Free Underground by Chris Morphew Page A

turned to Tank, looking slightly insane now. ‘If they’re not at the lake by ten –’
    â€˜Mate, hang on a second,’ said Tank. He turned back to Jordan. ‘Using us for what?’
    Mike’s eyes bulged. ‘TANK! We don’t have time for a bloody Q and A here! Hurry up and –’
    A light shot out from the bushes, straight into Mike’s face.
    â€˜Whoa! Hey! No!’ I shouted, panic sweeping over me. ‘Don’t shoot!’
    The light darted away from Mike, hitting me square in the chest.
    Jordan pushed off from her tree. ‘Run!’
    â€˜Wait!’ croaked a man’s voice.
    There was a crash of leaves and he staggered out. Just a silhouette at first. Ragged beard, unbrushed hair. He stopped a few paces away. His torch hovered over me for a second longer. Then he swung it around, lighting up his own face.
    And I stared back at him.
    And I stared.
    And the whole world fell out from under me.
    â€˜Dad?’

Chapter 12

    T UESDAY , J UNE 30
44 DAYS
    â€˜Luke …’ Dad smiled, tears in his eyes, looking like he didn’t believe it any more than I did, and I realised just how big a part of me had actually believed he was dead.
    I was still too stunned to move when Mike sprang forward. ‘Back into the bushes, old man,’ he warned, aiming the knife up at Dad’s face. ‘Just turn around.’
    Dad flinched the slightest bit, then brought his hands up. ‘Put it down, kid.’
    â€˜Yeah, Mike,’ said Tank. ‘This isn’t what we came here for.’
    â€˜You think I won’t do it?’ said Mike, becoming more and more unhinged as he lost control of the situation. ‘You think I won’t –?’
    Dad’s hand shot out at Mike.
    Mike jumped back, slashing the knife through the air. Dad reeled back, swung out his other hand, and caught Mike around the wrist. The knife jerked to a stop, centimetres from Dad’s chest.
    I was shaking. It was all creeping past me in slow motion, but my brain wasn’t absorbing any of it.
    He was right there.
    Mike shouted, twisting the blade around, trying to cut Dad anywhere he could reach. Dad dropped his torch and used his other hand to pry the knife away.
    I fumbled for the torch, my hands still stuck together. By the time I’d straightened up again, Dad had the knife at his side and Mike was edging away, looking murderous.
    Dad dropped the knife and stood on it. ‘You need to go now.’
    â€˜Tank!’ yelled Mike, almost hysterical now. ‘Get the fishing line!’
    Tank shook his head. ‘Mate, it’s over.’
    â€˜It will be over if we don’t –!’
    â€˜Listen, kid,’ Dad stepped forward and grabbed Mike by the shirt. ‘You just threatened my boy with a kitchen knife, which makes you extremely fortunate to still only have one broken arm. Believe me when I tell you that walking away is your best option right now.’
    Mike glared at Dad. ‘Screw you.’ But he pulled out of Dad’s grip and turned away, rejoining Cathryn and Tank.
    They disappeared into the bush.
    Dad picked the knife up and started cutting my hands free. ‘Who was that?’ he asked.
    I didn’t answer. I’d heard him, but not the words.
    Just his voice.
    His voice.
    He was alive.
    The last thread of fishing line snapped apart and my hands came loose. I looked up into his dirty, unshaven face, and he was still there, still real , and I reached out, pulling him into a crushing hug.
    His arms came down around my back and I just fell apart. I clung onto him like a little kid, terrified that this time was going to be the same as all the others, that I’d wake up and realise it was all just in my head.
    â€˜My boy …’ he sniffed, pulling me in even tighter. ‘It’s okay … It’s okay …’
    A pained grunt from the darkness snapped me out of it.
    â€˜Jordan!’ I let go of Dad.