Within seconds of exiting the cottage, Vince and Melanie’s hair was plastered to their skulls. If he’d had another minute he’d have got her into a thick jacket. All they could do was run toward Apple’s paddock.
Get to the driveway.
Reach Lyndall’s house.
Borrow the rifle he knew Lyndall kept locked away.
Leave Melanie safe with her.
Find whoever was after them.
Stop them.
He’d left both the gates open after taking Apple to Lyndall’s and collecting Melanie. They sprinted through the first gate into the paddock, Melanie’s hand slipping from the rain. He had to hold tightly so she didn’t fall at the pace he’d set. She didn’t complain or look back or react to the storm which was directly above, thunder booming.
They came to a sudden halt at the second gate. Between the paddock and driveway, it was locked. A chain and padlock he’d never seen circled the post and gate.
‘I’ll boost you over. Hold onto the kitten.’
She gripped the front of the dressing gown as he lifted her up and over, setting her down with a groan. She was light but the angle was difficult.
‘Come on, Grandad. Climb.’
‘I will. But you go. Go now, run as fast as you can. Tell Lyndall I’m coming and need her rifle.’
‘But I’m scared—’
‘You are the bravest person I’ve ever met. Run, sweetie. Run.’
He would never forget the terror on her face as she staggered to the driveway. She wanted to wait; he could see it. She knew the angry man was coming and didn’t want to leave Vince alone. Then she turned and was racing away into the night.
He stepped onto the lowest railing of the fence and pulled himself up. It was too hard and he slid back. Dragging the backpack off, he dropped it over the fence and started over. This time he got to the top and as he swung over onto the other side the sky lit up.
Not the sky.
That wasn’t lightning.
‘No, no, no!’
The cottage was on fire.
Abel tossed the can onto the bed and backed out as the flames made another whoosh.
It was beautiful... the power of the fire, the billowing smoke.
Things might not have gone the way he intended but that was why he had the rifle.
One old, unfit man and a little kid weren’t getting far.
Probably still trying to unlock the gate.
The flames caught the flimsy curtains and that was his signal to leave. The weatherboards would take no time to follow suit and then this pile of shit would be ashes.
He couldn’t help himself. He stepped into the kid’s bedroom.
On her bedside table was a framed photograph of her with David and Susie. He took the photo out and slid it into a pocket. Nice to keep as a memory.
Outside he let the rain wash away the smell of the smoke from his skin as he scanned the property, waiting for lightning to show him where his prey were hiding. So many options.
Did they make a dash for the road? Unlikely with an ex-cop. He’d not want to risk running into his hunter and there was almost no cover between the front of the cottage and the road.
Were they hiding inside one of the sheds or under the lean-to? If they’d got to the gate he’d locked they might have sought cover. The old man was too fat to climb fences.
Even as he made his way to the pony’s stall to check, a cry cut through the thunder.
‘No. No. No!’
And there he was. Vince Carter, struggling his way up the driveway.
Excellent.