95 Million Killers

by Gary Weston

  'You reckon? Simon Harrison secretly recorded the meetings with me and him. Max Harrison told me that himself. They also retrieved the data from the computer that was in the barn.'

  'Shit. Well, tell the bastard we want that information.'

  'Not gonna happen. Max Harrison says it's just insurance. He's no intention of using it.'

  'That's okay, then. Nothing to worry about.'

  'I wish. Harrison told me somebody else knows. He was doing some digging.'

  'A reporter?'

  'A cop. One of yours. Senior Sergeant Mick Pritchard. He saw the body of the hunter. He saw the dead possums there, too. He went to see Harrison about it. He's the one we have to worry about.'

  'Look. The autopsy report is being sat on, but not for much longer. Probably in the next few hours this will all blow up and Pritchard is the only one who can link us with the possums. We have to stop him talking once the autopsy report is released.'

  'Leave Pritchard to me.'

  'But what...?'

  'Don't worry about it. I'll see to Pritchard. I'll talk to you later.'

  Chapter 30

  The Milligans' sat on the rolled-up sleeping bag, drinking tea, the light from the oil lamp casting strange shadows on the new walls. The warmth from the range should have comforted them, but too many disturbing noises came from outside.

  Around the ill fitting door, animals were hissing and snorting through the gaps; sharp claws scratched at the timber, peculiar bangs and bumps against the walls, bizarre bouncing on the roof. It was almost as if the creatures were messing with their victims heads. If that were true, it was working.

  'I'll try to get help,' said Susan, finding her cell phone.

  'Not gonna happen. You know there's no signals out here.'

  Susan tried anyway, but as Kevin had predicted, she got nothing.

  Kevin had lost his swagger, and although he did all he could to reassure his young pregnant wife, his nerve was breaking. With each hammering on the roof, his shaking got worse. They were deep in some kind of surreal nightmare; something that shouldn't be happening and yet it was.

  'The tarpaulin,' whispered Susan.

  Something was pushing through the broken glass and the tarpaulin was bulging. Kevin knew he had tacked it all the way around the frame, sufficient to keep out the cold night air, but not some determined animal.

  'Shh. Stay put.' He got up and picked up a piece of timber. Taking his best shot, he belted the possum behind the tarpaulin. There was a scream, and the bulge disappeared, but instantly returned, claws ripping the material. Kevin rammed the end of the wood with all his might, until a final scream chilled his blood and the possum gave up.

  A silence descended and somehow, that was even more terrifying. Kevin stood by Susan, the length of timber in his hands, ready to fight if he had to.

  'Kevin. Have they gone?' Susan dared to whisper. 'Tell me they've gone.'

  'I...'

  A solitary bump on the roof answered for Kevin. Followed by another and another. The roof was shaking with the pounding; a shower of dust raining down on the pair. Never in his entire life had Kevin felt so useless, waiting for his whole world to come literally crashing down, armed only with a lump of wood to protect his wife and unborn baby. He heard his mind telling himself, If I have to die doing it, so be it.

  Chapter 31

  There was a noise outside the window. Mick Pritchard was instantly awake. The radio was still wittering on but that hadn't woke him. Pulling on his shirt and jeans, he opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet and took out the Smith and Wesson revolver. In the twenty years he'd owned it, he'd never had cause to shoot anyone with it. But there was always a first time for everything.

  The sound that had woken him was something treading on the gravel mulch that stopped the weeds growing up the walls of the house. In standard firing range stance, Pritchard homed in on the window, beads of sweat trickling down the small of his back. Then the cat screeched and Pritchard remembered to breathe.

  As he was returning the gun to the drawer, the door smashed open, and two men crashed into the room, both armed with silenced guns. Pritchard spun around with the old gun in his hands, and there was a hiss as one of the men shot a chunk out of his shoulder, forcing Pritchard to drop his weapon.

  'We're going for a little ride,' said the man who had shot him. 'Nice and quietly, now.'

  There was a confidence in the man's voice that smacked of a professional who was just doing his job. Blood ran down Pritchard's arm, dripping on the floor. The wound wasn't deep; caused by an expert marksman who had inflicted precisely the damage intended.

  'What the hell is this all about?'

  'No idea. Don't know, don't care. Time to go.'

  Stalling, trying to think, Pritchard took his time slipping his shoes on. His gun was tantalisingly close, lying on the floor, out of reach. A rash grab for it would have had only one outcome. His dead body on the floor. Acknowledging that fact, he quietly followed the men outside to the waiting car.

  Chapter 32

  If ever the Milligan's wanted to know what it was like inside a base drum somebody was pounding, they knew now. One corner of the tarpaulin started to lift, and one possum poked its way inside, dropping to the floor. It showed no fear as it hissed at the two much larger animals. It barred its pointed teeth, saliva running down its face.

  Kevin stood in front of Susan, the timber in both hands, ready to swing like a baseball bat. He didn't have to wait long. The possum took off like a furry canon ball, and the 'bat' smashed into the side of its head as it flew at Kevin. It dropped to the floor, but wasn't dead, and Kevin hit the head so hard, a part of the skull shot across the room and bounced off the wall. All around them, the windows were being smashed. One possum Kevin could take on, but a pack...?

  'The nail gun,' said Kevin.

  'What?'

  'I gotta get the compressor running and shoot the bastards with the nail gun.'

  Behind them the window shattered and two possums dropped to the floor, but unlike the first one, they didn't hesitate to attack. Kevin broke the neck of one with his bat, and just missed the other one. Its claws dug deeply into Kevin's chest and he dropped the bat.

  As the possum was about to sink its fangs into Kevin's neck, Susan yelled out and grabbed the animal around its throat and yanked it away from him, hurling it across the room so hard it hit the wall. Kevin grabbed the bat and as the possum attacked again, delivered a blow that dropped it like a stone. Another possum was climbing through the smashed window, and Kevin picked up the dead possum and cleaned boweled the possum in the window back outside. The terrifying silence hit them again.

  Kevin ran to the door and raced outside. Instantly, possums attacked him from all sides. Susan was out by his side with the bat and between them they shook off the possums, Susan beating the crap out of several as Kevin dragged the compressor and nail gun inside the hut.

  Susan followed him inside, and slammed the door hard on the head of a possum trying to follow them. Its eyes rolled as it died and she kicked it out. Half a dozen possums fell upon the dead animal, tearing it to pieces with their teeth, desperate for meat. Disgusted, Susan slammed the door.

  As Kevin struggled to fire up the compressor with hands dripping blood, more possums were entering by the smashed window.

  'Get down,' Kevin yelled as the compressor burst into life. Susan got down on the floor and instinctively covered her belly. Kevin held back the safety devise at the tip of the gun, so nails could fly out, one shot at a time. He fired the nail gun striking a flying target every other shot. Dead and wounded possums covered much of the floor, and Kevin took his time to finish off the wounded ones. The silence returned, apart from the throb of the compressor.

  The fumes were becoming choking, and he knew he had to turn the machine off before the carbon monoxide killed them. There was one defiant thump on the roof just above his head and Kevin took one last shot, the nail going right through the iron. There was a scream as t
he nail hit home and a scurrying across the roof as the wounded animal fled.

  Coughing with the fumes, Kevin turned off the compressor. He grabbed Susan's hand and pulled her to her feet, half dragging her across the room. He opened the long drop dunny door and got them inside.

  'Are you okay?' he asked.

  'Well, I'm alive, I guess.'

  'Just take deep breaths.'

  'In here? You gotta be kidding.'

  Chapter 33

  Pritchard sat in the back of the car, the silenced gun poking his ribs, about where his heart would be. A blanket had been placed over his head. Neither man said anything as the car was driven out of the city, into the countryside.

  They drove for about half an hour, but the blanket over his head made the passing of time an illusion. Then the car slowed right down and made a right turn, the ride becoming rougher as they left the tar seal onto a dirt track. The car bounced along progressively rougher ground for several more minutes, before it finally stopped and the engine was turned off. The driver's door opened and then slammed shut again. The man sitting next to Pritchard also got out. The blanket was removed.

  'Out.'

  Pritchard did as he was told. Dawn was breaking, and he could see he'd been taken into the bush. The driver popped the trunk of the car and took out a garden spade.

  'Over here,' said the man.

  Pritchard followed the man who suddenly stopped, turned to face him and then drove the spade into the soft earth. Then he walked off, leaning against the car, huge muscular arms folded across his massive chest. The man with the gun pointed at the spade.

  'Dig.'

  'Are you serious? You want me to dig my own grave?'

  'Do me this little favour and I promise you a quick death.'

  Pritchard didn't bother to ask what the alternative might be. He started digging. After half an hour, the grave was almost four feet deep.

  The man with the gun yawned. 'That will do. Throw the spade over here.'

  Pritchard did as he was told and waited.

  'Been nice not knowing you,' said the man, taking careful aim. Pritchard closed his eyes. He heard the hiss, but it wasn't from a silenced gun. The man was covered in hissing possums dropping out of the trees and he was trying to shoot them off him. The driver ran to his colleagues assistance but only ended up getting shot in the guts from a stray bullet. As he hit the ground, he too was covered in hungry possums.

  Pritchard grabbed the spade and was only too happy to help the animals, slamming the edge of the blade into the man's neck. Tasting blood, the possums ripped into the fallen man, but one possum decided he wanted a piece of policeman. As it flew at him, Pritchard belted it with the spade and it bounced off a tree and died.

  Pritchard ran to the car, and dived into the driving seat, a possum chasing him. It took a bite out of his leg before having the car door smash into its body. He started the engine, and turned the car to face back down the track. He looked outside and saw the battle was almost over. The one who had driven the car was on his belly, staring with empty eye sockets at Pritchard, one eyeball still hanging on his cheek. He was still alive with blood spurting from his neck like a fountain, but not for much longer, defiantly striking out with his fists, hitting nothing but air.

  Pritchard opened a window, and yelled 'Have a nice day,' then had the tyres spraying dirt behind him.

  As he picked up speed, a possum crashed from above, shattering the windscreen. It rolled off the front of the car and Pritchard felt the tyre roll over it. Gunning the engine, he could hardly see where he was going, but as he made the road out, he smashed a hole through the shattered windscreen.

  Chapter 34

  The Milligan's had huddled together for hours in the stinking long drop dunny room. They had heard the possums in the main room, hissing and snorting. Some even sniffed at them through the dunny door. Then it went quiet. Experience had taught them not to trust that silence.

  They waited a few more moments, heard nothing and Kevin decided to open the door slightly. All he could see were dead possums. Nothing moving. He opened the door wider. Still nothing.

  'Come on,' he said.

  They went into the main room. The hut looked like a war zone and the air was bad from the fumes..

  'We have to get to the ute,' Kevin whispered.

  'We can't go outside. What if they're out there, waiting for us?'

  He wasn't ruling the possibility out. 'I'll take a look out the window. You stand by the dunny and shut yourself in if they come in here.'

  Kevin got down on his hands and knees and made his way to the window. Cautiously, he looked out. About fifty yards away, he could see about a dozen possums. The battle had decimated their numbers but there were still too many to take on without guns.

  Getting back down on his hands and knees, he returned to Susan and told her, 'Hard to say how many, but there's a few. I'm going to try for the ute.'

  'I don't want you going out there.'

  'We can't stay here. We were lucky to survive last night. The ute's just ten yards away with the keys in. I'll make a run for it, get in front of the door and you jump in.'

  'Oh, well, if it's that easy...Are you out of your mind?'

  'Susan. I almost emptied the nail gun last night. We have nothing but our bare hands to fight them with. We have to do this now.'

  'Okay. I'll be waiting. Get going.'

  They kissed as if it were their last kisses and it could well have been. Keeping low, Kevin went to the door, took hold of the handle and opened it. He was up on his feet and racing to the ute when one possum dropped on its roof, and dived at him. His fist connected with its face and it fell dazed to the ground. Kevin stomped hard on its head, opened the door of the ute and jumped inside. Another possum tried to pounce on him, but slammed harmlessly into the door as he shut it.

  He started the engine, and all around him he could see possums preparing to attack. He ran several over, and reversed the ute as close as he could to the door of the hut. The distance between the ute and the hut was clear of live possums, so he blasted the horn, opening the passenger door at the same time. Susan ran out of the hut, and got in the passenger seat, Kevin leaning across her to shut her door.

  Jamming the lever into drive, he had the tyres spinning as he drove away from the hut. 'Are you okay?'

  'Hell, no. My water's just broke.'

  'Oh, crap.'

  Chapter 35

  The wind through the shattered windscreen stung Pritchards' eyes, but he kept his speed up to seventy. There was only one man he wanted to see right then; the only one he could trust. Bill Prickle. He thought of his mobile phone on his dresser table being charged up and cursed. He remembered the café where he had met Prickle the day before and decided to phone him from there. Then he realised he had left his wallet behind and cursed again.

  On the front passenger seat was a royal blue gaberdine jacket. He reached over and grabbed it, and with one hand on the wheel, checked the pockets. He almost laughed when he felt the bulge of a wallet. Twenty minutes later, he had parked up and was entering the café.

  The man behind the counter finished serving a customer and turned his attention to Pritchard. 'Morning. Been through the wars a bit, haven't you mate?'

  Pritchard knew what he looked like with his shirt having one blood soaked sleeve and how dishevelled he was after digging his own grave.

  'You don't know the half of it. I'll have a coffee and a bacon sandwich, please.'

  'Coming right up.'

  Pritchard opened up the wallet. It was crammed with paper money, several thousand dollars at least. He took a twenty out and paid for his order. 'Do you have a phone I can use, please?'

  'A public one over there, mate.'

  'Thanks.'

  Taking his tray to the table nearest the phone, he took a mouthful of coffee and with the change from his order he called the number. It took a few minutes for Prickle to answer.

  'Bill. It's Mick. I need your help, mate. That café
we met in the last time. Thanks, Bill.'

  With his friend on his way, he sat at the table and ate the sandwich, savouring every cholesterol filled bite. He was on his third cup of coffee by the time Bill Prickle arrived.

  'Shit, Mick. What the hell happened to you?'

  'You should have seen me before I cleaned myself up in the washroom.' He quickly told Bill what had happened. Bill sat quietly until the end. 'I don't know what the hell to do, but I can't do anything on my own.'

  Bill said, 'For a start, you're coming over to my place so we can take a look at that arm.'

  'Bill. I could be putting you and Pam in danger.'

  'You'd do the same for me. Come on.'

  Out on the car park, Pritchard said, 'We have to hide their car. I don't want anyone knowing they are dead just yet.'

  'You can put it in our garage. Let's get out of here.'

  'Thanks, Bill. I'll be right behind you.'

  Forty minutes later they had driven through Patch Creek and had hidden the car in Prickle's garage, Prickle putting his police car on the drive. Pam was surprised to see Pritchard, especially in the state he was.

  'Mick. Are you hurt?'

  'Nothing serious, Pam.'

  'I'll be the judge of that. Take that shirt off.'

  Pritchard did as he was told and Pam examined the wound. 'A bullet wound?'

  'It just grazed me.'

  'It doesn't look too bad. I'll get the first aid box. Bill. Kettle on and give Mick a feed.'

  As Pam cleaned and dressed the bullet wound on his arm and the possum bite on his leg, Prickle made a full English breakfast for three and Pritchard told them all he knew.

  Chapter 36

  'Kevin. Hurry.'

  'I'm going as fast as I can. Hang on another ten minutes.'

  'Try telling the baby that.'

  Driving to the point of recklessness, Kevin took the quickest route to the nearest hospital. He was just five minutes away when he came to the roadworks. The traffic control man had his sign turned to stop and a dozen vehicles were already backed up waiting their turn, and in front of the Milligan's.