Page 2 of Kiwi Gold
“Rebels,” he said, and waved an arm. “Out there.” He was the designated speaker of the two. Paul, the other fella, only spoke the local pidgin, Tok Pisin. I could catch the gist, but that was about it.
I said, “You’re taking the piss, mate. No rebels here. You’ve got everything else, but not rebels.”
“Here, no,” he said. “There.” He pointed west toward the Indonesian side of the island. “Fighting the Army. Across the border.”
“We’ll stay on our side, then,” I said.
He gave me a dubious look, and Paul muttered something behind me, but we continued on, the wet foliage further drenching already-soaked clothing, our feet sweating in our leather boots, the earthy smell of vegetation and wet earth filling our nostrils, the high hum of insects merging with the trills and hoots and weird cries of countless birds and frogs, letting the world know they were here and ready to mate. We forced our way through it all until the wall of green opened up the rest of the way, and I saw it.
The outcrop thrust up exactly as I’d imagined it from that overhead view. An intrusion of igneous rock, the multiple fractures coated by quartz veins, the sulfides visible, and I forgot about the damp and the heat and the general levels of discomfort.
Pay dirt. More than that. Gold dust, because there wasn’t just copper under there, I was willing to bet there was gold, too. I had a nose for gold, and my nose hadn’t lied. The excitement fizzed in my veins and pounded in my chest as I took my first photo and pulled out my rock hammer to get my first sample.
This was it. This was what I’d come for. This was my score.
At first, I thought I was hearing cracks of thunder. Then they got closer.
John shouted,“Run,”just as I swung the hammer. I swung it again to pry the chunk of rock loose, grabbed my sample, thought about my pack, and decided to leave it where it lay, because in those couple of seconds, a figure crested the rise ahead of us, clad in worn green jungle fatigues and a blue beret. I saw his body jerk and tumble backward before I registered the sound of the shot, and then more figures appeared against the skyline, their boots shiny and black. Another shot from farther north, one of the shiny-boots fellas was down, and I didn’t see any more, because we were running. The rock sample in one hand, my rock hammer in the other, and my pack discarded back there by my outcrop. My satellite phone and notebook, both gone. Bloodyhell.I’d go back for them once …
Shouts from behind us, the cracking sound of bullets going past, thethudas one hit a tree, and I decided my notebook wasn’t that important.
They were shooting atus.Why?
The fatigues. Both of the guides were wearing them, too. My mind was processing fast, even as it felt like every realization came too late. The ones with the shiny black boots? Those would be Indonesian Army, and they’d think we were part of it, whatever “it” was. An ambush by rebel forces, maybe.
I should know what the fight was about. I researched before I went somewhere new. I hadn’t researched the neighboring country enough, obviously. I also shouldn’t have brushed off John’s concerns, though at least he didn’t seem likely to get killed by it. He was in front. On the other hand, Paul was behind me.
I ran faster.
Another crack, and something stung my cheek hard.Bloody stinging jungle things,I thought,as my hand rose to swat it.
The hand came away red. I couldn’t feel the blood on my skin, because the rain was pissing down once more, but I could taste the copper of it in my mouth.
That hadn’t been a bug. It had been a bullet. Over Paul’s head, because he was a stumpy sort of fella. Not over mine.
If I was still running, though, I clearly hadn’t been shot in the head, and if I hadn’t been shot in the head, I was going to keep running. Which I was doing when, ahead of me, John executed a mighty leap, then skidded to a stop, whirling as he went in a sort of weird, doomed ballet.
I thought,He’s hit. How did he get hit, in front of me? They must be ahead of us, too. We need those guns out. Paul can do that, because I’m going to have to carry John.I stopped, though, because no choice on the narrow jungle track, and that was when I felt something hit me again.
Not on the cheek this time. In the shin.
It was a bloody great snake, was what it was. Olive-colored, and as long as I was tall, which was pretty sizeable. I registered the next two lightning-fast strikes from the narrow head, the front part of the long body raised off the ground and curved back into an S-shape for further striking power. An image nobody wanted to see, forever burned into my retinas. However long “forever” was going to be.
Three, four times, the snake sunk its fangs into the top of my boot. Or into the trousers that I’d tucked into my boot tops.Throughthe trousers, possibly, and through the merino socks I wore. I couldn’t tell. No part of me was exactly comfortable, and heaps of parts of me were stinging.
I’d jumped back, of course. You could hardly help it. Unfortunately, the snake was faster. An inland taipan, most venomous snake in the world, its fangs thirteen millimeters long and the power of its strike legendary. Normally reclusive, but startled by the pounding feet. I’d never run into one in Aussie, its other home, but I recognized it anyway. I knew my snakes.
Nothing to do except wait for the end of the defensive frenzy. Nowhere to go, with the track barely big enough for a body to brush through and Paul right behind me, next in line to be bitten. I could have tried to hit the thing in the head with the rock sample, I guess. If I’d had even more of a death wish, anyway, because no human reflexes could match a taipan’s. Also, I didn’t want to lose my sample.
Mostly, though, I was thinking,You’ve copped it now, mate. Not enough time to get back to camp and the antivenom.A taipan’s bite could kill in thirty minutes, and they didn’t bite dry.
It was probably only a couple of seconds before the snake pulled back into the bush and I took a leap of my own that would’ve done a broad jumper proud, and then we were running again.
Of course, if Ihadbeen bitten, that was the worst thing to do. You were meant to lie flat, apply a compression bandage above the bite, and get carried out. But then, if the snake had connected, I’d die in the ute, because itwastwo hours back to camp, so never mind. Especially since John and Paul hadn’t got the memo about the bandage and the carrying and so forth, possibly due to the shooting still going on behind us.
I’d wanted an exciting life, one far removed from family dramas and back garden barbecues and the small-town big city that was Dunedin, New Zealand. Be careful what you wish for, maybe.
The sound of semiautomatic rifle fire was getting louder, the bursts closer together. I hoped the driver had started the ute. I wished we’d brought beer. I noticed I wasn’t collapsing, at least not yet.
