The Sleeping and the Dead: Unbidden Part Three

By TJ Park

Part 3 of the terrifying supernatural crime thriller

A terrible, malignant power grows in strength on the Clarkson property. At nightfall the assault begins, trapping innocents alongside hardened criminals. A beast stalks them; a "Familiar", a monster capable of inhuman savagery, a creature of darkness that kills with pleasure and without remorse. But an unknown force prevents it from entering the house where the gang have taken refuge. For tonight, at least, the survivors have reached an  uneasy truce. But the peace could explode at any second and leave more bodies in the wake - that is,  if they're not all dead before dawn.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jan 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781460706329

TJ Park

TJ Park is an Australian novelist and screenwriter. He was raised on a steady diet of Stephen King novels, British science-fiction television, and the cinema of John Carpenter and Sergio Leone. Not much else is known about him. That's just the way he likes it.

Book preview

UNBIDDEN PART III: THE SLEEPING & THE DEAD

Chapter Eleven

The whirlybird arrived home.

Rob entered the house to find his family sitting stiffly, almost formally, on one side of the lounge. His visitors, Doug and Wayne, stood on the other side like ushers for some sombre occasion. They appeared poised to impart some terrible, terrible news.

What happened? Rob asked. He was feeling slow and unprepared, thinking Danny had either been found dead or badly hurt, or that it was some other disaster of equal magnitude. Then he realised what his guests were holding in their hands and that only added to his puzzlement. A fleeting thought passed through his head that some of the animals had been put down . . . before the truth slammed home.

He lurched forward. What is this? What the hell do you think you’re doing?

Rob heard a click close to his ear and felt something hard jammed between his shoulder blades. He tried to turn round, but a firm prod made him turn frontward.

The day’s just full of surprises isn’t it? said Mick, flat and joyless behind him.

Doug felt sorry for Rob. He was clearly an amateur at this game. His face was a blunt forecast. He could not have signposted his intentions better had he announced them out loud.

Rob – Doug began.

Too late. Rob wheeled round, making a desperate grab for Mick’s gun. Mick anticipated him easily. He pistol-whipped the grazier in three swift downstrokes. Rob grunted, as if he had merely tripped on something, before crashing down on his head.

His family did not cry out. In their own ways, they were as tough as their father. There was a collective, sharp intake of breath, speech cut off in pain. Doug would have preferred honest screams to the small, birdlike noises they made.

Bleeding and half-concussed, Rob was still intent on rousting his former guests. He dazedly picked himself off the floor to have another go at Mick.

Don’t be an idiot, Mick said.

Janet looked as if she desperately wanted to go to her husband, but that meant letting go of her kids. Rob, don’t! They haven’t hurt us!

Rob nearly got to his feet, raising his fists.

Don’t hurt my dad! Lauren shouted.

Mick struck him again. Lauren’s cry and Scott’s shout of Dad! accompanied their father to the floor.

Turn it down, Mick, Doug urged.

The eyes behind Mick’s specs flashed.

What do you want me to do? Give him a kiss and a cuddle?

Incredibly, the semi-conscious grazier was trying to get up again. Mick shoved him down with his foot. Rob sidled out from under it with all the headlong speed of a turtle. He pressed up to start a new, arduous climb to his feet.

Scott threw off his mother’s protective embrace. She grabbed for him, missed. Doug reached for the boy too, fingers skating over his bare back where the shirt should have been. Scott dived onto his father, both to shield him and press him back down. Rob struggled briefly before recognising who had hold of him.

Scott was crying. Stay down, dad! Please!

Rob heeded his son’s plea, nodding once before he crumpled to the floor, the fight gone from him. He could have been snoring fitfully except for his open, dazed eyes. Lauren was sobbing. Janet had a few tears fall, too, but they might as well have been leaking from stone.

I hope you’re satisfied. You’ve got us afraid. You must feel like heroes.

Making no sudden moves, she went to aid husband and son. Lauren, left unsecured on the couch, began to moan softly.

The idiot sound of it made Doug want to break something.

Keep it together! he snapped. Take it easy and everything will be fine.

It wasn’t the ugly disbelief on the Clarksons’ faces that disturbed him, it was seeing the same on Warlock and Mick.

***

Doug and Mick filled each other in on the morning’s events. The news of the Land Cruiser’s demise struck Doug hard. Warlock was more concerned about them catching the same blight that affected the farm. Doug and Mick both heaped scorn on the idea, but did agree that the sooner they left the place, the better.

How about the trail bikes? Warlock suggested. One of us could ride pillion.

The machines were out in the barn, two of them set up in empty horse stalls. One was adult-sized and the other was for an adolescent, like the rifles inside the house. Both were stripped back and generic from long use.

Great idea, Wally, Mick said sourly. Where do we put the bloody crate?

Well, I dunno, Warlock replied, wounded. There’s the horse. We could take that, too.

I’ve seen it. I don’t think that nag could make thirty kilometres let alone keep up with a trail bike.

What about the copter-thing?

The copter-thing? Mick considered it. Yeah, that might work. We’d need a week to learn to fly it . . . plus we’d have to ditch half the score to get off the ground. And even then there’s only room for two. Knowing what a brave and stand-up bloke you are, Wally, I’d bet you’d be willing to give up your seat for one of us.

Warlock was injured. I’m just trying to help.

You can’t, son. You’re a moron.

Doug mulled it over. We might not have much of a choice, Mick. I saw a couple of old saddlebags in the barn. We could throw one over the back of a bike and use it to carry some of the load. The horse could carry some more . . . and Warlock doesn’t weigh much. It might mean ditching some of the opals though.

No! Mick shouted. He got right up into Doug’s face. We’ve gone too far. We’ve done too much. If it’s going to mean anything, we’re not going to piss it away now. We’re close. We figure a way to make it out with everything.

Doug backed up a step and wiped the spittle from his eye. The Mick he knew was gone. He didn’t recognise this bloke.

Maybe we could get Rob to fly one of us somewhere, over to another property or town, and that one could bring back a car . . . Mick started doubtfully.

Yeah! Warlock enthused.

But Doug didn’t like the idea. He twisted round and kicked the nearest stick of furniture. The glass cabinet’s insides clattered harshly.

No! Too untidy. It’ll divide us up, get more people involved. All sorts of shit could go wrong. He was thinking about the last house.

Mick calmed a little seeing Doug’s show of frustration. He looked thoughtful.

There’s an old ute on blocks in the shed. It needs some work, but our cow farmer here is a closet mechanic at heart. If I haven’t scrambled his brains too much maybe we could fix it up to a reasonable standard. It might take a few hours, though.

They looked over at the Clarkson family sitting on one of the couches, gone from hosts to hostages in the blink of an eye. Rob had his battered head leaning back while Janet dabbed at the swelling lumps and wiped away the last of the blood. Lauren was seated on the other side of her father, hanging onto his arm. Scott had his arm entwined in his sister’s. The kid never seemed to tire of glaring at his captors.

At the mention of his name, Rob raised his head from the couch, wincing as if struck another blow. His eyes fluttering a little, he spoke with slow deliberation.

That ute’s weeks away from turning over . . . if ever.

Doug looked at him with something almost approximating compassion.

So what you’re saying, Rob, is that you and Mick should have it finished in no time at all.

Rob refused to be parted from his family.

No, he repeated, we stay together.

He was resolute. Doug was at the point of conceding that an uglier method of persuasion would be needed, when Mick took it in hand. The old man stepped over to the front door.

Come out here, Rob. It’s not too far away. Just outside the door for a chat.

Don’t you touch him! Janet shouted. Son and daughter started up their own chorus. Mick turned on them and shouted them down.

Why would we hurt him? We need him!

The implication was clear. Rob was indispensable, but the rest of