was thrown to the floor. Try as he might, he couldn't stand up. His whole body felt numb.
His father appeared over him. 'Kevin? Son?'
The gunfire ceased. A piece of glass shattered like a chime.
Kevin couldn't talk.
'Get him in the back,' Hunter said. 'Safer there.'
His father dragged Kevin into the office by the shoulders. Kevin felt nothing, puzzling over the view of the wrecked servo from this angle. Broken glass and tins everywhere, motor oil splashed over the floor, a fridge light fritzing like a bad strobe. His father, upside down, looking scared.
Hunter said, 'Help me move these two.'
'No. We can drive him to- We can do a deal. We can-'
'There's no coming back from that wound. We gotta see to ourselves now. Don't forget your missus up there at the house.'
'Damn it, he's my son!'
'Help me bring those others in here, before the bastards start lighting us up again.'
Don't leave, Kevin said, or thought he said, but his father left, following Hunter. The room wavered, darkened, and he was choking, like a mouthful of Coke had gone down the wrong way and was coming out his nose.
His father returned, huffing as he dragged the biker beside Kevin. 'Use this bikie's blood, like you did on your mate.'
Hunter hauled Dave in. 'Your kid's a lot worse off; a lot worse. Me and Dave, we got a little something extra going on, gives us an edge. I'm sorry, sport, but I could really use you with that shotty out here. They'll come in next time, I reckon.'
'Let 'em. I'm not leaving my son.'
A shout from outside drew Hunter's attention.
'Stay here. Keep that gun handy. I'll see what they want.'
Kevin had no idea where the shotgun was. His father kneeled over him, both hands pressing on his chest, and Kevin could see the scarlet leaking out through the fingers. Despite his father telling him to 'stay with me', he felt the world spin like some crazy show ride and the darkness pulled him down, right through the floor. He thought he heard screaming; and somewhere far away his mother was saying he was only young, he had plenty of time…
His eyesight is blurred beyond seeing, his body a cloud, but he can hear real good. There's a constant background rumble of bikes and there are two men shouting, but he can't make out the words. He thinks there's a lot of swearing. A gunshot, answered by many, like hail on a tin roof.
And then he hears his father, right next to him, and he blinks and blinks until he can see him, crouching with the shotgun pointed at the biker, who's on his back and looking at his father with what is, if anything, amusement. No sign of Hunter; still out the front, then, trading bullets with the gang.
'I seen what you did for this copper here,' Kevin's father says, gesturing at Dave. 'You can do the same for my boy.'
'So I fix him up, and then what? You gonna shove that spike back in me?'
'There's a car in the garage and I got the keys. It's all yours, I don't give a damn. Just save my boy.'
Taipan holds his bound hands out.
Kevin's father puts the shotgun down and hefts a pair of pliers. Must've grabbed them when he dragged the biker in. Cunning as a shithouse rat, his old man. He ducks back, quick smart, as soon as the wire snaps.
'What about me feet?' Taipan asks. 'And these?' The handcuffs rattle.
'When my boy's safe, I'll get you out of here. You've got my word on that.'
Taipan snorts, drags himself to lean over Kevin. 'He's plenny far gone. This ain't gonna be pretty.'
'Just do it.'
And then, from far, far away, there's a tearing pain in Kevin's throat. It sparks a moment of extra clarity, of seeing past the bobbing black hair and cheek of the biker to the ceiling, dusty cream and water-stained in one corner, and his father hovering by the door, naked fear on his face, shotgun clenched in his bloody hands as his tense gaze darts between Kevin and the front of the servo where things are quiet again.
'What in the bloody hell are you doing?' his father asks, voice low and hoarse as he takes a step closer.
'I told you it wasn't gonna be pretty. You should just let him go. Sometimes, death is better, eh.'
'He's only eighteen.'
'More than some.'
'Less than most.' The shotgun barrel motions the biker to continue.
Kevin's consciousness flickers as his body turns icy; he can just make out Taipan's whispered, 'It won't hurt for long - unless you survive.' The biker pushes up the sleeve of his leather jacket, the action clumsy, restricted by the handcuffs. There's a faint, moist ripping noise and Taipan holds his bleeding forearm over Kevin's mouth. Kevin tastes warmth, a salty heat flowing through him like rum. It hits his gut: fish hooks are tearing at his insides, through his lungs and behind his eyes, all the way to his fingernails and toenails. He thinks he hears a didgeridoo moan, deep down under a cockatoo screeching that might be him or might be something else again, a squealing fanbelt, perhaps.
An explosion shakes the floor and the walls. A blast of heat and fumes. Figures - silhouettes against the flames - grapple and grunt. Gunshots crack amid the popping and banging, and something heavy hits the floor. Then the white glare of daylight blinds him, and when Kevin's eyes have recovered, he sees the back door is open and the filing cabinet is on its side, papers spilled everywhere.
Smoke billows, thick and greasy. A shape passes across the doorway, and he thinks that Dave has been dragged out but there's still a body there on the floor, reflections of flames on leather boots. Kevin hauls himself away. He wants to hide in the dark, but there is no dark, just the hungry waves of heat from the fire and the scouring burn of sunlight outside the door. He scrambles toward the lesser of the two deaths. Outside, groaning under the lash of the sun, he finds the cool relief of darkness, folds it around himself like a blanket, sinks into it like a bed made of dough. A cockatoo shrieks, and rumbling explosions and collapsing timber shake the ground, and that didgeridoo moans, moans like a man caught in a nightmare in which his world is coming down around his ears.
Finally, as the darkness takes him, it all fades away, drowned in the slow, desperate thudding of his heart.
THREE
One minute, Reece was covering the mechanic and Taipan, ranting at the dumb bastard for having let the rogue off the hook, for having let him do that to his son. The next, he was on his back and the building was an inferno and it was all he could do to haul Dave's sorry arse out of there. He found some cover amongst the car wrecks, enough to confirm Dave was still alive, but the building was aflame and he needed distance. It took everything he had - courage and muscle power - to heft his mate and get him over the fence and up to the house. It was only when he lowered Dave to the ground that he realised he'd been giving the fireman's lift to a corpse. Somewhere along the line, the Night Riders had fired a parting shot and Dave had taken the hit. Not even a red-eye could come back from a headshot.
A thin, middle-aged woman, face
