The Worm King Read online

  Instead, he shouted, ‘Out here!’ to the figure now trying to hide behind the faux-goatskin sofa. Eventually Āmiria emerged, scowling. He ordered her and the other four spotters out, waving them over with Astrid and Francesco. The brief window of escape Peanuts bravely opened had gone.

  Sgt Kevin came forward with Tamati, Geoff and Rangi, who each carried baseball bats. Snow told them to put these down because he’d been at the depot and seen what a Māori could do with a club. Āmiria gamely approached the twins but Bob angrily waved her back, blood running freely between his fingers over the savaged nose.

  ‘Where? Snow demanded. Astrid pointed at the rear door. ‘Come on,’ he said to Bob and the two made quickly for the exit, Bob in front gripping the ropes and knife in one hand and seemingly oblivious to the twins scurrying behind, while Snow covered the girl’s rear to prevent anyone trying anything else tricky.

  Their only option was to follow.

  Snow walked around the truck twice.

  ‘You have to let them go now,’ pleaded Astrid.

  They’d parked it fifty meters from the loading bay, conveniently pointed at the road, all ready to roll.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Snow. ‘I need to check it first, how do I even—’

  ‘For goodness sake!’ she burst. ‘At least take those . . . things off them!’

  ‘Alright, alright.’ Bob waited at the rear of the truck, holding the twins, while Astrid, Francesco, Winston and Forsyth had been instructed to stand nearby but not within five meters of the girls. And just so they knew exactly how much five meters was, Snow measured it out with five big paces so they could all see. The lantern Lord Brown had carried sat on the ground at the back of the truck although he’d been told to remain at the loading bay along with Āmiria, the Hat, Sgt Kevin and the three Māoris. He’d split them into two groups.

  ‘Now, Dick, please!’ Astrid implored.

  ‘Alright!’ he repeated, losing patience. ‘Come here.’ He waved the twins over. ‘Come here!’ They were waiting for Bob to move. When he finally did, Snow tucked one of the pistols into his coat pocket and held out his hand for Bob’s knife. He deftly cut the harnesses off, then passed both machetes and the pistol to Bob. He pocketed the knife and withdrew the pistol, and a set of keys, which he used to unlock one girl’s handcuffs, taking them off completely and slipping them into his pocket. He opened a bracelet on the second girl’s cuffs, lifted her arm and passed the free end behind the handrail of the ladder running up the back of the truck, then reattached it to the first girl.

  Snow studied the narrow ladder. The handrails on either side appeared to be fitted as separate pieces from the ladder itself. ‘This go to the top?’ he asked Francesco pointlessly. It wasn’t going anywhere else in a hurry. Francesco nodded but didn’t answer, instead staring in dismay at the girls locked onto the truck. At the base of the ladder the owner had erected a rectangular aluminum platform supported by four oblique struts. The small platform had two well-ground, circular marks on it where Forsyth guessed a pair of gas cylinders normally sat. Two side-straps further up the ladder were evidence of this, more than likely used to hold the missing cylinders tight against the side of the ladder. The platform looked an add-on job and the truck at least fifteen, maybe twenty years old.

  ‘Is it full?’ asked Dick.

  ‘No, we tell you, only half,’ replied Francesco. In fact it was slightly less than a third full but the gauges were busted and when you looked in the top it was virtually impossible to tell the difference between a half and a third. Forsyth had wanted to take out more, when they’d been rigging it up.

  ‘Watch them,’ Snow said to Bob. He nudged the twins out of the way then ascended the ladder. At the top he unfastened the duel clamps holding the tank cover, swung it up and shone his torch inside. After ten seconds of peering around, leant back, pulled the lid shut and re-clamped it. As he climbed down the truck swayed under his weight. Francesco and Astrid visibly tensed. Āmiria had tested for swayage, making Francesco clamber up and down numerous times and it hadn’t once resulted in spillage into the pie dish. Each time it’d created a wobble in the petrol but never enough to splash over the dish rim. For actual splashover it required a few seconds of acceleration or deceleration to create a wave large enough to “rim” the device.

  Snow walked to the front, opened the driver’s door and had a cursory look in the cab. Forsyth wasn’t too worried: even if he walked around to the passenger’s side, pulled up the seat (which frankly was a pain in the arse to do) then saw the storage space, would he think to pull the tarp out that was stuffed in front of the greasy old discarded cooking pot which contained the pie-dish floater? It was a one-in-a-hundred. Far more likely to give them away was the reaction of those standing around.

  Snow checked the keys were in the ignition then banged the door shut.

  Astrid demanded again he let the girls go.

  ‘No, they can stay right there, up on that platform.’ Snow turned to the twins. ‘You can get up there and hang onto that alright can’t you?’ Without waiting for an answer, he said to Astrid, ‘When we’re on the outskirts of Yass, I’ll let them go. It’s an . . . insurance policy if you like. Last time you reneged on our agreement so I’m afraid I’m forced to do this.’

  ‘No! You can’t do that!’ she cried desperately. ‘That’s . . . dangerous up there!’

  She sounded about to fess-up and give the whole game away. Then they’d all be in serious trouble. Snow would get as many of them as possible handcuffed, or roped, or glued onto that truck while he watched it explode from a safe distance and used the pistols and machetes to pick off any stragglers trying to wander away.

  ‘Okay, okay!’ He raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘I’ll tell you what, as a mark of good faith, I’ll let you take one of the girls and one of you can come instead of one of them. To make sure the other gets back safely and all that. Yes, that’s much fairer. Winston you little rascal, how about you? You come on up here!’

  ‘Little?’ said Winston. ‘Fuck you!’

  Snow’s proposal sounded a dangerous step sideways rather than anything particularly “fairer”. He shone his torch in Winston’s face. Bob poked a machete in the direction of the plucky dwarf, like you’d do with a voodoo bone.

  ‘Hey Bob!’ Bob turned, and Forsyth puckered him a kiss, which pissed him off no end.

  Bob tenderly felt his testicles, eyeballing the Captain, who blew him another sloppy one and suddenly Bob was as angry as all buggery.

  Fortunately Snow stepped over and took the glock off him because he looked on the verge of pulling the trigger. ‘Now, now,’ he chortled. ‘Well, Winston?’ He was back to two-pistol status, holding all the cards and smug as a fat man in a jam shop. Feeding out a little line at a time to keep them all happy, but in reality, callously trading human lives—this one for that—and click by crafty click their position kept deteriorating.

  A numbing realization struck Forsyth. In a matter of seconds there’d only be one viable window remaining. If they arrived at worst-case scenario, and Snow insisted on taking two people as “insurance”, one of them had to be him. He’d be able to use his knife to undo the screws on the ladder handrail (a couple ort to be enough) then draw the girl through and jump off, leaving Snow and Bob with the truck. He was the only one who could do this.

  ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘What?’ said Winston, staring in amazement.

  ‘I’ll go.’ He pointed at the truck to draw Snow’s attention then cast a surreptitious glance at Astrid and Francesco, winking without Snow seeing so they’d believe he had a much better plan than the tenuous shambles it actually was. ‘You don’t want them, let me go instead. Instead of the girls.’

  Snow gave Bob an odd look, almost seeking approval before deciding. It was as though this unspoken thought passed between the pair: there’s two of us and we’ll need one each. ‘No. It has to be you and one of the girls.’ He beckoned Forsyth over, handed Bob one of the glocks, withdrew the cuffs
he’d pocketed earlier and in the barest of jiffies had clicked the bracelet on. Another swift click and Forsyth found himself attached to the same handrail as the girls. Snow was surprisingly proficient with handcuffs and the Captain wondered momentarily how a TV weatherman would attain this skill. Throughout the movement Bob pointed the gun at his head, which seemed jolly rude.

  Snow said to the twins. ‘Who wants to go with nice Captain Forsyth?’

  ‘Captain Forsyth?’ wailed one in disbelief.

  ‘No!’ exclaimed the other.

  ‘Yes, Captain Forsyth. He’s in the Army.’ Snow pronounced army slowly, as if they were fully-blown ’tards and didn’t know an army from a leggy. ‘You’ll be—’

  ‘No!’ they repeated in unison, strangely more nervous of him than he usually got.

  He crouched, finding it awkward with his right-hand held up by the handcuff, nevertheless eased himself to something nearer their level. The girls were connected to a lower section and a strut prevented his bracelet sliding down as far as theirs. ‘Afternoon ladies.’ He nodded, touching his hat in salute. The girls were exceptionally attractive with cute little blonde ringlets, olive skin and sky-blue eyes. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance. We’ve got a bit of an adventure going on here and I wondered if I could ask for your help?’

  One looked as if she were wavering, so he asked her name.

  ‘Natasha. And this is my sister, Krystal.’

  ‘Please God, don’t do this!’ cried Astrid.

  The handrail had some give so he wiggled it while talking. The screws were widely placed and it shouldn’t be too difficult to get the two middle ones off . . . then an ugly thought occurred: Snow may not cuff him to the girl, with the chain running behind the handrail, he might lock them both onto the rail itself, as he was now. Then he’d have to unscrew the whole thing to get them both off!

  A movement behind Bob at the edge of the light caught his eye. Wiremu? He glanced around but saw nothing. After setting the devise the Māori had intended waiting behind a stack of pallets near the loading bay turning area but so far there’d been no sign of him.

  Snow stared at Astrid, watching her for an overly long time. He turned to the group by the dock and something must’ve twigged. His eyes narrowed; the skin around his mouth tightened; the muscles in his neck stood out like bullwhips. Was it just Astrid, or had he seen Wiremu too?

  ‘Why?’ he barked. She looked down, guiltily not replying. ‘I told you I’ll release them, you have my word, so why are you so worried?’

  She broke down sobbing, struggling to answer but nothing sensible came out. If it was an act to fool Snow and head off his questions, it didn’t work.

  ‘Why?’ he persisted.

  She blubbered to a stop. ‘Well . . . they might fall off. It doesn’t look very safe.’

  He was ready for that. ‘I’m positive they’ll be fine.’ Almost as an afterthought, he said to Bob: ‘Get in and start her up. Make sure it works.’

  ‘Hop up there, and we’ll test this out,’ he ordered the twins, waving the glock at the platform. The girls scrambled up easily but this didn’t leave much room for Forsyth and he ended hunched over with one boot on the platform and the other down on the truck bumper.

  Snow took half a dozen paces back from the truck and surveyed the position. The engine rumbled to life. He watched Astrid, and the faces of those standing at the loading bay rather than the vehicle itself. All staunchly held their ground. They didn’t even budge when the truck bunny-hopped forwards in a jerky, clutchless ten-meter test drive. Bob switched it off, jumped out, and Snow looked relieved but still cast another suspicious glance at Astrid, then those at the loading bay. Forsyth and the twins hung off the handrail.

  The nine minute and twenty second countdown had begun.

  One had to stay and one had to leave, and quickly too, so he could start work on those screws.

  ‘Bend down, both of you,’ said Snow to the girls. ‘Quickly,’ he snarled. ‘Which one?’ He jiggled the key. ‘Who’s going for a wee ride?’

  After five infinitely long seconds, every moment of which Snow clearly wanted to grab one at random, the girl on the left timidly said, ‘I’ll go.’ Snow undid the other girl’s bracelet and reattached it to the handrail. The link chain had twisted around itself and they may’ve crossed over when climbing onto the platform so Forsyth wasn’t sure whether Natasha or Krystal had been freed.

  While Snow was sidetracked with the cuffs, Forsyth happened to glance at the loading bay and saw Wiremu, right in the middle of the group, gesturing towards the truck. Geeing them up to attack!

  The twin who’d been released hugged her sister, kissing her cheek and refusing to get down so Snow put a hand under her armpit and heaved the girl off, dropping her roughly to the ground. ‘No!’ she screamed. Astrid rushed forward to restrain her.

  The group at the loading bay advanced slowly, now only forty-odd meters away and Snow finally noticed, although didn’t appear to have spotted the extra Māori amongst them. It’d be a bloodbath. Forsyth shook his head vehemently and gave a cryptic thumbs-down with his free hand, not caring in the least if Snow saw. Whatever it took to stop them charging. Apart from the single round fired in the showroom, Snow and Bob both had full clips and a clear field of fire so a charge from that distance would see many die with a low probability of success.

  Bob passed his pistol to Snow and disappeared up the driver’s side of the truck.

  ‘Where are you dropping us?’

  No answer.

  Forsyth knew he was connected to the handrail in the worst possible way, and needed to conduct an urgent reappraisal of the screw situation.

  The truck engine started up. A second later Snow vanished, then the passenger door slammed and they were away, taking off with a spring and a bounce that would’ve undoubtedly rimmed the device if Bob’s earlier test-drive hadn’t already done so.

  The truck did a left onto the street. Wiremu ran out from the loading bay, following with arms raised and palms upturned, an agonized, imploring expression on his face, mouthing: ‘Why!?’

  There wasn’t a moment to lose. The girl asked him something but he ignored her, his auxiliary already out and focused intently on finding that first screw. Then he saw the bolt.

  Bolt?

  It was bolted on too. How could he have imagined a ladders handrail would only be screwed on! Apart from the eight oversized screws, there were at least four substantial bolts tucked under the inside of the seam where each handrail strut met ladder support plate.

  Bolt-On! Lord of darkness.

  His index finger caressed the head of one of the screws. Rust. In fact so much rust the groove barely felt discernable. Those screws weren’t coming out in a month of Sundays.

  The bolts and screws jumbled together in a vicious conundrum and the girl said something about the sky which he tried to blot out because a solution was presenting itself but hard to concentrate on, with her screaming in his ear like that.

  Bolt-on: black prince of pain.

  One chance left. One solitary window. Tie a tourniquet on his arm above the elbow using the emergency cord he always carried, and saw his hand off, then drop to the road. The auxiliary would do it easily. Well, there’d be nothing actually easy about it: he’d probably pass out from shock so with any luck the others arrived and found him fairly soon. But did he really want the last thing this girl watched in her short life, before being blown to smithereens, to be him, hacking his own arm off? Then fleeing? Wait on! Do her arm first!! Then himself and they could both get away!

  No. The mechanics of this were too appalling to even contemplate.

  They passed the Yass town limits and Snow obviously had no intention of letting them off. Nor would he risk a quick stop, to deal to them on the roadside: it was back to the Hyatt and be taken care of there.

  Their options had shrunk to the Hyatt, or take what the Ruarangi Special had to offer—which they’d find out about in nine minutes and twenty minus . . . min
us, how long since they’d left? Every second thinking about that can of worms was just time wasted.

  He retracted the blade and slipped it into his breast pocket within easy reach. There was still the hundred-to-one chance Snow actually did stop, although he almost certainly wouldn’t. Why would he? Their last chance of escape had evaporated. There’d be no more windows. At least one of the girls got away, and if the one chained up here was the only real cost . . .

  Only?

  It could’ve been a lot worse. One loss. Because he didn’t count, pure and simple. He’d a debt to repay so deep and vast it made him a completely worthless counter in this game. When you roll the dice that often, you know you’ll have to cash the chips in one day, but can never really pinpoint when. It’s called a Redemption.

  ‘Can I get my hand down please?’

  ‘That better?’ He dropped his arm lower, keeping a tight grasp on her bracelet in case they hit a bump.

  Redemptions are hugely overrated. He wasn’t sure whether he was ending the life of this girl or saving the life of her sister back at Big Yass. The best you can do when hostiles have overrun the position like this, and you’re getting fully redeemed and rimmed good and proper, and you’ve blown your last round, is just stay calm, and see what crops up. Try and think happy thoughts. That’s straight from the Special Forces tactical-psychological training guide. Or maybe it was a theory of old Brownies? Might be hard to explain to the girl though. Yes darling, it’s like . . . Sesame Street with firearms. Yeah, that side-street where Bert and Ernie cart M20’s and will pop a cap on yo arse bitch as soon as look at you.

  So, happy thoughts then.

  The light on his side of the truck shone better than the other side. The front headlight must be buggered on the girl’s side and Bob wasn’t taking it much over seventy as they motored along, dead in the middle of the highway, occasionally swerving to avoid obstacles but he may as well have had it on cruise control, not that this old heap would have that. The rear lights threw a soft, red glow onto the platform. The girl sat bum down on the metal plate with her feet on top of the bumper. He squatted beside her, with all of one boot and half the other comfortably on the platform. They were in a wind pocket, and apart from the odd bounce, it was surprisingly comfortable. The rocking motion reminded him of . . . it reminded him of this day way, way back, when he must’ve been about nine, and they were swinging off a rope into the creek near their house. His brother caught this catfish so huge it took both of them to proudly carry home and show their mum.