They all agree, but Jed senses a determination among the four drovers that leaves him wondering whether he has been left out of a group decision. The killing of Joe and attempted killing of Charcoal has crossed a boundary that puts Decker outside the accepted rules of justice. Nothing is spoken but there is some kind of shared agreement. They are direct men who work hard and understand the importance of trust and respect. A man like Decker undermines both of these qualities and violates their outback values regarding women.
“Let’s get organised,” Billy announces decisively. “Give me five to check the chopper and we’ll get airborne,” he adds. They all rise together.
Jed reaches into his pocket, takes out a single round of .45 and gives it to Alex. “I kept one as a spare, just in case.”
Alex takes it from him, reloads the Colt with confident movements and tucks it back into her belt in a way that impresses the men standing around her. “That gives us six rounds in total.” Jed notices she doesn’t offer to give the Colt back to him.
Andy beckons Jed over to the Toyota, opens the glove box and takes out a revolver. He passes it to Jed. “That’s for you.”
Jed takes the revolver and opens the cylinder to check the load.
“Only got four rounds. Use it on injured cattle sometimes. A good, reliable gun,” Andy says with the affection that comes from long familiarity.
“I can’t take this. It belongs to you and, if things go bad, you could have some explaining to do.”
“That belongs to no one,” Andy confides. “Left over from the war. Belongs to whoever holds it. Might be about time it’s used for what it’s meant for.”
Jed recognises the revolver as a Webley and Scott Mk VI in .455 calibre. Dating from World War I, many were resurrected for service in the second great conflict as it stood up well to the mud and dirt of warfare. It was a reliable gun but had been replaced by a smaller .38 calibre model that was easier to use because of its lesser recoil. He knows it throws a two hundred and sixty grain projectile at six hundred and fifty feet per second to give a rainbow trajectory but excellent short-range stopping power. He’s already looked around and concluded the boys aren’t carrying any rifles. Given what he and Alex are heading into, any extra firepower is welcome.
He closes the cylinder, making sure a loaded chamber is in the correct position, and tucks it into the small of his back. It weighs a good kilogram but his belt keeps it secure at an angle that allows it to be withdrawn smoothly. He pulls it out to make sure before tucking it back again. Its hefty presence gives him a comforting sense of security. “Appreciate it! I’ll get it back to you,” he promises.
They gather around the chopper as Billy finishes taking the left-hand door off. Andy and Johnny place it carefully in the back of the Toyota. While they strap themselves in, Billy works through his take off checks again with self-imposed discipline. As the rotors start to turn, Andy and Johnny clear the area. Nothing has been said but as the machine lurches its way into the air, Andy lifts his hand in a wordless salute. Jed sees Charcoal also lift his hand and the eyes of the black and white men meet across an expanse of red soil that does not hide the shades of grey they both know exist. Johnny waves his farewell instead, like an airport send off.
“What the fuck you think you’re doin’? You’ve got a fuck’n brain, so why don’t you use it!”
Decker’s attack spears through Jesse’s heart. For the first time ever, his father’s words push him toward tears. He hides them by jerking his head to the side. The Nissan is well and truly stuck. Its wheel slipped into a washout cut by the last wet season rains on the edge of a channel. It is tilted untidily to the right with its sump, gearbox and drive shaft resting on the ground. Even low range won’t budge it as the wheels spin uselessly without traction. The only option is to jack it up and dig away at the ridge of hard ground under the vehicle. A bastard of a job!
Decker’s explosive outburst clears his mind. He instantly regrets it, but there is no apology. Frustrated, he tries to make amends by changing his tone. “I know you didn’t mean it Jess. It’s just a bastard waste of time. Grab the jack and shovel and let’s get to work!”
Jesse still feels bad. His father trusted him to drive and he failed him. His dad’s conciliatory tone does little to placate his sense of failure. He sets to the task with renewed energy, determined to make amends. Working alongside his father reminds him of all the good times they have shared together. He knows he will never be as good as his father at anything but always tries his best to be worthy of him.
Decker wrestles the jack into position and starts levering the Nissan off the ground. He peers underneath to check the clearance and then levers it higher as Jesse starts chipping away at the ridge of dirt that clawed the vehicle to a stop. Decker feels something gnawing away inside him but can’t identify what it is. He works the jack automatically as he wrestles with the unknown thing inside him. The collapse of the jack catches him by surprise. The Nissan drops suddenly, rolling the jack backward and jamming it between the sill and the wheel.
“Fuck!” Jesse snaps in shock as he jerks his arm out from under the vehicle.
“Shit!” Decker snaps in turn as he stands up and slams his boot into the side of the Nissan. “Shit, shit, shit!” The base of the jack has broken through the hard surface layer and let the vehicle roll back. He should have put a decent base under the jack. Too bloody late! “Bloody good thing we wasn’t fuck’n under that!” he spits and kicks the door again in frustration.
When his exploding emotions clear, it dawns on him what has been eating away inside him.
Mistakes! Bloody, fuck’n mistakes!
It started the morning he’d blasted the ponce’s empty swag. Something had alerted them. That bloody Joe stuffed things up as well! Should’ve done the black prick and his brother earlier and taken care of things his own way.
He has always taken pride in his attention to detail. Taking care of the little things always kept him safe and secure, except when the bitch set him up and lied in court. She’d got him good that time but she’s paid for it. Too fuck’n fast for his liking, but she’s paid! Now there is only the ponce and that bit of fun will come when Decker is ready. Now he just wants out of this arsehole of a place, but first they have to drop in on the homestead for a bit of a look. Check things out his way. A bit of extra fun won’t go astray before they disappear.
“Sorry Jess me boy!” he finally admits. “Got a bit frustrated there. It’s been one damn fuck’n thing after another this trip. Didn’t mean to bite your head off! Wasn’t your fault. Just this fuck’n track. Let’s get this thing out of here pronto!”
The words are music to Jesse’s ears. His father has acknowledged he isn’t at fault. His spirit soars. “It’s a prick of a job but we’ll get it done. You get the jack back in place and I’ll dig.” Joy sings again in his heart.
Decker likes the way his son just spoke, just like the man he’s always hoped he’d be. “We can do this Jess,” he encourages. “We’ll get this thing moving and have a bit of fun before we hit the road home.”
Jesse’s heart swells with love and his guts turn with the anticipation of what his father promises.
Side by side, they get to work, a father and son team focussed on a common purpose.
Jed eyes the red landscape passing underneath them as the rotors hammer the air into submission in a continuous beat almost hypnotic in its pulsating rhythm. Their headphones dull the noise but cannot tame the pounding thud of each blade as it slices the air above the cabin or the roar of the engine close behind their heads. The complex vibrations of the chopper dance through their bodies in a random, sensory rhythm. Cradling the Colt in his lap, Jed contemplates what they are about to attempt.
His mind drifts back to the deer culling days in New Zealand, low-level flying through the snow-clad mountains and along steep-sided valleys where the blades of the chopper flickered dangerously close to rugged rock faces. Back then he used a rifle. This time he has the Colt Alex surrendered to stop Decker continuing his hate-fuelled journey of revenge.
Surrendered too easily,
Jed thinks, then chides himself for even thinking it. Don’t judge the woman so readily he scolds himself. She knows the skills we each have, so trust her. It is one thing to trust and delegate to his staff. It is something else to trust in the uncertain world removed from civilisation.
Trust her and use her to best advantage,
he tells himself, then thrusts the guilty thoughts aside.
“When we find them, I’ll need a descending turn to the left across the front of the vehicle. No more than thirty metres out and a few feet off the ground,” he says into the intercom.
“Can’t you give me something a bit harder?” Billy challenges with a confident smile as he looks across at Jed.
“Shouldn’t be too hard for a cattle musterer like you!” Jed jokes in return. Both know it will be a demanding bit of flying. “I can’t guarantee any hits past thirty metres,” he adds with careful honesty.
“I’ll get you in as close as possible, but I won’t be hanging around!” Billy promises.
“Don’t need long for a double tap! Just a clear shot.” Jed swings the Colt up and down a few times to practise the sight picture. The front sight on the Colt Government is rudimentary but he knows it shoots straight. The only sign of nerves he displays is the way he keeps snuggling the big pistol’s grip into the web of flesh between his thumb and finger so the barrel forms an extension of his forearm. It will be instinctive shooting, demanding recall of all the lessons from twenty years of competition pistol shooting.
“Down there is where I picked you up this morning,” Billy says as he points through the windscreen down to his left.
“The track is over that way!” Alex announces, pointing from behind them.
Billy turns the machine to the right and tracks along the faint scar of wheel marks threading their way among the trees and scrub. “We’ll cruise at one thousand five hundred feet to get a good view and not alert them too early,” he explains as he throttles back to reduce noise.
Even at reduced airspeed they are covering ground a lot faster than any four-wheel drive scrabbling its way through the terrain below. Jed turns around and looks Alex in the eyes. “You okay? How you feeling?” he asks with genuine concern.
His concern bounces off the personal shield of protection surrounding her like an invisible aura. “I’m fine!” she replies, her emotions camouflaged by the scratch of the intercom. “I just want to get this business finished for good!”
Jed understands the words but the look in her eyes is fathomless. He searches for any of the mischievous or sensual sparks he has found so alluring. There is nothing. No fear, anger, worry, concern or excitement. What he sees may be tension, courage or determination, he can’t identify which. Even the set of her mouth and lips is unfamiliar to him. Its very uncertainty sends a shiver up his spine. He is left with the question,
Where has Alex gone?
As he turns around, Alex leans forward to add her eyes to the four already scanning the ground in front of them.
A mixture of expectation, excitement, determination and uncertainty, combined with a sprinkle of fear makes for a broth of tension that fills the cabin as they search for the first sign of the man who has forced them to this point. The hunted have become the hunters.
Minutes drag on in silence as the search continues across an expanse of reds, greens, purples and pinks stretching to the horizon, and the complex mix of undulations, channels and scattered jump-ups that give the landscape its unique character. Unconsciously, Jed continues to fiddle with the Colt, internalising its feel and weight to make it part of his very soul. They don’t bother counting the minutes as they slip by, eyes flicking left, right, forward and down in a complex scan that consumes all their attention.
“There!” Alex snaps, stabbing her finger out and down to a flash of white and a reflected beam of sunlight that catches her eye.
Jed and Billy focus on the area where she points. They have to wait until a gap in the trees lets the colour and reflection resume their flickering dance for a few seconds.
“I’ll swing out to the side so you can check ’em out,” Billy explains as his hands perform their practised dance across the controls. “Be no good if we shot up a bunch of pig hunters!”
Jed appreciates the attempt at dry male humour in a tense situation. “Yeah, we’d be outgunned and not real popular!” He swings the binoculars up. “It’s them!”
“This chopper insured?” Alex interjects. “You know what happened to the ‘cruiser!”
At this flash of riposte, Jed turns to look at her, hoping to see the old Alex. Above a grim smile, her eyes give nothing away behind the invisible shield.
“The trees thin out just ahead of them for a space. I’ll do an orbit and then a descending left turn to bring us out behind the tree line. That do you?” Billy asks as he outlines his plan.
“That’ll do just fine. The tree line on either side will provide cover for approach and departure. We should get the jump on them but I wouldn’t underestimate that bastard!” Billy begins a turn to the left to set up the approach. Like mustering, it is all in the timing. Jed settles the Colt into his hand for the last time and waits for his chance.
“This morning I was heading off for another mustering job,” Billy murmurs into the intercom as he judges his approach. “This is much more bloody interesting!”
Decker is finally starting to relax. Digging the Nissan out has been a bastard of a job but they are back on the move. From memory, the track will soon improve and they will be able to travel faster. They can hit the homestead early afternoon, do what needs to be done and move on. He wouldn’t mind looking up the little checkout girl back at Adelaide River if time allows. They’ll have to find somewhere to camp maybe, depending on what happens at the homestead. His confidence is blossoming again. He takes quiet pleasure in watching Jesse handle the Patrol. He regrets his earlier loss of control but it won’t do the boy any harm. He has to toughen up and learn about the consequences of small mistakes.
Things are back under control again. He consoles himself with the thought that, like a battle plan, once things start rolling you have to expect the unexpected. That has always been his strength. If Jesse learns anything from him, he hopes it is the adaptability that has got him through life. It even got him through fucking jail. He skims over the pain of that memory.
Bitch! Dead bitch! Died too fucking slow!
He leans back in the seat with the Winchester resting barrel down against his leg as they jolt along the track, thinking about future nasty pleasures as he watches Jesse out of the corner of his eye.
Above the revving of the engine and thump of the suspension, another sound creeps into his consciousness as something flickers down behind the trees. His hand feels instinctively for the stock of the rifle, but he is thrown suddenly forward as Jesse hits the brakes and yells, “Fuck!”
A helicopter appears from behind the trees like a roaring, thundering apparition, a squalling spiral of dust, leaves and debris twisting up around it. Its nose rears like a prancing stallion as the rotors claw the air to bring it to a momentary halt a few feet above the ground a short distance away. The tornado of dust and leaves mixes with dancing reflections of sunlight creating a blur of movement and noisy chaos that momentarily stuns their senses.
Decker sees faces. A massive jolt hits him in the stomach. The bitch is leering at him from the back seat. The pilot stares toward him with intense concentration and the ponce sits there like a prima donna and raises a pistol in a two-handed grip. For an instant Decker loses sight of the ponce’s face as he looks into the barrel. He sees two quick flashes just as the chopper drops its nose and thunders back into the air behind the trees.
Jesse sits frozen behind the wheel. “What the fuck!”
Questions flood Decker’s brain.
A chopper! Where the fuck did they get a chopper from? The bloody bitch is alive! Does the fuck’n ponce think he can take me on?
Decker recovers his senses faster than Jesse, his brain processing at the speed of light. “Bloody useless prick missed! Move it Jess! Into the fuck’n trees before they come around again,” he snaps as he lifts the Winchester and pokes the barrel out the open window. “Keep goin’. As long as we’re moving we’re a harder target,” and levers himself out the window to balance on the edge of the door. He braces himself against the roof rack by gripping it with his left hand while also cradling the stock of the Winchester. He uses his legs to brace himself against the seat he just vacated. The ponce is sitting on the left side of the chopper so he can get a clear shot. Decker knows if they come in for another pass, they can only come from the driver’s side of the Nissan.
A more rational mind would recognise that circumstances are shifting unexpectedly out of their favour. Decker just sees a challenge. The blood is pounding through his veins. He relishes the sudden, unexpected development that stimulates an arousal he has never felt before. He is stunned at seeing the bitch alive, but welcomes the prospect of doing her again, slowly, looking into her eyes as she dies. The excitement washes around inside him like the raging waves of a stormy sea. He is swamped by a throbbing that overpowers his senses.
“Go Jess! Go!” he yells as he cradles the rifle, hoping the helicopter will try again, and give him a shot. They bounce over the track, Jesse handling the vehicle like the man Decker wants him to be. He has to lure them in again, take out the pilot or disable the chopper. Decker’s brain works things through as Jesse handles the Nissan like a pro. Decker can hear the chopper but can’t see it but that doesn’t matter. Showdown is coming and Decker relishes it with heightened anticipation.
“Fuck’n engines gett’n hot!” Jesse yells.
“Keep her goin’ a bit longer, into the trees!” Decker yells back as he sees the clump of timber approaching. “Stop!” he yells again as Jesse pulls in and stops under the cover of some overhanging branches. “Let the bastards come for us!” he yells again as he leaps onto the ground. He tosses Jesse the Ruger, grabs the shotgun and slings it over his shoulder. Nothing like a sling, he thinks, among the turmoil of action. Most guys wouldn’t fit a sling to a shotgun but he isn’t most guys. Always prepared!
In the distance he hears the chopper settle, take off again and then settle once more before the sound of the rotors fades into the distance. “Bastards are coming for us! Let’s do this Jess. We get to do the bitch again!” Confidently, he reaches for his binoculars. “Let’s hit the high country!” pointing toward a patch of rocky ground rearing up between the trees like a small, steep-sided pyramid.
Jesse is confused but trusts his father. He grips the Ruger and follows his dad who always knows best.