by Mark Smith
The sun is well up now. I can feel it prickling the back of my neck. If we weren’t in such a dangerous place we could take our time and enjoy the morning. It’s beautiful out here. The hills roll away to the east, and the leaning fence posts along the road look like crooked teeth. Up higher the tips of the grey gums outline the ridge against the deep blue of the sky.
When Hope begins to cry, Kas takes the reins in one hand and rubs her back with the other. ‘It’s okay, sweetie,’ she says. ‘Not long now.’
But it takes the best part of an hour to get to the junction where the road veers off towards the plains. Hope is crying constantly, but we keep moving, finally reaching the stand of wattles where we hid the packs.
We dismount quickly and Kas gives Hope the last of the mashed veggies. From up here we can see smoke rising from the chimney of the general store in Swan’s Marsh. I’m grateful we don’t need to go that way. The last thing we need is to meet the Monahans again, though I’m guessing after the way Tusker treated them, they might be rethinking their support for Ramage.
I carefully unwind the bandage on my arm. The swelling has eased a little but the skin is still raw and the branded ‘R’ rises black and sore. I dab more cream onto it and Kas helps redo the bandage.
The packs are where we left them. I open two cans of beans and we sit back against a fallen log to eat. Kas passes Hope to me. Her little body is warm against my shoulder.
Kas pauses between mouthfuls of beans. ‘We could never look after her on our own,’ she says. ‘She’s so dependent. But…’
‘What?’
She pulls her hair back with one hand and turns to look at me. ‘There’s something you should know.’
‘What?’
Her eyes fix on some object in the distance. ‘I’m not ready to be her mother, but I don’t think I can leave her. I’ll have to stay in the valley,’ she says.
Something freezes inside me.
She pauses, then adds, ‘Will you stay with me?’
Just the possibility of not going back to the coast throws my mind into a spin. I can’t find the words to respond. All I want is to be with Kas, but Angowrie is where I belong. And what if JT and Daymu arrive and we’re not there?
‘Forget it,’ she says, her voice short. ‘You’re so—’
‘So what?’
‘So selfish.’
This stings somewhere deep. ‘That’s bullshit, and you know it. Wasn’t it me who helped Rose? Me who went searching for you? Me who led us back to Angowrie? How’s that selfish?’
Kas takes Hope and puts her into the papoose. She walks off to get Yogi, leaving me standing there. I fuss about with the packs, stuffing food into saddlebags, trying not to look at her.
‘Shit!’ Kas’s voice is low, urgent. She’s pointing to the road.
A group of men is moving towards Swan’s Marsh. I count six of them. They’re a hundred metres from us, but I’m sure the leader is Tusker from the way he walks, his eyes scanning right and left, a rifle in his hands.
Kas takes Yogi’s bridle and pulls him back behind some low-hanging branches. I drop to the ground, suddenly short of breath. When I look over the top, they’ve passed us, the stragglers hurrying to keep up with Tusker.
‘They’re on a mission,’ Kas says. ‘We gotta move.’
We wait until the Wilders fall out of sight behind a small rise. I stash the packs back under the logs and we hurry up the hill to the road. Yogi is fidgety, feeling the urgency in Kas. We mount quickly and Kas soon has Yogi at a fast canter, putting distance between us and the Wilders. We stick to the road for a good ten minutes before veering back up into the trees, all the while making our way north—away from one sort of danger, and heading into another.
It’s strange holding onto Kas now. Her body tenses against my grip. She pushes Yogi harder than she needs to, like she wants to take her anger out in the riding.
Yogi is sweating. But Kas keeps urging him on, weaving through the trees. Branches swat at me when she ducks unexpectedly and we come close enough to some of the trunks for me to feel the bark brush against my legs. My arm aches with all the swaying. I swear Kas is trying to knock me off.
Finally, she slows Yogi to a trot, then a walk. I take my chance and slide off, happy to feel the ground under my feet. Yogi is blowing hard and throws his head from side to side.
‘Jesus, Kas, what’re you trying to do? Kill us?’
She doesn’t answer but leans forward and pats Yogi’s sweat-drenched neck. ‘It’s okay, boy,’ she says, ‘we can take it easy for a while.’
There’s a thick silence between us now. We push on through the bush, Kas ahead and me walking behind. The land dips away to a small stream where she dismounts to let Yogi drink.
‘I should have killed him when I had the chance,’ Kas says, but I can’t tell if she’s talking to me or to herself.
‘Tusker?’
She doesn’t answer.
When we get moving again, Kas walks, leading Yogi to give him a rest. The argument we had swirls around in my head. I hate it when we’re not talking to each other. I quicken my pace and come up next to her.
‘Hey,’ I say.
She keeps walking.
I touch her on the shoulder and she stops, dropping her head so her hair hides her face. ‘I can’t work you out,’ she says.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘One minute I think you want to be with me, have me close. And the next minute you don’t even answer my question. What am I supposed to think, Finn?’
‘I didn’t know what to say. You didn’t give me a chance.’
‘Okay, so here’s your chance,’ she says, dragging the hair back off her face.
‘I do want to be with you. I just—’
‘Just what?’
‘I have to think.’
‘Think about what? We promised Rose we’d look after Hope. You can’t make a promise like that and then just dump it because it gets difficult. Here’s the deal, Finn: you’re either all in or all out. There’s no halfway.’
The look on her face breaks me open. It’s a mixture of anger and defiance and need. I feel like shit, like all I do is let her down. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
‘I don’t want you to be sorry, I want to know whether you’re in or you’re out?’
‘I’m in,’ I say, quietly at first, but then louder, ‘I’m in.’
‘All the way?’ she demands.
‘All the way,’ I say.
We mostly travel up through the trees, but sometimes lower down in the open country too, where Yogi can stretch out and we can really cover some ground. Hope cries a lot of the time. Eventually, the two windmills come into sight, standing out on the plain catching the glow of the setting sun. When they line up we turn into the bush and begin the climb to the valley entrance.
We move slowly now, taking care not to turn any corner in the track without checking what’s beyond it. Hope is quiet for the time being but it’s hard to hide Yogi’s bulk, so if we come across anyone they’re going to spot us.
It’s not quite dark when the track drops closer to the river. This is where we last saw Steb and Vic when we left the valley. The grove of trees is quiet. No guards meet us as we push through to where the land opens out.
What I do see, are clear tyre tracks from a trail bike. Ramage is somewhere in the valley.
‘No guards here at the entrance—that’s strange,’ I say.
‘They might’ve followed the Wilders to the farm, attacked them from behind.’
‘Maybe. We need to get as close as we can and try to figure out what’s happening.’
‘I don’t want to spend the night in the open. We’re out of food for Hope and we won’t be able to keep her warm enough.’
The night is clear but the wind is up, making it hard for us to hear anyone approaching. A quarter-moon nudges over the ridge and provides enough light for us to make our way along the gravel road. We both lean forward, straining to hear anything coming towards
us.
Then Kas pulls Yogi to a halt. We’re completely exposed here. If anyone comes, we’ll have nowhere to hide.
‘What is it?’ I whisper.
‘Shh.’
I can’t hear anything other than Yogi’s breath and my own heart pounding in my ears. Until I pick it up—the unmistakable sound of a motor.
A trail bike.
‘Ride!’ I yell at Kas as I jump off Yogi, my feet slipping on the muddy track.
Kas circles me, pulling hard on the reins, uncertain.
‘Go,’ I say. ‘I’ve got this.’
But she stays.
There’s something odd about the sound of the trail bike; the motor is labouring. There’s a small rise twenty metres ahead of us blocking our view. The bike is misfiring now.
Finally, it reaches the top of the hill and splutters to a stop.
There’s hardly any sound, just the wind and the pinging of the motor as it cools. The rider is silhouetted against the sky, standing astride the bike as he leans forward and peers into the gloom.
‘Look after Hope,’ I whisper, standing in the middle of the track with the rifle in my hands.
The bike rolls a few metres down the incline and stops. Yogi’s snorting makes the rider sit up.
Then, I hear a scared and aching voice. ‘Help.’
It’s Willow. She’s on the bike, in front of the rider.
Whoever it is on the bike with her, he’s breathing heavily, in pain. He raises one arm until the outline of a handgun is clear against the sky. When he speaks his voice is low. ‘Let me pass.’
It’s Ramage.
‘He’s shot,’ Willow says, her voice cracking.
Ramage lifts his head. ‘You fuckin’ kids,’ he spits.
He has an arm tight around Willow’s neck.
‘Now, let me pass,’ Ramage says, ‘or I’ll….’
‘Enough,’ Kas yells, the sharpness of her voice sending Yogi skittering sideways. She pulls him back and holds her ground.
Willow lets out a wail that seems to fill the valley. ‘He killed my dad,’ she screams. ‘He killed my dad.’
It feels like a rock has hit me in the chest. Harry.
Ramage loses his balance and lurches to the side, scrambling to get a grip as the weight of Willow and the bike begin to topple him. He manages to get his footing, staggering away from the bike and dragging Willow with him. But as soon as she feels the ground under her feet, Willow pushes away and runs to Yogi and Kas.
Ramage is no more than ten metres from them. He’s holding his shoulder, but he manages to point the gun at Kas and Willow. And Hope.
I hear the click of the gun as he tries to fire. He checks it and raises it again.
Kas moves quickly, scooping Willow up with one arm before digging her heels into Yogi’s flanks. ‘Shoot him,’ Kas yells. ‘Shoot him.’
Yogi’s hooves slip but he gets enough purchase to take off into the darkness, leaving Ramage and me alone.
Ramage steadies his gun, aiming at me now.
Another click.
I’ve been lucky a second time.
The rifle is heavy in my hands and it feels like my whole body is creased in some way. My arms are so tense I can hardly lift them. I plant my feet in the gravel and strain to bring the rifle to my shoulder.
But Ramage slumps back, falling into the grass and letting out a cry that could be pain or could be anger. I step towards him, close enough to see the gun has fallen from his hand. I kick it away and stand above him, the rifle aimed at his chest.
He clutches the wound on his shoulder.
The moon gives enough light for me to see Ramage’s face. He looks older than I remember and, somehow, smaller. It’s only four months since I held a knife at his throat in the hayshed paddock. How different would things be now if I’d killed him when I had the chance? Before he killed Harry.
I take a step away as he shifts his backside towards a large rock by the side of the track. He looks out across the paddocks, then back to me. ‘What’s your name, boy? I never found out.’ He talks like he’s got stones in his mouth.
I’m standing in front of him, just out of reach.
‘Finn.’
He groans. ‘Finn? Like a fish?’
‘I guess so.’
He shifts slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position. ‘On the horse, that was Warda’s sister?’
‘Kas.’
‘And the baby? Shauna?’
‘Hope. Yeah, her too.’ There’s no point in lying to him.
‘Hope,’ he says. I’m not sure but I think he nods his head. He hauls himself up, pushing his shoulders back against the rock. ‘You think I’m to blame for Warda dying, don’t you?’
I don’t say anything. It’s too bizarre, this conversation.
‘You’ve got it all wrong, kid. It wasn’t me who killed Warda. It was you. You hid her from me when she needed proper care. She could have lived. But no, you had to play the hero.’
Anger rises in my chest. ‘She hated you!’ I scream. ‘She never would have gone back to Longley.’
‘She was sick. And I only wanted to look after her.’ His voice trails off. ‘I loved her,’ he says.
It’s the way adults argue, twisting everything until you almost believe they’re right. I think back to the night Rose died, the way Ramage kissed her, mourned her.
But hate’s like dirt that’s worked its way into the creases of your skin. You can scrub as hard as you like but it’s still there.
‘Hunting her down when she was pregnant and injured, that was love, was it?’ I say.
He moves again, wincing, but gathering his strength. ‘You only heard one side of that story,’ he says.
‘It was enough.’
His eyes shift to my rifle and he changes tack. ‘You’re naïve, kid—that’s your problem. You don’t know how the world works. You’ve gotta take your opportunities. Surely your parents taught you that?’
Him mentioning Mum and Dad, people he never knew and who were nothing like him, flicks a switch in me somewhere. Why shouldn’t I shoot him? I could kill him and no one would care, probably not even his own men. They seem to hate him almost as much as I do.
Ramage pushes his weight against the rock and climbs to his feet, all the time looking straight at me, smirking.
His voice comes low and harsh, ‘Your arm,’ he says, pointing at the bandage covering the burn. ‘You’re mine, now.’
I point to the ragged scar across the back of his hand where I cut him, that morning in the hayshed paddock. ‘I reckon we’re even,’ I say.
He turns his back on me and walks towards the trail bike. But I’m ahead of him by a couple of metres and I place myself between him and the bike, my rifle raised.
‘What are you going to do, kid? Kill me? You couldn’t do it last time.’
This time the anger takes hold of my whole body. It comes from somewhere deep and it’s about Mum and Dad and Ray and Rose. And now Harry, too. All the shit things that happened to them, all the hurt and tears.
I squeeze the trigger. He cringes, bringing his hands up to cover his face.
‘Jesus,’ he yells and it’s as though the force of the word pushes him backwards. Suddenly he’s less sure of himself—not knowing whether I missed him deliberately or not.
Without taking his eyes off me, he picks up the trail bike and drags his leg over. ‘This is it, boy,’ he says. ‘Your last chance.’
He pushes up and faces me, smiling now. ‘See,’ he says, snarling, ‘this is why you’ll never win. Mercy’s a great quality, kid—but only if everyone’s playing by the same rules.’
The motor rumbles into life, splutters and dies. He tries again and this time it takes. I hear the sound of the gear clicking into place. Ramage leans forward and the bike starts to move.
I bring the rifle to my shoulder. The metal trigger is cold against my finger.
I breathe in.
‘You’re wrong,’ I yell, ‘about everything.’
But for all the fear and hate and loathing, I can’t squeeze the trigger. It’s as though another larger, stronger hand covers mine and a voice I remember from years ago whispers in my ear saying, this isn’t us, this isn’t us.
And the trail bike is swallowed by the night.
‘Finn!’ Kas calls. I’ve walked a couple of hundred metres towards the farm and I’m still shaking. It takes me a few seconds to work out where her voice is coming from. ‘You okay?’ she says, nudging Yogi forward out of the dark. ‘Did you shoot him?’
I try to speak but nothing comes out.
Willow slides off Yogi’s back and runs to me, burying her face in my shirt, big sobs jerking her body. ‘Dad,’ she finally says, the word heaving out of her. ‘There was a big fight. Dad got shot.’
Kas dismounts slowly, holding Hope in the papoose with one arm. ‘Wils,’ she says, ‘is it safe for us to go to the farm?’
Willow is struggling to speak. ‘I don’t know,’ she says between sobs.
‘How many Wilders are there?’ Kas asks.
‘I’m not sure. Lots. Some are dead.’
Kas doesn’t say anything more. I give her a leg-up onto Yogi and she reaches her hand down to pull Willow up. I slide the rifle back over my shoulder. I walk behind them, my mind reliving the conversation with Ramage, my ears hearing nothing but the wind and my teeth grinding in my jaw. My anger spills into tears. I don’t know if it’s anger at Ramage, or anger at myself for not killing him.
As we get closer to the farm we push uphill to the west side of the valley, so we can keep Yogi out of sight and approach the buildings from behind. There are lamps burning in Harry and Stella’s place but everything else is dark. With Yogi tied to a fence rail in the cattle yards we inch our way towards the back of the house. Willow sticks close, holding the back of my shirt.
Kas slips the papoose off and hands Hope to me. ‘I’ll go around the front and see if I can get a look in one of the windows,’ she says.
Willow, Hope and I hide behind the wood stack and Kas disappears into the dark. Hope starts to wriggle and I’m worried she’s going to cry. I hold her to me and rub her back. From here I can see the row of sheds over near Rachel’s place and I make out shapes in the open ground of the yard. Bodies.
