting parrots and slow-flapping cockatoos, crows and magpies, a whip bird. The kookaburra laughing again. Above, the edge of the cliff was clearly visible, the sky paling into the grey-blue of pre-dawn.
Kevin felt the threat of the approaching sun looming over him with all the solidity and menace of the cliff itself, trying to grind him down.
They finally reached the ledge he'd spied, some inner sensation drawing him, telling him this was the spot. No sign of Mira - that didn't inspire confidence.
'Oh fuck,' Kala murmured, and he followed her gaze through a gap in the treetops and saw figures on the cliff opposite. Taipan had found Jasmine and Willa.
FIFTY-NINE
From where Reece crouched in the underbrush, Jasmine Turner looked like a matron who'd just had her picnic interrupted by ants. She wore pants and a long-sleeved blouse, with a shawl or something rumpled on the stony ground at her feet near a wide-brimmed straw hat. She looked absolutely furious, but it was a cold fury, contained and focused. A splash of fresh blood marked a tear in Jasmine's blouse over her left breast; a smear dotted the lace cuff at her wrist. The picnic ants had been particularly fierce but the old girl was still standing - they'd bitten off more than they could chew, it seemed.
Turner snapped her hand out, palm up, toward Heather, who stood nearby in her denim work clothes. The younger woman gripped a black-tipped timber stake in both hands as though it were a snake, liable to bite her if she let it go. It was the same one Reece had seen displayed on the mantel at the homestead; the one he'd taken from Taipan's back a week ago when this debacle had begun at Whitby Downs. Heather wasn't responsible for Turner's wound, however. No, the offender in question crouched in front of the two women with his back to Reece, but unmistakable nonetheless.
Taipan held a curved dagger low, his other hand out for balance, knees bent. On the rock between him and the women lay a three-foot length of sapling spotted with bright spots where branches had been stripped. One end had been roughly hewn to a sharp point; it was tipped with blood, making it look like a massively oversized pencil. Reece didn't need a DNA test to work out whose blood it was. Should've led with the knife, he thought, even if it wasn't a stabbing blade.
Turner snapped her hand at Heather again, but the girl ignored her, clutching the stake close.
'God, Chris, please, just go! Turn around and go,' Heather pleaded.
Taipan shook his head, not taking his eyes from Turner. The winged skull on the back of his jacket grinned at Reece through the rips and scorch marks. Reece raised his pistol; from here, he could hit it right between the fiery eyes. Jasmine Turner was an important asset. Saving her might buy him some grace if Mira failed. It might buy him a pension or at least a clean getaway.
'No more chances, Chris,' Turner said, and Reece thought she glanced at him, gave him the slightest of nods. The old girl was in control here. The biker had taken his shot and missed; he was unlikely to do her any lasting damage. Reece lowered his pistol, but kept it at a point from where he could bring it to bear quickly. Neither the biker nor his sister, too caught up in their own drama, had acknowledged him. He could afford to wait. He owed Dave at least one good shot into the bastard, but he'd let Turner have her fun first. One thing he'd learnt in his long career: don't piss off the bloodsuckers.
'This ends, right here, right now,' Turner continued. 'My patience has been exhausted.'
'Then let Willa go,' Taipan said. 'Let her choose.'
'She has chosen, Chris. Time and again. It's you who can't let go. You who can't accept. You who are bound to a past you can't even remember or possibly know.'
'Because you stole them!'
'Nonsense. Without me, you'd be dead now, nothing but bones and lost potential, just a waif in the petrol fumes and alcohol that have choked the life out of your kind. I saved you from genocide, boy, and how do you repay me? Betrayal. Treachery. Violence. The slaughter of people dear to me. The destruction of my home.'
'Please, Jasmine, let him go,' Heather said. 'For me.'
He stood, slowly, the knife gripped loosely at his side. 'But we all know that she can't. Because I can't let you go.' He glanced at his sister. 'Sorry, Willa, but I can't.'
Turner swooped. Reece lifted his pistol but Taipan was quick, darting to the side, the knife flashing out and up. Out and up and into Turner's stomach as her hands clawed for his throat.
Reece stepped out, pistol levelled. 'Okay, that's enough. Let her go, Taipan. Step back. Step back right the fuck now.' Taipan let Turner fall and turned to face Reece. Heather ran to the woman's side and pulled the dagger free. Didn't look like a heart shot, but it was damn close.
'You're like one of them bad pennies, ain'tcha,' Taipan said, inching closer.
'Dave says g'day.' Reece shot Taipan in the chest. The biker dropped to his knees, coughing, as the sound of the shot reverberated down the gorge. Reece stepped forward to finish him, one through the head, and then a stake to ice him till Turner came around - he had two to choose from, lying side by side on the ground.
A bullet sparked from the stone at his feet. He looked up, unable to see the shooter. Began to duck, to find cover, but an impact threw him down, rolled him across the rock, earth and sky cycling across his vision. He pulled up, dazed and snarled in bushes. The revolver was gone. It didn't have the range, anyway. Even if could see the sniper. Matheson of course. Lucky the light was so shit, the range long. Reece squirmed farther into the undergrowth, clasping the bullet wound, wondering if the hole in his side went all the way through.
Wondering if he had enough of Mira's blood in his veins to save him from this latest hit. Yet again he cursed the grease monkey for having taken his belt and the attached med kit. He eyed the vampires on the rock. Any one of them could heal him. He needed Taipan to lose this. Lose it bad.
Heather stood, looking surprised, the dagger clutched like an afterthought in her hand. Taipan and Jasmine were getting to their feet, a race of two cripples to recover enough to kill each other. Automatic gunfire rolled down the gorge, but there was no incoming. Had Mira engaged with Danica? Had she killed Matheson? Reece checked his wound. Blood a mere dribble, the flesh torn and ugly. He might survive it.
On the rock, a shout, and he looked in time to see Taipan snatch the blade once more from his sister's hand and reverse it, overhand, coming in to plunge it into Turner's face or throat. But the old girl, on her knees, plucked up the sapling stake and thrust. A wet impact. The blade fell from Taipan's hand. Reece couldn't believe the biker had fallen for that - how desperate must he have been?
Taipan staggered backward, a shuffling one-two-three steps, back toward the lip of the rock with the length of timber dangling from his chest and blood dribbling from his mouth.
'End of the line, my boy.' Turner grabbed him by the collar and forced him to his knees. Taipan clawed at the timber stuck in his chest, robotically trying to extricate it. Turner retrieved the knife and grabbed Taipan's chin, reefing his head up straight, exposing the throat. She hefted the knife for a backhand slash. 'Goodbye, Chris.'
Heather grabbed the stake from the ground and smacked Turner across the back of the head. Turner lurched into Taipan. The biker grabbed her around the knees and t
hrew himself forward, knocking her off her feet. The knife rang on the rock. She lunged for it. Heather shouted, 'No! No!' Taipan crouched over Turner as she scrabbled for the knife, just out of reach. He hauled the stake from his chest. Her hand found the knife.
She twisted under him, blade flashing. Taipan stabbed down. Put his whole body behind it, driving the stake all the way in. Turner heaved once, twice, then lay still, the knife dropped by her side.
He tumbled off her and lay there like a shipwreck survivor washed up on a beach. 'A miss is as good as a mile, eh,' he laughed sardonically - to himself, the stunned Heather or the iced Turner, it wasn't clear.
Reece slowly drew his dagger and considered his chances. The biker was moving slow; he was badly hurt. Could Reece take him in a knife fight? Not his strong suit. Not with more bruises than skin and a new hole in his hide. He was in worse shape than Taipan.
'End of the line,' Taipan said, and this time the comment was definitely directed at Turner, making the old girl eat her words. Smart arse. Tiredly, like a man of straw, Taipan clambered to his knees and reached for the knife.
Heather stood on it. 'Don't kill her.' She clasped the stake like a rifle across her chest.
'She was gonna take my head, Willa.'
'She's still my mother.'
'She was never our mum.'
'Our "mum" is either dead or lying toothless in a gutter somewhere.'
'Is that what you think of us mob? You bin hangin' 'round with this ol' colonial bitch for too long.'
'That old colonial bitch is the only mother I've ever known. I love her, Chris.'
'And I love you, little sister. So here we are, eh.'
She kicked the knife away. Then she sat, more like deflating, her legs tucked up underneath her, shoulders slumped, facing Taipan across Turner's prone body, the stake sticking up like a barren flagpole. All they needed was a white flag.
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