by M. J. Kelly
He turned and strode back toward the entrance—then before he realised it—he was running, his feet splashing through the mushy silt and throwing mud up into the air.
His big toe slammed into something hard and pointed, likely some type of fixing for the rail line. He pitched forward and fell to his side, just inside the tunnel opening. Cold liquid seeped into the fabric of his shorts.
“Crap!” he muttered, and as he pushed to his feet he heard a familiar buzzing sound ahead of him. He looked up and froze.
Sunlight illuminated the arch of the doorway, and a small shape flew through the opening at head height. It moved toward Dig and then stopped, zipping from side to side in the air. Dig’s heart skipped when he realised what it was—a wasp.
And further, this wasn’t just an ordinary wasp. It was some kind of monster, double the size of any wasp he’d ever seen—and as long and thick as his thumb. Its orange head framed two deep black crescents for eyes. At its jawline, two serrated, scissor-like mandibles slowly opened and closed, as if picking up his scent. Its upper body was dark furry brown with a tint of gold, and a black stinger protruded from its rear like the point of a needle. The stinger pulsated in and out, as if itching to strike.
Dig clenched his teeth. He contemplated running, but the creature hung in the air ahead of him, blocking his path. Instead, he remained still and willed it to lose interest and fly away.
But somehow, Dig knew it wouldn’t. It was something about the way the wasp whipped back and forth through the air, as if taunting him, wanting him to flee. It projected a menacing presence that only knew one method of operation—attack.
Its wings buzzed with increased intensity and it flew at him.
Dig swiped at it and missed—but he disturbed enough air to send it off course, and the wasp zipped past his ear, then circled around and returned to its previous position above his head. He pushed up from the ground with one hand, and held the other protectively in front of him.
The sunlight at the tunnel entrance suddenly broke, and a second shadow cruised toward him, high above his head, then dove down, directly at him. Dig cowered and squinted, and made out the shape of a two wide wings and a beak.
It was a bird—the same bird he had seen perched on the top of tunnel arch. Its green and blue wings were spread in a wide glide, and its head was tucked in.
The bird swooped and plucked the wasp from the air, then eased upwards, flapped twice, and dropped to the floor, coming to a rest on one of the steel tracks.
The wasp writhed in its beak, its stinger reaching out for a strike, but the bird bent down and hammered the creature against the rail until it stopped moving. It dropped the insect into its throat, tilted its head to study Dig for moment, and launched back out of the tunnel with a flap of wings. Dig tried to regain his breath.
A new rumbling echoed down the passage. Dig frowned as the tunnel filled with light and a bright white headlight tracked around the bend. His heart skipped a beat.
A train? Dig thought. Is that possible?
The rumble grew louder as the machine approached, reverberating off the tunnel walls. Small rocks dropped from the ceiling, splashing into the pools of water beside the tracks. The headlight grew brighter, and Dig squinted as the walls of the passage were lit with an eerie clarity. He considered running, but the machine was already too close. Instead, he leapt sideways off the track and dropped to the ground.
His shoulder hit the sodden earth and liquid splashed into his ear. He wrapped his arms around his head, bracing for impact.
There was a squeal of brakes and a hitching, skidding sound, before he was covered in a shower of gravel. The noise dropped to a low reverberation.
After a moment, Dig dared to open his eyes. Beside him, the figure of a young boy sat on a motorbike.
“Are you okay?” the boy said. “You took a tumble there.”
Dig took deep breaths, trying to restrain the pace of his heart. “Oh man...” he said. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were...a train.”
The boy frowned. “Sorry. But you were sitting in the middle of the tracks. Not smart.”
Dig pursed his lips. “I was...being harassed by a monster wasp.”
“A hornet you mean.”
“Huh?”
“Asian giant hornets. Like wasps, but much bigger and meaner. There’s a nest inside this tunnel.”
Dig thought back to the humming resonance he had heard. It made sense. He nodded.
“Those things aren’t friendly,” the boy said.
“I noticed.”
“You should get out of here.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Dig laboured to his feet. He wiped the mud from his palms to his thighs, then shuffled back out through the tunnel entrance to the sunlight. He stepped down the track embankment, and stood with his back against the rock wall. He could taste mud on his lips, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
The boy followed him out of the tunnel and cruised the motorbike to a stop beside him. He had cropped brown hair and looked to be around twelve years old. “What are you doing here anyway?”
Dig considered his answer, thinking back to Jake’s words about his father’s email. “I’m here for a...meeting,” he lied.
“With who?”
“With...Max.”
The boy’s back straightened and he lifted his chin. “Does Max know about this?”
“Yes...Max just told me to wait here and someone would pick me up.”
“Nobody said anything to me.”
Dig shrugged. “Should I just keeping waiting then?”
The boy scratched at the side of his face. “Nobody tells me anything,” he muttered, and sighed. “I suppose I can take you over.”
“Thanks.”
The boy turned the bike around and faced back into the tunnel. “Okay, you better hop on.”
Dig stared at the black opening and swallowed. “What about the hornets?”
“If we ride fast enough, they won’t get us.”
“And what if you have to stop?”
“We won’t stop. If we stop, the hornets will sting us to death—so we won’t stop.”
Dig’s brow furrowed. “I’m allergic to wasps.”
“Ha! Well you really don’t want to get stung then.”
“Promise we won’t?”
“You won’t if you do what I tell you.”
Dig raised his eyebrows, then climbed onto the back of the bike.
The boy extended his hand backwards. “I’m Raj.”
“Dig.”
“Are you Australian?”
“Yep.”
“Aah. Shane Warne and Michael Clarke. Good cricketers.”
“They are,” Dig said with a weak smile.
“Now, tuck in any loose folds of clothing—like your shorts. You don’t want to pick up any hitchhikers on the way through. And keep your head down. Right?” Dig nodded and took hold of the frame of the bike behind his rear.
Raj revved the engine twice before kicking it into gear with a lurch. The wheel skidded and threw up mud behind them, before finding purchase and setting off.
They followed the rails into the tunnel at a pace that felt like it was two gears faster than was required. The cool air whipped at Dig’s eyes and made them water; he gripped the frame of the bike so tightly his knuckles ached. He peeked over the top of Raj’s shoulder.
The headlight threw out a wall of light that travelled a short space ahead of them. The rail continued to bend away into the hill, flanked on either side by ragged walls hammered directly through the bedrock. Light reflected off rivulets that tracked down the stone. The engine echoed loudly.
The path of the tunnel straightened, and Dig ducked away from a few solitary hornets that zipped toward him.
The track swung to the left and the bike rumbled below Dig’s rear. The density of hornets increased until they filled the path of the headlight like a thick, swirling sandstorm. Dig’s shoulders tensed and his heart raced.<
br />
A rectangular timber box hung in the top corner of the tunnel, housing a dusty signal light. Nestled beside it was a fibrous, multi-layered chandelier. It was the wasp nest, and a mass of hornets buzzed around it in a dense fog.
The bike raced toward the cloud of insects and Raj leaned forward and dropped his head. Dig did the same, tucking his chin into his chest and bracing for impact.
As they plunged into the swarm, wasps hammered into their heads and shoulders with a sickening patter. The bodies of the creatures burst apart under the impact, spewing a shower of liquid hornet internals across Dig’s face. Tiny wings fluttered past his ears. He wanted to scream but he dared not open his mouth, so the sound caught in his throat in a guttural moan.
Eventually, the splattering gave way to the reverberation of the engine around the walls—then they burst into fresh air. Sunlight warmed the back of Dig’s neck. They were outside again, and he allowed himself to breathe, before wiping madly at his face and hair with one hand as they bounced along the tracks. He opened his eyes to see the ground rushing past below them. Then as he lifted his gaze, he broke into a grin.
The rail line had exited the tunnel along a ridge that tracked down a steep valley. In the base of the valley was a long, flat meadow. Spread across the meadow, in an area that covered more than ten football fields, were rows upon rows of leafy green vines that climbed two stories into the air, growing up an ordered grid of timber poles and interconnecting wires.
Dig shook his head slowly. He leant forward to Raj and shouted. “Those are hop vines?”
Raj nodded, the wind blowing the hair back from his face. “The brewery’s down by the river,” he said. “I’ll take you there.”
Dig looked over Raj’s shoulder; his gaze followed the path of the rail as it cut a straight line down the ridge toward a wide, brown river. As the tracks reached the shore, the rail rose up into the air and stopped abruptly at the naked timber pylons of a washed out bridge.
Two buildings stood on the river bank: a tall building with a corrugated roof and white smoke wafting out of a chimney, and a small residential shack, nestled amongst the trees.
Dig took a deep breath and nodded to himself as the wind whistled in his ears. He had finally found the Banyan Brewery. How many times had his father ridden down this same path during his life?
But, now he was here, he needed to concentrate on what lay ahead. He’d arrived unannounced into one of the most remote areas of India, and was about to meet a group who had demonstrated a troubling level of casual brutality. His stomach churned as he recalled Jake’s hand, and the ripping tear as the knife carved through the finger. He remembered Jake screaming. The fear. The panic. And Shiv’s words:
I'm looking at two hopheads who seem incapable of taking care of themselves, let alone become competent business partners.
He glanced at his clothes. His shorts and shirt were covered in mud. His body was sweat soaked and greasy. His face was covered in insect internals. He didn’t want to ruin a first impression for the second time.
Dig bit his lip, then leaned forward to Raj, shouting over the noise of the engine. “Is there somewhere I can quickly wash up and change my clothes before I go into the brewery?”
Raj’s brow furrowed. “There’s a shower in the house. Want me to take you there first?”
“Yeah, that would be good.”
Raj nodded, and steered the bike down the ridge. At the bottom, he turned it off the tracks and flanked the edge of the hop fields toward the house. Dig recognised the familiar orange tinge on the flowers as they passed.
The house was constructed of pale yellow brick and brown tile, and surrounded by a wide concrete veranda before a patch of brown, untended grass. A thicket of squat brown trees crowded behind the house, and a flock of chirping white birds flew out from them as they arrived. The front door stood open.
Raj rolled the bike to a stop outside, then switched off the engine. “Come on.” He walked inside.
Dig followed, ducking through a low doorway into an open-plan kitchen and lounge. Stools were set up by a granite kitchen bench, and a spicy, milky fragrance filled the air. On the far wall, a sliding glass door opened onto a deck that flanked the shoulder of the river—a wide brown expanse of slow moving water.
Raj squatted by a cupboard in the corner of the room, then held a towel out to Dig. “Here,” he said. “The shower’s through that door.” He pointed to a bi-fold door beside the deck.
“Thanks.” Dig took the towel through to a small room of rendered cement. He washed himself down, changed into a new T-shirt and shorts, and surveyed himself. While he didn’t feel like a high-powered executive, he certainly felt more equipped to handle a business negotiation that had the prosperity of his family riding on it.
He returned to the main room with the wet towel hanging limply in his hand. Raj sat at a chair by the kitchen counter, nursing a glass cup. A jug of milky liquid sat on the counter beside him.
“Chai?” Raj said.
Dig looked at him blankly.
“Chai,” Raj repeated. “Tea.”
“Oh right, sure.”
Raj poured a second helping from the jug and placed the cup on the table before Dig. He held up his own glass and beckoned for Dig to do the same. Dig lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip. It was milky, sweet and tasted of cinnamon. “Wow.”
“You like it?”
“Yeah, it’s great.” Dig’s attention caught on a framed picture on the wall beside him. It depicted three people in a family pose: a middle-aged man with a thick beard and a confused expression; a short, stocky woman with hair tied back in a bun; and Raj sitting between them, hands folded on his lap.
“Your parents?”
Raj nodded.
On the wall beside it was a second framed picture, showing two men standing formally on a stage. Dig recognised Raj’s father. He wore an academic robe, and stood stiffly with startled eyes and a pasted-on smile as he was handed a decorative piece of paper. A heading inscribed below the picture read: Girish Survana – Doctorate in Botany – Delhi University.
“A botanist huh?”
Raj glanced at the picture. “Yes, Dad and I manage the crops around here.”
“Impressive. Our company uses your hops to make our beer. We think they could be the best in the world.”
Raj lowered his glass to the table and studied Dig, his eyebrows furrowed. “You‘re lucky,” he said. “We don’t export many hops. Most are kept for our own production.”
“But how do you get the hops out of here?”
“Same way you came in.”
“What, by motorbike?”
“By rail. Deliveries leave most evenings.”
“But—I didn’t see any trains?”
“Don’t need them,” said Raj, smiling. “Now stop asking questions and I’ll drop you over for your meeting.” He beckoned Dig to the door.
They remounted the motorbike, and Raj steered it through a pair of deep wheel ruts that traced the edge of the river. They bounced through potholes as the imposing frame of the brewery grew closer. Dig clenched his teeth and held tightly to the frame of the bike.
10
RAJ EASED THE BIKE TO A STOP in a dirt car park outside the rusted, corrugated building. A cluster of motorbikes were lined up on one side of the clearing; a long container truck was parked opposite. Flanking the edge of the river were a cluster of squat trees with branches that stretched wide over the dirt, and roots that hung down in curtains. Dig recognised the banyan trees from the invoice in his pocket.
He followed Raj toward a wide, open roller door that revealed the shadowy interior of the brewery. As he passed the container truck he spotted a set of circular steel railway wheels on the machine that were set forward of the normal rubber tyres.
“The truck also has rail wheels?”
“It’s a hi-rail,” Raj said. “It travels on both.”
Dig raised his eyebrows and nodded.
A dented orange forklift
drove out of the building, supporting a pallet of green boxes with Banyan Bitter marked on the side, and headed to the rear of the container truck. As the machine lowered the pallet into the container, the thick-bearded driver watched Dig with narrowed eyes. Dig took a deep breath and followed Raj through the door.
The inside of the building opened out to a high ceiling of exposed steel rafters. A pair of pigeons took flight above them; the flapping of their wings echoed around the space.
At ground level, a boxy office building of peeling green paint was set against the near wall. Further inside, hissing pieces of rusted brewing equipment were clustered together in groups. A sulphuric odour hung in the air.
Dig followed Raj around the corner of the office to see a group of three men standing over a weathered steel vat. One was elderly with hunched shoulders, wild grey hair and a thick beard. He wore only a length of fabric tied around his waist. The other men poured bags of grain into the vat, their hair spotted with barley husk. Raj walked past them and headed toward the office, with Dig behind him.
“Hey!” said a high pitched voice. Dig turned to see the elderly man staring at him as he scratched his face. “Who...is this?” Dig recognised him as Raj’s father, Girish, from the pictures inside the house.
“His name’s Dig,” Raj said. “I’m taking him in for a meeting with Max.”
Girish blinked rapidly. “What? Um...no Raj! Max is out at the docks today, in the Goa office.” He continued to scratch at his face. “But, who is this?”
An awkward silence filled the room. Nausea churned in Dig’s stomach as he stepped forward and extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Dig.”
“Stop.” Girish folded his arms. “What are you doing here?”
“Please. I apologise for turning up unannounced, but I need to have a quick talk to Max. Or if he isn’t here, then maybe we can have a quick chat.”
Girish’s brow furrowed. “No, no. I don’t do...chats. I don’t think you understand what you have...” His voice trailed away. “How did you find this place?”
