by Des Hunt
‘Slow down!’ yelled Afi. ‘Let’s see if he’s along here.’
I slowed until we were just crawling past the track alongside the drain. Dean was not within sight.
‘He must be inside already,’ I said.
‘Then we need to go to the hideout.’
I turned the wheels and accelerated towards the sand hills. There was no need to worry about the sound of the bike alerting Hotchkins. People were always driving the things along there on their way to and from the river.
We parked on the river side of the hill, overlooking the back yards. Things had changed at the Redferns’ place. There was now smoke coming from the chimney, and strips of light were visible around the plastic covering the windows of the garage.
Behind the garage, on the grass beside the open dog cage, sat Jaylo and Dean. The dog was on her back having her tummy rubbed. She was clearly enjoying it, as was Dean. There was a slight smile on his face, and his body was more relaxed than I’d seen in some time.
It would have been a peaceful scene, except for two things: two firework bombs resting on the grass alongside Dean. They were much bigger than anything he’d ever made before. These were serious explosives. Ones that could cause considerable damage.
He seemed in no rush, nor did he appear concerned that the people inside could come out and find him. I assumed he felt that with the bombs nearby, he held the upper hand. Maybe he did. But with the length of fuses on the bombs it would take at least a minute before either bomb could be exploded. Lots could happen in that time.
‘We’ve got to get him out of there,’ said Afi.
‘I’m going down,’ I said. ‘I’ll talk to him through the fence.’
Afi nodded.
I didn’t make any attempt to take cover as I approached. What was the point? Dean was sitting there in plain view of anyone who came into the yard. I walked across the bridge and around to the side nearest to where Dean was sitting.
‘Dean!’ I called, hopefully loud enough for him to hear but not those in the garage. ‘Dean!’
There was no reply.
‘Dean! You’ve got to get out of there!’
Still nothing.
I looked up towards the hideout. Afi’s arm appeared and gave the thumbs-down. Then, as I watched, his hand changed to beckoning me back. something must be happening inside.
What should I do? I didn’t want to leave Dean in there. In desperation I slapped my hand against the fence.
‘Dean! Get out! The garage is an ice lab. The whole place will blow. Get out — now!’
Again I looked to the hideout. Afi was now waving with two arms, signalling me to move away.
I did.
Back in the hideout I saw the reason for the urgency. Dean was on his feet and standing by the open wheelie bin.
‘Did he hear me?’ I asked Afi.
‘Yes, he heard. I could hear you from up here. He just turned to the fence and smiled. That’s when he got up and started moving.’
The bombs were on the concrete beside Dean’s feet. He seemed to be sorting through the rubbish, collecting bits. He was taking a huge risk. The wheelie bin was right below a garage window. Surely whoever was inside would sense he was there?
It didn’t seem to worry Dean. He dug deeper into the bin, still collecting things. Soon he had a handful of what looked like little boxes. To my surprise he held them up, waving them triumphantly as he looked directly at us. Then he stuffed them in his pocket. It had to be evidence of some kind. Probably the sort of evidence Afi and I had been after for weeks.
If only he’d left it at that: he could have gone then, and everything would have sorted itself out. But of course he didn’t. He’d made the bombs and intended to use them.
We watched in silence as he picked up a bomb, flicked a lighter, and lit the fuse. Leaning into the bin, he took a moment to get it placed right before standing and closing the lid. It was frightening the way he did it so casually.
Next, he picked up the other bomb and walked to the buggy, where it was laid on top of the petrol tank. He was about to flick the lighter when the yard filled with sound: the wailing of a siren, louder than any I’d heard before. Immediately I thought that he’d somehow triggered an alarm.
‘That’s the fire station,’ said Afi. ‘Mum’s one-one-one call must have got through.’
For the first time Dean showed signs of panic — obviously he thought he’d set off the alarm. He looked around, weighing up his options, then took a step towards the fence before changing his mind and climbing onto the buggy. He opened the wooden box and stepped inside. Then he paused, looking down at the bomb. I could see he was in two minds: leave it there where others might find it, or take it inside the box. He took it into the box, lay down and lowered the lid.
A moment later, Harry Redfern and Hotchkins rushed out of the garage and started running around the yard like headless chickens. Jaylo thought they were playing a game and joined in, yapping at their ankles.
That’s when the wheelie bin exploded. It went with a fizz, rather than a bang; a much smaller explosion than I’d expected. A lot smaller than the one in the tunnel all that time before. Probably it was because the gunpowder was old. And yet it was still enough of a blast to throw up the lid and smash the window.
Harry and Hotchkins stopped running, and for a moment stared at the bin. Flames were now visible above the opening.
Hotchkins said something which we couldn’t hear over the noise of the siren. But the look on his face gave us the message: he was terrified.
Harry ran to the buggy, while Hotchkins went to the gate. I saw Harry turn the starter. Nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. He took a look over his shoulder towards the wheelie bin where the flames were now up to window-level. The black plastic covering the windows had melted and caught alight. He fiddled with a lever and tried the starter again. This time it started, although its roar was almost drowned out by the wailing of the siren.
The buggy moved towards the open gate. Harry paused long enough for Hotchkins to climb aboard before easing through the opening, over the bridge and on to the track heading for the estuary.
Jaylo stood looking disappointed that the game was over, before she too went through the gate and over the bridge. Some smell caught her attention, and she trotted off in the opposite direction to investigate.
It was just as well she did, for an instant later the garage exploded.
If the explosion in the wheelie bin was a fizzer, the one in the garage was definitely the opposite. It started with a deep whoomph when the gases ignited. The fireball that followed spilled out of windows, doorways, and through parts of the roof that had been lifted by the blast. Even at our distance, the heat was intense. Anyone within the fence would have been scorched as the flames shot across the yard. Inside the garage itself, there could have been no survivors.
Chapter 27
Without speaking, Afi and I rushed from the hideout down to the quad bike. The fire brigade could take care of the garage: our responsibility was to save our friend.
We had no idea which direction the beach buggy had gone in. We couldn’t see it over the sand hills nor hear it because of the siren which was still wailing. I decided the best thing was to head for the top of the nearest sand hill so we could look down on Maraetai Bay.
The quad bike was not really designed for two people, and it groaned as it climbed up the loose sand. By the time we reached the top, the siren finally died. We couldn’t see the buggy, but we could now hear it. I’d expected them to head for the main road; instead, they were skirting around the edge of the estuary towards the river. There was nothing in that direction except water, mud and sand hills.
I started to ease the quad down towards the estuary.
‘No!’ yelled Afi into my ear. ‘Cut across the sand. They’ll have to go that way.’
I did as he said.
Now another siren had started: the whoop-whoop of the fire engine on its way to the Redferns’ place. Wh
at I wanted to hear was the sound of a police siren. We’d need their help if we ever caught up with the beach buggy. Surely Tiresa had asked for all emergency services when she’d rung one-one-one?
The quad flew down the hill and then crawled up the next.
‘There!’ yelled Afi.
To the right of us, the buggy was running along the sandy ridge that lined the river. Smoke was coming off the engine and out of the exhaust. No longer was it growling the way we’d come to expect. Now it was more of a groan.
‘The bleach!’ said Afi. ‘It’s working!’
I nodded. I’d half-forgotten that we’d put bleach in the oil. If it worked the way we expected, then we might have some chance of catching them. I accelerated forward with new hope. We might just be able to get to the top of the ridge and intercept them.
They went out of sight as we dropped into the valley and then crawled up the back side of the ridge. When we climbed over the brow they were right in front of us. I turned until we were running parallel.
The buggy was now in a much worse state. Smoke was pouring off the engine. Harry was almost lost in the stuff. Hotchkins was leaning out over the edge to avoid the worst of it. He saw us and snarled.
‘The box!’ yelled Afi.
I took a quick glance at the box; enough to see that one of the lids was open a crack.
Afi’s voice became more urgent. ‘He can’t get out!’
Another glance. This time I saw that the catches on one lid were snapped in place. Those on the other — the one Dean had lifted when he’d climbed into the box — were looped over their hooks but not locked. The lid could be lifted a couple of centimetres but no more. He was trapped inside.
‘Pull closer,’ said Afi. ‘Let’s try and get them to stop.’
I turned the handlebars, easing the bike over until we were almost within touching distance.
‘Stop! Hotchkins! Stop!’ Afi yelled. ‘There’s someone in the box. He can’t get out. You’ve got to stop.’
Hotchkins looked back at the box for a moment, before putting his head in the smoke and saying something to Harry.
I eased the bike away to give them room to pull up. It was just as well I did, because, instead of stopping, Harry jerked the steering wheel towards us. The buggy slewed sideways and touched my front wheels. If I’d been any closer we would have tipped. There was still a danger of that if I didn’t get the bike clear quickly. I turned away, which meant we dropped off the top and began sliding down the slope. There was nothing I could do except let it slide. If I’d tried to turn, we would have rolled just as Dean had back at the farm.
The sand in the valley was harder than on the ridge, and I accelerated the bike to full throttle. We were approaching the part where we’d had the jumping competition days before. I knew that the ridge dipped down before that. It might give me the chance to catch up, or even head them off and make them stop.
Unfortunately the buggy got to the dip just before us. I pulled in behind, but off to one side to avoid the worst of the smoke. As we climbed up to the ridge together, I could see the top of the box jiggling up and down as Dean struggled to get free.
‘Hold on, Dean!’ I yelled. ‘We’ll get you out!’
The jiggling continued. There was no knowing whether he’d heard or not.
‘Move up alongside,’ yelled Afi. ‘I’ll try and jump on.’
There was no hope of doing that while we were climbing. Although the buggy was in a bad way, it could still climb better than us. I’d have to wait until we got to the top.
We were approaching the brow when we heard a scream from up ahead. The jiggling of the lid had become more urgent. I could hear fists bashing against wood.
‘Look!’ cried Afi. ‘The exhaust!’
I’d already seen it. Where the exhaust came closest to the box, the wood was glowing orange. Any moment now, it would burst into flames.
The bomb! I thought. If that’s near …
But what could I do? I already had the bike on full throttle.
We topped the brow and were travelling along the highest part of the ridge. On our side was a gentle slope down to the wasteland; on the other, a steep fall into the river.
Now that we weren’t climbing, the quad began to close in. If we could keep that up we would soon be able to pull alongside.
Except it didn’t happen that way. Just as our front wheels matched up with the back of the buggy, the thing caught fire. Not the box — the engine.
It started with a small flame on one side. A thought flashed through my mind that this was what Dean had planned when he’d put in the whole bottle of bleach. Maybe he’d hoped to set fire to whoever was on the buggy.
The small flame quickly turned to an inferno when the smoke caught fire. Harry and Hotchkins either had to jump or be caught in the firestorm.
They jumped.
Harry went the river side; Hotchkins leapt straight out in front of us. I had no chance to twist the wheels before he was rolling on the sand in front of the bike.
We went over him, clipping his legs with both front and back wheels. Then we were past and speeding alongside the driverless buggy. It showed no sign of slowing.
I pulled in close. ‘Do it now!’ I yelled back to Afi.
The bike lurched as Afi moved. I dared not look back to see what was happening, but I sensed he was still there. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder: he was crouching ready to jump. But the buggy was drifting sideways. I struggled to keep the quad close in. It didn’t help that Afi was standing on the seat.
Then the front wheel of the buggy went over the edge. The whole thing slewed sideways and started angling down the slope towards the river.
‘Keep going!’ yelled Afi.
I did, although I had no idea what he had in mind.
Below us, we could see the buggy powering along the slope. It was amazing that it didn’t flip. If I tried to take the quad down that angle we would roll for sure.
We were moving along the most popular part of the river for rod fishing. There always seemed to be people there, and that day was no different. Fortunately the burning buggy was above them on the slope when it raced past. There was another lot, a man and a woman, further down the river. If the buggy held its path, it would smash right into them.
But the buggy didn’t hold its path. Finally, it began to slow. The screaming engine couldn’t take anymore. That should have been good news, except at the slower speed it could no longer hold on to the slope. It swerved and headed straight for the river.
For a moment, after it hit the water, I thought it might continue across the surface. The big balloon tyres gave it some buoyancy — but not enough. The strong current of the river took over. The front tilted down; the engine stopped screaming; and the flames went out.
The box held the rear up for a while, but when the water flowed in through the gap in the lid, there was no longer anything to stop it all from sinking.
It disappeared.
After that, the surface swirled for a time before settling back to normal. It was as if the buggy had never been.
Chapter 28
I stared at the spot where the beach buggy had disappeared, letting the quad bike coast to a stop.
‘Speed up!’ yelled Afi, who was still standing on the seat. ‘Hurry! You’ve got to get downstream of it.’
I gave the throttle half a turn, not wanting to spill Afi over the back.
‘Faster,’ he urged.
I obeyed.
We were almost up to the next lot of fishers when the hand on my shoulder gave a mighty shove, forcing me down onto the handlebars. The bike swerved sideways. Then it felt much lighter than before, and I realized that Afi was no longer on the back.
Instead, he was bounding down the slope towards the river. Each giant stride bigger than the last. When he was within jumping distance of the edge, he launched himself at the water, landing with a mighty splash.
He was under the water for a time, returning to the surface a little
further downstream. He took a quick look around, a couple of strokes out into the river, then upended in a smooth duck-dive and disappeared.
I hauled the quad bike to a stop just short of a man and a woman. The man was urgently winding in his line.
‘What’s going on?’ he yelled.
‘Our friend’s down there!’
‘On that beach buggy?’
‘Yes! Get help!’
By then I was off the bike and sliding down to the water’s edge. There was no sign of Afi.
The fisherman was searching in his bag for something, presumably a phone. The woman was scanning the river.
‘Can your friend swim?’ she asked.
‘Yes! But he’s shut in a box.’
‘Oh my gosh!’
I kept looking at the spot where Afi had gone in, willing him to reappear. How long could he hold his breath? How long could Dean hold his?
Not long enough was the answer. It seemed ages since they’d gone into the water. I should have done something to stop Afi —
‘There!’ cried the woman, pointing a distance downstream. ‘He’s there!’
Afi was on the surface, drifting with the river. I couldn’t see Dean. But when Afi started swimming sidestroke, I saw he was hauling something low in the water. He stopped to rearrange things, and that’s when I saw it was Dean. From that distance I couldn’t tell whether or not he was alive. There was no movement.
By then the woman was sprinting along the shore. I followed. The man must have found his phone, because I could hear him speaking behind me.
Afi was back swimming again, making slow progress towards the shore. The current was taking him downstream almost as fast as we could run. The best hope was that he could keep Dean afloat until the bend in the river could bring them in.
We were soon running along the part where the lupins formed the bank, making the river deeper close to the shore. There, the current was slower and Afi began to make better progress. We were now running alongside him.
Afi acknowledged us with a flick of the eyebrows. Although Dean’s head was above the water and his eyes and mouth were open, there was no sign of life that I could see. They were still about twenty metres from the shore.
