“Those aren’t your orders,” Heather said desperately.
“Orders? Nobody gives me orders. I don’t have any orders!” He laughed. “You’re already dead, sweetheart. All of you. Or haven’t you been paying attention?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean orders. Ma just asked you to lock us in here. You heard her. She’s going to sleep on what to do with us.”
“She can sleep for a thousand years for all I care. Now, sweetie, as lovely as this little chat has been, your job now is making a choice. Who’s it going to be? You or your little blond daughter over there?”
Heather’s throat was dry. Her head was swimming. “Please, you don’t have to do this,” Heather said.
“Yeah, I like it when you say please, all American-like, but the time for talk is done. You or her? Ten seconds.”
“Matt said—”
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three—”
“Me,” she said.
“That’s what I thought,” Jacko said. “Now, be a good girl and take it out.”
Owen was staring at her. Both kids looked horrified, terrified. Owen didn’t even know about his dad yet.
“Owen, Olivia, I want you both to close your eyes. Owen, pull that hood back over your head too. Eyes shut tight both of you.”
Owen pulled the hood over his head. Olivia shut her eyes tight. Neither of them, she hoped, knew what was about to happen next. Jacko’s jeans were originally blue but they were so encrusted with filth they had turned a reddish black. He was grinning. The rifle was strapped over his back.
She looked at him.
He mind-read her. “Now, don’t you do nothing silly, Heather,” he said. “’Cause you know what’ll happen to you and you know what will happen to her.”
She was tempted to smash him in the balls with her tied hands. She could probably give him a pretty painful whack, but then what? He would break her face and then he would rape Olivia.
She reached up to his fly and tugged at it. It was so coated with grime and rust that she couldn’t get it down.
“You can do better than that, Heather,” Jacko said. She tried harder but the fly would not come down.
“I don’t think it’s had much practice,” she said.
“I hope for your sake you’re not trying to smart-mouth me, little girl,” Jacko said. He took a step back, undid his belt and zipper, and pulled his pants down. Just then the door opened and Matt was standing there with the Dutch couple.
“What in the name of living shit is this?” Matt said.
“None of your bloody business, mate,” Jacko replied. “Come back in ten minutes!”
“Like hell I will. Get out of here.”
“Says who?”
Matt slung the rifle off his shoulder and pointed it at Jacko. “Says me, arsehole.”
“You do that and you’ll be in here with them,” Jacko snarled.
“And your head will be all over the bloody ceiling.”
The two men stared at each other.
The air crackled.
Heather held her breath.
Maybe she could try to—
Jacko took a step back and pulled up his jeans. He looked at Heather and then at Matt and spit. “Tight bitch anyway, you can tell,” he said and stormed out of the shed, muttering to himself.
Heather’s heart was pounding in her ears. Her hands were shaking.
“All right, you two, sit on the ground,” Matt said to the Dutch couple. “I can’t have either of you walking around in here, so I’m going to put these ropes around your necks and attach them to the shed.”
“Are you mad?” Hans said. “You can’t do this!”
“Look at the kids. If I’m doing it to them, I’m bloody doing it to you,” Matt replied. “Now sit!”
The Dutch couple sat on the dirt floor of the shearing shed. Their hands had already been tied and they’d been stripped of their possessions. Heather could tell that Hans wasn’t absorbing what was happening but Petra understood now. She began to cry as Matt put the rope around her neck.
“Really, this is absurd!” Hans said. He still wasn’t getting it. In his head, he was writing a stern letter to the Australian tourism board.
When the Dutch couple were secured, Matt checked the knots on the kids and Heather. They could pick at those bonds all night and wouldn’t get out of them.
“We need water if we’re going to survive until morning in here. Food too. But water most of all. You won’t be making any decisions about what to do with us if we don’t get water,” Heather said in a quiet but insistent whisper.
Matt nodded. “Hold on,” he said.
He closed the shed door and locked it.
“What is happening? I cannot believe this!” Hans exclaimed.
“Ze houden ons gevangen. Ze gaan ons morgenochtend vermoorden,” Petra said dispassionately.
The only word Heather thought she understood was vermoorden.
Yes, they are going to murder us.
The shed door was unlocked and opened. Matt came in with a liter bottle of water. “That’s the best I can do,” he said, putting it in front of Heather.
“Thank you,” she replied. “How are we going to pass it to one another?”
“Um…”
“Can you get the children to take a drink each? Please,” she said.
Matt was clearly embarrassed. “What?”
“I can’t. Could you do it for me, please? Just hold it to their mouths and get them to drink.”
Best way of getting an adult to bond with a child is having the adult feed them. It’s primal, one of the parenting books Tom had made her read said.
Matt sighed. “OK, then,” he said.
“Kids, I want you to take a big drink each,” Heather said.
They were so thirsty both kids drank greedily from the bottle.
“What about us?” Petra inquired.
“You can share with her,” Matt said, plonking the bottle down in front of Heather.
“How are we supposed to go to the toilet?” Hans asked.
“You’re going to have to figure that one out for yourselves,” Matt said.
“Where’s my dad?” Owen said.
Matt looked at Heather. “I’ll let your mum explain that.”
“She’s not my mother,” Owen said.
“Well, she’ll tell you,” Matt said. “I’m leaving but we’ll be keeping an eye on you, so no funny business. If you sit still, you won’t get strangled. If you mess around, I’m not to blame for what happens. And no noise if you know what’s good for you. Ma likes her sleep. Good night,” he said.
“You’re really going to leave us like this?” Heather asked.
“What can I do?” he said. He exited the shed and locked it.
“Where is your husband?” Hans asked when he had gone.
Heather knew there was no way around this now. But someone needed to be holding that boy tight while she said it.
Poor Owen. Poor Olivia. Oh my God, those poor kids.
Heather took a big drink of water.
“Tell me,” Owen said.
Owen was too smart for Heather to sugarcoat it or fob him off with an I don’t know…
“Owen, I want you to look at me,” Heather said. “Look at me, Owen. Please.”
“They killed him, didn’t they?” he said from the depths of his hood.
“Owen, I—”
“They killed him because he killed that woman,” Owen said mechanically.