Northern Heat

by Helene Young

  There were people on the deck ahead of him, lights blazing. They were trying to lever some of the debris clear of their bow, oblivious to what was bearing down on them.

  ‘Hey!’ he yelled, one hand cupped around his mouth. ‘Hey!’ He tried whistling, but his lips were so dry only a rusty sound emerged. ‘Help!’ he screamed this time, and someone on the deck stopped and looked up.

  With less than 50 metres to go, he knew there was little more he could do than try heading to the right again. One of the people on the endangered yacht leapt for its helm. The other stood on the side with a stick in their hand. There was nothing they could do but watch. Conor eased his motor into reverse, trying to slow the whole mass down. If they had to collide, he’d try to do it in a controlled way. Subtly, as the distance between them closed, he thought the gap between the other vessel and the bank was widening. There was a shout from the person on the rail and he realised they’d managed to come forward enough to give him another two, maybe three metres. Would it be enough?

  His heart was hammering and he was desperate for a drink of water, yet still the palms of his hands were slick. Something submerged caught on the keel and the Veritas swung hard to the left, the wheel spinning before he could prevent it. He grunted and played the wheel right again. The boat didn’t respond. He shoved the throttle wide open, turned the wheel the other way. The Veritas was now heading straight at the side of the other vessel. He yanked it back into reverse, hauled on the steering. This time it worked and they headed to the right. He’d lost valuable ground, but there was still a chance.

  Conor squinted ahead. The rain had eased somewhat and he could see a monster of a log rolling on the surface. There was no way around it. He increased the power in reverse, slowing the Veritas further, and braced himself. The boat hit the log with a thump and the bow lifted a metre in the air as they rode over it. And then they stopped dead, Conor only just managing to stay on his feet. The only good thing was that it had deflected them further right. He might have collected more debris, but he wasn’t adding another yacht to his raft.

  A torch beam swept across him and he waved. Nothing else he could do. He only hoped the other yacht’s anchor held. The raging water won again and slowly they picked up speed. From here on there was nothing in the way. There was only one thing left to do.

  It took him less than a minute to grab the waterproof bag with his computer and passport and sling it into the dinghy. Could he make it upstream again? He didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to die wondering.

  With the backpack settled on his shoulders and the portable radio strapped next to the gun, he lowered the dinghy into the inky water. She bumped against the stern as the swirling water tugged at her. The sound of the diesel engine died as he flicked the switch on the Veritas, and he ran a hand around the wheel.

  ‘Sorry, lovely lady, but someone else needs me more.’ He wasn’t crying. It was just the rain. It took half a dozen pulls on the starter to get the dinghy outboard roaring. He licked his lips, tasting the salt. He couldn’t bear to look back as he gunned the engine.

  Water still sloshed around his feet but he’d shoved corks in the worst holes so the little boat floated higher in the water, with only the sagging compartments to show where the bullets had hit.

  The two people on the other yacht watched him go past. They had a long night ahead of them too, but at least the Veritas had taken some of their driftwood with her.

  35

  Kristy crouched beside the dog and found the deep furrow along its flank. The blood had stopped oozing but the wound was raw. The dog licked her hand, its brown eyes trusting.

  ‘Sissy, what’s the dog’s name?’

  ‘Rusty, ’cause of its colour.’

  The kelpie’s coat was lighter now that it was drying. He wagged his tail at the sound of his name.

  ‘Hey, Rusty. The good news is you’re going to live to chase another cow.’ Kristy got to her feet and hunted around for a bowl. The grateful dog lapped up the water. ‘Best I can do, mate.’

  ‘What happened to the horses?’ Abby asked. She was curled up on the bench, her feet tucked under, dark bruises of fatigue under her eyes.

  ‘Went bush. They’ll be fine, hon. You know what they do at Ruby Downs. Stand with their rumps to the wind, eyes closed and they snooze through the lot.’

  ‘Oh,’ Abby said. ‘I forgot that.’ She looked down at her hands, her face glum.

  ‘They’ll be happy to see you when all this has passed.’

  Neither of the girls replied. Kristy still hadn’t asked them what they’d been doing on Glenview Station. For now she just wanted them to rest. She’d given Sissy two painkillers from the surprisingly comprehensive first-aid kit and they were definitely taking effect.

  She poured more water for the dog and then walked over to the radio, grateful that seven years of School of the Air had given her a working knowledge. She turned it on and remembered the day on the boat with Conor, so much still crystal clear. She’d watched him set the radio to channel 16, wondering at the time what those fingers would feel like on her skin. She shook the memory off and turned up the volume, adjusted the squelch. If she needed it, she could use it. Her thigh bumped the low desk with a clunk and she realised with a start that she had Jonno’s gun.

  It was oddly comforting, although the need for it was almost certainly gone. Would it still fire anyway, after everything it had been through? She made her way to the head, found the light switch and grimaced at the very masculine state of the bathroom. She’d fired guns on Ruby Downs and she turned Jonno’s over in her hand now, moved the safety catch down. She flicked another catch and the magazine came loose in her hand. She pushed on the top bullet and it gave a little. If her memory was correct then Jonno had fired three bullets from this gun. It didn’t mean he’d started with six, but that was all she had to go on. The clip slid back in with a click and she pushed it back into one of the large pockets in Conor’s pants. She was probably worrying about the wrong thing. Cyclone Kate had a long way to go yet.

  She glanced in the speckled mirror with a crack running from top to bottom. Her hair was dank, her skin sallow and she looked like she’d been on an all-night bender. And the night still had a long way to go. She sluiced water over her face, dried it off with a towel that was mostly grey. Outside, another gust ricocheted into the side of the boat and she staggered back into the saloon and looked around the sparse cabin. As working environments went, they didn’t come much more basic. It didn’t compare with the glossy timber and brass of the Veritas. Kristy’s heart was heavy and the hot prickle of tears couldn’t be brushed away with a hand. Conor was risking his life for a woman who couldn’t articulate that surviving abuse in a marriage could turn even the simplest things into insurmountable mountains.

  And yet he’d climbed that mountain and held out his hand to her. He’d given her space to breathe; he’d stepped back but not away. Friends, but not strangers. His words still resonated in her mind. She’d seen the care he gave to Abby, knew he’d picked up on the small signs of bulimia that she’d hated to admit she was seeing in her daughter. And yet according to Joyce and Miller, he wasn’t lily white. Which could mean nothing or everything.

  The trawler rocked under her feet and she heard something hit the side. More debris, probably. The two girls were dozing, wrapped up and warm now. Kristy picked up the torch and headed out on deck. A beam of light was darting across the deck.

  ‘Conor? Are you okay?’ She hurried to the side.

  Jonno’s cold-blooded laugh chilled her to the core. ‘Not your fuckin’ boyfriend, lady. Your worst fuckin’ nightmare.’

  She launched towards the wheelhouse, her legs heavy with fear. She was grateful she hadn’t turned the lights on, except in the galley. From the flicker of the torch she guessed that whatever boat he’d come in on was tied up to the side of the trawler. She had to cut him loose. Think, Kristy, think.

  There was enough light coming from the galley to see the steering hel
m and she spotted the fire-extinguisher in a bracket. Beside it was a small axe. She fumbled, trying to release catches that probably hadn’t been opened in years. A fingernail tore and she winced. With a snap the catch opened and she grabbed the red canister, but the axe clattered to the floor. With shaking hands she managed to release the pin on the extinguisher. She’d need two hands to fire it, so she jammed the stubby handle of the axe in her pocket. It clunked against the gun. Armed and dangerous, if only she knew what she was doing. Firing a shotgun at a feral pig was a long way from aiming a handgun at another human being.

  She edged back to the side where Jonno was trying to climb onto the trawler. Had Conor’s shot only winged him? He’d put the torch on the deck and in the glow she could see the gun in his hand. Courage, you’ve faced a bully before, she thought as she stepped up to him and pressed hard on the trigger, aiming the nozzle in his face. With a cry, he fell backwards into the speedboat. The fire-extinguisher clattered to the deck and she hauled the axe out. Its metal blade was dull, but the edge was sharp. Sparks flew as she chopped through one rope, cleanly striking the metal deck. Below her, Jonno was cursing. Only a matter of time until he started firing again. She reached the second rope but this one was tightly wound under the strain of the current. It took several blows before it, too, parted and the speedboat shot downstream in the current.

  She scooped up the fire-extinguisher and ran for the saloon.

  ‘Girls, wake up. You need to go below.’

  ‘Why?’

  She hesitated, not wanting to frighten them but knowing they should understand the gravity of the situation. ‘Jonno’s arrived in his speedboat. I’ve beaten him off once. I want you barricaded somewhere safe.’

  Sissy struggled to her feet, hobbling on her injured ankle. ‘He’ll kill us!’

  ‘No!’ Kristy snapped back. ‘He’s not going to win. Now move. Get below.’ She knew she was being harsh, but she couldn’t risk having two hysterical girls on her hands. She herded them below, ignoring their questions. The tiny cabins didn’t offer anywhere to hide, but at least the doors were sturdy.

  ‘Here.’ She wriggled the door handle. The lock was flimsy. She cast around for something heavy to rest against it. In the room next door she found a couple of dive tanks. They were empty.

  ‘Rest these up against the door as best you can once I’m out. And here.’ She ripped another fire-extinguisher from its bracket. ‘If he manages to get in here, pull that pin, aim this at his face and pull the trigger. It will blind him.’

  Abby took it, nodding despite her lower lip trembling.

  ‘Stay here, stay quiet and I’ll be back.’ Kristy reached out and hugged her daughter close. ‘I know you’re brave.’ She gave Sissy a more gentle hug. Sissy’s usual defiance was missing and for once she looked the same age as Abby. ‘I’ll keep you safe,’ Kristy reassured her. ‘He won’t hurt you again.’

  Sissy managed a nod and a weak smile.

  ‘Lock it, barricade and don’t open it for anyone but me. Okay?’

  Kristy raced back upstairs and grabbed the microphone. The relief when she received a reply made her clutch the table. The steady words from the Cooktown Volunteer Marine Rescue renewed her own courage. She would defeat him if he came back. Knowing that the police were aware, she went back on deck. The wind seemed to be swirling more and the rain had definitely eased. She’d lost her watch somewhere in the scuffle on the riverbank but perhaps the eye was close. Her father had told her stories of passing through the eye, of the eerie silence, like nature was taking a deep breath before the fresh onslaught. What would it feel like on a boat? Would it swing them around and make their anchors drag?

  Something crashed into the stern and this time it knocked her off her feet. She scrabbled to grab hold of something as she slid towards the side. The fire-extinguisher rolled with her and she hit feet-first on the edge of the deck. It stopped her disappearing over the side but too late she heard a grunt as Jonno landed on the deck.

  ‘Hold right there, bitch,’ he growled.

  She rolled over, got to her knees and hurled the cylinder at him, but it whistled harmlessly past his head.

  He laughed and waved the gun at her. ‘Quite the fighter. I bet you’re good in the sack too.’

  ‘You’ll never know,’ she snarled at him, coming up to a crouch, her muscles and ribs screaming.

  ‘We could have some fun before I take the girl.’

  ‘You’re not taking anyone with you, Jonno. I’ve already radioed the cops.’

  He roared with laughter. ‘Those toothless tigers won’t find you until it’s too late, lady. The crocs will clean up the evidence and I’ll be a grieving father. History belongs to the victor, and the McDonalds always win.’

  ‘Conor won’t let you win.’

  ‘Conor? Really?’ He hawked and spat over the side. ‘Your fuckin’ knight in shiny armour got mixed up with the wrong people and because of that someone blew out the brains of his wife and his daughter. He’s a con on the run and you fell for his pretty lies. Ask him about the Ruskies and multi-million-dollar slush funds. Of course, maybe you like that. You were married to a rich guy. Maybe it’s money that floats your boat. Did you have to work hard to make him top himself?’

  Kristy’s brain was in overdrive. She didn’t want to believe him about Conor, yet he knew about her husband and son. Was that what Miller had meant, why Conor had been so reluctant to tell her? She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  ‘If he hasn’t got the balls to save his own flesh and blood, you reckon he’s gonna risk his neck for his latest squeeze? Good luck with that, but tonight you’re mine.’

  ‘Bullshit.’ Her voice croaked. She tried again. ‘Whatever he’s done, he’s paid his dues. Unlike you and your family.’ She knew she was only delaying the inevitable, but she had to try to keep him talking. ‘Why did you kill Danny Parnell?’

  ‘Not me. Steve’s the marksman.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because that skanky ho I’m married to was using him to try to leave me. Evelyn always said she’d be trouble.’

  ‘You’d kill a man because he was going to report you for beating up your wife?’

  ‘No, of course I wouldn’t fuckin’ kill him for that. Parnell’s wife was dumb enough to tell Evelyn that Freya had evidence of drug running. Then she tried to appeal to Evelyn’s conscience. Evelyn doesn’t have one. She and Steve fixed the problem. No one’s ever going to prove it. The gun’s gone. The car will be gone soon. No one saw a thing. And Debbie’s scared shitless.’

  ‘I think Conor saw a great deal more than you realise. I’d be very surprised if charges aren’t pressed once the cyclone’s over.’ As she finished she realised she was no longer shouting to be heard. The air was still, oppressive almost, without the rain. She glanced at the river just as Jonno laughed.

  ‘Think we’re in the eye of the storm. Appropriate, huh?’ He looked around. ‘It won’t last long.’ He moistened his lips and waved the gun at her. ‘Take your pants off.’

  ‘No.’ She glared back at him, the muscles in her stomach contracting.

  He shrugged. ‘I’ll shoot the girls, then.’

  ‘No!’ She shot to her feet and he levelled the gun at her.

  ‘Your choice.’ He grabbed hold of her arm, fingers digging into her muscles, and dragged her towards the wheelhouse.

  ‘The girls aren’t here. Conor took them on his boat.’ Her voice was jerky and she knew she didn’t sound convincing.

  He laughed, fiddled with the radio, then picked up the microphone. ‘Cooktown Rescue, the Lady Leonie here. Everything’s okay now. Just a misunderstanding. You stay safe, eh?’

  ‘No!’ Kristy lunged for the mic as the reply came through, but he shoved her away. She knew she had to get him back on deck and away from the girls. And she had to get the gun out of her pocket.

  ‘No one’s coming to the rescue. It’s just you and me,’ he said, slamming the microphone onto the shelf, splintering the plastic.
‘Just you and me and two girls.’ He hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

  ‘You fucking animal. Come outside.’ She was panting with the blinding mist of rage that threatened to render her speechless. If she’d ever doubted she could kill, she had the answer now.

  ‘Whatever you say.’ He swaggered towards her, his shirt tight across his chest and belly as if it didn’t belong to him, his smile menacing. ‘I bet you’re a screamer.’

  ‘Wait.’ She held up her hand. ‘We can do this in a civilised manner.’

  ‘I prefer rough.’ He was two metres away. ‘Something satisfying about buttons popping.’

  ‘If you want a knee in the balls, carry right on.’ She drew herself up to her full height, let one hand slide to her hips, down her thigh and into her pocket, searching for the catch on the gun. The other hand played with the hem of her top, lifted it just enough for the skin of her stomach to feel the air. She slid her hand across it and he watched, the gleam in his eyes making her nauseous. His chest rose and fell.

  ‘So what do you propose? A quick fuck on the deck?’

  She inched her top higher, cupped her breast, ran a thumb over the nipple. ‘I was thinking slow and satisfying, but at your age, I guess endurance could be an issue.’

  His eyes snapped to her face. ‘You bitch, you fuckin’ bitch.’ He raised his fist and she ducked, pulling the gun free as he swung. The miss left him off balance and she barged past him, making for the safety of the prawn chute. He stumbled and fell, his gun clanging as it hit the deck.

  She steadied her gun as he tried to get up. ‘Back off!’

  Jonno scrambled to his feet with a sneer. Kristy pulled the trigger and the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. She tried again and this time it fired. If the bullet hit, it didn’t stop Jonno from coming. Talon-like, his hands fastened around her neck and she brought her knee up sharply. His explosive grunt sprayed saliva on her face, but still his fingers dug into her windpipe. Just as she went to squeeze the trigger again, the muzzle pressed into his stomach, a figure vaulted over the railing beside her and charged at them. Jonno’s head snapped back under the force of the punch, and the pressure from around her neck vanished. She fell back against the railing, gagging, the gun still in her hand. Conor! He’d come back for them.