Haze (33 page)

‘Good. Let’s sort these two first.’ Rafa nods to me, points to the smokers.

I shake my head. A pub brawl is one thing. I’m not confident I can deal with the assault rifles without getting shot.

‘You and me, then,’ Rafa says to Ez.

They leave their swords behind and head off in opposite directions, crouched low, moving almost without sound. I lose track of them in the foliage. Beside me, Jude holds his breath. For a minute, nothing happens. And then Rafa and Ez silently appear from the ferns, attacking simultaneously.

The guy closest to Rafa doesn’t get his cigarette out of his mouth, let alone his rifle raised. Rafa wrenches the weapon from him and slams the butt into the side of his head. By the time I look across at Ez, her man is slumped at her feet, his rifle in her hands.

‘Holy shit,’ Jude whispers. ‘They’re quick.’

‘That’s nothing,’ I say. ‘Wait till you see them against demons and—’ I stop. What am I saying? The whole idea is for us to avoid demons. Mya looks at me with an expression I can’t quite name. It’s the first time she’s made eye contact with me. It doesn’t last.

Simon is trying to get a better look at the unconscious men. Zak’s huge hand clamps his shoulder, making him flinch.

‘Don’t panic. They’ll live.’

Rafa and Ez reappear through the trees. Ez hands her rifle to Mya.

‘AK-47,’ she says, barely glancing at it.

Mya slings it across her chest. The handgun in LA, an assault rifle here: I guess she’s okay with guns. Rafa hands his to Zak.

‘Seriously?’ I say.

‘It’s the only language these tools understand.’

Fantastic: Rephaim with firearms.

This is not going to end well.

JUST IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD

Ez leads us into the gully, which is bordered by granite walls on both sides. Water trickles down the smooth rock and it’s damp underfoot. Simon stays close to me—I must seem the least threatening in this company. The breeze picks up, carries eucalyptus, petrol and marijuana. Voices come through the trees. Scuffling. An occasional popping noise.

We hunker down behind a thick clump of ferns, take in the camp not far below us.

The Butlers aren’t messing around here.

There are tarps strung between palm trees, a trestle table covered with semi-automatics, boxes of ammunition and tinned food. Targets hammered into tree trunks riddled with bullet holes. Swags laid out under a massive banyan tree and canvas chairs scattered around a fire-pit stacked with kindling. A keg sits to one side in a tub of slushy ice.

Thick roots sprout down from the branches of the banyan tree, creating a natural barrier on the far side of one of the tarps. Beyond it are two wheel ruts that must be the goat track Simon was trying to show us. Utes and mud-splattered four-wheel drives form a ring around the rest of the camp, all mounted with decks of spotlights. The camp is bathed in a harsh white glare light. Above the trees, there’s still a smudge of light in the dusk sky.

Mick is at the weapons table cleaning a handgun, his neck and shoulder bandaged. Tank is next to him, doing his best to pull a rifle apart with one hand; the other hangs in a sling.

Oh yeah, they’re going to be rapt to see Rafa and me.

Beyond the tarp, two bare-chested men wrestle on the ground, their mates in a circle around them. I recognise a couple from the Imperial. The guy dominating the scuffle has a gleaming shaved head and his back is covered with a tattoo of snakes coiled around each other; they writhe as he twists and turns.

‘Choke him out, Joffa.’ It’s Rusty, coaching from the sidelines. ‘Get your legs around him. These pricks have claws. If you have to go hand-to-hand, don’t fuck around. End it quick.’

Unbelievable. These guys think they can take out a hellion by hand.

The bandage is gone from Rusty’s head, but even from where we’re hiding I can see the welt where I clocked him with the pool cue. Woosha is next to him shadowing the moves on the ground, his busted nose still taped.

Next to me, Rafa scans the camp. After a few seconds, he holds up ten fingers to Ez. She nods, which I take to mean the ten men we can see are the same she saw before. Rafa gives us silent instructions. Ez melts into the ferns in one direction; Rafa, Jude and I creep off in the other, circling around so we can come at the camp from the other side. Mya, Simon and Zak stay behind.

Jude touches my wrist. ‘You okay?’ he mouths.

I nod. ‘You?’

‘Yep’.

He’s wired. He wants to do this—see what he’s capable of. This is how he gets before he tackles something for the first time.

We find a gap between two four-wheel drives, one with monster wheels and half a dozen aerials. It’s still radiating heat under the bonnet and stinks of hot diesel. We don’t have to wait long.

‘Don’t shoot, boys,’ Mya calls out.

The two guys scuffling in the leaves beyond the cars stop immediately. All eyes turn to Mya and Simon, walking out from behind the boulders. Simon moves hesitantly, his hands in the air. Mya is using him as a shield, her rifle barrel wedged under his chin. My stomach quivers. I hope there’s a safety on that thing—and it’s on. Zak is a step behind, his semi-automatic trained on Mick. The older Butler leaps to his feet, kicking his chair out of the way.

‘What the fuck do you want?’

‘Nobody do anything stupid now. We’ve come to talk.’ Mya sounds almost bored. We’ve got about three seconds to make our move. I swallow, grip my sword. Steady my pulse. I can do this—it’s only the Butler crew.

‘Now,’ Rafa says.

He, Jude and I launch out from between the cars. I kick out the knee of the first guy I reach before he can react, smash my sword hilt above his ear. He hits the ground with a lazy thud. A meaty fist swings at me. One of the wrestlers is up, grass and leaves plastered to his chest. I duck and punch his sweaty stomach. He drops to his knees. Another of Mick’s men falls to my right. Was that Jude’s handiwork? Someone’s shouting now. A gun goes off. I spin around, trying to find Jude in the melee. Thick arms clamp around me, pinning mine. Hot breath warms the side of my face, thick with beer and tobacco.

Don’t think.

I use my head, connect with his nose.

He grunts, doesn’t loosen his grip. I throw my head back again and feel the bone break. I slam my heel on his foot and the impact jars—he’s wearing steel-capped boots. He twists me around and I see another fist coming at my face, a blonde mullet behind it. I jerk sideways. The blow glances off my cheek. An explosion of white clouds my vision.
That’s it
. I lift my katana, show the mullet I can wield it with my arms pinned. I don’t have the breath to threaten him, but he gets the message, jumping out of range…and straight into Jude’s fist.

Jude’s eyes meet mine. So sharp. So alive. He dodges a charge from Rusty, elbows the younger Butler in the back of the head as he passes. Rusty sprawls forward.

I need to worry about myself: I’m being crushed in a bear hug. My rib cage is about to collapse. I turn the katana blade inward and jab it into something solid.

‘Ow,
fuck
.’ The strong arms let go.

I stumble forward, check over my shoulder. It’s the guy with the snake tattoo and shaved head. Joffa. He’s on the ground, clutching his leg.

‘You
stabbed
me.’

Blood streams down from his nose, over his mouth and chin. He’s staying down for the moment, so I chance a quick look around the rest of the camp.

The fight’s finished.

Jude stands over Rusty, barely out of breath. Rafa is on his way to the tarp area, a trail of crumpled men in his wake. Ez presses Mick’s face against the weapons table, pins his arms behind his back; Tank is unconscious on the grass at her feet.

‘Mick, tell them to stay down.’ It’s Simon, keeping his distance.

‘I’m going to rip out your fuckin’ throats.’ Mick grinds the words out, tries to lift his head.

‘Mick,’ Simon says, ‘they’re here to help.’

Mick squirms under Ez’s grip. ‘And you, you little prick. You’re first.’

‘Mate, you need to know what you’re up against before you get yourselves killed.’

‘You’ve been played, dickwad.’

‘No, dickwad, you have.’ Rafa steps into Mick’s line of sight. ‘There’s no government conspiracy. No men in black. No mutants.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about? You were there.’

I catch a movement to my left. I turn to see Joffa pulling a knife out of his boot. I point my blade at him, raise my eyebrows. I don’t want to stab him again, but I’m not taking a knife in the back either.

‘Toss it.’

He spits a mouthful of blood at my feet, eyes me, and then lobs the knife into the ferns.

Rafa has been watching my short exchange with Joffa and now turns back to Mick.

‘The thing that bit you was a hellion. And those overdressed arse clowns with fire in their eyes? Demons.’

Ez allows Mick to stand up.

‘Bullshit.’

‘Join the dots,’ Rafa says. ‘Prove to me you’re not a complete moron.’

Mick’s eyes narrow. ‘If they’re demons, what does that make you lot?’

Rafa taps his sword hilt. ‘The bastards who know how to kill them.’

YOU AND WHAT ARMY?

‘Where are the guns?’

Mick tries to stare down Rafa. ‘You blind?’

‘I’m not talking about these.’ Rafa waves his sword at the row on the table. ‘I mean the ones you’ve got stashed in case you get ambushed. Like this.’

Silence.

‘The quicker you tell me, the quicker your boys can get up.’

Mick grunts. ‘In the banyan tree. And the rock clump behind the tarp.’

‘And?’

Another sound of disgust. ‘Back of the yellow ute.’

Mya and Zak head off in opposite directions. Mya comes back with two rifles, two handguns and a sawn-off shotgun.

‘Check this out.’ Zak holds up his find with one hand—anyone else would need two.

‘Is that a bazooka?’ Simon asks. I can’t tell if he’s impressed or horrified.

Zak lays the rocket launcher on the table.

‘Shit, Mick,’ Simon says. ‘How the hell did you get that into the country?’

‘All right,’ Rafa says to Mick. ‘Tell your lads to pull up a chair, hands where we can see them. Then we’ll talk.’

Rusty and the rest of Mick’s crew pick themselves off the ground, dust off dirt and leaves. One by one they limp to the fire-pit and pull up a folding chair. Jude, Mya and I stand behind them. She stays close to Jude, but I catch her watching me more than once. Zak hauls Tank up by the scruff of his shirt and drops him next to Rusty. Simon sits on the roo bar of a battered yellow ute, still fixated on the rocket launcher.

The shadows in the forest bleed together now. The camp smells of sweat and nicotine. I wish Rafa would hurry things along. I want this over and done with so I can talk to Jude again. Alone.

Ez frogmarches Mick across the clearing, deposits him in a tattered chair. She and Rafa pull up seats either side of him.

Rafa nods at Jude. ‘Good to see you’re still sharp, and you’—he turns to me—‘nice work.’

I try to ignore the small flush of pride at the rare praise.

‘I’m lighting the fire,’ Rusty says.

Rafa glances at the shadowy forest. ‘Knock yourself out.’

Rusty brushes a clump of grass from his shirt and pulls out a plastic lighter. He sits on his heels, sets the flame to a wad of newspaper under the kindling. It catches quickly. In seconds, the grimy faces around the fire are lit with a bright orange glow.

‘Beer?’ he offers, nods in the direction of the keg.

Rafa ignores him, looks around the fire. ‘I told you boys to keep out of this. You’ve had your fun, now get out of the way before you get yourselves killed.’

Rusty stands up, repositions the kindling with his boot. He finds Simon sitting on the ute. ‘You believe what he’s saying—that they’re demons?’

Simon nods.

‘Like, from hell?’

‘No,’ Rafa says, ‘from Comic-Con.’ He shakes his head. ‘Yes, from hell.’

Mick pulls out a crushed packet of smokes, finds one that’s only slightly bent in the middle. He takes a flaming branch from the fire to light it, careful to keep it away from the remnant of his beard. He takes a long, slow drag.

‘Let’s say you’re not completely full of shit. What do these demons want?’ He blows smoke through his nose in two steady streams.

‘Not important.’

‘They want her, don’t they?’ Rusty looks at me across the fire.

The air turns colder as he speaks. In the firelight, Rafa tenses. He sees me notice and tries to hide it.

‘Not your problem,’ Rafa says. ‘All you need to worry about is packing up your toys and keeping your heads down. You don’t have the weapons or the skill to handle what’s coming.’

‘Mutants, demons—I don’t give a flying fuck what they are,’ Mick says. ‘If we fill ’em full of enough lead they won’t get up.’

‘You’d be surprised.’

Rusty puts a branch on the fire, sending sparks spiralling up through the canopy. The evening light is deep purple now. Low clouds cover the darkening sky beyond the trees.

‘How do you kill them, then?’ Mick asks.

‘Cut off their heads.’ Rafa says it like he’s giving instructions to jump-start a car. ‘It’s the only way to take out anything from hell.’ Or us—which he doesn’t mention.

Mick scratches the bandaging on his neck. The fire pops and hisses. ‘Bullshit,’ he says at last.

‘Why do you think we use these?’ Rafa rolls his wrist from side to side, making the blade of his sword glint in the firelight. ‘Bullets will slow a hell-turd, the thing that savaged you’—he nods at Mick—‘but you need a sword to finish one off.’

‘What about the tall guys with the crazy eyes and all the hair?’

‘Demons are usually too quick to get shot. They’ll have a blade through your heart before you can lift your rifle.’

Jude taps his sword absently against his calf, taking in everything Rafa says. He doesn’t seem as keen as me to wrap this visit up.

Mick rolls his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. ‘How come they look so human?’

‘Because they can.’ It’s Ez who answers, sitting next to Mick. ‘They’re trapped in that form for as long as they’re on earth. The only thing they can’t hide is their eyes.’