by Ella West
‘Put it down, Pete,’ the man says again and Pete’s hand starts to relax. ‘Put it down slowly now.’ Pete at last lays the gun on the ground and hesitantly stands up. One of the other men reaches down and grabs the gun.
‘So I see you’ve got some new mates, Pete,’ one of the other men says over the noise of the rain on the roof.
‘They’re just kids,’ the one who picked up the guns says.
The first one, the one with the deep voice, is staring at me. I’m holding my side, my ribs still aching from his kick.
‘I know you,’ he says. ‘I know your dad. He drives the trains, doesn’t he?’
I glance up at him. I don’t recognise him at all. The men are wearing raincoats and waterproof leggings. One of them, the one who kicked me, has a beanie on. They look like ordinary men, men I could pass walking down the main street and never think anything about, except they all have guns and they’re pointing those guns at us.
‘So what are we going to do?’ the one with the beanie says.
‘Do what we planned to do, it’s just there’ll be three bodies instead of one. Could fit a hundred bodies down that old mine shaft and you still wouldn’t find them.’
‘This is getting out of hand,’ says the one with the deeper voice, the one who knows Dad.
‘He started it. He put that booby-trap on the track. He’s probably killed Doug.’
‘Doug should have been looking where he was going. They’re just kids.’
‘Too late.’
‘But I know Annie.’
‘Tough.’
I glance over at Pete. He has his head down, his hair covering his eyes. Jack is looking over at me. He’s scared, really scared. The grey light from the open door has him framed against the wall, like an animal caught in a car’s headlights. The heavy rain has suddenly slackened off again, leaving as fast as it came, but it’s still falling, the water forming a curtain across the doorway.
I try to think of something to say, like don’t shoot us or let us go and we won’t tell anyone but it all sounds like some crappy movie in my head. I want to plead for my life, for Jack’s life, for Pete, but I don’t know how to. I need a convincing argument, a persuasive reason, like my English assignment was meant to have. The fact that I suck at English is going to get us all killed because I can’t think of the right words. It’s just stupid and crazy and I don’t want to die like this, I don’t want Jack and Pete to die like this.
‘Get up, all of you. Now,’ the man with the beanie shouts at us.
I force myself up against the wall, the metal cold and damp against my hands. Someone is pushing me towards the doorway. I’m stumbling, but a hand grabs me and I manage to keep on my feet and then I’m out into the rain.
‘Start walking,’ the man says.
‘Watch where you put your feet,’ Pete mutters as he pushes past me to take the lead.
‘Hey, not you,’ one of the men yells. ‘The girl goes first.’
The rain is falling on my face, waking me up, making me feel stronger, braver, even though my ribs are still hurting like anything. I don’t think anything is broken; at least I hope nothing is broken. I turn and give the man the coldest stare I can, then set off down the track, Jack right behind me. Pete obediently waits for us, standing in the fern.
I’m thinking about what Pete said. This is not the way he led us to the hut, not the direction the men came from, otherwise we would have seen them. This is where Pete had been looking out of the slit in the shed wall. He was looking this way for a reason. This is the way he was hoping they would come. I watch where I put my feet and hope Jack will do the same behind me, try to ignore the pain in my ribs from where the guy kicked me.
And then I see it. He’s used what looks like the drawstring from the top of the tramping pack this time. A black cord stretched limply across the track, the ends hidden in ferns on either side.
I step over it, careful that I don’t touch it, but even more careful that the men following don’t see me do it. Nothing. I keep walking, holding my breath, listening to Jack’s footsteps behind me, hoping he’s seen it too. How much explosive did you use with this one, Pete? Enough to blow us all up? Jack must have stepped over it. I breathe again. Now there will be Pete. At least he will know it’s there.
I’m not looking back; I’m too scared to look back. Now we’re all over it safely I lengthen my stride, trying to give us all more space, to get ready to run, my heart already beating fast enough for me to run a marathon. Even my fingers are tingling. I try to breathe slowly. In and out, in and out. Another step, and another, further and further away from it. Just keep going. Just keep breathing.
The explosion is like a starter’s gun. I’m leaping forward before I even realise what’s happening, the blast pushing me. My first stagger becomes a stride and then I’m running as hard as I can through the trees, jumping the ferns, not looking back. My ears are ringing with the sound of the explosion, of gunfire, yells, screams, wood splintering next to me as a bullet lands in a tree trunk. Jack is behind me, breathing hard, his legs crashing through the undergrowth. I catch sight of Pete way over to my left, dodging the gunfire between the trees. I start doing the same, weaving this way and that, keeping moving, making myself a harder target to hit. Getting further and further away.
The lake is still on our right but we’ve lost the track completely, run past where it zigzags down through the tall trees. The bush is thicker here. We’re pushing through branches, fighting our way under when we otherwise can’t get through. There are fallen logs, holes, gullies. A bank stops me for a second. I have to scramble up it but Jack grabs me.
‘Quiet,’ he whispers in my ear. We stay like that, buried in the fern against the bank, listening, our hearts both racing.
There’s nothing.
‘Have we…?’ I whisper.
‘I don’t know.’
We stay still for another minute, then another, and still nothing. Just the sound of the rain falling on the bush above us, dripping through the leaves.
‘Let’s keep going but stay down, as quiet as we can,’ he says, and I move again, crawl up the bank. I can just make out a path made by a deer, or some sort of animal. It will be easier going if we follow it, quieter.
‘Annie, wait.’
‘What?’ I turn around.
‘Just stop. There’s blood. Is that you?’
I stare down at where he’s pointing and see the blood on the fern I’ve just crawled through. Bright red. The rain washing it off already. And then I notice the hole in my raincoat.
Almost out of curiosity I touch it. It’s tiny. So tiny. I look up at Jack and he’s seen it too, his face going pale even as I watch.
‘Annie?’ He’s ripping open my raincoat, the domes, fumbling with the zip, pushing up my clothes from my waist, and I’m feeling sick and scared and suddenly I can’t stand up anymore and Jack has me and he’s got my raincoat off and I’m on the ground, on the path, and the rain is falling on my face and I can smell the bush all around me, the deep peaty smell of leaves and rain and ferns and moss. And it’s got cold, so cold.
Soon it will be dark and we’re wet and cold and we need to get out of the rain. We need to get somewhere warm and I’m telling Jack this but he’s not listening. We have to move. We have to get somewhere warm. Why won’t he listen to me? Instead he’s grabbing me again, rolling me over, pushing up my clothes.
‘The bullet’s gone right through.’
He lies me down in the moss and the ferns and I look up at him. He’s trying his phone and I wish he would hurry up because I’m getting really cold now. So cold. Just so cold. I close my eyes.
There are noises, someone running, pushing through the undergrowth towards us. I can feel the footsteps through the ground. Jack is grabbing me, trying to pull me off the path, but it hurts.
‘Pete? Is that you?’ he calls out quietly.
‘What are you doing? We’ve got to get out of here,’ Pete says. He’s puffing.
&n
bsp; ‘Annie’s been shot.’
‘Is she going to be okay?’
Jack doesn’t reply. I’m listening for a reply, waiting for a reply, but instead they’re picking me up, both of them, carrying me somewhere. Further into the bush. Then Pete’s hands are searching my body, his breath on my face.
‘You got to stop the bleeding, mate,’ he’s saying. ‘And she’s cold. She’s really cold. You’ve got to do something.’
‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘She’s going to die out here. Annie and I—’ He stops, about to say something, then changes his mind. ‘You can’t let her die.’
‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Here, hold this against it, stop the bleeding.’
Pressure against my side, something soft pressed against where the pain is. I gasp.
‘It’s hurting her.’
‘Just do it.’
‘I can’t get hold of my dad, there’s no cell phone coverage here.’
‘What do you want get hold of your dad for? How is he going to help you?’
‘He’s a cop.’
‘Now you tell me.’
‘You have to help us. Please.’
‘What sort of cop? Like a cop who can get a helicopter here with some firepower?’
‘Yes.’
‘Lots of firepower?’
‘Yes. He’s lead detective on your case. He’s Detective Inspector Grant Robertson.’
‘Give me your phone. Where’s the number? Is it under “D” for “dad”?’
‘Yes. Here it is. Password is two thousand.’
‘You stay with Annie and I’ll look for some coverage. Then I’ll have to go so the cops don’t find me. Which means you have to look after Annie. You keep the pressure on and you keep her warm and you don’t let her die She’s my neighbour. You don’t let her die. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
More noise, rustling in the ferns, and then he’s gone. Silence. Then a sob. Jack. I reach up my hand, grab his arm.
‘You’re going to be fine, Annie,’ he says after a bit. ‘Pete’s gone to get help.’ His voice sounds calm, steady. ‘How about we get you a little warmer? I’ll just try not to hurt you.’ I hear his jacket unzipping and then feel him pulling me up beside him, into his arms, across his body, pushing my raincoat over until it covers us both like a blanket. I feel his warmth through my back. Feel his heart beat, his chest rise and fall underneath me.
‘You’re like ice,’ he says. ‘Hey, talk to me, Annie. Don’t go to sleep on me. Annie?’ Then he swears. ‘Hurry up, Pete,’ he says, and then I must have gone to sleep or something because suddenly there are voices. Loud voices. I open my eyes. Jack is still holding me. He hasn’t moved, but it’s dark. There are torch beams flashing through the trees. When did it get dark?
‘Hey, look at this,’ one of the voices is saying. It’s a man, a deep voice. I remember that voice.
‘That’s blood. I thought we’d shot one of them.’ A different voice, lighter. ‘Where’s it going?’
‘I don’t know. The rain has washed most of it away.’ The voice of the man who knows me.
‘They could be close.’
‘They could be anywhere. We should keep going.’
I look up at Jack. I can just make him out in the blackness. He’s listening, watching the torch beams. He sees my eyes are open and puts his finger to his lips, signalling keep quiet, keep still. I nod, close my eyes again. The sound of the men drifts off. The one who knows me leading them away.
Somehow I fall back asleep. Dream. I dream of riding Tassie down Fairdown Beach at full gallop, bareback, no saddle, no bridle, nothing. It’s raining and there’s water streaming off us, off her black coat and my raincoat and then we’re not galloping but swimming, swimming through dark blue water but we’re under the water, deep, and we’re not breathing, we can’t breathe, we don’t have to breathe, we’re just swimming, Tassie strong underneath me, her legs pushing through the water and it’s dark and cold and wet but she keeps swimming and I keep holding on, my legs pressed against her side, my coat undone, swept back in the water, Tassie’s tail streaming behind us, my fingers wrapped tightly in her mane. And I know I’m not going to let go.
Tassie.
There is a hand curled around mine, next to me, on the bed. Calluses on the fingers, on the palm.
I wake again and this time there are voices. Raised voices. My dad’s, then Mum’s, then Dad’s again. The hand with the calluses is still holding mine but tighter now. I squeeze it back.
This time I open my eyes. It’s dark, half-dark, light coming in from a corridor, from machines, displays by my bed. Jack is sitting in a chair, his head on the sheet next to my thigh, one of his hands still holding mine. He’s asleep.
I do an inventory, wiggle my toes, turn my head on the pillow to look at the lines and wires going from my body to the machines. I’m warm, I’m dry, I’m clean. I can’t smell anything but hospital. I lick my lips. Stretch out one leg, then the other. Wriggle my toes again. Lift my head. Everything works. I’m alive.
A nurse slips in through the half-open door and takes a chart off the end of the bed and looks up at me.
‘You’re awake,’ she whispers.
I nod back, wide-eyed.
‘How are you feeling? Any pain?’
‘I’m okay.’ My voice sounds raspy, my throat dry.
‘Here, drink this.’ She takes a glass of water with one of those bendy straws from a table. She holds the straw between my lips. The water has ice in it.
‘Thanks,’ I say, as she puts the glass back on the table. She starts reading the file, checking the displays, writing things down.
‘I’ve just got to take your temperature.’ She holds a thing in my ear, checks it and writes something. ‘You’re doing fine. We’ll have you up for a shower tomorrow morning.’
I nod back.
‘You know you’re in Christchurch Hospital? They brought you in by chopper.’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘People pay a lot of money for a trip in a helicopter over the alps and you did it for free and don’t remember a thing.’ She sighs. ‘Always the way.’
Jack stirs in his sleep and the nurse glances over at him.
‘He’s hardly left your side, you know,’ she whispers. ‘Your parents aren’t very impressed, by the way, but your grandmother likes him.’ She smiles. ‘Most of the nursing staff like him too. We’re not meant to let people stay after visiting hours, but you two are different. It’s been all over the news what you two did up that mountain. You’re both heroes. And he saved your life, so we think he can stay. Now how about you get some more sleep?’
When I wake again it’s morning and I’m alone. Sun is coming in through the window, noise coming from the corridor, clattering and banging and people walking up and down and voices. A breakfast tray is on the table at the end of my bed, just toast crumbs left on the plate, an empty glass. Past that, at the end of the room, I see a shelf with vases of flowers. Too many to count. And get-well cards.
Jack’s dad walks in and looks around. He’s in a suit, wearing a tie this time, a takeaway coffee in one hand.
‘Sorry, I thought Jack would be here,’ he says. ‘Do you know where’s he gone?’
I shake my head. Stare at him.
‘You must be feeling better, eating breakfast,’ he says, putting the coffee next to the tray and taking my chart from the end of my bed. He looks at it, like he understands what he’s reading.
Then Jack is there, a toothbrush in his hand, a towel around his neck, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans.
‘You’re awake?’ he says, startled. ‘I duck out for five minutes and you wake up?’
But I can’t answer. All I can do is cry and he has his arms around me, his face pressed against mine, and we stay like that, holding each other as everything that happened floods back into my head. The explosions, the gunshots, the blood, the helicopter, the sirens of the police cars driving up the road
towards the lake. I remember the helicopter now. The sound of it echoing against the mountain as it came closer to us. The noise of the rotors, more shots, screaming. The lights in the darkness. Then the silence. The voice of Jack’s dad calling out Jack’s name, calling out my name.
‘Hey, it’s okay. It’s over,’ Jack says in my ear. ‘It’s all over. They caught them all.’
And he holds me away from him and looks at me, and I try to smile but I can’t stop crying.
‘The pain relief she’s on,’ his dad says from the other side of the room, ‘it will make her emotional.’
I almost laugh but I’m sore, my side is so sore. Even breathing makes it hurt.
‘And she’s about due for some more, so just be careful how you hold her.’
‘Did you eat my breakfast?’ I manage to ask Jack, wiping the tears from my face.
‘I can get you another one, I think. Are you hungry?’
‘Maybe later.’
He hands me a tissue he’s found somewhere, puts some pillows behind me, raises the head of the bed with some device. ‘Comfortable?’
‘Thanks.’
Jack’s dad puts the chart back where it belongs.
‘Now you’re awake we’ll have to get a statement from you about what happened,’ he says to me. ‘Maybe later today?’
I nod.
‘Pete’s fine, by the way. It took us a while to find him up that mountain. He’s going to have to do some prison time – even though he believes he’s innocent of every crime he’s ever committed. Apparently he thinks it is acceptable behaviour to blow up a house in Westport, if you own it yourself. But what he did up there to save you both, rest assured it will be taken into account.’
‘Thank you,’ I tell him. Jack is still fussing with the pillows.
‘And I hear from your parents that we’ll be seeing a lot more of you. With your dad losing his job and all of you moving to Christchurch. Jack tells me you’re not too bad on Tassie, so if you could help out exercising the other horses, Jack may be able to find room for Blue in our stables here at no cost.’
