Snyder sharpened at that. ‘Suspicious?’
‘It doesn’t matter what the reason is,’ Wyatt said. And it didn’t, to him-no: when saving their necks was more important than dwelling on what went wrong or what might have been. The analysis could come later. ‘We have to clear out, the sooner the better.’
‘Like where?’
‘Wherever you like. Come on, let’s get moving, or someone’s going to wonder about the road signs and extra traffic’
The radio crackled again. ‘Steelgard One.’
‘Go ahead, Steelgard One.’
‘On schedule, nothing to report, ETA Belcowie unchanged.’
The exchange was brief and sudden, and for a few moments it froze them to the spot. Wyatt stirred first. ‘We split up. Snyder, take the bike. Catch the first plane home. Leah, you come with me. Tobin, you take the truck. Dump it somewhere and catch a train or a bus home.’
Snyder stepped forward. ‘Hang on, I don’t like this.’
Wyatt tensed. ‘What don’t you like?’
‘Splitting up, pissing off I don’t think we should leave until we know what went wrong.’
‘Leave me out of this,’ Tobin said. He climbed quickly into the cabin, started the engine and eased the big truck across the dry creek bed. Soon he was a dust cloud receding from them.
Wyatt turned his attention to Snyder again. He wondered if Snyder had lost all his commonsense. He looked at the heavy, acned face, trying to read behind it. Snyder looked confused and anxious.
‘Plus,’ Snyder went on, ‘I’m out of pocket on this bloody deal.’
This was more like it. ‘You’ll all get a kill fee,’ Wyatt said.
‘How much?’
‘Five thousand on top of your expenses.’
Snyder held out his hand. ‘Let’s see it first.’
‘Don’t be stupid. You’ll get it later.’
‘Not good enough,’ Snyder said, and he reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a small automatic pistol. The sky above them was vastly blue and still, so the sound of Snyder jacking a round into the firing chamber was like a twig snapping. No one moved. Then, as Wyatt was about to speak, the Steelgard van reported in again. On schedule. Nothing to report.
Snyder gestured with his pistol. He looked flushed and edgy, as if rolling with a plan that might come unstuck at any minute.
Wyatt stood, his body loose, ready to take Snyder. He was starting to read the other man. Snyder had been expecting a hundred grand. Compared to that, a fee of five thousand dollars was peanuts. Killing Wyatt was the only thing that would satisfy him now. ‘Put the gun away, Snyder,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk this over.’
Snyder shook his head. ‘Uh, uh. Chuck me your gun before we do anything. Barrel first, that’s right, now drop it on the ground and kick it out of the way.’
Wyatt did as he was told. Snyder was too far back for him to try anything. ‘You’ll regret this,’ Leah said.
Snyder’s agitation was getting more pronounced. He seemed to be running against the clock. ‘Shut up. Help Wyatt load the bike.’
‘There’s no need for this,’ she said, dropping the tailboard of the utility. ‘We’ll pay you when we get to my place. We don’t want to hang around here.’
Snyder grinned again, a nervy grimace as he stepped from one foot to the other. ‘Bugger your place.’
Wyatt had clicked the Suzuki into neutral with his foot and was wheeling it toward the rear of the Holden. He stopped, looking hard at Snyder, thinking it through. If Snyder intended to kill them, it made sense to do it at the farmhouse where their bodies might never be found.
Snyder swung around on him, the gun arm taut and quivering. ‘Who told you to stop? Load the fucking bike.’
Leah chose that moment to reach into the tray of the utility, haul out one of the folding chairs, and toss it at Snyder. It flew on its side, spinning end to end, and hit Snyder low, the edge of the frame mashing him between the legs. He doubled over, his knees together, and cried out. He had the automatic raised to fire blindly at them when Wyatt, ducking low, pushed the bike at him. Snyder went down onto his hip, pinned by the bike. Wyatt rushed him. He stamped on Snyder’s fingers, prised the pistol out of his hands and shot him twice in the head.
Then he backed away and watched Snyder die. He was not breathing heavily or showing other signs of heightened emotion. If anything, he was frowning, as though some minor hitch was bugging him.
TWENTY-SIX
Then he turned around. ‘Leah,’ he said.
He made the word sharp and clear, to get her attention. She was looking down, paralysed, at Snyder. People see killings on films all the time, but it never prepares them for the real thing. The real thing- even one man punching another-is shocking: the sound, the suddenness and emptiness. Wyatt didn’t want her to slide into depression again. He had to snap her out of it ‘Leah.’
She continued to look down at the body. ‘Just like that.’
‘He was going to kill us.’
She gestured helplessly. ‘Everything’s changed.’
‘Nothing’s changed. We bury him first, that’s all.’
‘Where?’
‘The farm, fuck it. We can’t leave him out here, and we can’t risk carting him around.’
At that moment, the Steelgard driver called in again, gabbling a little as if relieved to be near the end of the line. ETA Belcowie, fifteen minutes.
Wyatt turned the radio off. He had to get Leah moving, get her thinking about survival, not emotions. ‘Grab his feet.’
‘His feet?’
‘Help me put him in the ute. Grab his feet.’
He thought she might lose it again. Her face was strained. But then she bent down, grabbed Snyder’s feet, and they lifted together. It brought the colour back to her face. They tumbled Snyder into the tray and Wyatt unzipped the sleeping bags and covered the body. Then he hauled the bike onto its wheels. Fuel had sloshed onto the road and the engine was smeared with dirt but it started immediately, smoking a little before it cleared.
‘You go on ahead,’ he said, ‘while I pick up the road signs. Call me on the radio if you see anything that shouldn’t be there.’
Her face changed again. She seemed to recoil from him. ‘No thanks, I’m going home. I don’t need this.’
She put on her helmet and swung her leg over the bike. Wyatt didn’t say anything. He watched her go. He put her out of his mind then and got into the utility and drove to the far end of the short cut. He found the road sign where Tobin had tossed it into the grass. He loaded it, turned around and doubled back.
This was automatic, taking care of the loose ends. He did it calmly and systematically. Behind it he was thinking hard. Steelgard’s route change bothered him. So did the business with Snyder. He turned on the radio again.
The drive back to the turn-off took him five minutes. He got out, collected the other road sign, and tossed it into the back of the utility. Seven minutes. He turned left onto the main road and accelerated toward the tin-hut corner. Eleven minutes. He felt uneasy, then realised why. There should have been something on the radio by now.
That’s when the voice erupted, tinged with worry. ‘Steelgard One, this is Goyder Base, are you receiving me, over?’
Wyatt leaned forward, listening, imagining the dispatcher hunched over the transmitter dials.
‘Steelgard One, this is Goyder Base, your position please, over.’
There was real concern in the voice now. Wyatt drove on, picturing it from their end. Goyder Base would continue to call the van, but by now they would also be talking to the Brava pay officer in Belcowie. They would spend a couple of minutes debating whether or not it was too soon to call the cops. The cops would spend a few minutes asking questions before deciding to send a car out. It would take the cops thirty minutes to arrive and begin the search.
Perhaps forty minutes altogether. Leah would be okay. She’d be long gone by then. Wyatt slowed, turned the utility around and retraced the van’s route past the turn-off. He took it slowly. He knew how deceptive an open country road could be. There are always haystacks, fire-water tanks, clumps of trees, ditches and roadside farm buildings along them. He slowed to a walking pace whenever he passed one of these, accelerating again when he saw there was no Steelgard van sheltering there.