Mike Dixon

The words died as the edge of the spade sliced through
Clive‟s neck. Blood sprayed and he tottered backwards. His
gun fell and David pounced. It was his only mistake. He
should have kept going and tackled Barry. Instead, he‟d lost
the initiative. Barry raised his gun. It was now too late for
David to fire and some raw instinct took over. The muscles in
his legs went into a spasm and he was propelled backwards
over the edge of the cliff.
Bushes broke his fall. They stuck out of the rock face and
he crashed through them before coming to rest in a thicket of
lantana. He lay still and looked around, taking in his sur-
roundings. A rock face protected his rear. Barry was immediately
above and had a gun but he couldn‟t get into a firing
position without exposing himself. For the moment David felt
safe. He ran a hand over his body. There were cuts and
bruises but no serious injuries.
He turned his attention to Clive‟s gun. It was his one de-
fense. If Barry showed up, he‟d blast him away. Hopefully,
that wouldn‟t be necessary. If Barry had any sense he‟d take
off. It was a nice thought but Barry was a mindless yobbo.
There was no telling what he would do.
He lay in the sweetly smelling lantana. It was oddly peaceful
there. Barry could do what he liked. David had his own
plans. When the sun went down he would melt away into the
surrounding countryside. There was water in the creeks and
enough bush food to keep him in good health. In a few days
Rebecca would give her mobile to Humphrey. One way or another
he‟d get to a phone and call the number.
„Darling boy!‟
A voice disturbed his thoughts.
„Don‟t think you can sneak away in the dark. I‟ve a scope.
I‟ll pick you off just like it was day.‟
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