Wild Dogs, page 8
He watched Amin limp around to the rear of the LandCruiser and wash before disappearing into the darkness. A few moments later he heard Amin’s hushed voice murmuring and assumed it was another round of prayers. Considering the man had nearly ended up falling down a very deep hole, Gabe didn’t begrudge him this time.
Save for the glow of the moon climbing the sky in the east, it was dark now. Gabe packed his equipment in the canvas winching bag, and, shining his torch down the hole, he could just make out the shirt of one of the corpses, partially obscured by the wood and dirt that had fallen to the bottom as Amin scrambled out. He knew the bodies would float for some time, but the likelihood of anyone stopping here, or realising what lay beneath the muddy water if they did, was pretty remote. There was nothing more they could do, so Gabe laid the tin back over the opening and replaced the timber, weighing it down, adding a couple of heavy stones for good measure. Leave no sign, leave no trace.
He stowed the gear and turned his attention to the last remaining body. Khalid. A small voice in his head suggested he should just chuck him down the hole while Amin prayed, but he told it to piss off. Yes, it was frustrating he couldn’t just do the same as they’d done with the other two, but he understood the reasoning against that. He had no idea what might happen over the next few days, but Amin was determined to track down his family, and there was every chance that would lead to Khalid’s by default. The thought of explaining to a new widow her beloved now sat in the bottom of a well with the two dogs that had killed him, tossed down there like a bag of unwanted kittens, did not appeal to Gabe at all.
Amin finished his prayers and joined Gabe by Khalid’s body. ‘Where shall we bury him?’
‘Not here,’ Gabe said. ‘Ground’s too hard still, and I don’t reckon putting him so close is a good idea. A fresh grave is a bit more obvious than what’s down that well.’
‘True enough. And I would like to think someone would be able to honour him with a proper burial. Once we are out of this shitshow, as you call it.’ Gabe saw a weak smile appear on Amin’s face and hoped he was right. ‘And I do not want to return here again.’ Fair enough, by Gabe’s reckoning.
‘Let’s get him back in the Rodeo, and we’ll head up to that last creek crossing. Ground looked a bit lighter there – might be able to scratch out some sort of a hole. If we have to, we’ll lay some rocks over it to stop the dogs and bungarras digging him up.’
Lifting the body proved much more difficult than the first time. Amin was struggling with his arm, and Gabe’s hip was threatening to go on strike. Usually by this hour he’d be sitting by a fire, not lugging corpses around.
His discomfort did not go unnoticed by Amin, despite the man’s own troubles. ‘You are hurt?’ he asked, as Gabe propped the stiffened body against the Rodeo’s tailgate.
‘Dicky hip,’ he replied.
‘From an injury?’ Amin held onto the shirt collar to prevent Khalid’s body from sliding back to the ground as Gabe prepared to lift it into the ute.
Unbidden, his hand touched the scar running down his temple. ‘Something like that.’ Gabe grasped the legs and heaved. ‘C’mon, you bastard, get in there,’ he swore at the dead weight threatening to topple back out of the ute again. It never looked so awkward in the movies. He shoved again and closed the tailgate against the legs.
He didn’t bother to cover the tray. Instead he tucked the tarp into the back and instructed Amin to follow him once more. After another inspection of the area to make sure they’d left nothing behind, Gabe climbed into his LandCruiser and the two vehicles set off. Gabe had a rough idea of where they should go and began to follow the track away from the abandoned well and the morbid secret it now held.
FOURTEEN
Half an hour later, the two men used the tarpaulin to carry Khalid to his resting place in a sandy creek bed. Gabe had trapped here once before. It was far enough away from the well for his liking and suitably distant from the track that any passers-by wouldn’t be inclined to call in for a look. Best of all, it was easy digging – a good thing considering Amin hadn’t been of much help. The man was exhausted, and Gabe knew he needed food, rest and his bullet wound checked again. He wasn’t feeling very optimistic about that. His own first aid kit was better stocked than the small one they’d used earlier, but Gabe was worried about infection. Dead bodies and old wells weren’t exactly the best way to look after yourself after getting shot, and Amin had been neck-deep in them all afternoon.
They laid Khalid and the tarp in the shallow grave, killing two birds with one stone – getting rid of any evidence remaining in his ute, and protecting the body a little if someone were to reclaim it. However, Gabe had no intention of being involved in that little exercise, should it come to that.
There was an abundance of loose granite stones around the creek’s edge, and under the light of the full moon they soon had the body well covered. Even the most determined scavenger would struggle to get close enough for a lick. Gabe was somewhat concerned that the finished mound in front of them was an obvious grave, but he told himself they could only be so careful, and it was extremely unlikely anyone would set foot here anytime soon.
The two men stood in front of the pile of rocks, both breathing hard. Gabe shuffled uncomfortably as Amin stared at the cairn, perhaps contemplating how close he’d come to joining the dead man.
Amin turned to Gabe. ‘We can do no more for Khalid. Let us go.’
This posed a problem. Where exactly should they go? Being so focused on covering their tracks, he’d been unable to think that far ahead. They began walking back to the vehicles. ‘Got any ideas which way we should head?’ he asked.
‘For now, somewhere to rest. I am not feeling so good,’ Amin said. He held a hand to his bandaged arm.
‘We’ll go back the way we came a bit, away from here and set up camp. Get some food in you.’ And some whisky in me, he thought. Christ knows I need it after today.
‘I think that is a good idea,’ said Amin. ‘I will follow.’
When they arrived back at the vehicles, Gabe pulled out his GPS and marked the point. He saw Amin watching. ‘For later,’ he said. ‘You know, to find him again.’
‘Thank you. That is very thoughtful.’
Gabe grunted, and eased himself into his ute, cursing at the twinge in his hip.
They drove off. After a couple of kilometres, Gabe pulled into a small clearing. It looked like a good site, and he began setting up for the night, working quickly under the white glow of his floodlights, which were fast attracting a bevy of insects. He opened the driver’s side of the canopy and cage, the gas struts hissing as they extended, and pulled out his camp chair, offering it to Amin.
‘Give us a minute to get organised then you can have a shower if you want,’ Gabe said, which seemed to surprise Amin.
‘You have a shower?’
‘Only cold water, but out here that’s not usually a problem. Got a pair of jeans and a shirt you can borrow. Reckon we should get rid of these stained clothes.’
‘Thank you.’ The gratitude in Amin’s voice was plain to hear. So was his discomfort. Gabe retrieved a couple more drinks, passing his last can of Coke to Amin and opening a beer for himself.
‘I’ll get a fire going, try and keep some of these bugs away, then get some grub on.’ At last he was beginning to feel hungry.
‘Do you think that is wise?’
‘You worried about your buddies seeing us?’
‘A little, maybe.’
Gabe shrugged. ‘Think we’re okay. We’re miles from that hole, and covered our tracks pretty good, plus we got off that road quick too.’ He looked up at the moon, now high above them. ‘It’s fairly bright tonight. Fire won’t give off much light and once I get sorted the floods will go off. Reckon we’d be hard to spot.’
‘If you say so,’ Amin replied. ‘I trust your judgement.’ He leaned back and gazed upwards. Even with the moon out, the stars littered the sky. ‘Your night sky reminds me of home,’ Amin said.
‘Best seat in the house for star gazing,’ Gabe said as he readied the table. ‘On a night with no moon, you can see everything.’
‘My wife’s family lived in a small village, far from city lights. Sometimes, when we visited, we would sit out at night and watch the stars dance.’
Amin’s voice wavered slightly as he recalled the memory, and Gabe suddenly felt uncomfortable. He used to do something similar, once upon a time. He cleared his throat and set off to collect wood for the fire, leaving Amin alone with his memories, and possibly his imagination as to what almost happened to him today. Gabe was never quite sure what was worse to dwell on – what had been or what might’ve been.
It didn’t take him long to get a good fire going. He helped Amin up and took him around to the passenger side of the LandCruiser. When the canopy frame and surrounding cage were first built, he had set up a shower head on a flexible hose that could clip to the overhanging cage door. It was fed from the main water tank by a twelve-volt caravan pump; his theory being, were he unlucky enough to spill poison on himself, a shower close to hand would be a good thing. Fortunately, he hadn’t needed it for such a purpose yet, but it was still handy for knocking the dust and sweat off when it got too much to bear.
‘Here,’ he said, passing Amin the handheld shower. ‘That clips up there, and that’ – he pointed to the switch fitted just inside the canopy – ‘turns the pump on. Soap’s in that bottle. I’ll find you a towel and some clothes. Won’t be much, but it’ll be better than what you’re wearing now.’
He opened the passenger door as Amin began to undress and rummaged through his bag of clothes stowed inside, eventually finding a pair of jeans and a light blue long-sleeve drill shirt. Amin was about the same size as he was, maybe a bit wider in the waist, but Gabe always preferred a loose-fitting pair of pants so figured there would be enough slack in them. He held them up to Amin.
‘These should do. I’ll leave them on the seat. Chuck what you’re wearing over there, and I’ll burn them with mine.’
‘Again, thank you.’ Amin was now shirtless and beginning to remove the bandages around his arm. Gabe drew closer for a better look. When the cotton swabbing came away, Amin winced.
‘That looks like shit,’ Gabe said.
‘Yes. And that is also how it feels.’ Amin tossed his shirt and the bandages to the side. ‘But I have seen men survive worse.’
‘Yeah and I bet men have died from a lot less too. I’ll get my kit. That could turn septic real quick. Another dead Arab is the last bloody thing I need right now.’
Amin glanced at Gabe and must have seen the humour in his eyes. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘You have had much practice at hiding dead Arabs, as you call us.’
‘You’re not Arab?’
Amin gave him a wry grin. ‘Are you English?’
‘Course not,’ Gabe scoffed, a little taken aback. ‘I’m Aussie, born and bred, so’s my parents. But Mum’s family came from Ireland, and Dad’s was Welsh. What’s your point?’
‘Afghanistan is made up of many different ethnic groups. Pashtun, Tajik, Uzbek, Hazara; it is a long list. My own family is Pashtun.’
‘Yeah, well, Arab, Pashtun or English, I don’t want to do that again.’ Gabe started back to the fire. ‘Sing out when you’re done. And go easy on the water; it’s not the bloody Hilton here.’
While Amin cleaned himself up, Gabe started thinking about food. From his larger Engel he pulled a couple of potatoes, some onions and a loaf of bread. Then he stared at the various trays and bags of meat in the freezer section. Crap, now what? He knew enough to realise pork chops were out of the question, and so was the bacon, obviously. He did have some cutlets from a young goat he’d shot last trip. Would that be too condescending, offering the Middle Eastern man a feed of goat? He recalled Bobby joking with him one evening as they dined on roo-tail stew. ‘Kangaroo is good alright, but only ’cos we got no Uber Eats round here.’
‘Ah, fuck it,’ Gabe cursed and grabbed a pack of lamb chops. He dumped the food on the table just as he heard the water pump stop. Gabe retrieved another beer, and, after a moment’s thought, his open whisky bottle. He sat the whisky next to the food and sipped his beer while he waited for Amin to finish. He would ask about the meat then. If it was too much bloody trouble, the man would have to stick to bread and vegetables and watch him eat the lamb chops by himself. No way was Gabe going vego.
Amin appeared, wearing only Gabe’s jeans and the pair of boots he’d had on before. A few beads of water still clung to his beard and dripped off his hair. He held his hand to his arm as he walked over to the table, blood weeping from under his fingers.
‘Come here, under the light.’ Gabe had already opened the kit and pulled out some cotton wool, passing it to Amin, who began wiping away the blood while Gabe withdrew what he needed from the plastic chest.
‘Ready?’ he asked. Amin removed his hand, and Gabe couldn’t help but suck in his breath. The gouge had turned a deep crimson and ugly yellow bruising had appeared around the edges. He wiped down the area with an alcoholic swab, then, unconvinced by the tiny cloth that looked just like a repackaged KFC towel, grabbed his whisky bottle and held it up to Amin.
‘Last chance,’ he said. ‘This is going to sting a bit.’
‘I do not require it,’ Amin replied. ‘Nor am I allowed it.’
‘Suit yourself,’ Gabe said. ‘Hope you appreciate this. Bloody good whisky, this is.’
It wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to admit that. To his surprise, Amin gave him a wry smile.
‘Gabe, that bottle you hold looks very much like the cheap whisky sold on the black market to the American troops in Afghanistan.’
In reply Gabe took a swig and then poured a splash from the bottle onto the gash, eliciting a sharp hiss from Amin.
‘Padar-nalat!’ Amin glared at him. Gabe did not know the words, but understood them all the same.
‘Sorry about that.’
He wiped away the excess alcohol and squeezed antiseptic ointment onto the wound and the surrounding skin, doing nothing to improve Amin’s current disposition, and began attaching adhesive suture strips across the gash. Satisfied it was as closed as he was going to get it, Gabe pressed a cotton pad to the injury and wrapped fresh bandages around the arm.
‘Best I can do.’
Amin inspected his work. ‘You did not do too badly,’ he admitted with a smile. ‘Though your bedside manner is lacking.’
Gabe made a wide gesture towards the vast horizon. ‘Feel free to get a second opinion.’ He closed the kit and returned it to the LandCruiser.
Back at the table, he picked up the tray of lamb chops and the tomato sauce bottle. ‘I’m going to have a wash, then cook up some tucker. You hungry?’
‘Yes, I am.’
Gabe paused, not quite sure how to broach the subject. In the end he decided the direct approach was the best. ‘So, can your lot eat this or not?’
‘My lot?’ Amin had a slightly bemused look on his face.
‘You know, Muslims. Don’t you have to say Allah Akbar or some shit when it’s killed? Make it halal?’
Amin laughed. ‘That is a very simple way of describing it, but yes, more or less. Since the smugglers did not care very much about our requirements, I have become used to avoiding meat. Thank you for the offer, Gabe, but do you have anything else?’
Gabe glanced at the meagre accompaniments. ‘Hope you like bread, taters and onion then. I’m not much of a cook.’
Amin seemed genuinely surprised. ‘You have no other vegetables?’
‘That’s not food. That’s what food eats,’ Gabe said, deadpan.
Amin shrugged. ‘So long as no pork has touched them, it will be very welcome, thank you.’
Gabe scratched the back of his head and shifted uncomfortably as he pointed to the Engel. ‘There is bacon and some pork chops in the fridge, but everything is wrapped up.’
‘That will be fine. Not all of us are so strict – or terrorists, as you feared earlier.’ The good humour shone through, and Gabe grinned.
‘Can’t really blame me though, can you?’
Amin smiled as he sat down by the fire. ‘No, it must have been quite a shock. I can assure you, I was just as surprised as you.’
Gabe set the meat back down on the table. ‘Right then, I’ll go get cleaned up, get this grub on, and then you can start telling me how the hell you ended up here and just what we’re going to do about it.’
He left Amin sitting by the fire and headed for the shower. It would be good to get out of these bloodied clothes. Blood on his shirt and pants was nothing new, but it was different when it was another person’s. Still, he mused as he undressed, could’ve been worse. Could’ve been mine. And with a shudder at that last thought, he threw his clothes with Amin’s discarded outfit and began to wash.
FIFTEEN
Hunched over their plates, Amin in Gabe’s chair and Gabe on an upturned milk crate, they ate with relish and in total silence. If Amin had any concerns about the rough meal Gabe had offered he didn’t show it, although Gabe did notice him make a small prayer beforehand and supposed it was a sort of religious insurance policy. Safer than being turned away from the Gates of Heaven because some bushie offered you a chop. Not a bad idea, considering the day, but Gabe wasn’t too concerned with such things. He had no doubt as to which Gates he’d be rolling up at.
After the meal, Gabe offered Amin a hot drink.
‘Do you have tea?’
Gabe did and quickly set up his tripod and hung the billy over the fire. He poured himself a whisky, and the two men watched the flames dance under the steel vessel as the water slowly heated.
‘So,’ Gabe said, after a sip from his cup. ‘How does an Afghani wind up out here?’
‘Afghan,’ Amin said.
‘What?’
‘I am Afghan. The Afghani is our currency.’
‘Okay,’ said Gabe, not quite understanding why that fucking mattered. ‘How does an Afghan end up here?’
