‹ Prequel: Going Bush
Going Bush 2: Suburbia
97
Zac was succumbing to another coughing fit out in the yard where he’d been chained to the pole. The blood on the ground alone told him it wasn’t the most inviting place to be, and it had only been reiterated by the beating he’d received from Carlos.
He groaned as he leant his head back against the pole, unable to wipe away the blood coming from both his lip and his nose. He only opened his eyes when he heard a nearby footstep, looking up in time to see a man in full SWAT uniform ducking behind a shed.
Instantly more awake, he looked around to see if he could see more. The sudden turn of his head caused an abrupt headache, and he groaned again as he closed his eyes.
“This is one of them,” he heard a voice to his right.
His eyes shot open again, ignoring the pain. A different SWAT member was approaching him, trailed by another who was keeping a lookout.
“Zac Hanson?”
“Yeah,” Zac frowned.
“Okay. Keep your voice down, we’ll have you out in no time.”
Zac looked between them worriedly, before looking back up toward the main house.
“Padlocks. Old school,” the one inspecting his chains said aloud.
“Bolt cutters?” the other suggested.
“There’s no time. Zac?”
Zac turned back to him.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be back.”
“You’re leaving me?” Zac looked worried.
“We need to secure the area. When it’s safer, we’ll be back to collect you. Just like in Waco.”
“You were there?” Zac asked.
The man nodded.
“Hang tight, you hear?”
Zac just nodded, leaning back as they disappeared from sight. As he looked back up toward the house, he noticed a team of three headed towards a door to the left.
*
Nate and Taylor both looked up as they heard movement. The bolt on the cellar door was being pried open.
“There weren’t any footsteps,” Taylor frowned.
“Then it’s no one we know,” Nate quickly grabbed Taylor by the shoulder and pulled him back into a corner.
He landed in the hiding place he’d made for the kids, Nate soon on top of him with his hand over his mouth. Eyes darting, Taylor’s hands flew to cover Nate’s as Nate settled down beside him in time for the door to come open.
They heard footsteps make their way down the ladder and saw what appeared to be a torchlight darting across the adjacent wall.
“Cellar’s clear!” they heard a call with a distinct New York accent.
When Taylor realised who it must have been, he began struggling against Nate for all he was worth. With strength and weight to his advantage, Nate held the upper hand as the footsteps once again disappeared up the ladder. A moment later, the door was closed again.
“Isn’t that an interesting twist?” Nate mused, peeking out of their hiding spot.
He groaned as he leant his head back against the pole, unable to wipe away the blood coming from both his lip and his nose. He only opened his eyes when he heard a nearby footstep, looking up in time to see a man in full SWAT uniform ducking behind a shed.
Instantly more awake, he looked around to see if he could see more. The sudden turn of his head caused an abrupt headache, and he groaned again as he closed his eyes.
“This is one of them,” he heard a voice to his right.
His eyes shot open again, ignoring the pain. A different SWAT member was approaching him, trailed by another who was keeping a lookout.
“Zac Hanson?”
“Yeah,” Zac frowned.
“Okay. Keep your voice down, we’ll have you out in no time.”
Zac looked between them worriedly, before looking back up toward the main house.
“Padlocks. Old school,” the one inspecting his chains said aloud.
“Bolt cutters?” the other suggested.
“There’s no time. Zac?”
Zac turned back to him.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be back.”
“You’re leaving me?” Zac looked worried.
“We need to secure the area. When it’s safer, we’ll be back to collect you. Just like in Waco.”
“You were there?” Zac asked.
The man nodded.
“Hang tight, you hear?”
Zac just nodded, leaning back as they disappeared from sight. As he looked back up toward the house, he noticed a team of three headed towards a door to the left.
*
Nate and Taylor both looked up as they heard movement. The bolt on the cellar door was being pried open.
“There weren’t any footsteps,” Taylor frowned.
“Then it’s no one we know,” Nate quickly grabbed Taylor by the shoulder and pulled him back into a corner.
He landed in the hiding place he’d made for the kids, Nate soon on top of him with his hand over his mouth. Eyes darting, Taylor’s hands flew to cover Nate’s as Nate settled down beside him in time for the door to come open.
They heard footsteps make their way down the ladder and saw what appeared to be a torchlight darting across the adjacent wall.
“Cellar’s clear!” they heard a call with a distinct New York accent.
When Taylor realised who it must have been, he began struggling against Nate for all he was worth. With strength and weight to his advantage, Nate held the upper hand as the footsteps once again disappeared up the ladder. A moment later, the door was closed again.
“Isn’t that an interesting twist?” Nate mused, peeking out of their hiding spot.