Faster Than Lightning

by Pam Harvey

  Her door creaked.

  Hannah looked up. Grubby fingers curled around the door edge, pushing it open. Quickly, she turned the phone off and slipped it under a T-shirt on the bed next to her. ‘Sean! I can see you.’

  The door opened and her brother appeared. He was carrying a sword and wearing a ninja band around his head. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘I’ve been around. You haven’t been looking properly, that’s all.’ Hannah didn’t look at Sean as she said that. She’d actually been avoiding him, not answering him when he called out for her, and even hiding in her cupboard once when he came in. She hadn’t been quick enough this time.

  ‘Mum said you were here, but I reckon you’ve been out with your boyfriend.’ Sean swished his sword and grinned at his sister.

  Hannah rolled her eyes at him. Angus wasn’t a boyfriend. He was a boy friend and there was a big difference. She’d known Angus for so long it was like he was a brother. And she hadn’t been at his place—yet. Once she printed the photo from the phone she’d go over and show him.

  Sean waited but when Hannah didn’t react he raced over to her bed, the sword high in the air. ‘I’m bored!’ He slammed the sword onto her quilt.

  Something went crunch.

  ‘Sean!’ yelled Hannah, reaching quickly under the T-shirt for the phone. Too late. The phone had a long dent in it from the blade of the sword. She opened it carefully but the delicate screen had cracked in half. ‘You idiot, you’ve wrecked it.’ She tried turning it on. Nothing.

  ‘That’s not your phone. Whose is it?’

  ‘None of your business!’ Hannah yelled. She stood up, scowling. ‘Get out of my room!’

  ‘I didn’t mean it. How could I know you had someone else’s phone on your pillow?’

  ‘Just get out of here.’

  ‘I’m going to tell Mum you’ve got a new phone.’

  Hannah grabbed her little brother’s shoulder. ‘Don’t tell Mum, you squirt.’ Sean looked at her and she saw tears in his eyes. ‘Don’t tell Mum, okay? I found the phone at the racetrack but I was going to give it back. True. Now it’s broken.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘I know. Just get out of here and let me think what to do.’

  Sean trailed out of the room, leaving his sword on the bed. Hannah picked it up and threw it after him before she closed the door. She sat at the desk, frowning, and tried the phone again. It didn’t turn on straight away so she shook it. That’s a great scientific way of fixing things, she thought. But it seemed to work. The screen flickered, then lit up.

  Sort of. Although all the lights were on, the image of the screen was only clear at the top and across one corner. Hannah managed to retrieve the picture of the horse, but it was just a blur except for the top of its rump and the paddock behind it.

  Little brothers! Hannah thought. What’s the point of them?

  Her plan had been to print out a bigger picture and it seemed there was still nothing else to do. Carefully, she plugged the phone into the computer and set to work.

  It took about an hour of mucking around to get the picture. But finally it was printing: a big, blurry mess and a bit of horse bum. Hannah held the print-out up to dry and studied it closely. Now you could see the paddock behind the horse, and green fields and white railings with a group of tall trees behind that again. Just as the picture blurred, there was something painted on the rails. Hannah put the page down on the desk. It looked like part of a letter. Or maybe it was part of a symbol? It was too hard to tell.

  Angus might know, she thought. He’s got more of a clue about horsey things.

  She put the photo into a plastic pocket, shoved it in her backpack, slipped what was left of the phone into her pocket, and left the room.

  ‘Just going to see Angus, Mum.’

  ‘Okay,’ said her mother from the kitchen. ‘Be back for dinner.’

  Why do mothers always worry about dinner time? Hannah thought as she rode away on her bike. Always nagging about eating the right things and worrying about stuff like that. As if anyone would want to miss dinner. Then she felt guilty. At least she had a mother to nag at her. Angus didn’t.

  She reached his house in record time after that. Guilt-fuelled pedalling. The red truck was gone from the back yard and King was in his paddock. He looked at her curiously as she rode in, let her bike drop to the ground, and banged on the back door.

  ‘Angus? Are you in there?’

  No one answered. She tried the back door, knowing it would be unlocked. Mr Mac always said that they didn’t have anything worth stealing. Mind you, he kept anything to do with his horses in the safe.

  Hannah let herself in and walked to Angus’s room. It was a pigsty: clothes all over the floor, bed unmade, plates and glasses on the pillow, gumboots covered in mud in the middle of everything. A picture of a smiling woman in a nurse’s uniform holding an African baby stood on the bedside table, the only clear surface in the room. Hannah looked at it for a moment. But still no Angus. She went back outside. ‘Angus!’

  No answer. This time she noticed E.D.’s motorbike parked near a stable and felt a pang of annoyance. They didn’t ask me to go with them, she thought. She went back inside and put the photo on Angus’s bed, hoping he’d notice it in the mess. At the last minute, she found a texta and wrote Look at this and then ring me on a scrap of paper.

  It was all she could do. Slowly, she got on her bike and went home.

  Angus, E.D. and Mr Mac arrived home about ten minutes after Hannah had gone. They climbed out of the truck.

  ‘I don’t reckon I’ll stick around,’ E.D. said to Angus, giving Mr Mac a quick look. ‘Just in case I get blasted.’

  He strode up to his motorbike, jammed the helmet on his head, and was gone before Angus could even nod. The noise stayed around, though, hanging in the air for about five minutes.

  ‘That boy could learn to slow down a bit,’ muttered Angus’s father.

  ‘It’s just the type of engine. Makes a lot of noise. So he reckons,’ Angus said quickly as his father raised his eyebrows at him. ‘What did you think of the farm, Dad? Will you get one of those other horses?’

  Mr Mac shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Too expensive for my liking. I don’t know why, either. They weren’t that well-bred. It seems to me that they’re trying to raise some money. Maybe they’re in debt because of their renovations. It doesn’t really add up.’

  Angus watched his father walk away to check on the horses. It doesn’t really add up. He was right there. The old McCann place needed more investigating.

  Angus went into the house and through to his bedroom. The picture was the first thing to catch his eye.

  A minute later, he was outside again.

  ‘Hey, King,’ he said, running over to his horse. ‘Want to go for a ride?’

  Chapter 7

  Bentley’s Stud Farm, Teasdale South: Monday afternoon

  Angus drew his collar more tightly around his neck, leaning in lower over his horse to escape a cool wind that had suddenly sprung up.

  He kept his eyes focused on the side of the dirt road, looking for a gap he could sneak through. But the property was well fenced. It had been different when Franky McCann lived here.

  Angus saw the cloud of dust up ahead before he heard the motor. Someone was driving towards him. Fast.

  Quickly jumping off his horse, Angus grabbed the reins and led King over a small ditch to a copse of trees on the opposite side. He scrambled behind, partly hidden as a car sped past. A white ute with two men inside: the ute he’d seen parked near the tractors at the stud farm. Angus didn’t think he’d been noticed, but he waited a few minutes longer, a plan forming in his mind as he remounted his horse.

  No one was about as he entered the main yard. Even the horses in the stables weren’t visible. Perhaps they’re out in the paddock, Angus thought. Carefully he eased himself down from King, leading him over to the white-railed fence that bordered a paddock to the side of the house. Angus st
opped suddenly, staring across at the far rail.

  Glancing around again, he pulled out the picture Hannah had printed off. It’s got to be, he thought, scaling the railings and jogging towards the centre of the field. The scene before him was the same as that on the creased paper clutched in his hand: freshly painted railings with a clump of trees behind them. In Franky’s time, the railings had been broken—that’s why he hadn’t recognised them straight away!

  A mobile phone with a picture from the stud farm he was now standing in, and in the photo a horse that looked a lot like one who’d been dead for decades. What did it all mean?

  Angus was distracted by the sounds of horses neighing to each other near the stables. He ran back to King and tied him up closer to the stalls so that he was out of sight before returning to the house. He wanted to get another look at the picture on the wall he’d briefly seen earlier that day.

  At the back door he stopped. Old Franky’s cage was still there, but instead of a carpet snake there were rabbits. Heaps of them. Black rabbits with white patches. They were all exactly the same.

  Angus shook his head and crept towards the door. Just a quick look at the photo, he thought, then home. The flywire screen door opened with a loud creak. He froze, waiting for footsteps or voices. None came. Gently he turned the handle and pushed. The door caught on the floor below, then suddenly swung open. Angus, still holding onto its handle, was flung into the kitchen.

  He paused, alert for the faintest sound. Nothing. Dashing across the kitchen into a small hallway, he found himself outside the office door where he’d seen the photos.

  It was then he became aware of another sound—a low, humming noise coming from somewhere below and to his right. There’d never been a noise like that in Franky’s time. Angus hesitated, then crept back into the kitchen and down a short flight of stairs to the basement.

  Ages ago, he’d played table tennis in Franky’s basement. There was no sign of a table there now: just a deep, throbbing hum. It sounds like generators, Angus thought, pausing outside a door with a square section of glass in it.

  He stood on his toes and peered in. The whole room had been transformed into desks stacked with computers, machines and fridges. White cupboards ran along two walls, filled with books, jars, boxes, and beakers full of coloured liquids.

  A movement to his right caught Angus’s eye. He flung himself against the other side of the door as someone in a white lab coat walked past inside the room. Angus closed his eyes and waited for the door to open. After fifteen seconds of silence he peered through the glass.

  The person in the white coat was bent over a desk looking through a microscope. Angus ducked down below the window and crept back the way he’d come. It was too strange there: what horse stud had a laboratory like that? Just a quick look at this photo, he said to himself, finally reaching the office door, and then I’m out of here.

  It was quiet in the corridor but as he stood listening, the telephone rang. Angus swore, closed his eyes again and took a deep breath all at the same time. The phone rang five times, then clicked—answering machine, he thought, letting his breath out.

  ‘Bentley’s Stud Farm. Leave a message after the tone.’ A deep male voice spoke, followed by a loud beeping sound.

  Angus held his breath. There was a pause.

  ‘Um, it’s Jim. No sign of the phone. Tried the police. Ricky reckons there were some kids snooping about. I saw ’em too. He swears he had it when we were fixing the horse. Anyways, one of ’em’s down at the track often enough. I could have a little chat if you like. Let me know.’

  Angus didn’t like the way the man had said ‘chat’. Well, at least I know there’s no one here, he decided, flinging the door open and striding in.

  ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ Tom Bentley was at his desk.

  Even as the man spoke, Angus found himself glancing at the photos on the wall behind the desk. But the one he was looking for had been removed.

  ‘I…I dropped something. I think I left it here,’ Angus said, barely aware of what he was saying.

  ‘And you just walk into someone’s house, do you?’

  ‘I knocked,’ said Angus, stepping backwards slowly. Tom pressed a button on his phone. A moment later, a voice came through the speaker.

  ‘Boss?’

  ‘I think I’ve just found the owner of that horse tied to the fence.’ He chuckled. ‘You haven’t chopped it up for dog meat yet, have you?’

  The other guy snorted. ‘Not yet, Boss, but the bucket and the knife are ready. Just give me the word.’

  Tom Bentley stood up. ‘It was you, wasn’t it, hanging around our stall at the racecourse? I don’t think you dropped something in here. But you might have seen us drop something at the track.’ He stepped out from behind the desk and looked at Angus. ‘Have you got a phone of ours by any chance?’

  Angus shook his head.

  ‘No? Not in your pockets? You want to turn them out, just to make sure? I don’t like kids meddling and snooping about.’

  Angus thrust both hands into his front pockets, his right hand carefully crushing and pushing the picture further down. He patted his front and back pockets.

  ‘I haven’t got anything and I don’t know about any phone,’ Angus said, looking up at the man.

  ‘So what do you know?’

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ Angus muttered, staring at an old newspaper cutting spread across the man’s desk. The heading had caught his eye: Museum Break-In. Tom saw him looking, snatched up the paper and closed it quickly. He walked around towards Angus, who didn’t flinch.

  ‘Is that so?’ he said, slowly. ‘Well, I don’t know what it is you want, but if I catch you snooping around here again I’ll call the police. As it stands now, I’ll just call your father.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that,’ Angus said, turning to head out.

  ‘I think a bit of time in the upstairs room while you wait for your father would be appropriate punishment.’

  He grabbed Angus by the arm and pushed him out the door. Angus tried not to wince. The man’s grip hurt as he was guided up a long flight of wooden stairs and shoved into a small room.

  ‘And don’t worry about your horse,’ said Tom, smiling unpleasantly. ‘We’ll look after him.’

  The door slammed shut.

  Angus stared at it, a chill starting down the back of his neck.

  Chapter 8

  Angus listened to Tom’s footsteps fading away. He knew the door would be locked but he tried it anyway. The only other possible way out was the window, but the two large panes of glass had no catch or opening. Angus looked out across the yard and to the paddocks beyond. There was no sign of King.

  The front door of the house slammed shut. Angus watched as Tom marched across the driveway, a phone pressed to his ear.

  A moment later two men appeared, leading King towards a white-railed enclosure. King walked calmly alongside them, his head down. One of the men had a bucket in his hand. Angus watched anxiously as the men gathered.

  ‘Don’t hurt my horse!’ Angus yelled, banging on the glass. King looked up, his ears pricked towards the sound. ‘King!’ Angus belted the glass again.

  Either the people below couldn’t hear or they were choosing to ignore him. But King had heard something.

  The horse backed away from the men holding his reins, shaking his head up and down, ears flattened. One of the men grabbed the soft part of King’s nose and twisted it. The horse couldn’t move because of the pain. ‘You creep,’ shouted Angus.

  Desperately he searched the room for something to break the glass with. He couldn’t watch on helplessly. There was nothing in the room except an old table and two wooden chairs. Picking up a chair, Angus hurled it at the glass. It crashed into the window then bounced back hard, smacking into his head. Angus fell back, hitting the floor with a thud. He sat up, dazed, then staggered to his feet.

  Tom snapped the phone shut, gestured with one arm towards the house, y
elling instructions that Angus couldn’t hear, and walked back inside. The other man reached into the bucket.

  The bucket and the knife are ready.

  Angus remembered the voice over the intercom. He thought the man had been joking. Now he wasn’t that sure.

  He banged at the glass again. ‘King!’ This time the horse couldn’t look up.

  The man pulled something shiny out of the bucket.

  Angus felt himself start to panic. Flinging aside the other chair, Angus tipped the table over, its four legs pointing at the window. A burst of adrenalin surged through his body. Behind him, the attic door opened and Tom appeared. But that didn’t stop Angus. He charged towards the window. Glass exploded in a sharp cascade. Angus was still holding the table as it burst through the glass and it carried him out the window and onto the roof. A searing pain burned in his left hand and he let go, sliding across the tiles. A split second before his feet slammed into the gutter, the table tumbled over the edge, smashing onto the driveway below. Wood splintered in all directions as the table tore apart.

  This time, the people below did look up. A flock of startled white cockatoos suddenly burst from a nearby tree. Angus didn’t hear them. For him, nothing in the world mattered except the gutter and the roof he was sprawled on.

  The gutter held. He looked over at King. The horse had wrenched free of the man holding his nose and was rearing up, front hooves pawing at the air as he tried to shake off the men clutching at his reins.

  ‘Leave him alone!’ Angus shouted.

  The man with the bucket had taken a few steps towards the smashed table, looking up at Angus teetering on the edge of the roof. The other man said something to him, then ran towards the house. He shouted at Angus, ‘I’m getting a ladder, you stupid boy. And then it’s the police.’