Desolation Game by Greg McLean

Author:Greg McLean
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781742537689
Publisher: Penguin Group Australia
Published: 2013-11-29T05:00:00+00:00

Mick waited until everyone in the group had retired to their sleeping quarters before going out to the van.

Striding through the warm pelting rain, the air tinged with unusual humidity, he felt at home. The other diggers used to bitch and complain about the constant rain: the thick mud and sloshing through waist-deep puddles. Mick loved it. He loved the feel of the rain on his skin, he loved the way it shrouded everything, like a wet blanket – he felt comfortable in the rain. He could hide in the rain.

At the van, he pulled out Bruce’s keys, unlocked the back door and swung it up. Searching through the supplies, he found the bag containing the guns in the back right corner nestled beneath other bags and boxes of canned goods.

Standing under the cover of the back door, he unzipped the duffel bag and the familiar smell of metal and cobalt wafted out.

Mick breathed in deep. He counted five guns.

‘Nice,’ he muttered. ‘Thank you, boys.’

Even better, the bag also contained boxes upon boxes of ammunition. He zipped it up, closed the van, then marched back into the shed, closing the corrugated door behind him. His boots squelched as he moved about, leaving wet marks on the floor.

He placed the duffel bag down on the workbench and then pushed the bench aside. It squealed as it scraped along the hard floor, revealing a manhole cover. Crouching down, he grabbed hold of the metal handle and pulled up the trapdoor, then dropped the bag into the hole. He heard it land on the old flesh of the putrefied corpses below, then he closed the cover and shifted the bench back.

Mick didn’t need the guns, but they might be good backup. Most important was getting them away from Steve and the others and hiding them somewhere only he knew about.

Working calmly, methodically, he went to the back room and grabbed his torch, a pair of gloves and the .243 rifle. He checked the gun was loaded, and then headed back outside.

Time to close the escape route. He spent some time setting up his barbed-wire fence, spreading it across the entrance to the mine, blocking the road leading out. It wasn’t exactly the Dat, but it’d do.

With the barbed wire up, he traipsed back through the mud and rain and stopped when he reached the trailer the Asian couple were staying in.

It was dark and silent.

He crouched behind an old drum and waited.

He would have preferred to simply slip inside and cut the man’s throat and take the girl. It would be easy and quicker. But he had to play it low-key for the time being. Not usually his style, but he had orders.

He had to first give an offering to the land.

This was their territory – the spirits owned this place – and he knew they needed blood to maintain their power. In turn they would impart that power to him. He supposed they’d instruct him on how to proceed after that.

But, in order for all that to happen, he needed to maintain control and minimise the risk.

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