Free Fireshadow by Anthony Eaton Page A

problem. This was what made him angry. If his father and all that he stood for was right, then why was he, Erich, so easily captured? Why was he in the middle of this ugly foreign forest, waiting for nothing and surrounded by weak men like Stutt and Günter? Worst of all, why was it their words sounded like they made sense?

Nine
    Vinnie
    The beer, cooled for a couple of hours in a plastic bag in the creek, was bitter and at the same time sweet as it trickled down the back of Vinnie’s throat. Around him the night buzzed and he sat, listening, going over his meeting with Helen outside her tent a few hours ago.
    She had startled him, true. He’d thought the tent empty, the camp site deserted, and if he’d known she was there he would have replaced his shirt and covered the scars before setting out across the clearing. But all the same, he hadn’t expected, to feel so . . . so naked.
    And he liked her. There was no denying it. She was the first person in a long time to make him feel complete again. She didn’t seem to see the scars, didn’t seem to notice, but he was pretty sure that was an act. Some people are good at that sort of thing. No, it was something else as well, something about the way she spoke to him. There was no bullshit, no pretence. Just conversation. That was the attraction.
    He stirred the coals and sipped at his beer. The taste, familiar and yet distant, called up memories of the party, the music, people being thrown in the pool, Katia chatting to some guy in the corner, laughing, drink in hand. Vinnie could tell by the way she was standing, even from across the room, that she wasn’t really interested, just making small talk.
    His mate Johnno was trying to get him pissed, kept handing him bourbon and cokes which he didn’t drink, leaving plastic cups half full of the sickly brown liquid on various window ledges around the house, pouring them into pot plants when no one was paying attention. He didn’t feel like getting wrecked, not that night.
    And later, when it started raining, everyone had come inside and couples were getting together in dark corners, and he’d watched the bloke who’d been chatting her up earlier lean in to his sister’s ear and whisper. She’d thrown her drink on him and everyone had laughed. Then she’d flounced over to him and Johnno, wriggling her bum and putting on a show, but still angry, burning inside. If you didn’t know her, you’d never spot it. Katia all over.
    â€˜Let’s go, Vin. We’re out of here.’
    â€˜Ah, come on, Kat, the night’s still young.’
    â€˜Bullshit, Vinnie. I’m going. You can walk home if you want.’
    â€˜Nah.’
    And then, in the car, trees and darkness whipping by the slick road, she was driving hard, but in control, like always.
    â€˜Kat?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜That bloke, at the party . . .’
    â€˜Asshole.’
    â€˜What did he say?’
    â€˜None of your business.’
    Night-car-silence. The hum of the road. Silent swish of tyres on wet asphalt. Rush of slicing through the night. Accelerating into the corners.
    â€˜You okay, Kat?’
    She never answered. The cat, black and white and feral and caught in the glaring cone of the headlights, darted from the shoulder onto the black tarmac. Katia jerked the wheel, an instinctive, uncontrolled spasm of movement and then the car was sliding, slowly, so slowly . . .
    â€˜Vinnie?’
    Helen stood a few feet away. He hadn’t heard her approach.
    He climbed to his feet, awkward and shambling, limbs moving independent of brain.
    â€˜I won’t stay. I just wanted to apologise for this afternoon. I . . .’
    â€˜Nah, listen, I’m the one who should say sorry.’
    Firelight sparked reflections in her eyes.
    â€˜You sort of caught me by surprise, that’s all. I didn’t think you were in your tent, so I wasn’t really ready to, well, you know, to