Wisps of Cloud (12 page)

"Happens. She's got the curves, too" Clive pulled the tag on another beer and took a sip before he wiped his chin. "Gonna marry her?"

"Who knows?" Ryan knew that like many locals, Clive was a bit of the old school and somewhat conservative.

Clive shrugged. "No need now-a-days. You young guys don't know how lucky you are. In my time…" He rambled on for a while reminiscing about his life before suddenly stopping when his dog growled. "What is it Flossie?"

His sheep dog that until now had been lazing in the sun, stood up with her ears peeked forward and a second growl hissed from her throat.

Ryan looked in the direction that the dog was facing but saw nothing in the valley between their hill and the higher bush-covered one further back. There was a distinct contrast between the northern sunlit side and the shade of their southern side. He felt Clive grip his shoulder as he squinted in the sunlight, saw a flash of sunlight reflecting off something before he heard a faint whoop-whoop sound. It became louder just as a helicopter appeared out of the shady hillside and flew directly towards them.

"Keep down!" Clive warned and grabbed Flossie by the collar. "You too, Girl."

Ryan noted the urgency in his companion's voice, obeyed and crouched behind the tractor trailer where he could still see the helicopter. Also Flossie slunk down beneath the trailer but remained on high alert. "Coming in to rescue a wounded tramper?" he asked.

"No. He's coming from the wrong direction and is too low. A rescue helicopter comes in high and from the west before it drops down to its destination. This one is up to no good."

The helicopter was now easy to see, a sleek modern one that was amazingly quiet as if flew up the valley. It flew past below them, so close that Ryan could see the pilot and at least three passengers inside. Strapped between the landing skids and fuselage were two box shaped canisters that looked like overgrown suitcases.

Clive whistled slightly. "It's a Eurocopter Squirrel, one of the latest models, very upmarket and usually used in tourist areas like Rotorua or Queenstown. It is certainly not a local rescue 'copter or one local firms use for crop spraying."

"Would it be giving overseas tourists a thrill ride?"

"Doubt it."

A change in sound seemed to confirm Clive's statement. The helicopter slowed, hovered for a second and dropped down out of sight behind trees on their side of the valley. The engine noise also subsided and silence reined over the area.

Ryan barely had time to make a comment when Flossie growled again. Seconds later the helicopter rose above the trees but was turned around and came by them again. This time, though, there was only the pilot aboard and the canisters had been removed. "So he's dropped his passengers and their gear off. It's a strange place to start a tramp?" he said.

"Oh they aren't trampers or even hunters," Clive replied. "The reason for them being here is far more sinister,"

"Who are they, then?"

"I reckon they'll be here to look after or plant marijuana. Shall we go and have a closer look?"

*

Twenty minutes later they were down in the interior valley and following a small stream. It was easy going with shingle on both banks backed by dense foliage of ferns and larger trees.

"At this time of the year they'd probably be planting out small potted plants. The plants grow throughout the summer and are harvested in February or early March." Clive stood up. "Come on. Let's
keep going."

He led Ryan down a small winding track that had probably originally be
en formed by wild deer or goats that frequented the back country and pushed his way through the thick foliage. It became quite dull and cooler with no sunlight penetrating the trees above. After almost half an hour, he stopped and glanced around.

"See it?"

Ryan frowned, not knowing what he was meant to be looking for.

"They've got a trip wire." Clive crouched down and moved a clump of half dead fern away from the base of a massive tree trunk. Stretching across a gap in the trees about a metre and a half off the ground was a thin wire. "Any animals would probably go under but a person would hit it with their chest or head."

"The druggies?" Ryan whispered.

"Yeah!"

A few moments later they were down in the interior valley and following a small stream.

"Anyone here, Girl?" Clive asked Flossie.

The dog looked up at him and gave her tail a couple of short wags.

"Not now but they've been here within the last hour," the farm manager interpreted. "Probably walked up this creek-bed."

They walked forward and around a bend. Here the stream cut across and on the right was a large gravel spit the size of half a football field. All the larger rocks in the centre had been removed and smaller gravel raked out. Several skid marks and footprints crisscrossed the area. This was obviously where the helicopter had landed.

"Search, Girl," Clive said.

The dog immediately put her nose down and ran a zigzag course across the stones before disappearing through a clump of fern on the other side. They followed and came to a small shed. The dog gave no sign of there being anyone around so they walked forward and Clive examined the door before discretely pushing it open. The sweet scent of fresh vegetation filled the air of the small interior.

Inside, the two canisters that would have come off the helicopter lay opened on a low table. The inside of each canister was divided into small polystyrene compartments with two still holding potted plants. Both of these had the typical spiky marijuana leaves but broken stems.

"Rejects," Clive said.

Flossy growled and ran out the door, turned and waited with her tail dragging on the ground,

"Come on, we'd better get out of here."

They followed he dog out, slipped around the back of the shed and climbed up a small bank of fern and tall grass. They stopped, lay down beneath larger trees and Ryan wiggled forward.

He could see the shed below them and also had a view of the stream. Three men walked into sight. They wore typical backcountry bush shirts, shorts, floppy hats and heavy boots. Two were bearded and one heavily tattooed but the third was clean-shaven and, if he was in a business suit could have passed as a civil servant. They were though, too far away to see their faces, not that he expected to recognise anyone.

Their voices were raised and body language showed that there was some sort of argument or disagreement going on. The clean-shaven guy appeared to be trying to give directions as he pointed and moved his arms around. One of the others stopped walking and stood with his hands on his hips while the third stood back as if he wasn't prepared to take part in the argument.

Ryan strained his ears but except for a few words, mainly expletives he could not follow their conversation.

Finally, the second guy shrugged and carried the spade in his hand across to the shed. The other two followed and disappeared inside. About five minutes later they all reappeared carrying the canisters between them. The clean-shaven guy shut and locked the door while the third man strung a line of thin wire between two trees in front of the shed.

"Another trip wire," Clive whispered. "If we walked through, it would break and probably set off a silent alarm to warn them that someone had been here."

The helicopter appeared overhead and landed on the spit. After clipping the canisters above the landing skids the men climbed aboard and the helicopter flew away.

"Pleasant sorts," Ryan commented.

"Yeah, probably two bikie gang members and the big boss financing the whole project. He was trying to put some point across but that other guy didn't like being given instructions. These gangs have their own hierarchy but resent being told what to do by anyone else."

"So shall we go and see what they were doing?"

"Yes, but be careful. There could be more trip wires around."

They found none but on the northern slope of the valley and exposed to the afternoon sunlight were several rows of the plants. Each was tied to a small stake and had fresh soil or fertiliser packed around it. Wire netting set up like long tents covered each row to keep out predators and everything was firmly held to the ground with large steel staples. It all looked very professional.

"This'll be just one of several plantations through the bush," Clive said. "They like to have many small plots as large cultivated areas are too easy to see from air patrols when the plant
s mature."

*

"So what do we do?" Ryan said an hour later when they were back at Clive's place.

Clive shrugged. "That was national forest land, not ours. You can report it to the police if you like but my advice is to do nothing."

"Why?"

"They're ruthless as any city criminal gang, Ryan. If they get even a whiff of an idea that we may have reported on them we'd find sheep slaughtered, fences torn down or other vandalism suddenly happening around the station. Even worse, they could actually attack someone. Only last year a wife of a farmer who worked with the police in seizing a marijuana crop was violently attacked. Sure they caught the culprits who are now in jail but it didn't help the poor woman. I heard she is now a nervous wreck and the farm is for sale."

"That bad, aye?"

"Yes. At least marijuana is a soft drug. In my opinion
, if they want to smoke pot, good luck to them. If we leave them alone, they'll do the same to us."

"An alternate life style?"

"That's about it. Okay, someone is making big money out of it, That helicopter doesn't come cheap but are they any worse than some slum landlord or property developer making his millions off of us ordinary folk?  Just because they wear a business suit, doesn't make them any better."

"Guess not." Ryan replied. He said no more but was uneasy about Clive's attitude. Perhaps he'd have a chat to Karla that night. She was pretty level headed when it came to matters like this.

*

The first day was over and Karla walked into the tiny staffroom to plug in the kettle. She had barely stopped all day and was as tired as she would have been back at her old school. Now she was alone. Throughout the morning she had run a much more formal programme than she would normally do but the children were responsive and eager to please. All of them, from five year old Tina
who had only been at school for a month up to Justin, had a new exercise book covered in wallpaper and a picture downloaded on the computer stuck on the cover. Inside was a title page and pages of work done that day. Everyone had a description of himself or herself and family from Tina's one sentence that Karla had helped her with to Lorena's three pages of the neatest handwriting she had done in months. Even Justin had put in a great effort with his page and a half essay. They had all done reading exercises, math and other lessons according to their ages. During the afternoon she had begun a large wall chart of the school and grounds with every child having one section to complete. Again, parts were fairly formal where she had drawn in the building that the little ones painted while the older children sketched in other items such as trees, the front fence and items in the playground. These were also painted and the project half completed by home time.

Back at her old school the end result would possibly have been better but the older children here had added that touch of maturity that her children back at Tui Park were not capable of doing. Justin's drawings of the two quad bikes were excellent but he spoiled them a little with somewhat slapdash painting. That was something she would build on later.

Voices came in through the open staffroom window. Karla glanced out and saw Lorena and Justin sitting on their quad bikes chatting. All the other children including Lorena's younger siblings had left in cars, on their scooters or by walking home.

"I told you she'd be pretty good," Lorena said. "You wouldn't believe me, though."

Justin shrugged. "I thought we'd have some stuck up bitch with her nose in the air telling us how hopeless we were and that things were going to change. Also, if we didn't buck up we'd fail at high school, time was running out and so forth."

"And instead?"

"I know I can't spell and my handwriting is not a patch of yours but she had a way of making me want to do better. You know, she read every word I wrote and praised me. Hell, old Ted never even looked at my stories…"

Both her senior pupils chatted on and Karla felt quite proud of the comments they made about her. Finally, both quad bikes were started and the pair rode out the gate. Justin even got off his bike and shut the gate. He glanced up, saw her looking out the window and said something to Lorena. The girl looked up and they both waved before the pair headed off up the road.

Yes, it had been a successful day!

*

Karla arrived home a little after five to find Ryan waiting for her. There was a gleam in his eyes that she had seen before but didn't immediately connect until he grabbed her in a massive embrace. His kiss was frantic and within seconds his hands were all over her.

"Ryan stop it!" she gasped. "What's got into you?"

He held her back for a second and again without saying a word reached for her blouse and methodically undid the buttons. It flopped open and she found herself tuned around, her bra was undone and fingers, warm but powerful squeezed her breasts. She felt herself responding and let him push her back over the kitchen table.