sprinted to the fence, and Daisy dropped Obedience’s hand and leaped across. The girl hesitated, and Daisy said, her voice fierce, breathless, “Bloody hell, Obedience. Jump!” And the girl lifted her skirts and did it.
I was right behind her, still with Fruitful over my shoulder. A leap, and I was over. The men were close, though, and I set Fruitful on her feet, told Daisy, “Take them to the ute,” and turned, reversing the shovel so the blade was facing the men. I called out, “Stop where you are. I’ve rung the police.”
They didn’t stop. They came on.
I was going to have to hit them. No choice. I was going to have to hurt them.
My aggression was controlled. Always. Now, I wasn’t afraid they would come. I wanted them to come.
Daisy wasn’t running. Instead, she ducked down beside me and said, “Step back.”
I barely had time to think, What the hell? before she was yanking the stakes out of the ground, her entire body jerking with the shock as the released wires running along the top of the fence caught her under both arms, freezing her there for a long second. I grabbed the back of her jacket and pulled her off, and the mesh resumed its shape, forming a barrier nobody would want to cross.
Daisy was swaying some. I yelled to her sisters, “Obedience. Hold Fruitful up, and hold Daisy’s hand. Run. Get to the ute and lock the doors.” I had the key out of my shirt pocket and was pressing it into Fruitful’s palm. She was tougher than her sister and would still be keeping her head, and it would help all of them focus if they had to look out for each other. That was how it worked. You were always calmer with a job to do.
Daisy didn’t want to go. I knew it. There were her sisters, and then there was me.
The sisters won. It was the right choice, because I had this. I was facing the men again with my shovel hauled back over my shoulder, ready to swing it like a cricket bat. A cricket bat with iron on the end.
I was bloody good at cricket.
There were two of them. They were broad, and hard. Like farmers. They slowed as they approached, their labored breath puffing out in clouds in the cold gray predawn light, the dog beside them. They weren’t used to running. Weren’t used to facing somebody they couldn’t intimidate, either, I’d bet.
I didn’t wait for them to talk. I said, “Come after us, and I’ll kill you.”
One of them, the shorter one, said, his voice a rasp, “There’s two of us and the dog against one of you. I don’t think so. And this is kidnap. Those girls are my daughters. Fruitful is a married woman. I didn’t give permission for her to leave, and neither did her husband.”
“Come after those girls,” I said, “and you’ll find out what I can do against two. They’re sixteen and seventeen, and they don’t need any man’s permission. They’re free to go, and they’ve gone.” After that, I shut up, stood still, and waited. The only way they’d get across that fence was with a running start, and I wouldn’t bet on their vertical leap. If they made it, I’d hit them as they crossed it. I could take two of them, and I could take the dog, too. I was fast, and I didn’t flinch or hesitate. I wasn’t afraid of being hurt. I was used to being hurt.
I wouldn’t kill them. But I’d put them in hospital. That, I was sure of.
The shorter man, the girls’ father, said, “You’ll pay for this.”
I said, “Bring it on.”
We stood like that, silent, for five tense seconds. Ten. Then I heard the sound of an engine starting, and headlights flashed down the road.
She came up fast. I actually thought for a moment that she’d go straight through the fence and mow the men down, but she brought the ute to a skidding stop instead, not a meter too soon. I tossed the shovel into the bed with a clatter, yanked the door open, and threw myself into the passenger seat as she punched the locks.
“Go,” I said, and she went. A quick K-turn, more sprays of cinder, and we were off.
8
Chastity Worthy
Daisy
When I took the turn onto the sealed road again, the too-light back of the truck fishtailed. I got it straightened out and kept going, my foot pressed all the way down on