The Night Is for Hunting (20 page)

Lee and Kevin, and in the distance behind them, Fi.

Chapter Thirteen

Our gunfight had raged so long that it gave Lee and Kevin time to grab weapons and the last of our ammo and come belting up out of Hell. I guess it would have been the last thing on the minds of the enemy patrol, that in this wild and remote spot we’d have reinforcements coming up behind them.

The whole area was a mess. We found eight bodies altogether. Some were intact: just lying there, no blood even. Some weren’t.

After we’d checked it all out we met halfway between the summit and the top of the path into Hell. We had a conference that we knew was hugely important. We had to make some decisions, based on guesses, but they had to be right.

No sooner had we started than Gavin arrived. I don’t think any of us were surprised to see him.

‘The others were too scared to come,’ he said, ‘but I wasn’t.’

In some ways he was tougher than us. As he passed one body he gave it a kick in the side. Homer grabbed him fiercely. ‘Don’t do that,’ he said.

Gavin just shrugged.

‘Well?’ Lee asked me.

‘My mother told me not to sit on cold things,’ Fi said, tucking her legs under her, ‘or I’d get something horrible, I can’t remember what.’

We were sitting on a ring of cold rocks. Fi was shivering continuously.

‘Haemorrhoids,’ Homer said.

Seemed like everyone was trying to distance themselves from what had happened, but no-one more than Fi. There was a blankness about her that I hadn’t seen too often. She was trying to be funny, to make a joke, sure, but it didn’t work. Her heart wasn’t in it. She could have been a thousand k’s away.

We couldn’t afford luxuries like distance. We had to concentrate.

‘They would have been a patrol, either doing a general check of the area, or looking for us in particular,’ I said. ‘We know people were camping up here a few weeks ago. I guess it was these guys.’

I looked around at their faces as I tried to think this through. It wasn’t easy while I was still shaking from the narrow escape we’d had, the number of soldiers we’d just killed. But trying to keep my voice steady, talking carefully but urgently, I kept going.

‘I’ve seen some of their packs, down there,’ I said, nodding at the trees. ‘It looks like they’ve got a heap of stuff. That suggests they were up here for a while. We’ve got that much in our favour. Sure they’ll have radios for reporting to someone, but by the time those people realise they haven’t heard from them for a day or two, and then get someone all the way up here to look for them, and, most importantly ...’ I paused, as I suddenly realised how we could buy time, ‘by the time they find the bodies, I reckon we’ve got at least three days.’

‘Not that long,’ Homer said.

‘Yes, that long,’ I answered him. ‘And we can get longer.’

I glanced at the line of thick cloud away on the horizon. ‘What I’m thinking is, if we carry all the bodies down into Hell and bury them, and if that cloud brings a good shower, we could make a big difference. If the rain washes away the blood and stuff, and wipes out our scent – I’m saying that in case they bring dogs up here – then what have they got? A few thousand square kilometres of mountains and somewhere in them an entire patrol disappears without a trace.’ I tried to laugh. ‘It could become the great mystery of the war. It might start rumours. Like the
Marie Celeste.
In years to come people might refuse to come up here in case it’s haunted. It’ll be the Bermuda Triangle on land. That’d be excellent for us.’

They had listened in silence, and the silence continued after I’d finished.

Finally Homer said, ‘That sounds fair enough. But I think we should call New Zealand and give them an idea of what’s happened. They might have some advice.’

We were all keen to do that, again more for the reassurance of adult support.

We went back to where I’d hidden the radio and pulled it out. When we made contact it was with the same woman.

‘We’ve had a big problem,’ I said. ‘We’ve been attacked. I don’t think this is safe any more. We’re not sure what to do from here. Or where to go. Over.’

She just said, very crisply, ‘Can you call back in thirty?’

‘OK. Over.’

We busied ourselves on the big clean-up, taking the dead soldiers’ packs and rifles to the top of our track and using belts and straps to make a couple of stretchers. We knew that when the sun rose we’d have to pick up the hundreds of empty shells scattered around the landscape.

The clouds were getting closer and looking heavier, so that was one good thing.

We’d barely started the stretchers before it was time to call New Zealand again. The voice that came out of the radio receiver was a big surprise.

‘Good morning Ellie,’ Colonel Finley said.

Everyone crowded around the set. We were very excited to hear the man who had such a big impact whenever he entered our lives.

‘Oh, Colonel Finley, we’re glad to hear your voice. We’ve had a lot of trouble. We nearly got caught by a patrol. I think they knew roughly where we were hiding. We had a full-on battle. Over.’

‘Any casualties?’ That was unusual, Colonel Finley asking about our health before anything else.

‘Not on our side. Total casualties on theirs.’

‘How many?Over.’

‘Eight. Over.’

There was a couple of seconds of crackle: thinking time I guess. Somehow I felt my answer had been important. I think maybe the knowledge that we had taken out a patrol of eight soldiers convinced Colonel Finley yet again that we were seriously successful at what we were doing; we weren’t just kids who got lucky once in a while.

‘Do you think you’ll be safe for another twenty-four hours?’

‘Yes. We’re taking steps now that we think will give us three days, maybe longer. Over.’

Now his voice came back swiftly, decisive and firm again.

‘All right. Call me at 2100 your time tonight. Things are getting interesting over there. And I may have some news for you.’

With that mysterious comment he cut us off.

We looked at each other, wondering what he might mean. But there wasn’t time to discuss it. We had a lot of hard work ahead. Homer and I finished the stretchers, while the other four took all the stuff they could carry down into Hell. Fi stayed there to start digging a mass grave. Gavin woke the other kids, who had managed to fall asleep in spite of the gunshots echoing around on the ridge. He brought them up to Tailor’s Stitch, so they could start picking up the empty shells. Most of them could be seen, glinting in the moonlight, but we’d have to check and recheck that we’d found them all.

That left Homer and Lee and Kevin and me to do the gory disgusting job of collecting the bodies and carrying them down the track, on our rough bush stretchers. It wasn’t the first time we’d carried a body into Hell but it wasn’t an experience I wanted to have too often.

We started a couple of hours before dawn, knowing we needed to clean up the whole place before first light. If they sent helicopters over, the evidence had to be well and truly gone, and we had to be out of sight.

The clouds rolled in fast, and we found ourselves in a white-out. It wasn’t raining but the light moisture of the mist sprinkled our face, and before long my skin and clothes were quite damp. I kept pushing my wet hair back from my face. The weather wasn’t much help – it would stop helicopters but it wouldn’t wash away the blood. And the dampness made the rocks slippery, which was quite dangerous, as the stretchers were heavy and some of the downhill sections going into Hell are pretty steep.

It was a horrible few hours. When I remember how in the old days kids played war games on computers as though they were a good fun-filled way to pass the time, I just wish they could have seen us rolling those mutilated bodies onto the stretchers. I never heard of a computer game that included that in its graphics. I wish they could have seen us slipping and swearing and sweating as we negotiated that path, sobbing with weariness and grunting at each other because we were too tired to talk. I wish they could have seen the shallow grave where we left the eight soldiers to rot, under a thin layer of soil and rocks, deep in the bush in an alien country, thousands of kilometres away from their homes and families.

Once again we had killed others so we could stay alive. I was tired of tearing myself apart trying to figure out whether that was OK. Nowadays I just pulled the trigger, justifying it on the grounds that it was human nature to do everything possible to keep yourself alive. And of course we’d accidentally done one thing very right. We’d killed the entire patrol. There were no survivors. That meant no-one could go back to dob us in, and we didn’t have any prisoners to worry about. Long ago in Stratton Lee had pointed out the advantages of a one hundred per cent kill. It was the most cold-blooded thing I’d ever heard, but he was right.

The temperature dropped sharply, and by early afternoon it was really cold for summer. The bulk of the mist had rolled on, but wisps of it still hung around. We finished our work. We’d been able to do a thorough job, with no fear of being seen from the air or the surrounding mountains. We’d even got rid of most of the rocks that were chipped by bullets, chucking the small ones over the edge and rolling the big ones so the damaged side was hidden.

I headed off to bed, stopping only where the others were checking the packs. I watched for a few minutes, but it was a fairly disgusting job. The kids, used to being scavengers from their days of living rough in Stratton, were excited by it. To them it was like a second Christmas, so soon after the first one. It didn’t seem to bother them that we didn’t share their good spirits.

Perhaps it would have been all right if there hadn’t been personal stuff in the packs. But I couldn’t handle the sight of photos and letters and good luck charms. The only good thing was the amount of food, if we could bring ourselves to eat it. The packets of rice and soup and noodles and dried fish were further proof that the soldiers were planning a long stay. It could well mean no-one would come looking for them just yet.

There was some ammunition, although I think they’d used most of it in their fight with us. There were two radios, but very different from our little gadget, and probably not safe for us to use, in case they sent out automatic signals or something. At least they were deep in the packs, so we knew they hadn’t been used to send out calls in the middle of the battle.

The rest seemed to be the usual clothes and stuff.

I chased the kids away. It was like trying to keep flies off a leg of lamb. But once I’d convinced them they weren’t welcome, and then got the food safely stored, I crawled to my tent for a few hours’ sleep.

No luck there. Casey and Natalie were playing some complicated noisy game with a stack of empty cans, and cooking tools that seemed to be doing rude things to each other. I sighed in frustration and went to one of the boys’ tents instead. At least it was deserted, and peaceful.

I crawled onto a bedroll and put my head on the pack that was there for a pillow. It was awfully uncomfortable and hard. I tried to rearrange the lumpy shape into something better but it was like a cushion of rocks. And it smelt a bit funny too. Curious, I opened the top flap, to see exactly what was stuffed into it.

And I found a little treasure trove.

Ryvitas, cans of salmon, dried apricots, Cup-a-soups, cans of corn, Violet Crumbles, rotting apples: it all came pouring out, over my astonished fingers, in front of my astonished eyes.

‘You mongrel,’ I thought. ‘All that food we were going through too fast ... even the food that went missing on Christmas Day. We’ve been risking our lives going out over Tailor’s Stitch and you had enough to feed us for a week.’

Food-stealing, in the situation we were in, was a major crime. I was furious.

I still didn’t know if it was Gavin’s or Jack’s pillow I was exploring, but I soon found out. There was a shadow at the entrance to the tent; I looked up, and saw a quivering Jack, standing looking at me. A moment later and he was gone, without a sound. It was like he’d been nothing more than a shadow.

Forgetting my tiredness I raced after him. He went like a whippet. Homer, coming along the path, stood in surprise as Jack swerved around him, then, seeing me in hot pursuit, assumed it was some trivial fight, and called after Jack, ‘Go, mate, you can do it.’

Rather than swear at Homer I saved my breath; just glared at him as I brushed past.

Jack was faster than me over the flat, but that’s not saying much: a rabbit with myxo would be faster than me over the flat. But once he started climbing the rocks I caught him easily. He was too short and didn’t have enough reach to get up the steep bits. About a quarter of the way up I got him by the shoulder and wrestled him into a little hollow in the cliff. We lay there glaring at each other.

‘Why’d you steal our food?’ I hissed at him.

He looked away, his lips pressed together like they’d been supaglued.

‘Were you hungry?’ I asked. ‘Didn’t you get enough to eat? Why didn’t you tell us?’

But I knew as soon as I said it that he hadn’t been starving. If he’d been hungry he would have eaten the food as fast as he collected it.

My anger started to fizz out. ‘Why did you do it?’ I said, feeling more helpless than hostile now.

I couldn’t understand Jack. He was such a reserved kid.

He still wouldn’t answer, but I saw his shoulders drop a little, now that my voice wasn’t so angry. His face seemed to relax slightly. I took full advantage and pushed harder.

‘Don’t you realise every time we go outside for food we risk our lives? We could have saved ourselves an entire trip, with the food you’ve got there.’

Now he just looked sulky.

I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I knew I was already sounding like a nagging parent, and if I kept going, I’d sound even more like one. After a while I almost forgot Jack was there. I lay back and studied the sky. The mist had gone but a new front of clouds was blowing in. There was a baa-baa lamb and a moo-cow and a choo-choo train. Was that the way these kids would see them? Or would they see a bomb blast, a smear of blood, a corpse? I tried to imagine the world through Jack’s eyes. It wasn’t easy. All my life adults have been decent to me. Sure, a few teachers got up my nose, and Mr Nelson was a pain in the butt, and my parents could be extremely annoying when they wanted. But nothing bad had ever really happened to me.