Combatting Fear

by Sandy Vaile

  Please let Micah be hiding somewhere. Don’t let him do anything stupid.

  She ducked between the strands of a wire fence and headed down the hillside, stumbling on tree roots, rocks, and grass tufts.

  Bloody hell, I’ll be lucky if he hasn’t broken his neck on the way down.

  The darkness was too dense this far from a township to consider using a torch because it would stand out a mile off. A twist of her ankle and Neve went down hard on her left knee. She whimpered but bit her lip to stop from crying out. The denim wasn’t torn, but it sure felt like her skin was.

  It would be another forty or so minutes before the first rays of dawn would illuminate the landscape, so she pressed on, feeling her way more slowly. It wouldn’t pay to get too close before there was some light, so she headed for a rock outcrop halfway down the hill. By the time she leant against the rough stone, the cold seeping through her clothes was a welcome relief to her flushed skin. She needed to calm down and keep her head if they were going to do this and get out alive.

  A shadow to her right detached from the rock too fast for her to bring her elbow up to block it. Large hands wrapped firmly around her wrists.

  “Neve, it’s just me. What the hell are you doing here?”

  With one hand across her racing heart and the other on her hip, she said, “I could ask you the same thing, but I already know. It was a dumb idea to come on your own.”

  “I don’t want you here. Go home.”

  The comment stung. At least he was prepared to do the dirty work himself to protect his family. When Rowan had first been ransomed, she’d been sure that Micah would just pay someone to clean up the mess, but here he was watching a gang clubhouse in the dark. Well, his protective instinct might be strong, but so was hers.

  “We need two of us if we’re going to stay safe.” It sounded logical. Didn’t mean they would be safe though. “Besides, I’m the one with the training, remember?”

  The shadow beside her huffed.

  “How could I forget when I’ve been living the rudimentary life with you? I suppose you’ve brought your knife.”

  “Damn Skippy I have. These are gang members we’re talking about.”

  “A gun?”

  Was he checking that she wasn’t that crazy or hoping that she was? “No gun.”

  “So what are we going to do?” he asked. “I need to get a look inside that house to see if Rowan is in there.”

  They sure as hell had to do something before Rowan met the same fate as Chelsea. The little trooper shouldn’t have to face this all alone.

  “We could walk into a trap, or a guard dog, or anything in the dark. Besides, there’s no point peeking into dark rooms or at closed curtains. It’ll be light soon, and then we can sneak up to the back of the shed again under the cover of the scrub, and go around the side to the front of the house. With the driveway on this side, they won’t be expecting anyone to come from there.”

  “Looks like there’s a light on near the shed.”

  “Could be a security light.” She eyed the faint glow but couldn’t tell if it was coming from within or the other side.

  “What’s in the knapsack?” he said.

  “Water, first aid kit, binoculars, capsicum spray.” Still a prohibited weapon, but not a deadly one.

  “Is there anything I need to know before we go in? I mean, Tony’s trained you for this sort of thing, right?”

  Neve glared at him, but it was pointless in the dark. “Not exactly this sort of thing, although I do have some tricks up my sleeve. I guess we should keep our mouths shut and eyes narrowed until dawn, which is around seven, because our teeth and eyes will draw the most attention if they catch any light, but most importantly, we need to stay calm and move slowly. Can you do that?”

  She felt him shrug beside her. His whole body jiggled with pent-up energy, like a bomb waiting to explode. Yeah, like he was going to stay calm.

  “How long has it been?” he asked.

  She pressed the button for the tiny light on her watch. “Twenty minutes.”

  The faintest hint of purple bruised the horizon. Not long now. Reflexively, she stooped to touch her leg. The Fox combat knife was comforting, but it was still better to use speed and cunning to outmanoeuvre them.

  “Now?” Micah tugged on her hand.

  “Not until we can count all the vehicles and get an idea of how many are onsite.” From this elevation, they should have a good view of the property.

  The constriction of her chest reached unpleasant strength as the tops of the hills on the other side of the valley were backlit by an amber glow that gradually cast long ribbons of light across the treetops.

  “There’s a sedan and a four-wheel drive in the car park.” Micah pointed to the right. “That twin cab looks a lot like Dave’s again, and seven motorcycles over there.” He indicated left.

  “Could be as few as nine or as many as twenty-four if they’re two-up on the bikes. That’s a lot of muscle.”

  “No, the Mutts wouldn’t go two-up, unless they have women in there,” Micah said. “Let’s do this before they wake up.”

  She nodded. “Okay, let’s take a look around the shed. Stick with me and watch where you put your feet.”

  As they crept through the bush, she rolled her tongue around her parched mouth and scouted for movement. The last hundred metres to the back of the shed were steep.

  “Wait!” Neve whispered.

  She ducked down and held her breath. Micah did the same beside her.

  The sound of deep voices carried from the back of the house, followed by a door banging, but she couldn’t see anything over the bushes. She sought out Micah’s hand as the voices got louder. Only to comfort him, of course. This was what she’d trained for, and she was looking forward to a bit of payback on Dave. She was going to find Rowan and get him out safely, and kick arse if it came to it.

  Heavy boots clomped along a dolomite path. And then they came into view. Two weedy blokes wearing oil-covered jeans and checked flannelette shirts, followed by four big bastards covered in tattoos, black denim, and leather, with bandanas slung around their necks.

  This was one time she would have preferred not to be right. Especially seeing as there were bulges in the back pockets of two. Guns against knives. She’d better execute Tony’s lessons without hesitation this time.

  Chapter 32

  The mechanic and his scrawny mate headed for the shed, and there was a clatter of doors opening. Light flooded through the small windows, and a radio went on. Micah’s nerves knotted together.

  The rumble of Harley Davidsons shattered the crisp morning.

  Please let them leave. Please let them leave.

  He counted as the chromed beasts glided past: one, two, three, four. Neve’s white-knuckled grip on his hand didn’t relax until the engine sounds were distant. Four down, umpteen to go.

  The rest of the bikers were probably in the house, so peering in windows wasn’t appealing. There were still too many unknowns. He shook out his stiff hands and focused on what he had to do. It wasn’t easy to think rationally with every muscle poised to flee, but leaving wasn’t an option. Not now that they’d come this far. Rowan could be inside the house, all alone and waiting for them to come to his aid.

  The queasy feeling he had woken with turned into full-blown nausea. The usually peaceful sounds and scents of nature were amplified to an intolerable cacophony that bombarded his senses: the sharp tang of eucalyptus leaves, the fresh dampness of the residual dew on the ground, the hum of bees hovering around a hollow in the tree they were using for cover, and its rough bark scraping his arm. Air whistled in and out of his lungs as loudly as a gale.

  If he had to be still much longer, he would scream.

  Neve suddenly tapped his arm and moved in a semicrouch towards the shed. He hurried after her. Every footstep seemed as loud as a dozen men traipsing through the tinder, and by the time they were pressed against the long, green rear wall, his pulse was frantic. Neve
looked tense but in control as she headed for the other end of the shed.

  In and out before they even know we’re here, he reminded himself.

  At least it was easy to hear where the two mechanics were. Micah was poised to run towards the house, but when Neve paused to glance in the back window of the shed, she gasped and pulled her head back.

  The fearful whites of her eyes flashed at him. There was something that hadn’t been there last time. He moved around her and turned his body so that one eye could see through the window and scan the narrow room, past a packet of cigarettes and a lighter on a small round table to a hulking guy dressed in black, slouched on a kitchen chair. Unable to drag his gaze away, Micah watched the hulk pick at a spot on his forearm and then rest his hand on the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun across his lap.

  Micah crouched and Cossack-walked under the window. From this angle, he could see the internal door, a pedestal fan oscillating in one corner, and right under the window, curled up on a folding bed, was a small figure with a mop of brown hair. The lead in his stomach dropped to his feet. He didn’t need to see the child’s face to know it was Rowan. Reflexively, his fingers reached to soothe his son’s terror.

  And then rage ran hot and strong through his veins. How dare they subject an innocent four-year-old to this. How dare they kill Chelsea. He was wild enough to tear the window out of the wall with his bare hands.

  He lurched at a light tap on his arm and turned to glare at Neve. She cupped a hand to her ear and nodded in the direction they’d come. The mechanics were still chatting, radio blaring, and a bird called from the hillside. Then the dry grass fifty metres away rustled, and a beige-clad figure moved towards them. Damned if it wasn’t Tony. The khaki and tan blended perfectly with the dry terrain, unlike the dark colours Micah had thrown on in the wee hours. Tony barely made a sound and was soon standing beside them with an incensed scowl.

  Despite trying to sneak away this morning, Micah was glad to see the old man. His special skill set would mean a better chance at getting Rowan out and less chance of Neve being hurt.

  Neve pointed to the small room and made a gun shape with one hand. She jerked it up and down to indicate a pump-action. Tony nodded. He grabbed his own throat and held a hand to the side of his hip, as though patting a child’s head. Neve nodded.

  Enough with the chitchat. He lifted his chin to indicate they should move. They gathered a few metres away from the window.

  “You’ll be changing my tires later,” Tony growled at Neve.

  “How did you get here?” she whispered.

  “Same as you.”

  “I forgot about the other motorbike.” She glanced up the hill. “Jack?”

  Tony shook his head. “It’s bad enough that you’re here.”

  This was all very touching, but there wasn’t time. “Rowan is in that room,” Micah reminded them.

  “The mother?” Tony asked.

  Micah shook his head. He explained about the armed hulk, then listened as Tony and Neve made an extraction plan that didn’t include him.

  “I should be the one to get him out,” Micah said.

  Neve placed a hand on his shoulder. “You know that Tony has the best chance of dealing with the mechanics quickly and quietly, and don’t forget that Rowan knows me . . .”

  That stung. His own son might not want to come with him.

  Neve continued. “Rowan is likely to be traumatised by these men, so a female presence is going to be more pacifying.”

  She didn’t need to convince him further. Whatever would keep Rowan safe was what he’d do, and right now that meant Neve facing the guard.

  “I’ll stick with Tony, in case he needs help,” he said, “and meet you around the back for a fast getaway.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tightly for a brief moment and then hugged Tony too. “See you on the other side.”

  Tony mimed turning a pretend key on his lips and throwing it away.

  Micah took a deep breath and held it. This is it. Either we come home with Rowan or none of us will.

  Chapter 33

  Micah wiped slick palms against his jeans, his gaze following Neve as she crept along to the back window again, crawled under it, and waited at the corner of the shed. A sick feeling that this could be the last time he would see her, made him unwilling to follow Tony, but Rowan needed each of them to play their parts.

  After a last thirst-quenching draught of her slim figure and determined stance, he hurried after Tony. The old Italian barely came up to Micah’s shoulder, but there was ferocity in the way he moved that would make most people steer clear. His beige camouflage outfit was loose on his small frame, but there didn’t appear to be any weapons bulging under it.

  When he arrived at the front corner of the shed, Tony held his arm in a right angle, fist clenched. Micah stopped. Local radio station Triple J was clearer here, drowned out every few minutes by the whir of an electric grinder. His heart thundering, he waited for Tony’s signal.

  Tony held a flat palm towards Micah and then disappeared around the corner.

  Be damned if I’m going to stay here.

  The house was hidden from view by thick bushes and a rainwater tank, and it was easy to duck under the surveillance camera. Micah sidestepped to the open roller door. The iron was warm under his hand as the sun climbed higher, and he leant forwards until he could see the two mechanics. The car they were working on was unrecognisable in its bare form, and they were engrossed in their tasks. Tony squatted behind a forty-four-gallon drum only metres away from the first biker.

  Hairs on the back of Micah’s neck rose, and his fingers tingled as his gaze roved from the direction of the house to Tony. What was he waiting for?

  The mechanic on the farthest side of the car shell picked up a grinder and pressed it against the metal. Tony rushed in, clamped one hand over the mouth of the closest mechanic, and used the other to pinch his trapezium muscle. The guy crumpled to the floor, the clatter of the screwdriver he’d been holding lost in the screech and sparks from the grinder.

  Micah stepped into view, prepared to make a run for the other mechanic. The movement must have caught the man’s eye, because he looked up, straight at Micah. Tony jabbed a pressure point on his wrist and then forearm. A swift karate chop below the ear, and the guy blacked out.

  Tony lurched and caught the grinder with one hand. He carefully laid it on the ground, then used the electrical cord to bind the mechanic’s arms and legs. Micah snagged a couple of cable ties from a workbench and knelt to secure the first mechanic. When they were both bound, he helped drag them out of sight. Neve probably wouldn’t be happy with Tony stuffing oil-infused rags in their mouths, but Micah wouldn’t tell if Tony didn’t.

  Two men down without a sound. They might just have a chance of success.

  Tony cupped a hand around his mouth and made a birdcall—the go signal for Neve. Micah was already headed out and around to the back of the shed. Nothing was going to stop him being there for Rowan.

  • • •

  Neve’s shaky breaths matched the pulse quaking through her veins.

  You can do this. Tony and Micah have your back.

  She peered through the window again. Rowan was awake now—who could sleep with the noise those mechanics were making?—and sat cross-legged on the foldout bed, playing with plastic soldiers. Of course, there was no Chelsea. The poor woman.

  At least the hulk and his malevolent shotgun were well clear. What kind of idiot thought a four-year-old was enough of a threat that he sat in front of the door with a shotgun? Well, he was about to learn that the real threat was outside, and she was pissed.

  The weight of the blade against her calf was comforting, but there was no point in using it right now. Better to have her hands free. There was no doubt in her mind that she could take him out before he raised the weapon or used his superior body weight, but the other men on the property worried her. If this one made a sound, it would raise the alarm and a
ll hell would break loose.

  An internal chill raised goose bumps up her arms.

  It was difficult to hear over the thunder in her head, so it took a moment to notice when the grinder ceased. She cocked her ear. Tony’s well-practised birdcall sounded, and she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and then blew it out, focusing on what she had to do. Picturing the narrow room. Rowan on the bed.

  She stepped slowly and deliberately along the sidewall. There were no more voices, just Smashing Pumpkins yelling an angry tune that masked her footsteps. She took a quick glance around the front corner. All clear. It took only three steps to reach the door and wrap her trembling hand around the cold metal handle, and then turn it slowly.

  One. Two. Three.

  Neve shoved the door as hard as she could with the weight of her shoulder against it. The unprepared guard sprawled on the floor, the chair tipped over him, and the shotgun landed a foot away. Rowan squealed. A thick, tattooed arm reached for the weapon as Neve’s boot connected with the hulk’s ribs. He grunted. The internal door slammed open, and Tony lunged. His lightning-fast strike caught the biker’s temple, rendering him limp.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Get the kid and let’s get out of here in case someone heard something.” Tony flipped the biker onto his stomach and used cable ties to secure his hands.

  “It’s okay,” Neve said, approaching a cowering Rowan with palms raised. “It’s Neve. I’m here to help you.”

  It broke her heart to see the little boy’s wide eyes, a toy soldier clutched in one hand. Micah appeared at the window, a desperate look in his eyes, and Rowan jumped.

  There was no telling what lies Chelsea might have told the boy to make him afraid of Micah. “Do you know who that is, Ro?”

  He turned his attention back to her and nodded.

  “It’s your daddy, and he’s going to take you away from the bad men. Okay?”

  He nodded again.

  Tony checked the window. “Locked.” He started searching the small room.

  “Mummy?” Rowan asked.