The Ellie Chronicles (53 page)

Lee and I both still had our rifles, and we both still had ammunition. We looked at each other, and without speaking a word we came to the same decision. We turned back to look at the stage, to watch the tragedy.

We did even worse than that. The guy was running almost straight towards us. There was no other fence line near, and no cover, so I suppose he had forgotten about us, or thought we were less of a risk than the bull. Maybe he thought we were nicer than we actually are. They say nice guys finish last. I’d learned during the war that nice guys get killed. So I raised my rifle and pointed it at him, so that even in his terror he would know he was about to be shot.

I wasn’t going to shoot at him, but that’s not because I’m a nice girl. It’s because I was worried that a shot would scare off the bull. That’s how nice I am.

He raised his arms, as if in surrender, or perhaps to plead for his life, and he veered away, to the left, as if circling to get back to his friend. His friend was rooted to the spot. While they were performing their dance, the bull had not stayed still. Almost as soon as the guy started running, the big beast had come after him. Even with a twenty metre start, and even though his semicircle gained him a bit of ground, the man had no chance. This was rage on four legs. This was a huge red tank with the eyes of a pig and a tail sticking out like a rudder. This was murder on the most primitive level. The bull ran him down from behind. Just at the end the man put on a sprint, and again threw up his arms as the animal reached him. There was a flurry of dust and the guy went down. Either I was still pretty deaf, or else he made no sound, because I didn’t hear anything, only a few
whoofs
from the bull as he made that big body move like a runaway cattle train.

A couple of tonnes of beef thundered over the man’s legs and back and head, and he lay there unmoving with the dust settling around him again. But the bull hadn’t finished yet. Not just one human had invaded his territory. A second trespasser was over there, no doubt looking to take his cows off him, planning to pick up a couple of hot chicks. No way was this bull going to stand by and watch as the best-looking cows in the paddock disappeared down the road to have coffee with a stranger.

Quivering with rage, shaking all over, his little eyes pink, a heat shimmer rising from his back, he eyed the other man. With his right hoof he scraped the ground. It was almost like those little friction cars that you run repeatedly on the carpet before you let them go. He was gaining energy, building up momentum, ready for his next high-speed charge.

Cattle look in the direction they are about to go and this beast was staring at the man so hard that even someone who’d never seen a bull couldn’t help but get the message. The soldier – I don’t know why I call them soldiers, it’s an insult to the genuine ones, like General Finley – had been backing away and now he too turned and ran. He headed for the fence at a different angle, one that would bring him out forty metres to our left. Lee and I both had our weapons ready.

This time we had to use them. When the guy was a dozen steps from the strainer post Lee fired. I don’t know how close he got, but he missed. It wasn’t until afterwards that I realised he’d missed deliberately. The man reacted by swerving away from the fence, putting his head down and sprinting for a tree in the distance. The rumbling of the hoofs behind him must have sounded loud in his head, even if he was half deafened.

How slow the human body seems sometimes. Even if he’d strained every ligament, dislocated every bone, stretched every muscle, he couldn’t have gone any faster. The man got all of a quarter of the way to the tree before he was run down from behind. The giant head tossed and a pair of horns caught him and flung him forwards like he’d been zapped by a million volts. Now he was not a person any more, even though he was still alive. He seemed like a thing, an object, with no mind or heart, and certainly no control over his head or arms or legs. The body hit the ground and the bull was immediately at it again, using his horns as the deadly weapons they were, punching with them, goring the thing, throwing it around, ignoring the blood that started to soak the thing’s clothing and splattered onto the bull’s face and forelegs. I saw the arms and legs flail and I heard one sobbing scream that was all too human, and then I turned away.

LEE, MY GOD he can be cool sometimes. I mean cool as in cold. While it was all happening in front of us, and my mind had stopped working because my senses were getting so much input that everything inside me had to be dedicated to processing it, Lee had been thinking, thinking, thinking.

When it seemed to be over, and the two bodies lay still and broken on the ground, and the bull was still huffing and puffing and snorting and stomping around, Lee turned to me and said, ‘This could work out pretty well.’

I stared at him in disbelief. ‘Don’t you feel anything?’

‘That comes later. And stop doing that “you’re a cold killing machine” routine on me. I’m sick of it.’

‘OK,’ I said meekly. The truth was that I also knew, even while it was happening, that the bull was acting in our best interests. It was just that Lee had taken it further, as he was about to show me.

‘Here’s what we’ve got to do,’ he said. ‘Three things.

Number one, check their bodies and make sure they’ve got no mobile phones or anything else. That way we can be sure they haven’t told their friends that we were chasing them. Number two, take away their rifles. Number three, pick up any empty shells around the place.’

‘Why do we need to pick up the shells?’ I asked slowly.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘in a way we’ve just committed the perfect murders. What happens when the bloke who owns this bull comes to check the paddock? He finds two dead guys, who have obviously been killed by his animal. He’s horrified. He calls the cops. They come out here. They search around and they probably find their campsite, and they realise that they’re members of the gang who kidnapped Gavin, and they’ve been spying on your property. They contact you and say, “We’ve just found two men killed by a wild bull.” And that’s the first you know about it. It’ll never occur to them that we more or less forced the guys into the paddock, or to put it another way, they forced themselves in there. It’ll look like they just went for a nice stroll through the bush and in their ignorance somehow provoked the bull. There’ll be no evidence to suggest anything else. No-one’ll know they’ve just been in a gun battle.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘The only danger is that if they’re found in the next couple of hours, they’ll smell of gunpowder or whatever. But to be brutal about it, once they start rotting, and once the foxes and crows and all the rest of them move in for afternoon tea, that evidence will disappear pretty quickly.’

‘What about the two steers I killed?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, bit of a problem. But they’re out of sight of the bull’s paddock. And again time and foxes’ll help.’

‘Also, they might think the soldiers shot them for food. They’re not going to do major post-mortems on a couple of rotting cattle. The cops are too busy these days.’

‘Exactly.’

I had to admit, it did sound good. And if anyone ever got what they deserved, it was these two. ‘We’d better do your three steps in reverse order,’ I said. ‘Let’s look for shells first. I don’t want to go into that paddock until the bull’s had a good long rest.’

‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ he said. ‘Actually, no, I was hoping you’d volunteer to go in there. But if you’re going to be a wimp about it, we may as well give him five minutes to settle.’

The one thing Lee didn’t have to do was spell out the reasons for covering up our involvement in the deaths of these two men. The way the world worked nowadays, if anyone found out that he and I had been exchanging shots with these guys and they’d been killed as a result of it, we’d be chucked in jail for twelve months while they interrogated us and collected evidence. We wouldn’t be going anywhere. And I’m not exaggerating much. Without knowing a lot about the law, I doubted if we’d be actually locked up, but it was possible, and we’d certainly be spending an awful lot of time talking to lawyers and the police.

We spread out and started looking for empty bullet shells and shotgun cartridges. Some were easy to find. And others we got by diligent searching. Some we found by fluke, others I’m sure we never found. But we figured that if we couldn’t find them, no-one else would either.

What we did find was the campsite. They’d made a clever little shelter, like a cubby, out of sticks and bark and the branches of a low-growing tree, and they’d camouflaged it with more bark and some dead grass. We peered inside. We didn’t want to disturb it in case the cops found it later. But we did see a mobile phone on top of one of the packs. ‘Be funny if it rang,’ Lee said.

Then it was back to the paddock. I was nervous for a couple of reasons, one being that Colin McCann might have come to check on his bull by now. He was a nice guy, but a bit lazy, so he probably only went to the paddock every few days, and even then he might not get up to this boundary. But if we were unlucky, he would be standing there with his own mobile phone, and we would hear the whirring of the police helicopter in the distance.

The other reason I was worried isn’t hard to guess. I didn’t know how long the bull would take to calm down after killing two men, but I figured it could be quite a while. I knew Lee was as nervous as I was, because we kept making jokes to each other as we went back up the slope.

Well, it could have been better and it could have been worse. The bull had moved, but only about a hundred metres. A couple of kilometres would have been more to my liking. He was tearing at the grass, and looking pretty foul tempered. It occurred to me that we had not only caused the deaths of the two men, we had sentenced the bull to death as well. No farmer in the world would keep a bull that had killed people. Not for the first time I had to harden my heart and think ‘One more victim of war’. War discriminates a bit more than a tsunami does, but not by much.

We crept into the paddock, trying to keep a couple of trees between us and the bull. We had our firearms, just in case, but it would have been very complicated if we’d had to shoot the bull. They would have found him with a bullet wound from a gun that didn’t belong to either of the soldiers. Lee started dreaming up some idea about shooting the bull, wiping the weapon clean of our fingerprints, putting the rifle in the hands of one of the dead soldiers and stamping his fingers all over it. I just looked at him. He really was shooting the bull. He must have been watching too many bad American cop shows. No way was I going to let life get that complicated.

It had occurred to me a few times that the guys might not have been dead, but it was a thought I didn’t want to contemplate. My brain said they were dead and my instincts said they were dead. I think I was just trying to scare myself. Anyway, they were dead. One of them had blood from his ears and mouth but no other injuries that I could see. The other had guts hanging out of his stomach where he’d been trampled. It was pretty foul. We took the rifles but we didn’t touch anything else. The magazines were empty, so we were right about their running out of ammunition.

And then back home. We had accomplished nothing. Unless you call the deaths of two people something. Oh yes, I had a grim feeling of revenge, which fitted in nicely with my anger at the people who had committed the kidnapping. I had fantasies about hunting all of them down and killing them one by one, even if it took years. I would be the Avenging Angel. There are horrific crimes and bad crimes and minor crimes, and then there’s overdue library books. Kidnapping Gavin was a terrible thing to do. It could never be justified, never, never, never. So I didn’t shed too many tears over the bodies in the paddock. But at the same time it didn’t get us anywhere. I had been distracted by Lee’s sudden awareness that there must be people spying on the house, and in the excitement of that neither of us had stopped to think that it actually didn’t matter much.

However, Lee did have one bright idea. He said, ‘Is it okay if I ring Liberation? If there’s one thing they’re really good at, it’s gathering intelligence, and if they have a look at those blokes they might be able to work out where they came from.’

I was a bit concerned. ‘I don’t want them hanging a double murder on me. It wouldn’t look good on my school record.’

‘Don’t worry. They take their own view of the law. Nothing we did today will faze them.’

‘Bloodthirsty lot. It’s very convenient though, isn’t it? To decide that you just don’t agree with the law so you’ll follow your own path.’

He gazed at me in that special Lee way.

‘OK, figure this one then. Talking on your mobile phone while you drive is really dangerous, isn’t it? Irresponsible, reckless, and definitely against the law?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ I said that to humour him, because I was obviously being set up, but I still agreed about the phones anyway.

‘But it’s legal in New Zealand.’

‘Oh.’ I sat there and thought about this. ‘OK. I see what you mean.’

‘In one country you’re an irresponsible, dangerous law-breaker and in the other you’re a respectable lawabiding citizen. I’ll give you another example. Those flashing lights and stuff they put in for all the schools a few years back, so if you’re zooming along at a hundred you have to slow to forty when the kiddies are leaving to go home.’

‘Or arriving at school, yes, that’s right.’

‘One day it was OK to do a hundred and the very next day you’re a law-breaking lunatic. Yet nothing’s changed. You’re the same person driving in the same way as you were the day before. The only thing that’s changed is the law. Suddenly you’re a criminal.’

‘Some things are always wrong though. Murder, rape, the heavy stuff.’

‘In some societies that was part of the social fabric. Or religious fabric, or both. I’ve been reading about the early days of Bora Bora, where if they had a meeting to pay respects to their God, they killed people left, right and centre. They bred slaves especially so they could be human sacrifices. That wasn’t murder, not to them.’

‘But to us . . .’

‘That’s my point. I don’t think there are any laws that aren’t artificial. They’re just what the society decides they want or don’t want at that particular time. And once they’ve decided what they want, one of the ways to make it all work is to heap abuse on anyone who “breaks the law”, as they call it.’

‘But our laws are based on a principle . . . a philosophy.’

‘Which is?’

‘I don’t know. Something about respecting each person’s rights. Everybody has a right to live the life they want without interference from others. That sort of stuff.’

‘Oh yeah? Tell that to the refugees who came to Australia before the war. They were here legally but the government wouldn’t follow its own laws. Just locked them up and threw away the keys. Hey, check this out. Not long ago there was this thirteen-year-old kid in New South Wales. His mother was a prostitute and a heroin addict and she abused the kid. He got put in foster care when he was two or some young age like that, then later he got kicked out of multiple schools, then they diagnosed him as having a chromosomal abnormality and being intellectually impaired. Then, when he’s thirteen, he kills a little girl. Really brutally. Horrible stuff. So what does the judge do? Hits the boy with twenty years in prison.’

‘And your point is?’

‘What’s he being punished for? Being a murderer or being an abused child?’

I was silent. Sometimes Lee was way ahead of me. ‘So what should they have done with him?’ I asked finally.

He shrugged. ‘I dunno. Not send him to prison for twenty years though.’

‘If he’d killed Pang you might feel differently.’

‘Yeah, I might. And then you have to decide whether the relatives of victims are the best people to make those calls. I don’t think they are. Chances are they’ll be too blinded by grief and love and rage to see the whole picture.’

‘But as Gavin’s relatives, if that’s what you’d call us, we just went out and executed a couple of guys for what they’ve done to him.’

‘That’s true. And there’s not much I can say about it except that we didn’t make any definite plans to kill them. But yeah, you’re right, we could have stopped it and we didn’t. When the bull was trampling them to death I didn’t actually think about Gavin, I thought about my parents.’

And on that sobering note he went off to ring the Scarlet Pimple or someone else in Liberation. It left me to do the thing I’m worst at, and that was to wait. Once again my life was in other people’s hands and I didn’t like it one bit. I had to wait for the ID documents that I would use on the other side of the border, I had to wait for more information to come from Liberation, I had to wait for transport to get me to Havelock.

I waited also for another phone call from the kidnappers but there was nothing. No news didn’t mean good news for me, it meant no news. It was impossible to know what to read into their silence. It could mean that Gavin was dead, it could mean that their phone had been cut off because they hadn’t paid their bills, it could be that they were confused by the sudden silence of their spies. Most of my friends voted for the last one.

Jeremy sat at the end of my kitchen table and I sat at the corner beside him, sipping on a homemade lemon squash. He said that if Gavin was dead they wouldn’t tell me anyway. ‘Why would they tell you? He’s their bargaining chip. They have to convince you he’s still alive or they won’t get what they want.’

‘Thanks, that’s very comforting.’

He was actually there to coach me in my homework, which was to learn my new identity. I was now Paula McClure, daughter of Mr Jerry McClure and Dr Suzanne Spring. There was a real Paula McClure. She was currently at boarding school in Maryland, in the USA, and her parents were in Havelock as part of a media liaison programme. Don’t ask me what that means. But it took my breath away when I found out that the real Paula’s parents would have no idea that I was in the same city as them, let alone that I was posing as their daughter. For that matter the real Paula would have no idea, but seeing it was a long way to Baltimore it wasn’t so likely that she’d be troubled by having a stunt double in Havelock. Still, it troubled me. If someone impersonated me I’d blow about ten fuses. And what if I ran into someone who knew the real Paula? What if I ran into Mr Jerry McClure and Dr Suzanne Spring? What would I say to them? ‘Oh hi, guys, I’ve been meaning to look you up for ages, I’m your daughter, you know, Paula. So how have you been?’