July (12 page)

Sister Jerome gasped.

The nun beside her stood up and turned to us, her face mortified.

‘He’s dead,’ she whispered.

Zombrovski had broken his neck in the fall. I watched in complete shock as everyone huddled around him, whispering prayers and rubbing tiny silver crosses.

The nuns found the missing pocket watch, some rosary beads, and a ring in Zombrovski’s pocket. Luckily for me, the big crim couldn’t
resist an opportunity to steal from sleeping nuns, even when he was stalking the halls, searching for me.

‘Are you all right, Cal?’ asked Sister Jerome as someone draped a bed sheet over Zombie’s body. I’d been standing alone, near the doorway, trying to take in all of what had just happened. ‘He didn’t hurt you, did he?’

‘No, I’m fine, thanks. Just feel a bit shocked,’ I explained, showing her my shaking legs.

‘You used that?’ she asked, pointing to the sword in the foyer that I’d taken from the Saint Ignatius statue.

I nodded. ‘To protect myself, yes.’

‘You did very well. Saint Ignatius was a
warrior
. I’m sure he’d be proud of you. That poor chap looks like he was a nasty piece of work,’ she said, staring back again at the shape lying in the garden under the sheet. ‘I bet he never expected his night of looting would turn out like that.’ She shook her head and tut-tutted her tongue before starting to fuss over the bruises and cuts I’d received, courtesy of Zombie. ‘It’s a strange business,’ she said, pausing to examine my skinned hands, ‘getting an intruder not long after your arrival. We were very lucky you were here.’

A tall nun with an air of authority approached
us. ‘Sister Jerome,’ she said while tying her nightcap more securely around her plump face, ‘Could you please notify the authorities? Advise them of the intruder, the thefts, and his death.’

‘Certainly, Mother Superior,’ Sister Jerome responded obligingly.

The police would be on their way in minutes, and I didn’t want to think about how Sligo was going to react now that one of his men was out of action. Permanently. I needed to get out of Manresa. I needed to get out of Redcliffe.

‘You were very brave—and
foolish
,’ said
Sister
Jerome. ‘I’ll certainly mention your courage to Sergeant McInerney when he arrives. He will want to have a word with you, I’m sure. I’d best get inside and phone him.’

Sister Jerome was on the phone speaking with the police, which meant it was time for me to get as far away from Zombrovski’s body as possible. I knew I only had minutes to get out, so I raced down the hall to my room.

I collected up all of my things, and then stuffed them, plus the new papers from the convent archive, into my backpack. I slung it over my shoulders, bolted out of the room and skidded down the corridor again. I had to leave Millicent
behind, and hope that the documents would give me enough clues to keep going.

Near the convent entrance, I heard a couple of cars pull up. The nuns that had been milling around the foyer rushed to the door to see who’d arrived.

‘That’ll be Sergeant McInerney,’ said Sister Jerome, pulling a black cloak around her. I tried to look casual and conceal the bag on my back. ‘Come along, Cal,’ she said. ‘Let’s go talk to him.’

‘You go ahead,’ I called. ‘I just have to duck into the bathroom first.’

I waited until she’d walked outside before I dashed across the kitchen towards the back exit near the laundry. I could hear Sister Jerome and Mother Superior talking to the officers. Their voices were getting louder and I figured they must have been on their way in. I took off through the back door, flew past the laundry, and over the vegetable patch and herb gardens, around to the side of the convent.

I peered out from behind the wall, assessing who I had to get past in the front grounds. The sun was just starting to come up, sending soft light over the police car and coroner’s van that were parked on the grass to the side of the
driveway
. A group was huddled around Zombrovski’s body, which was still sprawled out on top of the
crushed cactus plants. Cameras flashed and nuns muttered amongst themselves.

I didn’t think my feet could carry me away fast enough down the driveway, through the gates and away from the big Manresa property. I looked around the backyard for ideas. The
minibus
flashed into my mind, but I couldn’t possibly go back inside to retrieve the keys. Not now.

As if in answer to my prayers, standing near the shed, the key still in the ignition, was an awesome, custom-decorated motorbike. Glossy blue, its streamlined curves and chrome-plated engine fittings, together with silver, curved knives joining the wheels to the hub instead of spokes, created a gleaming machine just asking to be ridden. This had to be Blue Streak, the motorbike belonging to Matt, the guy I’d helped in the garden yesterday.

He was standing next to one of the cops who was looming over the body taking notes. They both had their backs to me.

Boges and I had ridden trail bikes a few times with another guy from school a couple of years ago, but I’d never been on anything like this blue monster! I jumped onto the heavy bike, bouncing into the saddle, one leg on the ground to steady myself. I made sure my backpack was on tight and I pulled the sleek, black helmet that hung
from the handlebars over my head. I switched on the ignition, jumped on the accelerator, and kicked away the stand. I scooted my leg along the ground, helping the bike move, while turning the throttle under my hand. The powerful bike roared into acceleration and I was off, heading for the gates.

Before I had even reached the front yard, a gunshot rang out—a bullet whizzed past me! I hunched over the bike—I couldn’t believe it! The police were shooting at me!

How did they know who I was already?

I wrenched the bike to the left, skidding wildly as I aimed for the back of the shed,
ducking
under a line of washing on my way. Within seconds, voices were shouting and people were scrambling.

My chest was pounding as I turned the bike around and peered out from behind the cover of the shed and through the washing. I scanned the whole area, searching for the shooter.

It was when my eyes were drawn up high that I caught a glimpse of my sinister assailant.

It wasn’t the police who had fired at me … it was Bruno—
Red Singlet
!

He was hunched over one of the bell tower arches, the perfect 360-degree position for a sniper. A sniper with vengeance on his mind.

Now I was really scared.

Another shot ricocheted off an incinerator and splintered through the shed wall, just
centimetres
from where I was keeping watch. Didn’t he realise the police were already here?

The shouting surrounding the convent had intensified and sirens were approaching.
Sergeant
McInerney must have called for backup the second he heard the first shot ring out. I could sense people stirring, and preparing for an attack, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Bruno.

The once peaceful convent was now hosting the cops, a dead body, Bruno—Sligo’s top man—
and
the most wanted juvenile in the state. I was in double danger—I had to dodge Bruno
and
the police, and somehow make a desperate rush on the motorbike, in full view, out the gates.

I had to break cover and go for it. There was no other way. I couldn’t wait for them to come and get me. I silently walked the bike along to the edge of the shed closest to the gate, a leg on each side of the engine housing. My plan was to kick the accelerator, grit my teeth and fly behind the line of washing, then weave my way out.

Even with the police presence increasing by the second, Bruno could still fire off the shot that would ensure I never reached my sixteenth birthday.

Police were yelling through a loudspeaker now, ordering Bruno to put down his weapon, and aiming their pistols up at the bell tower. If their attention stayed on him, maybe I would live after all.

I pictured what I had to do—gunning the bike and getting the hell out of there through the gates! But then I saw something I hadn’t accounted for. Two police officers, weapons drawn, had positioned themselves on either side of the gates, on the dirt road.

I would have to ride straight past them. There was no way I could do that without being seen. My brain raced feverishly, trying to formulate an idea.

More gunshots rang out. I jumped back as one bullet darted past my head, while a second bullet hit one of the squad car windscreens, shattering it. I heard a police vehicle screech around the back of the convent, adding to the force already in place, blocking Bruno’s escape. I could feel the sweat breaking out on my face as I switched on the ignition. Blue Streak roared into action.

I released the brake and pushed away,
twisting
the throttle full on. Blue Streak reared up and roared forward, jerking me with it. I clung
on, squeezing my knees hard against it, keeping my balance as together we swerved fast towards the open gates.

The cops that were focused on the bell tower spun around to see what was going on. They
recklessly
turned their weapons to me, and shouted at me to stop.

No way!

A shot from the bell tower fired down at me, and the cops instantly turned their weapons back on Bruno. They didn’t know who to aim for!

Taking advantage of their confusion I gunned the throttle and hunched over, riding like a speedway champion. I hurtled through the
cross-fire
, through the gates, and along the dirt road, blowing the weeds and dust up behind me.

I’d made it out, unharmed. I clung onto the powerfully-charged motor, racing through the countryside, leaving Bruno behind to fight it out with the cops.

I kept riding, heading south, waiting for the sound of a siren to come up behind me. But it never came.

It wouldn’t have taken long for the police to work out who I was—the Manresa guest who’d
not-so-coincidentally
arrived just before Zombrovski.

Blue Streak was a liability—cops would be alert and equipped with the vehicle’s
description
at all surrounding locations—so I knew I was going to have to abandon it pretty soon. My plan was to ride as far as the fuel would take me, and then it’d be time to tackle my journey back to the city on foot.