Blood & Dust (42 page)

'And my mum.'

'Don't know anything about that, sport, but it'd be a damn shame if she was.'

Matheson stood and Reece braced himself.

'Don't. Ask yourself: can she make it without you?' He indicated Kala with the barrel of his gun.

'Can Mira make it without you?'

'Of that, I've no doubt. Where's Taipan?'

'Gone to see his sister.'

'Sounds about right. So what's it gonna be, sport?'

Matheson smiled. 'I like your sword.'

'Don't!' He fired, point blank, as Matheson charged. His bullets blew the kid to mist, and he
heard the noise, on the rock above him, and he realised he'd fucked up in a big way.

Kevin landed on Hunter, knees smacking him to the ground. He rolled to his feet,
cat-like grace, cat-like speed. His blood surged. Time froze. The world narrowed to Hunter, just
Hunter. The man rose, seeking to bring his assault rifle to bear but Kevin attacked, punching, a
hammer against concrete. A burst from the gun blew fire and death past his shoulder and then the
rifle was gone, hurled out into the bushes. Hunter was up against the rock, eyes unfocused, blood
pouring from his mouth and nose. Kevin bit into him, bit hard, and he sagged against the limp body,
pinning it to the cliff as Hunter's lifestream flowed. His life and his knowledge. Mira knew where
Danica was. Danica and Cassie. She was going to kill them both.

Kevin tore himself free. Leaned, gasping, against the man's blood-drenched shoulder as he
assimilated the knowledge, locking Hunter's experiences away behind a door in his mind. Hard to stop
when he'd been so empty, so thirsty. Revelling in the man's sad, sorry life. A pawn, just another
helpless fool floating on life's slipstream, trying not to go under. In over his head. So alike, him
and Hunter, in their own way. It was true - Reece didn't know who had killed Kevin's father. But the
shot had come from his pistol. Two fingers on the trigger. His father dropping. 'Sorry' falling from
Hunter's lips, but not sorry enough to drag him out, to save him and Kevin as the flames roared up.
Already knowing his father to be dead and believing that Kevin deserved to be. Nobody to save.
Pragmatic cunt.

Kevin thumped Hunter in the stomach for good measure, then let him slide down, moaning, to lie in
a pile at the base of the rock.

Kala's voice cut through his fug. 'Okay?' She stood nearby, his rifle in her hands.

'Okay,' he confirmed. 'We have to get to Danica. In a cave, like you said. Up the cliff a bit, on
the other side of the gorge. We gotta hurry. Mira's closing in. She sent this bastard to stop us.
She can sense me, so she'll know her man here has failed.' He nudged Reece with the toe of his boot,
none too gently.

'Can you warn Mother? Can you reach her through the blood?'

'I don't think so. She's so shielded.' He looked up at the cliff on the other side of the gorge
where he could just make out a smudge of grey stone through the tree cover. The sky was lighter
there, the stars dim to vanishing. Somewhere in the gorge, a kookaburra cackled awake, an alarm
clock for all the early birds. A new day was dawning, but there was still enough darkness for
murder. Kevin unbuckled Hunter's belt and examined its pouches - sword in scabbard, pistol in
shoulder holster, spare ammo, HeartStopper with spare gas cylinder and stake. Medical kit. Canteen.
He passed the latter to Kala and she rinsed, spat, drank. He took Hunter's satellite phone from its
pouch and smashed it against the boulder. Hunter wouldn't need it, and Kevin had no-one to call. He
buckled on the belt and tested its balance on his hips. Passed the pistol to Kala. 'Swap you -
you're better with handguns.'

She checked the gun and pocketed the clips he gave her, then asked, 'What about him?'

Kevin looked at the prone man through an overlay of memory and allowed it to fade under the
urgency of the moment. 'Good luck to the bastard. I've got all the blood on my hands I can cope with
right now. I'm more concerned about saving Danica.'

They made their way down the slope, heading for the caves where Danica and Mira waited.

Reece pushed himself to a sitting position, then used the rock to prop himself up
as he stood. The kid had done him over but good. Quick learner, the little bastard. The wound in his
throat: pulsing painfully but no longer bleeding. Jaw mending. Ribs cracked, maybe broken. Stomach a
massive bruise despite his vest. Vision a little dodgy still, the combination of swelling and
concussion. He checked his equipment. The kid had taken his Glock and utility belt, so his
broadsword and staker were also gone. So too the first-aid kit - could've used a hit of go-juice and
a couple of painkillers about now - and his canteen. It was gonna be a long, long day. But he still
had his car keys in one pocket and his back-up revolver strapped to his ankle and a dirk sheathed on
his inner arm.

He looked up at the rim of the gorge. There was go-juice and a two-way radio in the
four-wheel-drive. It was a hell of a climb to get there. He'd make the most of the morning cool
while he could. The sun would hit this side of the gorge first. He'd be plenty thirsty by the time
he got to the vehicle. If he got there. Magpies trilled and he could've wrung their cheerful little
necks. Cockatoos screeched and that rasping call felt a more suitable accompaniment to the state of
his broken body. The kid had taken a metric shitload of blood. It was all he could do to stand. And
then step. And then again. Eventually, he fell into a state of numbness that allowed him to put one
foot after the other, using saplings for support. He could see his shadow growing darker as the
world lightened, night slowly filtering to day. Behind, the eastern sky had faded from black to grey
and the silhouettes of trees lined the cliff edge on the other side of the gorge.

Assuming Mira survived this little operation, she wouldn't be going anywhere before sunset. That
gave him a good twelve hours of distance to put between them. The kid was right. There was enough
blood on everyone's hands. Flick was welcome to it.

What now?
He stopped his plodding, gasping climb. Voices. From his right. Through a veil
of scrub. Golden wattle buds, birds already flapping about them. Wrens and some honey eaters with
curved beaks. They darted away as he approached.

The voices again. Male and female. Familiar.

He could keep walking. Should keep walking. And drive.

He pulled his pistol and pushed through the undergrowth.

Back in his day, the police motto had been 'firmness with courtesy'. Special Branch had always
been more about the firmness. Justice had failed, but revenge was a distinct possibility.

The air grew cooler as Kevin and Kala descended. Bracken carpeted the ravine floor.
A creek gurgled its twisting, intermittent way through the gorge. Here it was reduced to a series of
smooth-rocked pools, overshadowed by slender gums and bordered by thick hedges of ferns, cycads and
palms. The eastern cliff towered above them, sheer and smooth in places, a tumble of vine-shrouded
boulders in others. The caves showed as dark maws in the shadowed cliff, long and shallow, as though
some mighty giant had carved footholds in the distant past.

Kevin's sense of urgency increased as they got closer. He couldn't tell if he was feeling Mira's
anticipation or Danica's anxiety, or perhaps some feedback from Taipan or even Hunter.

Kala stumbled.

'Maybe you should stay here where it's cool,' he said. 'Rest.'

'No.' She sagged against a fibrous fern as tall as she was, its drooping fronds a strange
umbrella above her head. 'I'm okay.'

'You've lost a lot of blood.'

'I said I'm okay. I'll see it through.'

'You don't have to,' he said.

'I was there at the start and I'll damn well be there at the finish.'

They sat by a waterhole, shallow and clear, and washed the worst of the muck from their faces.
Her throat was still livid with the scar of the cut, her shirt dark with blood. 'Shoulda nicked
another one, eh?'

'And a brolly. It's getting light.' Kevin wondered if that was the source of his rising unease.
He paced as she scooped up a drink.

'The cliff looks steep. A hard climb.'

'Hunter's lifestream showed me - he and Mira were hereabouts when they saw someone in one of
those caves about halfway up. There's a spur, there, on the right, see it? We can go up that. Kind
of a ledge where it joins the cliff.'

'Can you see anyone?'

'No-one. At least we know she and Hunter are here by themselves. Reinforcements are on the way,
though, so we'll have to do this fast.'

He shouldered the rifle and helped her up.

They crossed the stream and headed for the spur, the ground rising, the ferns thinning to be
replaced by sparse spiky grass and blue gums. Bird song filled the gorge - darting parrots and
slow-flapping cockatoos, crows and magpies, a whip bird. The kookaburra laughing again. Above, the
edge of the cliff was clearly visible, the sky paling into the grey-blue of pre-dawn.

Kevin felt the threat of the approaching sun looming over him with all the solidity and menace of
the cliff itself, trying to grind him down.

They finally reached the ledge he'd spied, some inner sensation drawing him, telling him this was
the spot. No sign of Mira - that didn't inspire confidence.

'Oh fuck,' Kala murmured, and he followed her gaze through a gap in the treetops and saw figures
on the cliff opposite. Taipan had found Jasmine and Willa.

From where Reece crouched in the underbrush, Jasmine Turner looked like a matron
who'd just had her picnic interrupted by ants. She wore pants and a long-sleeved blouse, with a
shawl or something rumpled on the stony ground at her feet near a wide-brimmed straw hat. She looked
absolutely furious, but it was a cold fury, contained and focused. A splash of fresh blood marked a
tear in Jasmine's blouse over her left breast; a smear dotted the lace cuff at her wrist. The picnic
ants had been particularly fierce but the old girl was still standing - they'd bitten off more than
they could chew, it seemed.

Turner snapped her hand out, palm up, toward Heather, who stood nearby in her denim work clothes.
The younger woman gripped a black-tipped timber stake in both hands as though it were a snake,
liable to bite her if she let it go. It was the same one Reece had seen displayed on the mantel at
the homestead; the one he'd taken from Taipan's back a week ago when this debacle had begun at
Whitby Downs. Heather wasn't responsible for Turner's wound, however. No, the offender in question
crouched in front of the two women with his back to Reece, but unmistakable nonetheless.

Taipan held a curved dagger low, his other hand out for balance, knees bent. On the rock between
him and the women lay a three-foot length of sapling spotted with bright spots where branches had
been stripped. One end had been roughly hewn to a sharp point; it was tipped with blood, making it
look like a massively oversized pencil. Reece didn't need a DNA test to work out whose blood it was.
Should've led with the knife, he thought, even if it wasn't a stabbing blade.

Turner snapped her hand at Heather again, but the girl ignored her, clutching the stake close.

'God, Chris, please, just go! Turn around and go,' Heather pleaded.

Taipan shook his head, not taking his eyes from Turner. The winged skull on the back of his
jacket grinned at Reece through the rips and scorch marks. Reece raised his pistol; from here, he
could hit it right between the fiery eyes. Jasmine Turner was an important asset. Saving her might
buy him some grace if Mira failed. It might buy him a pension or at least a clean getaway.

'No more chances, Chris,' Turner said, and Reece thought she glanced at him, gave him the
slightest of nods. The old girl was in control here. The biker had taken his shot and missed; he was
unlikely to do her any lasting damage. Reece lowered his pistol, but kept it at a point from where
he could bring it to bear quickly. Neither the biker nor his sister, too caught up in their own
drama, had acknowledged him. He could afford to wait. He owed Dave at least one good shot into the
bastard, but he'd let Turner have her fun first. One thing he'd learnt in his long career: don't
piss off the bloodsuckers.

'This ends, right here, right now,' Turner continued. 'My patience has been exhausted.'

'Then let Willa go,' Taipan said. 'Let her choose.'

'She has chosen, Chris. Time and again. It's you who can't let go. You who can't accept. You who
are bound to a past you can't even remember or possibly know.'

'Because you stole them!'

'Nonsense. Without me, you'd be dead now, nothing but bones and lost potential, just a waif in
the petrol fumes and alcohol that have choked the life out of your kind. I saved you from genocide,
boy, and how do you repay me? Betrayal. Treachery. Violence. The slaughter of people dear to me. The
destruction of my home.'

'Please, Jasmine, let him go,' Heather said. 'For me.'

He stood, slowly, the knife gripped loosely at his side. 'But we all know that she can't. Because
I can't let you go.' He glanced at his sister. 'Sorry, Willa, but I can't.'

Turner swooped. Reece lifted his pistol but Taipan was quick, darting to the side, the knife
flashing out and up. Out and up and into Turner's stomach as her hands clawed for his throat.

Reece stepped out, pistol levelled. 'Okay, that's enough. Let her go, Taipan. Step back. Step
back right the fuck now.' Taipan let Turner fall and turned to face Reece. Heather ran to the
woman's side and pulled the dagger free. Didn't look like a heart shot, but it was damn close.

'You're like one of them bad pennies, ain'tcha,' Taipan said, inching closer.

'Dave says g'day.' Reece shot Taipan in the chest. The biker dropped to his knees, coughing, as
the sound of the shot reverberated down the gorge. Reece stepped forward to finish him, one through
the head, and then a stake to ice him till Turner came around - he had two to choose from, lying
side by side on the ground.