the centre of the kitchen and rested his gun and his hat in front of him. Griffith joined him and Roland followed.
“Where did you say you were going?” Georgia asked.
“Salem,” Griffith answered.
“I've never heard of it. Is it around here?”
“No, it's further north. Just on the border.”
“Oh that's not too far. Shame about your car.” All the time she spoke, Georgia busied herself checking the oven, getting out plates and fishing for cutlery in a drawer.
“Yeah. We really appreciate you letting us stay.”
“Aw heck, boys, think nothing of it. I was up, anyway. If you like, I'll take a look at your car in the morning,” Thomas said.
“Oh, you don't have to do anything like that. If we could just use your phone in the morning, I can sort it out,” Griffith said.
“Well, you boys suit yourselves.”
When the pie was hot, Georgia served it up. She put what was left back in the fridge, handed Thomas a beer and left them. Roland and Griffith dug straight into their dinner while Thomas sat, sipping his beer.
“What were you doing?” Griffith asked.
“Eh?”
“You said you were already up.” Griffith paused to chew and swallow. “What were you doing?”
“Keeping watch.”
“What for?”
“We've been having a few troubles lately.” Thomas glanced at Roland, stood up and stepped over to the fridge. He took out another beer, opened it and set it down in front of Roland.
“Thanks,” Roland said and immediately took a long sip of his beer.
Thomas looked at Griffith. “Want one?”
“No thanks. What kind of troubles?” Griffith shook his head.
“Dog troubles.” Thomas sat down. “I've lost three cows to wild dogs around here in the last fortnight alone. So tonight I've put the whole herd into one field and fenced them in together. Then I set up a flood light on the roof to shine on the whole lot of them. As soon as I hear anything out in the field I'll flood the field with light and find the bastards.”
“Oh,” Griffith muttered and said no more.
When they had finished eating, Thomas walked them to the spare room, built into the attic of the house. The room was wide but the low sloped roof made Roland check his head with every step. One bed sat nestled against the right wall, a low camping bed occupied the same space on the opposite wall. An antique wardrobe stood beside the door and across the room from that, a single window looked over the fields behind the house.
“Beds are already made. Bathroom is downstairs, first door on your left. You need anything, just shout. 'Course, don't shout for real, 'cause Georgia is sleeping but I'll be down on the patio. You boys sleep good.” His piece said, Thomas left them.
“What friendly people!” Griffith said, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “What friendly people,” He repeated, whispering this time.
“Uh-huh,” Roland answered and walked towards the bed, bending under the ceiling. Griffith, almost a foot shorter than Roland, didn't have the same trouble sliding into the futon. He gave a quick nod to Roland and closed his eyes. Roland didn't bother returning the gesture as he dropped onto the mattress and went to sleep.
Griffith didn't know how long he'd been in bed before it happened. He might have been there for five minutes or it might have been five hours for all he knew. He hadn't been asleep, but, lying in the dark, he'd lost track of time. A few metres away he could hear Roland's deep, rhythmic breaths. Sleep hadn't come easy to Griffith for a long time. Still, just like every night, he'd give it his best to get a solid night's sleep.
Suddenly a bright, white light came flooding through the window. From below he heard Thomas shouting:
“Got you, you son of a gun!”
Griffith sat up. “Roland.” Griffith whispered. No response. He stole a glance at the window and then looked back at his companion. “Roland!” He hissed a little louder. Nothing. He opened his mouth to call him again, but gunshot drowned
“Where did you say you were going?” Georgia asked.
“Salem,” Griffith answered.
“I've never heard of it. Is it around here?”
“No, it's further north. Just on the border.”
“Oh that's not too far. Shame about your car.” All the time she spoke, Georgia busied herself checking the oven, getting out plates and fishing for cutlery in a drawer.
“Yeah. We really appreciate you letting us stay.”
“Aw heck, boys, think nothing of it. I was up, anyway. If you like, I'll take a look at your car in the morning,” Thomas said.
“Oh, you don't have to do anything like that. If we could just use your phone in the morning, I can sort it out,” Griffith said.
“Well, you boys suit yourselves.”
When the pie was hot, Georgia served it up. She put what was left back in the fridge, handed Thomas a beer and left them. Roland and Griffith dug straight into their dinner while Thomas sat, sipping his beer.
“What were you doing?” Griffith asked.
“Eh?”
“You said you were already up.” Griffith paused to chew and swallow. “What were you doing?”
“Keeping watch.”
“What for?”
“We've been having a few troubles lately.” Thomas glanced at Roland, stood up and stepped over to the fridge. He took out another beer, opened it and set it down in front of Roland.
“Thanks,” Roland said and immediately took a long sip of his beer.
Thomas looked at Griffith. “Want one?”
“No thanks. What kind of troubles?” Griffith shook his head.
“Dog troubles.” Thomas sat down. “I've lost three cows to wild dogs around here in the last fortnight alone. So tonight I've put the whole herd into one field and fenced them in together. Then I set up a flood light on the roof to shine on the whole lot of them. As soon as I hear anything out in the field I'll flood the field with light and find the bastards.”
“Oh,” Griffith muttered and said no more.
When they had finished eating, Thomas walked them to the spare room, built into the attic of the house. The room was wide but the low sloped roof made Roland check his head with every step. One bed sat nestled against the right wall, a low camping bed occupied the same space on the opposite wall. An antique wardrobe stood beside the door and across the room from that, a single window looked over the fields behind the house.
“Beds are already made. Bathroom is downstairs, first door on your left. You need anything, just shout. 'Course, don't shout for real, 'cause Georgia is sleeping but I'll be down on the patio. You boys sleep good.” His piece said, Thomas left them.
“What friendly people!” Griffith said, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “What friendly people,” He repeated, whispering this time.
“Uh-huh,” Roland answered and walked towards the bed, bending under the ceiling. Griffith, almost a foot shorter than Roland, didn't have the same trouble sliding into the futon. He gave a quick nod to Roland and closed his eyes. Roland didn't bother returning the gesture as he dropped onto the mattress and went to sleep.
Griffith didn't know how long he'd been in bed before it happened. He might have been there for five minutes or it might have been five hours for all he knew. He hadn't been asleep, but, lying in the dark, he'd lost track of time. A few metres away he could hear Roland's deep, rhythmic breaths. Sleep hadn't come easy to Griffith for a long time. Still, just like every night, he'd give it his best to get a solid night's sleep.
Suddenly a bright, white light came flooding through the window. From below he heard Thomas shouting:
“Got you, you son of a gun!”
Griffith sat up. “Roland.” Griffith whispered. No response. He stole a glance at the window and then looked back at his companion. “Roland!” He hissed a little louder. Nothing. He opened his mouth to call him again, but gunshot drowned
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