You’ve done enough rotten things with your life, he told himself. Just do this one thing right. Just this one thing.

Soon he could make out his father’s tent just through the trees. He almost yelled out but was silenced by the sound of voices nearby. He crouched down, stopped moving. There, almost upon him, were the three men.

The men were talking in low voices that didn’t reach him. The largest of them was even bigger than Brendan and he had in hand a shotgun. Brendan too carried a gun. The smaller of the three was looking perplexed, and Caleb saw in his face the features of a Cahill.

This younger man turned away as the others readied themselves. Hard to tell what he was thinking but there was a surge to his chest, like he was holding his breath. Then he called out Vernon’s name, a yell that sounded like it was borne from the earth itself. It shocked Caleb. The bigger man was immediately set upon by Brendan, as the younger one started to flee, and then the sound of a shotgun, cracking into the air, muffled by Brendan’s body. He fell onto the earth and then scrambled away and into the bushes.

The other Cahill was now running but he hadn’t made it halfway across the clearing before the man fired again. The shot struck him in the back of the head and he went down hard into the muck, like he’d been thrown there by a giant. His jagged arm was sticking up as if frozen, the mud around him sucking. The sound of the shot striking the bloke’s skull was still echoing through Caleb’s own head when Brendan collided with him.

Brendan was a slobbering, crying mess. Caleb grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him away, aiming for the shore.

The sound of crashing through the bush behind them. The man was grunting. Caleb pulled harder at Brendan, urged him on.

Soon Caleb had to stop. They hadn’t gone far, not far enough, but Brendan was too big to carry, kept tripping on his leg. He motioned for Brendan to keep quiet but he kept on crying, mumbling something about his brother, perhaps—it was hard to tell. ‘Shut up, would you?’ Caleb whispered.

He keened his ears for sound of the big man but heard nothing. All was silent for a moment, beyond the night noises of the bush.

Between moans, Brendan said, ‘What’re you doing here?’

‘Trying to help my dad.’

Brendan winced, sucked in air through his teeth. ‘I buggered it all up.’

‘Ssh.’

‘My brother . . .’

‘Yeah?’

‘Did you see what happened to him?’

Caleb looked down at Brendan, so small beneath the bushes now, a wounded animal on its back. His leg was sticking out in a funny manner. Caleb peered down and saw blood on the thigh, thick like ink in the low light.

‘He’s dead,’ Caleb said.

This made Brendan wail. Head back, despair he’d never seen. Caleb grabbed his hand and placed it over his leg. ‘Put pressure on it here. And shut up, will you?’