Hunters: A Trilogy (71 page)

Red seemed to have given his sketching a wide birth of late, and Jane guessed it was probably due to other things occupying his mind. She smiled at the thought of how happy the huge young man and his equally-tall partner seemed to make each other, it was another one of those little things, little ‘George’ things. Things which made her wonder: ‘No matter how many changes you made, some things were just plain old meant to be!’ Jane let her brushes do the talking and went about her work with a passion, letting the warm air and fresh smells inspire her.

Last night’s storm had left the farm smelling even fresher than was normal, the dry earth greedily lapping up the rain drops. A thrush sat happily in its freshly replenished bath, puffing its feathers and ducking luxuriously under the water. Jane watched as the bird hopped onto the roof and lazily spread its wings to let the warm sunshine work its magic. She placed her brushes back on the tray, took a seat on the porch, and decided to sit and watch for a while.

‘Life doesn’t get any better than this, these are the days we will remember for ever,’ she thought. ‘I don’t care about going back, don’t care about tomorrow…’ It was midway through her small session of self-indulgence when Jane heard the sound of the motorcycle again.

Thinking that perhaps she had been wool-gathering a touch longer than she had imagined, she looked at her watch. ‘Nope, it’s only been half-an-hour, they’re back early…’ she thought, listening to the sound getting nearer. The engine was beating urgently and the bike sounded to be travelling much faster than Jane would have liked. ‘Bloody kids, I hope he knows how to stop the damned thing!’ She rose and made her way across towards the back gate. The engine was screaming now, its throbbing racket alarmed her – the sound almost frantic. Jane broke into a jog, then kicked her sandals off and began to sprint. ‘This is trouble, I just know it!’ As the thoughts whipped into her head, she saw the bike.

Tori stood on the foot pegs with the throttle pinned to its stop, face ashen and eyes unblinking as she careened towards the gate. Seeing Jane’s approaching figure, Tori turned the machine into an expertly-executed broadsided skid, with a flurry of grass and mud, she and the bike slid to a perfectly-timed halt by the back gate. Jane fumbled with the catch and then ran through, Tori was gasping for air.

Jane gave her a few seconds before saying: ‘Tori, what is it, where’s Red, has there been an accident?’

Tori shook her dark locks. ‘No, it’s on fire! The mill is on fire, it’s bad – really bad!’ she said. ‘The roof has fallen in and Red’s throwing water on it, he needs help…I think it’s too late, the roof’s fallen in!’ The young woman gasped for breath as she looked at Jane in panic.

‘What’s happened?’ Mike’s voice reached out across the courtyard. Jane turned and saw the men making their way over to the gate. When he saw the expression of horror on Tori’s face, Mike broke into a jog.

A few moments later and the trio were in the truck following Tori as she raced ahead on the motorcycle. Mike had thrown a couple of buckets into the rear along with some shovels and anything else he was able his hands on whilst running frantically around the barn. Jolting towards the windmill, they began to see a smokey haze rising into the air ahead of them.

Tori yanked the throttle open and blasted away.

‘I didn’t even know she rode, Christ, look at her go!’ Mike said, as he looked at his passengers in shock. Flooring the accelerator, he strove to keep up with the speeding bike, the truck jarred their teeth with the impact of every bump and dip they hit. ‘Sorry guys,’ he said. ‘But I guess we’ll have to see how much of the original Spear is left in this thing – hang on!’ As he fought against the slewing truck, they saw Tori lose control of the machine, the bike snaking sideways, tyres losing traction. ‘Watch out! She’s going down – give it more power, Tori!’ Mike yelled out.

Almost as if she had heard him, Tori gave the machine another burst of throttle. The input of power snapped the rear wheel back into line, and with a ribbon of mud spurting upwards from the tyre, she regained control.

‘That was some piece of riding, go on girl – give it some!’ Ken said, with a wry laugh, ‘if it’s not one bloody thing around here, then it’s another, isn’t it?’

With his words to spur them on it wasn’t long before they had reached the site of the old windmill. What little remained of it. Ken was out and running before the truck had even stopped. Jane heard him shouting frantically.

‘Red…Red! Where are you, kiddo?’ The boy was nowhere to be seen, in mockery of Ken’s concern a large piece of smouldering roof came down with a loud crash, its heavy impact causing a plume of grey smoke and sparks to rise into the air. Ken leapt across one of the water channels and screamed out again. ‘Red…Red, show yourself, man – Red, are you okay?’

Jane and the other two ran to join him. By now the mill was nothing but a burnt out shell of its former glory. All of the new wood had been turned to ashes, only a few charred stubs remained embedded in the brickwork, which had also taken a severe beating, and the far wall had mostly collapsed. The blackened hole it left behind looked like the sick grin on some devilish clown’s gaping face.

Mike yelled out: ‘Red, where are you?’

As one, the four of them looked at each other in horror. The sudden realisation that Red, their overgrown ‘man boy’, may be trapped under the smouldering rubble, quickly dawned upon them. Without another word, they all gathered around Ken as he stood staring into the smouldering hulk of the mill’s remains.

He turned and looked at them with wild eyes, ‘Where is he?’ he said, ‘we need to do something, come on…help me lift this out of the way!’ Ken ran to the nearest wall and with unbelievable strength, ripped the remains of the incinerated door frame off its hinges. He yelled at the unfeeling timber: ‘Come on, come on you bastard!’ The wood tore loose in his hands; he hurled it to one side. Just as he began to step inside the smouldering building, there was a rasping groan from above as the remains of the roof fell in.

‘Ken!’ Jane screamed at him.

They just had time to see Ken leaping backwards, before he disappeared into a large cloud of soot, ash, and concrete dust. With a final moan, the inner mechanism of the old mill toppled sideways and smashed into the far wall. The force of the impact buckled the wall and, like the obvious house of cards, the entire mill began to topple sideways. Jane caught the glimpse of a running figure out of the corner of her eye. It simply raced into the cloud of smoke and dust. She and Mike stood and watched with mouths open, helplessly mesmerised.

Tori shouted: ‘Red’s found him, look, Red’s there!’

They snapped back into reality, peering into the smoke, eyes widened in fear and disbelief. Sure enough, seconds later, the large figure of Red appeared through the maelstrom of smoke, crashing timbers and falling masonry. He had Ken over one shoulder and was carrying him, like a rag doll, away from the collapsing building. Red’s momentum carried him right past the gaping trio; he kept running until he lost his footing on the slippery grass and slid into an ungraceful touchdown. Ken was making some horrible noises. Fearing the worst, the other three ran over to where the two men were skidding towards the ditch.

They arrived just in time to see the pair plummet over the lip of the bank. A large flume of water signalled the men’s final destination. Jumping onto the bank above the water course, the three would-be rescuers looked into the water fearing the worst as they did so. The sight they observed was far from what they had expected to see. Both Red and Ken were sitting up to their chests in the muddy water, making strangling noises. Strangled, laughing noises…

Red howled with laugher. ‘Ooooh…man, that was close, huh, Ken?’ he chortled. ‘Jeez, that old wall missed my head by a little ittsy-teeny-bittsy!’ He held up his large, mud-covered hands to show them just how near. ‘By this much!’ he said, showing the small gaps between his palms. ‘Any closer and yo’all would be singing: ‘Nite-nite, sleep-tight’, to me an ol’ Ken there!’ He slapped the water with both hands, the huge splashes of water sent Ken into fits of laughter once more.

He jumped up and then flopped back down next to Red, the splash of his own landing covering them with even more mud and water. That was it as far as they were concerned, barely able to breathe through their amusement, they staggered and slipped their way out of the ditch, crawled onto the grass and lay at the feet of their, somewhat drier, horrified companions. Ken lay with his eyes closed and giggled like a child. Red simply lay there next to him, choking back the laughter.

Eventually, Ken sat up and thanked Red heartily for: ‘Saving my arse, breaking every bone in my body and then finally trying to drown me – thanks big guy!’ He laughed and then punched Red on the shoulder. Red beamed with delight.

It wasn’t long before the other three simply had to join them, the relief at seeing both men alive and well was overwhelming and they allowed their pent-up emotions to escape. Amid a scene of burnt wood, drifting smoke, and all-round general carnage, the five of them sat, or lay, upon the grassy bank and laughed like there was no tomorrow. Once their humour had dried up and their final jokes and laughter had floated away into the warm air, the shameful situation of the old mill returned to bring them back down to earth. They sat silently for a while and watched the lonely wisps of grey smoke, and its little grey butterflies of ash, taking flight and heading for more pleasant climes.

‘Well,’ said Ken, ‘that’s a bit of a cock-up, isn’t it? What a shame, all that hard graft wasted, she was bloody lovely, was that old lady…’ He turned to the others and shook his head.

They all agreed, but there was a little glint in Mike’s eye, an expression of determination, one which Ken had seen on the odd occasion when Mike had been struggling with some piece of equipment or another. If something like that had given Ken as much grief, well then, the offending item would have rapidly found itself residing in the bin. Not Mike, though, he would get that look of blue-eyed determination on his face and before Ken knew it, the troublesome item would be working perfectly. Mike had that exact expression on his face right now. Jane saw it, too, and said that perhaps Ken had best fetch his tools as the extension might have to wait a while…

She was right. For the next four days they spent every waking moment down by the mill. In many ways it was a good thing as Mike managed to redesign some of the original mechanism. He said to Red: ‘It was state-of-the-art in its day, I’m sure, but ideas have moved on since then, this way will be a lot better and we might even be able to mill some corn, what do you reckon?’

Red reckoned that Mike’s idea was just fine; he dumped the huge piece of timber he’d been carrying onto the grass and leaned over Mike’s shoulder to see his sketch of the new design. Jane watched the two men as they discussed the intricacies of the design – Red casually leaning on Mike’s shoulder and grinning as the Australian showed him how his idea would work. Red plucked the pencil from behind Mike’s ear and made a few skilful lines of his own.

Mike looked at him and then grinned. ‘Yeah, definitely buddy!’ he said. ‘That’ll work for sure, great idea, my man!’ They had become very close over the past weeks and Mike’s attitude had endowed a very positive influence on the young man.

Jane smiled to herself and turned back to help Ken as he sawed a piece of wood for the new door frame. He had been back into town with the sorry tale of the unfortunate mill’s demise. Jack looked at him, scratched his head and started scribbling down the long list of things, which Ken began to order. Ken had been delighted when, two days later, Jack had arrived at the farm with his three strapping sons on-board the old, green truck. He had procured every single item on Ken’s list and even added a few of his own. He absolutely refused payment and would hear no more about it.

Pointing at the windmill, he said, ‘This here old lady has been part of this land for years, longer than I can remember anyways, it’s only right that we put her back to glory again; you all done a mighty fine job last time so, well…I reckon we can lend a hand is all.’ That was the end of the conversation as far as Jack was concerned.

Finally, after some ten days or so, they were done. The mill was back to its former glory, all the internal workings had been redesigned and Mike had spent hours grinding the stone milling wheels, they now looked like new and made a soft rumbling noise when he asked Red to push the lever.

Mike grinned and said, ‘Yeah, we should definitely grind corn, or maybe even wheat!’ He and Red looked really pleased with their work. All that remained was for Red to finish the second coat of white paint on the outside and for Ken to realign one of the sails, or blades, which had become slightly wayward.

They had done a fine job, and on the last evening, when the work was completely finished, Jane, Maggie and Tori made a huge picnic and took it down to the mound. They invited all those who had helped; about a dozen people gathered under the apple tree and tucked in to a richly-deserved feast. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of the gleaming white mill as she sat in her renovated splendour.

Ken raised his beer and said, ‘Folks, a toast!’ He paused and turned to Mike, saying: ‘To Mike – thanks or giving us all the motivation, and for having the balls to go through this again, you’ve done a damned good job. Cheers!’

They all agreed and raised their glasses in salute.

Mike thanked them for their efforts, and also Red for allowing them to live on the farm with him. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Red – and one which I will repay when the time comes…’ he said, taking a long swig of his beer and looking at the sky. ‘Let’s just hope the next storm goes straight past, eh?’

They all drank to that.

The only problem with that last sentiment was the fact that the next storm wasn’t going to be of the dark clouds and teeming rain type. It was going to be a much drier, poisoned tempest. The only liquids this particular storm would be releasing were of the dark-yellow, whiskey-induced, urine type. Oh, and blood. The blood of other people, lots of it. There wasn’t the slightest chance in hell that it was going to pass them by – none whatsoever.