27

My car juddered down the dirt road, the ancient shockers complaining at every bounce. In a daze, I gripped the steering wheel harder. If only this was a bad dream. A bad dream where I’d wake up hot and sweaty and tangled in my bed sheets—but knowing I would feel better after two cups of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs.

All up to me…

The words crashed around in my head as I drove, threatening to fuse my brain cells and create an electrical short. I shook myself. Snatched a quick breath.

You are all that stands between the murderer and your sister—so for goodness sake stop acting like a floppy rag doll and get your act together.

Okay, I needed a plan. Not just any old plan but a plan huge enough to outwit the man with the gun and rescue his two-legged and four-legged victims.

I closed my eyes. Hell, I didn’t need a plan—I needed a gold plated miracle. Firstly, Mick was bigger than me by about eight inches and ten stone. And secondly, Mick had a gun. And what did I bundle into my back pack whilst preparing for surveillance? Coffee and potato chips. I sighed and tried to imagine a scene that included death by potato chips. A scene where I threw hot coffee in Mick’s face and while he was recovering, shoved handfuls of potato chips down his throat until he choked to death.

Resisting the urge to bang my forehead against the steering wheel, I let out another colorful curse, opened my eyes and quickly brought the car back under control. If I didn’t concentrate on my driving I’d be a mangled wreck on the side of the road and of no use to anyone.

Plus…while my eyes had been closed, the GAP mini-bus had disappeared. There was no sign of it on the road up ahead.

Figuring Mick had directed Gina to drive the bus off the road, I slowed down so I could peer into the scrub, searching amongst the prickle bushes and undulating sand hills. The wind whipped loose sand in the air and it pelted the roof and sides of the car as though warning me to go home—I was no match for Big Mick and his deadly gun.

Five hundred yards further down the road I came to a grinding halt. Was that the white nose of the GAP mini-bus protruding from behind a dense thicket of scrub?

One eye on the mini-bus, I cautiously eased the car off the road and ploughed through the heavy sand until I came to a well-concealed dip a couple of hundred meters further on. Heart pounding, I switched off the ignition and sat and waited. Two minutes passed. When no bullets whizzed past the windscreen, no big hulking man in a black coat jumped out of the bushes, I decided to open the car door and climb out.

Now what?

Eyes and ears on high alert, I edged my way toward the bus. No humans in sight, only the six dogs with their noses plastered against the windows. Okay, the dogs’ eyes still appeared a little foggy but they seemed more on the ball than when they left Gina’s property. And most importantly—they were still alive.

One hand on the bus door ready to open it, I was distracted by Gina’s voice coming from the other side of the sand hill.

“Come on, Mick. You’re not a bad man. You don’t really want to do this.”

I threw myself down on my stomach and quickly wriggled to the top of the hill where I eased my head over the top and took in the scene below. If I was lucky enough to live through this nightmare, the scene below would keep me awake at night for years to come.

Gina, breathing heavily, was looking pleadingly up at Mick while Liz, hair plastered to her face, leant on her shovel and examined the toes of her boots. They both stood knee high in a newly dug hole. My stomach cramped. How much deeper did the hole have to be? Deep enough to bury six dogs? Or deep enough for six dogs and two humans?

Big Mick, his face impassive, long black coat making him look like the harbinger of Death stood, legs apart, gun steady, a few feet away. Where was the loving father who played ball, helped feed the triplets, kissed his kids goodnight? I didn’t know this man.

And I was fast running out of time.

Mick waved his gun in the air. “You’re wrong there, Gina. I do want to do this. Now shut up and save your breath for digging. Fair dinkum, you’re using that shovel like a bloody tooth pick. Put your back into it or I’ll shoot your mouthy friend and you’ll have to finish digging the hole on your own.”

“Well,” put in her mouthy friend, aka my brainless sister, “if you don’t like the way we’re digging, why don’t you dig the bloody hole yourself?”

A reluctant grin spread across Mick’s face. “You’ve got a bit of an attitude there, kiddo, but unfortunately for you, it’s slowing you down. Now, the way I see it, you have two choices—either put your back into it and dig the hole willingly, or I’ll put a bullet in your foot and you’ll be digging up your own blood.”

“Come on, Liz,” said Gina wiping sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her sweater. “Don’t antagonize the bastard. You’ll only make this more fun for him.”

The two bent to their task again and Mick regained his stance of legs apart, gun at the ready.

My stomach roiled. I knew as soon as the hole was deep enough Mick would shoot the dogs and order Gina and Liz to bury them.

And then what?

Okay, one thing at a time—first, I’d rescue the dogs.

I slid down the sand hill and approached the bus, praying the dogs wouldn’t bark and give me away. All okay. With the drug still in their system they didn’t seem to have the energy to do more than slobber on the window when they saw me coming.

Stanley was the first to greet me when I opened the door of the mini-bus. Staggering up from the back of the bus like a drunk, he cleaned my face with his tongue and then promptly fell over.

“Hi sweetie. Good to see you too,” I whispered, helping him to his feet and deciding to transfer the dogs to my car. If I let them loose in the scrub they might wander onto the road and become road-kill. Or cause an accident if a driver swerved to miss them. If I stashed them in my car, at least that would slow Big Mick down.

As I helped the dogs out of the bus, Attica the goat pushed past and launched himself at me.

“Hey!” I hissed trying to get out of his way. “Watch it buddy!”

Disregarding my whispered warning he butted me in the chest, grinned in satisfaction and then took off into the scrub.

Now that one I wasn’t worried about. Bloody Attica could look after himself.

Whatever drug Gina fed the six greyhounds to keep them quiet had also affected their coordination. But at last, after much manhandling, I managed to steer each dog across the sand to my car. Squeezing six fully grown greyhounds into a station wagon was a bit like packing sardines in a tin, but once inside, the dogs seemed happy enough to scrunch up and go back to sleep. At least five of them did. Stanley, after licking my face, turned in a tight circle then proceeded to sprawl out comfortably across the entire front seat of my car.

How could Mick even contemplate shooting these gorgeous animals?

Dogs settled, I scuttled back to the bus, intent on finding a weapon to defend myself against the enemy. Seemed like Gina wasn’t afraid of hold-ups or muggings as there was no knife—no gun—not even a sharp nail file to be found. All I could rustle up was a rusty tire iron. So with the rough steel pressed hard against the palm of my hand, I set off to climb the sand hill again.

Flat on my stomach, I peered over the crest of the hill. Oh! Uh! The hole was bigger now. Much, much, bigger. The ticking clock was fast approaching zero hour. I wriggled forward. My plan was to inch down the hill and approach Mick from behind, belt him over the head with the tire iron, tie him up while he was unconscious, and then rescue Liz and Gina.

Easy.

A couple of feet down the slope, doubts crept in and my plan started to crumble around the edges. Mick was a lot taller than me. Even if I did manage to get behind him without him noticing, would my arm be long enough to reach high enough and bring the tire iron down hard enough to knock him out?

Oh God. And what if he spotted the loose sand shimmering down the hill every time I moved?

Damn. This wasn’t going to work. I stopped, snatched a reassuring breath and went searching for my inner strength, screaming in my head at the Universe to get his/her butt out here and give me a helping hand.

“You’ll never get away with this, you piece of dog’s shit.” That was my sister, taking a rest from digging, but not from aggravating the man with the gun.

“Ah, but I will.” The man with the gun twisted his mouth into a semblance of a smile. Reminded me of a fat snake with the gastro virus. “In fact, I reckon that hole is large enough now to start eliminating the evidence.”

“Nooo!” yelled Gina. “Don’t shoot the dogs, Mick. They won’t talk. I’ll send them to an interstate GAP program. No-one will ever know.”

“Except you and the mouthy one.”

His words hung in the air. Implying what?

Oh God, it was time for action. Now or never. I quickly pushed myself into a crouching position and slithered out from behind the covering bushes ready to continue my descent.

Didn’t see the rabbit hole.

Didn’t mean to lose my balance.

And with a shriek of dismay, went tumbling head over turkey down the hill.

When I finally lifted my nose from the sand and gazed upward, three pair of wide startled eyes greeted me.

But it was the black eyes of the killer that made me want to vomit.